San Juan Del Sur

the infamous Flor de Cana rum

San Juan Del Sur: Nicaragua’s most popular beach destination and party spot. I arrived with the Australian girl and two Americans guys. The girl was headed to a guesthouse outside of town and the guys were headed to some sort of Irish themed hotel, so I figured I’d check out the hotel and see if they had any rooms. We showed up and the guy who normally works reception wasn’t around, but there was an old guy sitting in the couch, so the guys showed him their hotel booking and I asked if they had any single rooms. We figured this would be a fairly straightforward interaction, but as he spoke the words all just blended together into some form of gibberish that can only loosely be described as Spanish. At some point I just stopped listening and stared at his tongue flapping around his brown teeth. Eventually he got on the phone to speak gibberish to someone else, so I took that as my cue to find a different place to stay. I didn’t really feel like walking around for long, so I found a guesthouse down the street, which had an open room and plopped all my stuff down.

So I did what I normally do when I get to a new city, which is get my camera out and go for a little stroll to get a feel for the place. San Juan is a very picturesque town with nice colonial architecture, a long beachfront, and lush rolling hills dotted with expensive houses as you get farther outside of town. At the highest point there is a big statue of Jesus overlooking the bay, which is apparently the largest of it’s kind in Central America. The main road along the beach is filled with all sorts of bars advertising happy hours, drink specials, and western food, the usual touristy type stuff. Upon first glance the weirdest part was the lack of people on lying on the beach, especially for a sunny afternoon. What you soon realize is that the sand is more of the brown silty variety, and the top layer of it blows all over the place, so sunbathing isn’t very fun unless you’re prepared to get sand whipped in your face and in every exposed part of your body. But despite this little nuance it seemed like it would be a pretty fun place.

Later on I met a British girl in the guesthouse and we decided to go out and grab some food and see what the nightlife is like. We got acquainted with the two beers that any traveler gets to know well in Nicaragua: Tona and Victoria! Both are fairly boring watery lagers of course, with the Victoria being the less water down of two, which would end up being my drink of choice for the rest of my time in Nicaragua. We ended up on the street one off the main drag, which has the smaller backpacker type bars that have better music and more interesting decor than the larger bars on the beachfront. We soon learned after talking to some people that the town is bit a shadier than what originally meets the eye. Apparently it’s fairly well known information that if you wander off the main, well lit, stretch of beach later at night you’ll get mugged. Not like, there’s a chance of getting mugged, but you WILL get mugged. Damn. I’ve known a few places traveling where getting robbed is a definite possibility, but none that come to mind where it’s a more or less a certainty! I’m not in Asia anymore. Well good information to know I guess!

the view overlooking the bay and the town

The next day I gave sunbathing a valiant attempt, which is only really possible with a shirt of over your face to keep the sand from constantly getting in your eyes. I met up with the American guys later on and we decided to hike up to the big Jesus statue. It took about 45 minutes of some fairly steep walking to find our way to the top of the cliff, which we awarded with some really nice sweeping views over the whole bay and of course the up close view of Jesus, who looks like he’s a hailing a taxi. We watched the sunset and then hurried back down to catch some NFL action at the bar. These guys were certainly the heavy drinking type, so we busted out some Flor De Cana, the cheap (but very decent) rum that is famous in Nicaragua, and had a pretty good night out.

I wonder what he can do with those two fingers

The next day was Sunday, and if you ever talk to anyone about San Juan Del Sur, one of the first things they’ll probably ask you is if you did the Sunday Funday?! People even recommend that you plan your SJDS trip around being there on Sunday, just to be there for this weekly event, which basically consists of going to 1 or 2 different pools and getting wasted the whole day. Unfortunately (fortunately?) I would not be partaking in this event as the Packers were on that afternoon and I was not about to miss a Packers playoff game. I found a bar that actually has craft beer and watched the Packers take down the Panthers. Ahh the good times…

Now in San Juan Del Sur the real beauty of the area is supposed to be the beaches outside of town. I booked a shuttle (which is more like a big truck with bench seating in the back) to Playa Maderas. As you’re getting closer to beach the road turns to absolute shit and at one point you’re driving up a bumpy dirt track at what feels like about a 35 degree incline, before arriving at the beach. But it’s well worth the rough drive. Once you get past the surf hostel it’s just a long stretch of almost untouched coastline dotted with some gorgeous rock formations. It’s marvellous. It’s definitely the type of place you feel compelled to stay at. When I reached the far end of the beach I found two guesthouses tucked away just into the trees, so of course I inquired about the availability and was pretty bummed to find out neither had any openings that night or the next. Not even any dorm beds at the surf hostel either. Hmm. So it ended up being just a really nice day trip to Maderas for me, as I took the last bus back into town that evening.

Sunset near Maderas Beach

On my last day in San Juan I rented motorbikes with a couple more Americans (it’s almost kind of weird hanging out with so many Americans while traveling) and we headed to another one of the beaches to do some surfing. Now for me surfing is pretty much always a disaster which entails of  me horribly mistiming my paddling and getting smashed by waves for a few hours at a time. And a nice sun burn to boot! So it was pretty much the usual for me. Although there was a nice little period when the actual surfers came in because the waves were getting too small, which was my cue to head out there again, and I actually was able to ride like 2 waves in. Go me! We hit the bars again that night, and that was it for San Juan Del Sur. I’m actually still a little bummed I didn’t get to stay on Playa Maderas at all, but what can ya do? I was off to place called Ometepe the next morning, which is an island with two volcanos in the middle of a Lake, so it’s hard to complain!

goodbye SJDS

Into Nicaragua

So where we left off I had decided I wanted to get out of Costa Rica and into Nicaragua. I hopped on a morning bus and 5 hours later we were dumped off at the border. I joined up with an Aussie girl and two other Americans as we were all pretty unsure what we were doing and where we were supposed to go. We found customs and waited in line to get to the counter. I went first as I spoke the best Spanish of the group (a very sad fact indeed). I put my passport and my filled out form on the ledge. Oh crap. The lady at the counter is now speaking a million miles per hour in Spanish. No entiendo! She’s making motions with her fingers… we need a rectangle...?

Finally she pointed to a machine in the back, which had a nice big line, that we apparently needed use. It’s the type of machine that you swipe your passport, and then use your credit card to pay $10, and get the receipt. Of course the scanner thingy was being a pain in the ass, and there’s no directions in English, so people had to keep calling over someone to help. After who knows how long we finally all got up the counter again, got stamped out, and we were out of Costa Rican customs. Step 1 complete!

So now they told us to walk on down the street to the Nicaraguan side. Some random dude approached us asking if we needed any help, which we did, as there are no directions posted anywhere. He ended up showing us to a new line, and said we needed to fill out some forms, which coincidentally he had in his pocket. This was apparently the medical line. A nurse type woman came up to us with out saying anything and pointed some little white gun at each of our foreheads, which I assume was to take our temperature, and then scurried off. It was a little unnerving. Then we got to the doctor who took our forms and passports, gave us a thorough stare, and asked how long we were staying before giving us another slip of paper. That was step 2.

After that we were herded off to another line, which was the Nicaraguan immigration. There’s a little desk that you have to give the lady a dollar for some reason or another, then it’s off to the main line. Just outside the line is a woman sitting with a guy in a wheelchair who obviously has some sort of severe disease and he just kind of makes lots of noises and shakes a cucaracha and you’re supposed to give him some money too. Anyway I guess I just thought that allowing this kind of thing at the immigration line was kind of strange. But whatever, we got to the desk, paid our money, and we were stamped in!

Not done yet though. We had to get our luggage searched. Our faithful guide showed us to man in uniform at a desk where we plopped down our stuff. There was also a guy in plainclothes telling us it was $5 a person for the luggage check, which was clearly bogus. I suppose the immigration officers are all in on this silly scam. But seasoned pros like us saw right through it! The guy in the uniform searched the very uppermost part of one bag before resorting to pat downs on all the other ones. A few seconds later we were okay’ed and out the door, err gate, err flap of corrugated metal, where our guide quickly ushered us to a taxi. We agreed on $8 a person, which was surely a great deal for our driver, but none of us really felt like haggling at this point. Plus we gave our guide a dollar each, which was actually well worth it, as that border crossing was probably the most disorganized and confusing border that I’ve encountered. 30 minutes later we were in the little beach town of San Juan Del Sur!

Costa Rica

Alrighty, I’ve been traveling for a month now so I guess it’s about time to get my world-renowned travel blog going again. Welcome back readers, I know how long you’ve been waiting! This trip begins in Costa Rica, known for its tropical rainforests, vibrant wildlife, and dazzling beaches!

So I started by flying into the capital of Costa Rica, the relatively uninteresting city of San Jose. I was too paranoid to bring my camera out the first afternoon, but the downtown area seemed like a safe enough place, mostly due to the presence of lots of police officers with rifles. I found a small stakes poker game at a bar/casino, donked off 50 bucks, bought some ice cream and called it a night. San Jose isn’t the type of place you want to stay for long so the next morning I took the bus out to a place on the coast called Puerto Viejo, which is supposed to have a more laid back, reggae type vibe, being that it's on the Caribbean coast. I got in late afternoon and couldn’t seem to find any guesthouses that had rooms available, so I ended up in a dingy little dorm room that smelled like dirty clothes and sweat and had a serious lack of fans.  As I had suspected it was inhabited by some surfer hippy types, who were nice enough people, except for the girl in the bed across from me, who stole my fan when she went to bed. I reclaimed it of course when I woke up at 3am covered in sweat. 

The jungle literally comes right up to the beach

Some guys getting their surf on

The next morning I found a halfway decent room, (with my very own fan!) rented a bike, and set out to see what was around. About 10 miles away was supposed to be a nice beach with some jungle trails around, so I figured that would be a good place to start. About 20 minutes in, it started to rain, which continued all the way until I got the beach. I took refuge in a little café, waited over an hour for the skies to clear and set out to look for these jungle trails. 10 minutes later it was raining again and the trails were all mud, so I didn’t make it too far. I ended up in a beach bar to wait out the rain, unsuccessfully, then slogged it back home in a heavy drizzle. Hmm. I had read that it was dry season in January, but apparently this did not pertain to the Caribbean coast! The next day it rained the entire day. And the next. And then I got outta there… to where of all places… The rainforest!

Pretty wild waves

A day of buses later I was in Monteverde, which I guess is more of a cloud forest than a rainforest (don’t ask me the difference), and home to lots of touristy type activities: zip lines, atv’s, rope bridges, you name it! I met a Swiss dude on the bus and we found a hotel room to split, which might sound weird to some people, but costa rica is actually pretty damn expensive and it’s nice to help bring the costs down. Anyway, we were thinking of doing the ziplines, but it was raining sideways the next morning, so that was out. At this point I decided I better find a poncho, so I walked up to the big supermarket in town. They didn’t have ponchos, but they did have crappy little umbrellas, so I picked one up. I got to the register… $15. What? I'm pretty sure the cashier just made up a number a she thought I would pay, because I know for sure that no local is paying $15 for a POS umbrella. Anyway...

We were hoping to just find a good place to do some hiking, which you wouldn’t think would be difficult as we were in a freaking cloud forest, but apparently there were almost no trails around. The only thing that loosely fit our description was a place called the La Bosque de los ninos, which is a little nature preserve with maybe a mile of trail. We got there, paid our $12 to get in (apparently to maintain this crappy trail) and set off. We saw 3 different types of fascinating animals on the hike: mosquitos, ants, and flies. It was an amazing place!

The next day, shockingly, it was raining again, and we weren’t really feeling the Monteverde vibe. I don't think I took a single photo in Monteverde, because there was literally nothing interesting about the place photography wise. No local people (except behind the cash registers) no interesting culture, no animals, etc. So it was off to a place called La Fortuna which sit right beneath the Arenal volcano. I was hoping to hike it, but apparently it’s not allowed.  We liked this place a bit more, as it had some decent hiking (for a  price of course) a nice waterfall, and a little animal sanctuary where you can see some sloths, caimans, frogs, and a bunch of cool looking birds. I particularly enjoyed watching the sloths climbing through the trees. I feel like if I could choose an animal to just hang around and watch football and have a few beers, it would definitely be a sloth.

The next night we bought some beers and candles and went to the natural hot springs to relax. So you’re basically just chilling in a warm river in the middle of the jungle, which is pretty cool. When it gets dark you light the candles and it illuminates all the steam emanating from the river, which gives a very mystical, surreal atmosphere. Now being that it is one of the only free things you can do in Costa Rica, about 90,000 people showed up accordingly in the next couple hours, leaving hardly anywhere to sit or stand. So we took that as our cue to head on out. And that would be my last night in Costa Rica!

I originally planned on staying longer and hitting the beaches on the west coast, but to be honest I didn’t really like Costa Rica all that much. I mean it does have some beautiful scenery, but it’s just so damn touristy! Not to mention pricey. I think out of all the countries I’ve travelled to in the last few years Costa Rica is the most expensive (minus Australia). Plus it rained every single day I was there. So being that I only have 10 weeks to travel (I know, I know, poor me), I decided I’d allocate more time to Nicaragua, Honduras, and Guatemala. The next day I took a bus to the border, and it was off to the beaches of San Juan Del Sur, Nicaragua!

Everest Base Camp

The next morning we woke up, had our usual mediocre breakfasts and then headed to a place called Gorak Shep, which sits at 5,100m and is the last lodging on the trail towards the base camp. We found a luxurious room with plywood walls to throw most of our stuff and headed onwards towards base camp. After about 2 hours of relatively flat hiking, we came upon the mass of tents sitting at the base of the Khumbu Icefall, which makes up the Everest base camp. To be honest, it’s not that exciting. It’s just a bunch of tents sitting on rocks. You can’t even see Everest. I mean I guess it’s sort of cool to see with the icefall as the backdrop, but don’t expect too much. It was an especially bad trip for me because I slipped on some loose rocks and fell on my face (to protect my camera) and lost our bet on who would fall first.  Down one Snickers bar!

Everest Base Camp

The real highlight of the area is the viewpoint at Kala Pattar, at 5500 meters, which has sweeping panoramic views of the entire mountain range. Due to the afternoon cloudiness our plan was to get up nice and early in the darkness, and hike to the top for the sunrise. I had my alarm set for 4:30 am. It was not a fun wake up call. But once we were outside it was gorgeous. The sky was clear and the moon was full, illuminating the snowcapped peaks. We didn’t even need to use our headlamps; it was that bright out. But god damn, it was cold. 

You can see hiker's headlamps walking up to Kala Pattar

At over 5,000 meters there is about 50% of the oxygen in the air compared to sea level, so of course the going was quite tough. I was feeling good, so I ditched Jesper’s slow ass, and worked my way past the groups ahead of me. This was a sunrise I did not plan on missing! Although getting to the top earlier than planned wasn’t the best idea because it’s extra windy near the top, and as soon as you start standing still you really start to freeze. But the view of the mountaintops slowly being lit up by the early morning sun was really spectacular. You just wanted that sun to finally hit you! Jesper made it to the top just before the sun popped it head over the mountains, but he was so cold that he didn’t stay, and headed back down. It might sound strange to hike uphill for 2 hours and then not stick around 15 minutes for the sunrise, but your face is frozen and you can hardly feel your fingers and toes. It really was miserable up there. 

Sunrise! Nuptse on the far right, Everest is the black one closer to the middle

I jumped around and wiggled my toes and blew warm air into my hands long enough to keep me unfrozen until the sun finally rose over the mountains, just to the left of Everest (the one that looks like a black pyramid). You’ll notice from this viewpoint, and almost every vantage point in Nepal, Everest never looks like the tallest mountain. Nuptse is the one to right of Everest, a much more aesthetically pleasing mountain in my opinion. After snapping a few photos I was more than ready to get back down to the lodge.

the way down

Oh Yeaaaaah

After warming up with some hot chocolates we were ready to start descending. Originally we were going to do a side trip over a high pass to get to Gokyo Lake, but Jesper wasn’t feeling very well and wanted to start heading back down to Namche and Lukla. I was a bit ambivalent about the situation. Obviously I could have done the trip on my own, but I too was getting tired of freezing my ass off all the time, so I decided to head down as well. Spending a lot of time at these altitudes really does take quite a toll on your body.

As we were walking down we noticed that a lot of helicopters were flying in the area, but we didn’t really think much of it. A couple hours later we had learned that this morning on Everest there had been a large avalanche, killing 10 to 25 people, depending on whom you talked to. It would be the single most deadly day in the history of the mountain. After the dust settled it was determined that 15 Sherpas were dead. The Sherpas are the group people that live in the region permanently and are extremely well adjusted to the altitude. So much so that many are recruited for positions on the Everest expeditions, working as climbing guides, high mountain porters, cooks, etc. They are absolutely invaluable to the success of the expeditions. They are the ones that set the ropes, do the load carrying, and set up the camps. They are paid very little in USD terms, but in Nepalese terms, they are quite wealthy. So that morning they were out carrying loads from camp 1 to camp 2 when the avalanche hit. Really tragic stuff. 

a very sad day

We decided to call it quits in the town of Pheriche. Outside the town we watched as helicopters came down with the dead bodies of many of the Sherpas; the guys who do all the work but get almost none of the credit. What did they die for? So that a bunch of rich guys, who can afford to pay $40,000 to $70000 for an expedition can say they’ve climbed the tallest mountain in the world. It seems like such an ego stroking thing. While it is the tallest mountain, it’s far from the most difficult to climb in mountaineering terms. Other 8,000m peaks like K2 and Annapurna are considered to be much more challenging. On Everest there’s no technical climbing involved! It’s what you’d call a walk up. You just ascend the ropes that are fixed for you by the climbing Sherpas and sleep in the camps that are also assembled by the Sherpas. If you get in trouble, who's there to bail your ass out? The Sherpas! So you have all these climbers (way too many) who have inadequate experience with high altitude mountaineering but decide to take on the mountain anyway and the only reason they are able to do so is because they have the Sherpas to do all the work! So it was especially sad knowing so many had died. They are the real rockstars of the climbing world. 

Anyway, after our night in Pheriche we made it back down to Namche Bazaar the following day. We had a fun night out at the bar to celebrate and then made our way down to Lukla. We hit the bar again and then flew out of Lukla the next morning. It was especially easy to get a flight out of Lukla this time as we had befriended the guide of the British couple we had been hiking with, so he arranged everything for us. No more dealing with the airline mafia and 11:00 flights! And boy was it nice to be back in Kathmandu! Nice weather, warm beds, pizza and lots of beer! An excellent way to cap off our hiking trip! The next morning Jesper and I split ways as he was off to the beautiful town of Pokhara, whereas I had made an impromptu decision that the beaches in the Philippines were calling my name. So that’s where I’ll begin next time. Hopefully you’ve enjoyed this Nepal segment! Here's the rest of the photos from the walk down. 

One of many yak trains

This girl beat me up and stole all my money

baby yaks!

Our British friends Dale and Daniele, Jesper, and Shawn heading down 

yours truly

I took photos of this girl picking flowers. Then she came over and gave them to us! Awww!

My rates are 3,000 for 1 photo, 5,000 for 2. 

I see you

Getting back into Kathmandu

Sunset over Kathmandu. And this segment on Nepal

The Kongma La Pass

It's not like it's cold at all when you wake up. 

At the moment we’re in Chukhung, less than a two days hike to get to the Everest Base Camp . But first we would have to get over the formidable Kongma La Pass at 5,500+ meters; a nice 800m ascent from Chukhung. We were relatively confident that we would be able to handle the altitude as we had hiked up to the top of Chukhung Ri at 5500m during our acclimatization day.

The top of Chukhung Ri

After a mostly tasteless breakfast of Tibetan bread and porridge we set out on our way. The problem was we didn’t really know where the trail was. We had a good general idea from our map, but we were finding no sign of a trailhead. Eventually we asked a yak herding woman where the pass was and she just pointed directly up the mountain. Ok good! Except there was definitely no trail where she pointed, just hills and rocks and scrub. But if yak lady says that is the way to Kongma La, then damn it, that’s the way to Kongma La!

So we headed up the rock field following a small stream hoping to stumble into the trail. I had my compass out and was figuring that if we kept heading NW then eventually we’d have to run into it. After walking for a bit we scrambled on all fours up a steep (and exhausting) hill hoping to get a better vantage point of the terrain and walla! There it was. Onwards and upwards! The going wasn’t easy though. At over 5,000m you can really feel the effects of the altitude. Well, I was feeling pretty good. Jesper, who had hiked faster than me at lower altitudes, was sucking wind pretty good. After a couple hours he mentioned in between breaths “I think we’re getting pretty close to the top” HA!

found the path!

Fast-forward another hour and we reached a spot with rock walls on all sides and a scree field leading up between two of them; leaving only one way to go but up. We assumed this was the top of the pass… ASSUMED. The trail disappeared into a menagerie of rocks of boulders, making it part scramble part hike, constantly going up and up and up. What doesn’t look so difficult from far away is another story when you’re actually doing the climb. I was breathing heavy, but moving at a steady pace while Jesper trudged along further back. When I would rest and let him catch up I couldn’t help but laugh at how miserable he constantly looked. But we were moving forwards and almost at the top!

Having Fun!

Except the top was not the top. We stood atop the scree field panting and looking off in the distance we could see a ridge snaking its way up through the peaks. Well that’s got to be the top! Home stretch baby! Another 45 minutes later and we were getting to the top of that section, worn out, but optimistic that the affair would be ending soon. As we reached the apex of the hill we were expecting to look down and see the mountaintops over looking the valley on the other side of the pass. With rainbows and unicorns frolicking. Is that what we saw? No! Of course not! A large snowfield lay ahead of us ending with an almost vertical looking rock face. Fuuuu. It never ends. We were too tired to grumble that much. You just have to keep going. No sounds except for the wind and the crunch of snow under your boots. Well that and the hum of your thoughts, re-examining your sanity for this choice of a holiday destination.

As we got closer the seemingly impenetrable vertical wall revealed a steep switchbacking trail. There were prayer flags at the top indicating this was indeed the top of the pass. The final push. One step after another. Keep breathing. They call mountaineering the art of suffering and I can understand why. 30 or so minutes later (it felt like much longer) I was standing at the top. Jesper managed his way up a little later and we stayed and marvelled at the view for a bit before getting too cold and deciding to head down. We could see the village of Lobuche down in the valley, so close, yet so far!

The top of the Kongma La Pass!

Now you would think it would be a nice little stroll down to Lobuche, but it was anything but. First we had to meander our way down a path of icy rocks before descending to the bottom of the valley. From there it was steep uphill AGAIN to get to a huge glacial moraine covered with loose boulders, just waiting to sprain someones ankle. It took forever to carefully cross this section before stumbling our way into Lobuche, thoroughly worn out, at around 2:30. Just in time to eat some cheese sandwiches and crash into our beds! What a bitch of a day. The Kongma La certainly gave us a good test. Off to Gorak Shep and the Everest Base Camp the next morning!

The Trekking Lifestyle

Ok, so where we left off, we had just finished up our acclimatization day at Namche Bazaar and were eager to get moving higher up. We started off early in the morning and soon after getting out of town the views opened up and we could see the majestic Ama Dablam and many other peaks off in the distance. We were still in the forest zone and hiking on flat ground, so we were both feeling good. The only downside was having to pass all the big tour groups that clog up the trail. People sign up for these tours way in advance in their home countries, pay absurdly high prices, and then get stuck in slow moving donkey trains with people that they may or may not even like. But to each their own. I know, I come off as a condescending asshole when I start talking about big tour groups, but I can’t help it!

Jesper standing where I told him to so I could make a purty photograph

Anyway, we passed all these groups and got near the front of the pack and virtually had the trail to ourselves after that. A couple hours in you’ve got a steep 500m climb (note: I’m using meters from now on, because everything in Nepal and everywhere else in the world is in meters) to Tengboche, which fortunately has an awesome bakery, making for the perfect rest spot. The people on the standard Everest base camp itinerary would stop here for the night, but we wanted to keep going to the next town, Pangboche, a couple hours further. As we hiked the afternoon clouds rolled in and we were happy to finish off our hiking day by 1:30 or so. It’s worth noting that it’s very difficult to put in a long days hike in the Everest region. First, you don’t want to gain too much altitude in a single day. And even if you aren’t huffing and puffing too hard, the clouds come in every day around noon or one, making it feel much colder and killing the visibility, which also kills your motivation for hiking.

The clouds are rollin in

The following day we hiked 800m up to a village called Chukkung, which took us off the Everest BC route, and set us up to do one of the high passes called Kungma La, which would then get us back on the Everest route, via a more scenic, much less touristed, and much more difficult route. We arrived in once again in the early afternoon, anxious to get in because of the altitude and shit weather.

So the average hiking day almost is always over by 2:00 pm. What do you after that?! Well that’s a pretty good question! It’s boring as shit! It really is a struggle to find stuff to do at these guesthouses. First of all, its freezing cold, so you’re bundled up all the time. Usually there’s not much reason to go outside because it’s even colder. Sometimes I would walk around to see if there were any photo opportunities. Almost never. The mountains aren't visible and it’s not like the Nepalis are out frolicking in the cold, (liked I’d hoped!) they’re all inside around the fire too. So photography is mostly out. 

Kids sitting outside for some reason, possibly frozen in place

If you’ve got a decent lodge they’ll have a nice yak poo fire going in the main room, and you might be able to meet people in there. But most are in their own little groups or if they’re alone, they’ll probably have their nose in a book. In some lodges they’re a bit stingy with their yak poo, and you’ll have to wait till dinner time before they fire up the poo. So what to do until then? 

Jesper preferring the sleeping bag/blanket combo rather than my cocoon blanket method

Well it’s warm under the covers! Making a nice cocoon in your blanket is usually a pretty good start. From there you’ve got a couple more options, provided you did a good job packing for the trip. You can grab your headlamp and read a book. You can listen to music. You can sleep. Yes. We were big fans of the afternoon nap. And when I say big fans, I mean we were like what Beliebers are to the Canadian Pop God. We adhered to this practice with great zeal. Unfortunately at some point you wake up and it’s still too damn cold outside of the covers to do anything so you just kind of lay there in a meditative zombie state. Eventually someone will muster up the energy to get out of bed and start making noises and hitting the other guy enough times until they are forced out bed too. This usually means it’s somewhat close to dinner time. So it’s off to the common room.

We’d find a table off to ourselves and get the party started with some tea or hot chocolate. Every menu will always have variations of the main staples: pasta, roasted potatoes, vegetable stew, and even some form of pizza. Then there’s the infamous Dal Bhat, consisting of rice, lentil soup, and curried potatoes. It’s the only thing on the menu that’s all-you-can-eat, it’s reasonably priced, and eaten by the Nepalese at the majority of their meals. It’s also incredibly boring. After having one too many Dal Bhat’s on the Annapurna Circuit, the thought of eating it again made me shudder a little bit. I resolved to avoid it this time around. Pasta would be the go-to dish this time through.

Looking around there seemed to be much less independent hikers on the Everest BC trek than on the Annapurna circuit a few years ago. My theory is that most independent hikers are young, broke backpackers, so the flights in and out of Lukla drives them towards other hikes. With most hikers in their own groups we’d just have to enjoy our own company. I packed a deck of cards, but I really don’t know many 2 player games. Jesper admitted he wasn’t much of a card player, so War seemed like our best choice. After dominating him both technically and psychologically in our first match and emerging victorious after only an hour, we needed something more exciting. We needed to get some money involved.

If you're not an idiot you're betting all the  money here

The game would be Between the Sheets. I think its more commonly known as Acey Deucey, but that’s not what we call it back home. I haven’t played it in years but its super fun and super easy. Everyone antes up to start and two cards are flipped up. If it’s your turn you can bet any amount, up to the size of the pot if the next card will be in between the two upturned cards (or you can opt not to bet at all and it moves to the next person). If the next card comes in between the two upturned, you win the pot, and the game starts over again with the antes. If it’s not in between you have to pay what you bet. If it’s the exact same card as either of the upturned cards you pay double what you bet. Yes, yes, yes, such a simple game! We would bet with paper balls in increments of 10 rupees (10cents), it would just be a friendly game. Excellent...

The first night I managed to win 1,000 rupees ($10) off Jesper, which seemed like a pretty big amount, as we were basically playing with dimes. The next night Jesper was up between $5 and $10 on me for most of the night when things got interesting. He wanted to go to bed, and I said once we got up to a 200 rupee ($2) pot, regardless of who wins, we’ll call it a night. We bet recklessly and soon enough it was over 200. Jesper had a something like K 4 and lost. From that point on both of us kept getting f’ked over and the pot swelled pretty big. Jesper potted it with A (low) and Q. King comes. I’m laughing my ass off. Now the pot is huge! It’s around $50, much much bigger than we’ve ever seen it. We’re using everything on the table, from silverware to ketchup bottles, as designations for higher value amounts, because our little 10 rupee paper balls can’t keep up.

photo stolen from internets

Eventually Jesper gets K and 2. Has to pot it. He says if a King or two comes I’m going to kill myself. Next card: 2!! $100 to the pot! We both die laughing! Everyone is looking at us. I love this game. 15,000 rupees in the pot! Lol. Jesper gets some back by betting big in marginal spots. Then I got A (low) and Q and pot it. 10 comes and I ship the cheddar! USA, USA! Denmark finishes down $80 in a game that began with 10 cent bets. Good stuff. So if you’re ever bored and looking for a good game to spice things up a little bit, I highly recommend Between the Sheets. Well after that fiasco we were off to climb the Kongma La pass and get our butts to Everest Base Camp! So I'll leave you with this poorly done, extremely cliche photograph a random mountain reflected by sun glasses. 

This photo actually could have been halfway decent, but Jesper wears $2 knock offs

Do I Need a Guide or Porter for Trekking in Nepal??

I’ve been asked this a bunch of times by prospective Nepal travellers over the last couple of years. The answer is an overwhelming NO! There is almost no way to get lost on hikes like the Annapurna Circuit or Everest Base Camp. The trails are large and well marked. If somehow you’ve managed to lose your way there will be people to ask for help. You’re not hiking alone on some vague and forking foot trails, it’s more like a highway; thousands and thousands of trekkers do these hikes every year, as well as sherpas and yak teams. 

Also when you have a guide, he likes to be in charge. He will usually have a well laid out itinerary for you that includes all the guesthouses, whos owners he’s friends with. Say you are feeling good and want to keep going to the next village a few hours away. Well he might not exactly share your enthusiasm. Also English is another consideration. If you are going to get a guide, definitely wait until you get to Nepal. I’d want to meet him in person and feel him out a little bit over a coffee before agreeing to his services. Remember you are going to be spending two weeks in the mountains with this guy, so his making sure you guys can communicate well is pretty important. If you feel good about the experience and added level of safety he will bring to your trip, then certainly go ahead. But for someone like me who is happy to do some research on the internet beforehand (and has some hiking experience) I find a guide largely unnecessary. 

Concerning porters, if you’re in your twenties or thirties and in reasonable shape (not a fatass), then I really don’t think you need a porter either. You can pack fairly light for the trip, as you’re sleeping in guesthouses you don’t have to worry about packing stuff like a tent, stove, food, excess water, etc. Enough warm clothes, medicine, water purification tablets, headlamp, and some sort of entertainment are the important things on this type of trek. Then after you’re satisfied with your bag’s weight you can throw in a big ass camera, 2 lenses, some filters, extra batteries, and tripod to really fill it out. Or that’s just me...

Now if you think your personal enjoyment will be that much greater carrying around just a small daypack, than by all means go for it. But if you’re male especially, you might really feel like a wuss when you won’t carry a 20lb bag while these little Nepalese guys are hauling around a hundred and something pounds. Ok, you shouldn’t compare yourselves to these guys, cause they’re freaks, but you probably will. But you can compare yourself to me. And if you think you're wussier than me, than go ahead and take that porter. 

Now that's a MAN

At the end of the day for me, choosing not to take a guide or porter isn’t about saving money, or some self-sense of machismo, it’s really about independence. I like to feel like I’m free high up in the mountains. Just me, the white jagged peaks, the bite of the wind…  and that slow ass Danish guy a couple hundred feet behind.

Quick Note: As for crossing the high passes in connection with Everest Base Camp route, the trails are not so well defined. Know how to use a map and compass at the very least. For us the trail was easy enough to follow and the weather was good, but if you get some snowstorms and poor visibility, you could definitely get into some problems. 

Beginning of the Trek

LUKLA TO NAMCHE BAZAAR

Light coming in over the mountains at Namche Bazaar

So we landed in Lukla at around 10:00and we were more than ready to start going. The fresh mountain air was a nice change of pace from the Kathmandu haze. Plus the delays had given my fever a chance to subside, so now I only had a hacking cough to deal with. I made a few last minute purchases, as prices would only be getting higher the further into the mountains we got. Although I decided not to buy the bottle of Nusco, which is this half hazelnut, half vanilla spread that is absolutely delicious. I had memories of three years ago when I bought it for the first time before doing the Annapurna circuit, in which I ate the whole bottle, dead sober, in just a few hours of recklessness indulgence, and then had to lay in bed the whole next day to recover. So I stayed with the more practical supplies like toilet paper, chapstick, and a wool hat.

yak crossing

follow that plywood!

With bright blue skies and white-capped mountains in the distance we started the hike. The trek is initially downhill, which is probably a good thing as we had already gained 4500 feet of altitude on the flight alone, and it is good to give your body some time to adjust. The first couple hours of hiking were very pleasant with nice greenery, many villages, and bright-faced children running around. I find the Nepalese infants especially cute, all bundled up in their down jackets, squinty almond shaped eyes and the rosiest cheeks you’ll ever see. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but I find white babies particularly less aesthetically appealing than their Asian counterparts. 

Kids brushing their teeth. Is that a dual brush technique??

Anyway after a few hours we passed Phakding, which is the usual stopping place for most trekkers, and continued uphill to a village called Mongla. We felt like could keep going but the weather had turned gray and cloudy, so we decided this was a good time to stop. Especially early on, there’s no shortage of guesthouses along the way, so you can basically hike till your heart’s content. For those of you that don’t know how the mainstream trekking in Nepal works, you sleep and eat in guesthouses along the trail, so there’s no need for tents, packing your own food, stoves, and the usual associated with the backcountry type trekking you might find in the States. The rooms are almost free, as long as you eat dinner and breakfast at your guesthouse, which is where the bulk of their profits come from. It’s a bit of monopolized system, as every guesthouse has basically the same menu and prices, but foreveryone but the cheapest backpackers, it’s not really a matter of concern.

The following day we made a steep ascent to Namche Bazaar at 3,400 meters, which is a relatively large village that is known as the gateway to the Himalayas.  It’s got markets, bakeries, internet cafes, pharmacies, and basically anything a hiker could need before getting higher up into the mountains. This is where we would make our first acclimatization stop. This just means is that we would stay 2 nights in stead of 1, and use our free day to hike up a few hundred meters before returning back to Namche. “Climb high, sleep low” is the standard mountaineering motto for avoiding acute mountain sickness (AMS). 

the bazaar

down jackets are the outerwear of choice

shopping

So the following day we hiked up to the village of Khumjung, a picturesque village at 3900m, before heading back down. After 3 days we’d noticed a pretty usual weather pattern of clear sunny mornings with the clouds rolling in every day at around noon or one. So it was important to get early starts. Back in Namche we went to a bar to watch the move based on the book, “Into Thin Air”, about the 96’ Everest disaster, which is a fascinating book, but god damn they turned it into one of the most hilariously bad movies I've ever seen. But hey, it was something to stave off the late afternoon boredom.

I enjoyed walking around Namche, as its somewhat bustling compared to most villages and has a picturesque Sherpa bazaar, with a beautiful mountain backdrop (well from now on there would always be a beautiful mountain backdrop!)After our two nights it was time to keep going up, into the meaty part of the trek. Next stop: The village of Pangboche at 4,000m! For now here's some photos from around town...

buddha eyes

They can't kill animals within the park limits, so even the meat is carried up

And we're off!

Getting to Lukla: World's Most Dangerous Airport

No go-arounds or short finals on this runway!

While in India my Danish friend Jesper and I decided that we would do the Everest Base Camp trek together. I had already done the Annapurna circuit, the other main trek in Nepal, so Everest was next up on my list. Plus Jesper and I many conversations to continue about how dirty and annoying India is and why there are so many damn hippies there. But anyway, first we had to get to capital of Nepal, Kathmandu, and then take a plane to a little place up in the mountains named Lukla, ranked the worlds most dangerous airport by the history channel in 2010. But we ain't scurred. At the time we were in Varanasi, a holy city in India, and we would need two solid days of travel to get to Nepal’s capital city. After a train ride and a 3 hour taxi ride to the Nepal border, we got a hotel and crossed the following morning. Then we took a long, cramped bus ride through the foothills and into the sprawling and polluted Kathmandu. That was the easy part!

Streets of Thamel

Now most consider Kathmandu to be a pretty big shithole, but when you’re coming from India, it doesn’t seem so bad. And it certain caters well to western tourists! Walking around the main tourist district you have no trouble finding steaks, burgers, pizzas, burritos, you name it. So after two months of Indian food and curry farts (5 months for Jesper) we went straight off the deep end with steaks and wine. It was good to be in a real restaurant. Unfortunately the next day, after months of almost perfect health, I had managed to get a fever, sore throat, and a hacking cough, most likely due to Kathmandu’s noxious air. But no time for feeling sorry for myself, we had lots of stuff to do.

In India I basically lived in shorts and flip flops, so I wasn’t well prepared to dress for the weather up in the Himalayas. Fortunately Kathmandu has counterfeit outdoor clothing shops about every 3 feet, so getting some warm clothes is easy and relatively cheap. The quality of most of the stuff is actually pretty good. Without an authentic name brand to drive the prices way up you get basically the same materials at a fraction of the cost, which works for me. Although I did go to the real North Face store to buy hiking boots, because those are the one thing I didn’t want to mess around with.

everything you could possibly need

After a full day of shopping we stopped in one of the many travel agencies and booked our flight to Lukla. It was either a 35 minute flight or boring 5 day walk to get there, quite the extremes! We wanted to save our energy. Our flight was the day after tomorrow, 11:00 am. Too easy! We got all our stuff ready the next day and then headed to the airport the following morning. The weather was unusually cloudy and our flight was delayed. After a couple hours of waiting we eventually found out (nobody explicitly tells you anything) that all remaining flights to Lukla that day had been cancelled. The weather was supposed to be bad the next day so we rebooked our ticked for the day after, 11:00 again.

So two days later we were at it again. With perfect weather we checked out of the hotel and were off to the airport. When we finally got through the chaos that is the baggage check in counter we settled in the airport lobby to find that our flight was delayed by an hour, due to high winds in Lukla. So we waited around only to find that flight was pushed back another hour, then another hour, then another! At around 4:30 pm, just as we were about to leave, they announced that flight was now boarding! So we all piled into the bus that takes you out to the tiny little plane. But for some reason they wouldn’t let us get out of the bus. So we sat there for 15 minutes and then they decided that they weren’t going to fly. Back to airport for you, suckers!

The view of our plane from the bus

At this point we realized our 11:00 am flights really kind of sucked. All the early morning flights went, but by the time 10:00 rolls around they start delaying and cancelling the flights. So we went to the ticket counter and asked for a new ticket the next morning, as early as possible. This time we get 10:30. Yay.

We went back, tried to check into our hotel again, but it was full, so we found a new one and prepared ourselves for another letdown. Upon the advice of the airline personnel we got to the airport extra early, to try and hop on an earlier flight if there were any openings. Of course there were none and when we finally got in the airport lobby, guess what popped up on the screen. LUKLA DELAYED! Again. WTF. I talked to the ticket counter and they said they could only get us on another 10:30 flight the following day. #&$(*#&#. So we hung around. When you ask the people behind the desk if there is any chances the flight will go (because you have no idea if it’s 50/50 or if its more like a 2% of going), they just tell you to wait another hour. ARGH. So I went back to the ticket counter to politely bitch about how much bullshit these 10:30 and 11:00 tickets are, and this time he said he’d see what he could do. After a minute on the phone he asked me if 8:30am would be alright. SCORE! Every flight before 10:00 has always departed on time, so hell yes, 8:30 was certainly alright.

We decided not to wait and get dicked around by the airline all afternoon, so we checked back into our hotel and would try our luck again tomorrow, this time with some cause for optimism. When we left for the airport the weather was nice and sunny yet again. We checked our bags, got to the lobby, and actually went through the boarding gate on time. We all got in the bus, but for some reason the bus didn’t move. Oh crap. We waited and waited, and then we found out the news: high winds in Lukla! NOOOOOO!

So it was back to sitting in limbo at the airport, hating life. Fortunately an hour later we were  boarding again. This time the bus left, didn’t stop, and actually let us get out when we made it to the plane. Thank god. We finally climbed the ramp to the tiny 12 seater and made ourselves as comfortable as you can get in a plane that small. I’ve never really been in a small plane, so I was somewhat tense. It’s really easy to start thinking about those high winds they were talking about and getting blown off near the runway at Lukla and dying a fiery death crashing into the side of a mountain. But I was excited too! The rational part of me was really looking forward to the plane ride overlooking the highest mountain range on earth.

boarding, yes!

As you can see, its not too big

Getting some mountain views

Soon enough the wheels were in motion and we were out on the runway. Despite being a bit rickety everything went fine and we were in the air in no time. The relatively flat land of the Kathmandu valley gave way to the hill country and the striking white tops of the Himalayan range could be seen protruding out in the distance. A few bits of turbulence added some excitement along the way. After half and hour we already beginning to approach Lukla. Just as the runway came into distant view we hit a large patch of turbulence and the plane lurched violently. The plane seemed as if it was caught in a massive cocktail shaker.

The pilot jerked the plane’s nose down forcefully, in an attempt to get out of the chaos. That’s when we heard the explosion. Something was now spewing black smoke from the right propeller. The old woman next me said “well this is pretty lame”. Seconds later we heard the pilot scream “We’re going down! Get ready for a crash landing!” We all prepared in our own ways. Jesper let out a wail that sounded something like a dying platypus. I put my legs on the chair in front of me and flexed my abs so I could successfully brace myself for when the plane smashed full speed into a mountain. The man behind me started playing Free Falling by the Boss. The old woman shook her head and muttered "super gay".  Suddenly and miraculously the pilot pulled us out of our nosedive, steadied the plane, turned around and pulled off his Nepali pilot's mask revealing that is was actually Ashton Kutcher and we had all been Punk’d. We all laughed jovially before landing safely in Lukla. Time to get hiking!

Success! People started boarding as soon as we got off in Lukla

INDIA!

India: Land of bustling bazaars, colorful saris, ancient temples, dreadlocked holy men, fragrant curries, annoying touts, unpredictable transportation, and just a hell of a lot of people. The country is huge, so from beaches, to hill stations, to Himalayan mountains there is a little something for everyone. Among travellers the Indian experience is perhaps the most polarizing on the planet. Love it or hate it, the country certainly draws strong opinions. And I think that is what allured me here in the first place, to see first hand what it’s like and form my own opinion. 

people packing the streets

After a month in Myanmar I flew back to Bangkok and applied for my visa to India. And let me tell you, they do not make the application easy. I have never filled out a more in depth application in my whole life. They ask everything from your parents’ names, jobs, and birth places to things like work history, every country you’ve ever visited, and identifiable body markings (webbed toe!). Other things required are specifically sized passport photos, flights in and out of the country, and hotel bookings upon for your city of arrival. The flights and hotel booking part also completely contradicts one part of the application that says you should not book your entry into India before obtaining your visa. My first attempt was rejected because I didn’t book an exit flight (I told them I was taking a bus to Nepal). Obviously when you’re traveling the country for a few months with no real set schedule you don’t know the exact date you’re going to leave, but there’s no getting around Indian bureaucracy!

Fortunately I had read that the travel company across the street will book your flight, print the reservation, and then cancel it for a small fee. Good ole’ Bangkok. They give the people what they want! So armed with my fake flight from Delhi to Kathmandu I tried again and this time my application was accepted. While it was processing I waited in agony while lying on the beach on the island of Koh Chang. All in all it took nine days to process. Nine days I had to wait in the heat of Thailand sun on those annoyingly sandy beaches. I discovered that meanwhile everyone back in Chicago was having the time of their lives frolicking around in a snowy winter wonderland. Life isn’t fair, but oh well. A few days later I boarded the cheapest Air Asia flight I could find and was off to Chennai, India!

Man working hard cycling his rickshaw

Chennai is the capital of Tamil Nadu, the large province in SE India, and considered by most travellers to be a massive hole. Regardless, I wanted to give it a chance, as cities that are big, crowded, dirty cities often have some interesting street photography opportunities if nothing else. My flight arrived at 10pm and after some trouble at immigration about my lack of a hotel booking (I cancelled it after my visa application was accepted) I made my way out of the airport and into the sticky Indian air. They had prepaid taxi booth, which was nice, as I wouldn’t have to deal with those notoriously slippery taxi and auto-rickshaw drivers on my first night. I went to the main tourist drag and found myself a halfway decent hotel for 900 rupees ($15) a night.

As I ventured out of the hotel around 11:30 pm the first thing I discovered in India was the street food as well as the level of English proficiency. I stepped up to the street stand a little apprehensively because I hadn’t bothered to look up any Hindi words, and didn’t even know what the word for hello or thank you was, but I was greeted with a warm “Hello, what you like to order?" In smooth, accented English. I had an omelette, chapatti (fried bread), and a tea, all of which cost a total of about 50 cents! After being asked all the questions I would come to know very well in the following weeks (What is your name, Where are you from, How old are you, Are you married? etc) We had a nice little chat about what Chicago is like, and then I went on my way.

What I hadn’t realized going into India was that Indians speak excellent English, especially in the big cities. I guess I just figured it would be like the other large, culturally diverse countries I’ve been to where the people first learn the local language (in this case Tamil) and the national language (Hindi) followed by English. I didn’t know that for many citizens English is basically the national language. They were a British colony after all. So that works for me! 

nice cape

The next morning I headed down to the hotel restaurant and got acquainted with South Indian breakfast. To the inexperienced observer it looked like vats of gravy accompanied by plain donuts, tortillas, and rice. In fact it was dhal (lentil soup), tomato chutney, and coconut chutney, with chapatti and fried bread rings (I still don’t know what these are called) to dip in the sauces. The first thing I realized was that I didn’t know what the proper eating etiquette was. I looked around and watched the Indians devouring their food. Everyone used their hands, well more specifically their right hand (the left hand is the dirty hand) to tear the chapatti into small pieces (harder than it looks) and thoroughly dunk it in the dhal or shovel heaps of rice into their mouths, which is also somewhat tricky to do without spilling. It looked like a messy affair. I chose to stick with silverware for the rice. 

After breakfast I headed out the museum, which cost 250 rupees for foreigners ($4) and 20 rupees for Indians (33 cents). Cameras were prohibited and had to be put in a locker, but the thought of putting a couple thousand dollars worth of camera equipment in a shitty little Indian locker room didn’t sound very appealing to me, so I decided to take a pass. I headed instead to the old town, which is a frenzy of shops, narrow streets, and crumbling buildings. The first thing I noticed was how many variations in clothing style there were. The young men mostly wore western style trousers and button downs, but the older men often wore the more traditional skirt-like lungyis, while the muslim men wore their white hats and white smocks (I need to look up some words). The women almost exclusively wore brightly colored saris, except for some of the muslim women, who donned the full on black burkas. The children were in nice looking school uniforms, and they had just gotten out of class for the day, so I was getting a lot attention. Walk around any untouristy part of India with a big camera in tow and you will have an endless supply of men and children clamoring to get their photo taken. I found this amusing at first, nowadays, not so much. 

man on the streets of Chennai

The other thing that you notice is how chaotic the roads are. Crowds of people fight for space in the narrow lanes with motorbikes, bicycles, autorickshaws, and wieldy bullock carts. Absolute chaos! You feel like your going to get run over by a speeding motorbike about every 10 seconds. They probably wouldn't run you over, but they're damn good at bluffing. And if there is a pileup of people trying to get through a clogged up street, people will literally come up behind you and push their way through. It’s a dog eat dog world out there.

And the honking! It is ceaseless! In India honking is like sonar, it’s used to let everyone within a 50 foot radius know that their vehicle is coming. Even motorbikes going down a completely empty road will beep every few seconds just to let anyone who might possibly be entering the road know that they are there. All the trucks say something along the lines of ‘Please Honk’ on the back so they know when someone is behind them or going to be passing them. Peace and quiet anywhere near the street will not be found. 

who wants a horse ride?

looking pretty badass with that balloon shooting gun

It was definitely an interesting afternoon. For the sunset I decided to head down to the city beach, which is more of a carnival rather than a place to go swimming. There are small rides, balloon shooting games, horses, cotton candy vendors, and lots and lots of people. Very few people go all the way in the water, but for many standing ankle deep and letting the waves splash them seemed to be quite the exciting pastime! I was basically adopted by a family (some people seem to really really like talking to foreigners) who kept me well fed, and somewhat captive for a good part of the evening. Two of the guys actually went in for a dip and were very disappointed that I wouldn’t go in with them. Getting all my clothes soaking wet while leaving my camera bag alone with a bunch of strangers, yep, that sounds great!

Well that was my day in Chennai. The following morning I flew off to Kochi, on the SW coast in the state of Kerala to start my long overland journey northwards. Unfortunately I'll be off hiking in Nepal for the next couple of weeks so I won't be able to update this blog, but I'll have a lot more posts after that. I promise!

cricket on the beach. Not the cleanest place.

Women watching the waves

Inle Lake

On to Inle Lake, Myanmar’s second biggest tourist attraction, known for its diverse cultures, floating villages, and unique fishermen. I took a night bus from Mandalay and arrived into the main town around 5am. Why the night buses never leave a bit later so the passengers can arrive at a more reasonable time is still beyond me. Of course I hadn’t booked a hotel yet so I was at the mercy of my cab driver to find me a place. We arrived at the Primrose hotel, a very mediocre place on the outskirts of the town, of course at 5 am I’m not very picky, so it’ll do!

I slept through the morning, woke up, rented a bicycle, and checked out the town. I had a very western lunch of pesto penne and a chocolate milkshake, which was a welcome relief from all the oily Burmese food I had been eating. Later that afternoon I biked towards the lake, which is actually surprisingly far away from the main town, as the marshlands prevent you from getting anywhere near the main part of the lake itself on foot. But after an hour of biking I finally made it to one of the floating villages. It was really cool! Basically the whole village is built on stilts in the marshlands and boat is the only way to get anywhere. I’ve never seen anywhere quite like it actually. In the Philippines and Indonesia they have lots of villages built over the water on stilts, but they’re all interconnected by a series of planks, so boats aren’t necessary. Here all the villagers got around using little wooden skiffs similar to canoes. 

they have good balance

Eventually I found a guy to take me around in his canoe. We started off in the village and then he asked if I wanted to see the sunset out on the lake. Sure. He steadily paddled down a large canal that connected the village to the lake, while the bigger boats sped past. I kind of regretted this decision, as the real beauty of the place was back in the village, with the people going to and fro in their little wooden boats and using their unique one-legged, standing paddling technique. A sunset on a flat marshy lake in Myanmar looks very similar to a sunset over a marshy lake in Waukegan IL. But it was still pleasant obviously and I thoroughly the feeling of stealthily gliding through the glasslike water in the canoe.

That night I found some other people to hang out with and we decided to do the boat trip the next day. At Inle Lake, everyone does the boat trip at some point. It’s like the big thing. They take you in a motorized wooden boat, that fits maybe 5 or 6 comfortably, and you get to see all the sights the lake has to offer. You’ve got the market, the pagoda, the silk makers, the ironworkers, the goldsmiths, the wood carvers, the cigarette rollers, and whatever other attractions exist to separate the money from your wallet. The only place I actually liked was the market, as it not set up for tourists, so the people are just doing their everyday thing, rather than trying to convince you to buy their crap. But being in the boat was fun and watching the everyday life in the villages in the lake. Although I missed the canoe, which you can take in waterways much smaller than the big canals all the motorized boats take.

Some photos from the market

Around sunset time our boat made its way over to where the ‘traditional’ fishermen hang out, or as our boat driver called them, the money money fishermen. Now if you’ve seen just one photo from Myanmar, there’s a good chance that it’s a photo of one of these fishermen. Probably the most iconic photo in Myanmar is one of the fishermen with their big basketlike fishing nets out on the lake around sunrise or sunset. Variations of this photo are plastered all over the Myanmar guidebooks. I hate this photo! To begin, the traditional fishing method with big basket nets is not used anymore, as its been replaced by more current fishing techniques. So these fishermen are actually just performers, and they pose with one foot on their boat and the other holding up their basket, you take photos, and then they paddle over to your boat and ask money? money?

There are so many interesting and beautiful aspects about Inle Lake, but this is just simply not one of them! It annoys the hell out of me that the most iconic photo of the lake, and perhaps even of the country itself, is of this stupid tourist show. I did take the photos like everyone else, and paid the fisherman, (they're nice photo afteralls) but I refuse to put them in Myanmar gallery because they're just so horribly inauthentic.

Anyway it would be back to bicycles and canoes for me. Actually I enjoyed being in the little canoe so much from the other day that I felt compelled to find another part of the lake to do something similar. Many of the innumerable tour agencies in town offer customized trips, so I went into a few and explained that I’d like to take a boat out into the lake, go to any of the floating villages and get paddled around in a canoe. That’s it. But after walking into a few of the shops and making my proposal, you might have thought I was speaking in Russian. After explaining what I wanted basically every conversation went something like this:

Yes, we do boat trip. You want go to pagoda? You want go to silversmith? You want go to silk weavers?

No, No, and No. I just want to go to a floating village and have someone take me around in a canoe. That’s all.

You want go to market??

Damn it, No! None of that stuff. Just the little villages.

There’s nothing to see in the villages.

Look, can it be arranged or not?

No we can’t do anything like that. We can take you to the monastery though.

No! Thank you. Goodbye.

So much for that (seemingly reasonable) plan! I rented a bike again the next day and set out early to do a trip around the whole lake. Well apparently I misread my map (the canals look like the roads) and you can’t make it all the way around, so I had to negotiate with the boatsmen mafia, who agreed to take me across the lake to where more roads were, for a ridiculous price of course. Later that afternoon I found my way to the winery (yes, a winery in Myanmar!) which was the perfect place to rest my legs. Of course the wine was pretty bad, but whaddya expect?

Before sunset I made my way back over to floating village I had been to before. I found my boatsman and told him this time I just wanted him to take me around the village for a while in the canoe, which he was happy to do (I overpaid him quite handily the first time around). We glided through the perfectly flat, mirrorlike waterways, while villagers young and old paddled by in their rafts. Everything was beautifully illuminated by the golden evening light. This was how to experience Inle Lake! The effects of the wine didn’t hurt either. It was a good way to finish up my trip here, along with pizza and beer later. I headed to the capital, Yangon, the next morning, but here’s the photos from my canoe trip around the floating village along with some other random shots.

my guide

And that's all!

The Crappy Side of Traveling

It's not all fun and games

As almost all long term travelers know, at some point in the journey, your stomach is not going to agree with you, and sometimes it will get very angry with you. 

In many countries it seems almost impossible to not get the so-called Delhi belly at some juncture. While normally it’s just an annoyance, it can sometimes quickly turn into an all out emergency situation! And what this has taught most travelers is that it’s a damn good idea to keep some extra toilet paper around, because you never really know when you’re going to be scrambling to find that disgusting little squat toilet somewhere in southeast Turdmenistan.

Of course if you don’t have any paper, there’s always doing as the Indians do, ie using your bare hand! Although I’m pretty sure if I go the rest of my life without ever voluntarily touching my feces, I’ll have done something right. But even I myself have been caught without TP from time to time, but thankfully as an avid reader I’ve always had a book with me, one with, you know, a few pages to spare. 

So while I’ve made it through all these years of traveling relatively unsullied I certainly met my match in the dirty little port city of Bhamo, Myanmar. All thanks to a vicious batch of guacamole. You might be thinking “they have guacamole in Myanmar?” Well no they don’t, but they do have an abundance of avocados, tomatoes, onions, garlic, cilantro and chilli peppers. So after seeing all of these lovely, fresh ingredients all in front of me at the market I decided something had to be done. Guacamole must be made. I hadn’t had it in months, and the serving I did have was more like mashed avocado than anything else, so I was starting to crave it pretty bad. When I was back home in Chicago I needed to have my homemade guacamole fix at least once a week. And now I’m craving it again as I type!

But anyway I bought all the stuff at the market, turned the hotel tray with tea and cups on it into my cutting board, washed everything in preboiled water and got down to business. After about half an hour I had a mash of light green, creamy, a bit salty, guacamole goodness. I was going to let it sit in the fridge for an hour or two, maybe share it with some of the other travellers I met, while having a few beers at sunset, but first I needed just a few more bites. And then a few more bites. And after a few bites more I already knew that there would be no stopping me from finishing every last morsel. Ah it was so just good. God damn it I love guacamole. 

yes

About an hour later I slung my camera over my shoulder and headed down to the port a bit before sunset to take advantage of that soft, warm evening light. And that’s when the trouble began. First it was just a little gurgle, but no worries mate! Then when I was walking along the beach things suddenly turned violent. Somewhere inside me a massive upheaval was taking place. The happy little lives of my stomach acids had been hastily disrupted, taken surprise by this intruding bacterial army.

Now at the first signs of severe pain most people would be making their way back to their hotel right away. But not me, nope nope nope. The sun was getting close to setting, that big red beautiful Burmese sun, the port was bustling, and interesting photos were just begging to be taken! I would tough it out. Don’t want to miss out on a good photo! However inside my stomach the invaders were smashing through my intestinal gates with an overpowering strength. I didn’t know it yet, but the brown tide was coming. Fast.

I’m not exactly sure what I was thinking by not turning back. I had been lulled into the Burmese photography trance, and even the severe stomach pain was not releasing me from its siren song. I was feeling a massive amount of pressure, which in turn was taking massive amounts of energy for me to hold off. I was sweating profusely and taking lots of quick little breaths as each cyclical wave of misery, or contraction if you will, pulsed through me. At one point I squatted down to get the sun lower in the frame of my photo, and then it hit. A surge so powerful and painful that it could not be stopped. Code Brown. We have Code Brown. 

coincidentally this was one of my last photos of the evening

At 28 years of age I had shit my pants. Now it wasn’t that much, but nonetheless there was indeed a squishy brown residue residing in the seat of my beloved Illini basketball shorts. It had happened so fast.  I heard a voice in my head say, “The game’s over kid, go home, you lost.” Except I knew it wasn’t over. Just a fraction of Hershey’s gang had gotten through, the rest was still pushing, anxious to get out and see the world, to be free at last. I had to consider my options.

1.     The water. I could wade in waist deep and unleash. The pain will be over in seconds!

No, No, No, everyone would see you! Nobody ever swims in that pool of filth, ever! They’d know. They’d all know!!

2.     Find someone on the street, and ask where a toilet is. You know how to say that in Burmese! Someone will show you the way, they must!

No, No, No. No f’ing way! You want to just barge into someone’s home and ask if you can go Pearl Harbor on their toilet? Were you raised in a barn? 

3.     Make the walk back to the hotel. 15 minutes, that’s it. You can do it!

Yes, Yes. I think I can make it! Just gotta toughen up. Bear down. It’ll be fine.

And so I set forth on the long journey back to the sanctuary, the Friendship hotel. Yes, what a good friend I had back at the hotel; ceramic and white, welcoming me with an open lid! It would be a lovely reaquaintance. But until then it would be a test of will as the waves of intense stomach pain crashed through my body, dissipated, and then came back again even stronger. I waddled along, cheeks lubricated, body rigid, and face scrunched into some sort of smiling grimace, as if someone had just punched me in the face and then started tickling me. It was a very long 15 minutes. At one point I almost caved, letting a few squirts go, but managed to get regain my composure. Near the end, as the contractions were getting worse and worse, I thought of William Wallace in Braveheart, facing the cavalry attack, shouting to his men: hold, Hold, HOLD, HOLD!!

HOLD!

And with the courage of the Scotsmen in my heart (and bowels) I did indeed make it back to the hotel. Looking sweaty and I disheveled I gave the staff a friendly grimace as I power waddled past, down the hall to my room. I fumbled with the keys for what seemed like an eternity, barged through the door and in one graceful motion flung myself at the toilet while flinging down my shorts and let loose the maelstrom. In the moments following I might have reached nirvana. Well not really, but it certainly was zen like! In the end, while slightly embarrassed, I came out of the day with my head held high, as to not smell my befouled duds. And while my Illini basketball shorts may have ended their long healthy life in the trash can, covered in shit, I will always remember the good times we shared, as they provided me years of silky softness, easy access, and collegiate pride, while asking for nothing in return. RIP Illini shorts. 

Myitkyina and Beyond

Monks walk by in the primarily Catholic Kachin State

Onto Myitkyina! I arrived at around 7:00 and found my way over to the YMCA guesthouse, which doesn’t have any affiliation with the YMCA’s we have in the states, but it’s where all the tourists seem to stay in Myitkyina. I was told there was one room left, but when I was shown to the room it turned out that it was occupied. Hmm. That was a bit of a letdown, so I hit the streets again to find a new foreigner friendly hotel. It took much longer than one might have thought, but luckily it was decent, as I was going to take the room regardless of price or quality.

After talking to some other travellers I learned that the Manao festival was indeed cancelled this year, as all the ethnic groups weren’t exactly getting along too well. In fact it had been cancelled for the last 3 years! But for some reason procuring reasonable information like this from the internet beforehand was almost impossible. I decided to go the park where they used to have to festival and found a group of Kachin’s waving their flag and another group sitting in a circle eating and drinking. They saw me walking through and invited me to sit and eat with them. They told me all about how Kachins’ are systematically discriminated against by the government and encouraged me to eat and drink as much palm wine as I could handle. Eventually the music started playing and all the women got up and performed their traditional Kachin dancing, which was cool to see, the remnants of the Manao festival. 

traditional Kachin dancing

When I went to YMCA later that night to meet some other people I learned that there was actually a government organized Manao festival as well. Basically it was a mock festival, so that the government could say to the rest of the country that there was indeed a Manao festival this year, and that everything is all rainbows and unicorns here in the Kachin state. Apparently they had a couple generals there to stand around and smile as if the corners of their mouths were stapled while a few dance numbers carried on, and that was THE manao festival. “Yep, the festival is still on, nothing to worry about here! We’re not killing Kachins in civil wars or anything like that!!” Myanmar is an interesting country.

Traveling in the Kachin State is particularly difficult because the state has been ravaged by wars between the Kachin Independence Army (KIA) and the Burmese government. There have been cease-fires for the last few years, but the majority of places in the state are completely off limits due to the past fighting. In Myitkyina foreigners are allowed everywhere in the city itself, but most locations outside the city are strictly off limits. Although unlike most places in Myanmar I was able to rent a motorbike (for a hefty price) and went across the river to the one of the nearby cities that they allow foreigners to go to after a good grilling from the checkpoint guys. The signs of war were slightly visible along the road, with a couple of burned out and abandoned buildings. Many of the schools I past advertised that they were ‘drug free’ which would seem to go without saying, but apparently there is a large heroine problem among the Kachin youth. It was kind of a sobering ride. Even though the country is trying to open itself up to the rest of world, it still has many problems to work out.  Currently things much worse in the western Rakhine state, where Bengali Muslims refugees, known as the Rohingya, constantly battle the government backed Buddhist locals. 

I don't even know... but that is a lot of hay. And a strangely placed tube...

Awesome lighting conditions when they burn the trash along the road in Myitkyina

bicycles and motorbikes share the roads

So without the real Manao festival going on I decided I would fly back to Mandalay. When I went to book a flight I found out that everything was booked for the next few days, so I would have to wait a bit. I had also heard from a German guy I met that the river route down to Mandalay had just opened up again, after being closed to foreigners for the last two years, so I jumped at the chance to take that route. That’s the thing about Myanmar, things are always opening and closing at the governments’ whim, making even the most current guidebooks almost obsolete. A Lonely Planet from a few years ago would be basically worthless in Myanmar because things change so fast here.

It would be four days by boat down the expansive Irrawaddy river to get to Mandalay, but that seemed like a much better option than sitting around waiting for a flight in Myitkyina. After two days of hanging around not doing a lot, I caught the boat heading back down south. To be honest the scenery along the river is nothing to write home about. The river is extremely wide and muddy, flanked by large sand deposits, with forests beyond that. Along the river itself there really isn’t that much to see. Everyone once in a while you pass some small riverside encampments where they have machines to filter the water and rocks for gold. It’s relaxing I guess. 

our boat

I found her toes to be particularly aesthetically pleasing. I'm strange. 

After about 7 hours we finally reached our first destination, the village of Sinbo. It’s kind of ugly from a distance, as the shore is lined with big ugly ships, but the town itself is actually quite lovely. We threw our stuff down at the one guesthouse in town and then set off to explore the village. It’s one of those places, like many in Myanmar that feels like it has probably changed very little in the last century. Sinbo is characterized by dirt roads, very few motorbikes, farmers in the fields, livestock everywhere, and of course friendly, curious people. I walked around and took some nice photos before the sun went down. We all reconvened at the guesthouse and had lots of good Burmese food and not so good whisky, although the party ended a bit early as the electricity was shut off around 10:00. 

life along the river, Sinbo

all aboard!

scarfing down some noodles along the riverside encampments

Sinbo Sunset

The next day we boarded a new boat around 10 am, en route to Bhamo, a much larger port city. Once again the scenery was fairly mundane, similar to the previous day, and most of us were pretty content to lie down and nurse our hangovers for most of the morning. Another VERY relaxing day. More so than any other country I’ve been to, the transportation is just as much a part of the travel experience as the actual tourist sights. We arrived in Bhamo sometime in the late afternoon and found our way to the hotel that all the foreigners stay at, as they have an excellent English speaking staff. In Myanmar it’s common for tourists to all stay at only a handful of distinct hotels and guesthouse. First, only a few hotels have a license to house foreigners, and after only a few of those will have a decent English speaking staff, so they’re invariably popular.

I ended up staying in Bhamo for 3 three nights, which is more than anyone ever stays in Bhamo. I was told I could catch a flight back to Mandalay, which would save me two days of fairly boring boat travel. I made my ‘reservation’ with the hotel, which they made it sound like it was a sure thing that this flight would be going, but less than 24 hours before the supposed takeoff I was told by the hotel staff that the flight was cancelled. So that was irritating to say the least. Chalk it up to one of the hazards of Burmese travel I guess. So instead of saving a day and a half of travel it cost me an extra day. But to be fair I really did enjoy walking around Bhamo. There were no places to rent motorbikes or even bicycles (people here don’t like making easy money I guess), but a few kilometres outside of town is a really cool bamboo bridge that is over 500 meters long, as well as some nice pagodas. I can’t picture any structure in my head that is more authentically Burmese than a bamboo bridge. Almost anywhere else in the world they would have built a modern bridge consisting of concrete/asphalt/whatever but here in Myanmar people still cross this shaky (albeit strong) structure every day, walking their motorbikes or carrying goods for the market. Once again it makes you wonder what decade it is. And of course it makes for excellent photography opportunities as well. Bamboo bridge + monks crossing + sun rising = good photos!

busy portlife, Bhammo

smoke break

the bamboo bridge, my favorite place in Bhamo

monks cross at sunrise

the monkettes collecting alms

a lonesome umbrella

off to school

I have no idea what these things are, possible fishing traps of some kind. They looked cool in the morning mists though. 

After a couple days of sightseeing and stomach problems I was back on the boat again. I met up again with a Dutch couple that had stayed the night at a different riverside village. In the late afternoon we arrived in Katha, the same village I had visited via train about a week earlier. All of us were pretty tired of this boat trip so we decided to make our way to train station and get back to Mandalay by railway ASAP.  We took the bumpy hour+ trip to the train station from Katha only to find that a train wouldn’t be coming for another 6 hours! Also there were no upper class seats left. Or middle class seats. Only ordinary class. For 13 hours, on an overnight train, on hard wooden benches, squeezed in between Burmans. Shiiiit…

Well at this juncture we didn’t have too many options. Me and Dutch guy made what seemed like the most obvious decision, to buy lots of whisky and get drunk. We managed to catch the train at about 11 pm and find some open seats. We made lots of friends by offering the rest of our whisky bottl to the men around me, who downed it astonishing quickly. I slept for the rest of the night on my sleeping pad on the dirty floor in between the benches, and actually got a somewhat decent nights rest, which I attribute to the booze and my lack of shame. Around noon the next day we got off in Mandalay and found our way to our respective hotels to get actual sleep on a real bed. After spending the whole next day looking for an Apple laptop adapter (which apparently don’t exist in Mandalay) because mine was broken, it was on to the next destination, the fabled Inle Lake!

Getting off the beaten track: Rail journey to Myitkyina

The bumpy way

Man peers out the window to see why we're stopped

About 1,000 kilometers north of Mandalay lies Myitkyina, the capital of the Kachin State (The Kachins are the majority minority group in the North), and home to yearly Manao festival, where the Burmese, Kachins, and others get together, wear their traditional clothes, do a lot of dancing, and even more drinking. It’s supposed to be like a uniting of the tribes type celebration. It sounded pretty cool so I wanted to be in town for that. I'd talked to some people who said it would be cancelled this year, but after researching online I found almost zero information, so I decided to head that way regardless. Of course since it’s Myanmar getting there becomes a little more complicated. The two options are an hour-long flight or a 20+ hour train trip. I opted on the journey by rail, as I’d get to see some of the countryside and make a couple side trips along the way.

Woman carries all sorts of stuff on here head at Shwebo station

Passengers waiting at Shwebo Station

I departed from the friendly little town of Schwebo, about 3 hours northwest of Mandalay. Curiously at the train stations they will only accept US dollars from foreigners, which I had brought plenty of. The whole currency situation in Myanmar has always been a bit strange. It used to be that you had to bring in a big wad of crisp, uncreased, 100 dollar bills, which you would then convert to Kyat (Myanmar’s currency, pronounced chat). But you wouldn’t take this money to the bank or currency exchange, like you would in any other country. Oh, no.(unless you wanted to get a horrific exchange rate). Instead you would take it to the black market currency exchanges in Mandalay or Yangon and exchange your dollars for Kyats there. There also used to be no ATM’s available for foreigners so you would have to exchange all your money for the trip at one time, but leave yourself with enough spare dollars for the odd hotel or train station that wouldn’t accept the local currency. Fortunately now there are ATM’s available in all the touristy areas and currency exchanges give fair rates, although they are still very picky about the condition of the dollars they’ll accept. I had many of my bills turned down because they were a little bit worn, and some in perfect condition were rejected because they were too old! It would be perfectly acceptable anywhere else in the world, except Burma. I still have no idea why they make it such a big deal, but it’s annoying as hell to be sure.

they love their plaid and checkered shirts in Myanmar

sun coming at the station

Anyway, the train came into the station and I scrambled towards the appropriate cabin. I had bought an upper class ticket, which means you get a slightly padded, reclined chair. Not reclining chair, but a permanently reclined chair, which is nice for taking a nap, but not so convenient for those of us who like to sit up and watch the scenery go by. Probably the most notable part of the journey is the frequent bumpy sections, when the train doubles as an amusement park ride. It’s kind of exciting (and hilarious) at first when you hit one of these spots because the train will be lurching up and down and you really have to hold on tight in order to not get tossed from your seat. You have to be very diligent cramming your stuff into the overhead compartment because otherwise its coming down directly on your head. Of course after a few hours of intermittently being bounced around like a super ball, it begins to lose its appeal.

Another source of amusement is watching the train transform into a temporary market as soon as it pulls into the station. Hawkers prowl the aisles with goods and food sellers rush to the windows, selling hot dishes directly to the riders. Apparently each station is known for specializing in a specific Burmese delicacy. And then when the food is finished it’s remaining contents get tossed out where they originally came in, the window! Burmans are not well known for their waste management systems. In the first few hours of the trip I had ordered a beer, and after it had been rattling around on the floor for a while I asked the server guy if he could take it or if there was a trash can. He dutifully picked up my beer can, extended his arm out the window, and let go. Problem solved! Feeling kind of stupid I sheepishly thanked him for his upstanding service and went back to my book. Good ‘ole Asian attitudes to garbage… the ground is the trash can!

The train arrived that evening at my stop, so I hopped off and found my way to the truck/bus that takes people over the pitiful dirt road to the sleepy riverside town of Katha. The only slightly interesting thing about Katha is that it was the setting of George Orwell’s book, Burmese Days, which is a popular read when you’re in the country. So you can visit a few of the places in the book. I hadn’t read it yet, and even now that I have, seeing those places would would not interest me whatsoever, so it was kind of a boring place. But what was exciting was getting back to the train station by 6 am the following day. My motorbike driver came at 4:30 am to pick me up. I hopped on back and we hurtled our way through the darkness, moving at seemingly asinine speeds considering the quality of the road. The driver cleverly weaved through rocks and found flat spots in patches of broken pavement while I clung to the back. It was obvious he knew the road like the back of his hand, but it was still scary as shit. We got to the station just in time, I paid the man, thanked him for psychotic driving, and hopped on board. At this station there was nowhere to buy tickets, and no haughty taughty upper class cabin for me to board, so it was off to the ordinary class, ya know, with the ordinary people.

Public boat leaves the shore in Katha

Dad helps his daughter off the boat, Katha

My neighbors lighting up their early morning stogies

It seemed like the whole cabin turned around to look when I got on board. I threw my big pack onto the overhead racks and slid into the only open seat I saw, in a compartment with three other grizzly looking dudes. Everyone was thoroughly bundled up, as the train gets freezing cold at night. When the sun came up the men around me were buying various snacks from the vendors and offering some to me to try. Nobody spoke any English and I spoke about 3 phrases in Burmese, but we all got along well. Soon they busted out the booze and cigars, but I politely declined, as it was about 8 am. I did however get some cool shots of them blowing smoke out the windows, which they seemed to find amusing as well. It was certainly a more interesting experience than being in upper class. A few hours later I had arrived my station, and set off to find a bus to my intended destination, Indawgyi Lake. I was directed to a truck that was fully loaded with cargo. On top of the cargo were a bunch people sitting, and I was instructed to join them. I climbed up and found a seemingly comfortable spot in between some cardboard boxes and rice sacks and we were on our way shortly. Of course the road was awful and all the jostling around made it extremely difficult to find a good spot as there was always some sort of cardboard box corner jabbing at you somewhere. Everyone else looked very comfortable and content, clearly not worried about getting springboarded from the back of the truck like I was. It was a bumpy, hot, and dusty 3 hour ride with lots of strange looks from the locals. Eventually the truck stopped, a man shouted "Indawgyi, Indawgyi" "You go!" I had arrived. 

view from the back of the truck. Note the condition of the roads.

Taking a kayak on the lake for sunset

Girl returns from fishing in the morning

At Indawgyi there is one guesthouse. They get maybe 20 tourists per month. The owner hardly speaks English, there is one shared toilet, and the place only gets 2 hours of electricity a day. But its definitely a good place to unwind and observe everyday Burmese lake life. There is even ‘travel agency’ where guys rent out bikes and a couple of kyaks. They insist that you take one of them with as a guide “for your safety” but if you’re insistent enough they’ll make a handwritten waiver that must be signed by you and the police department, to say you won't blame them in case you get into a high speed kayak-fishing boat collision and die. It all seemed a bit silly, but I happy to comply with the Burmese bureaucracy.  Anywho, I spent three nights there and enjoyed it a lot. The first day I met a couple, a Burmese girl and an American guy (the guy had been living in Yangon working with NGO’s for the last few years), so they were extremely helpful in answering all the questions I had about the country. I found out why no one knew what I was talking about when I told them I was going to “My-It-Ky-EEna” because its actually pronounced Ma-Chee-Na (like you’ve got a mouthful of food). And they taught me all sorts of other useful words AND the proper pronunciations. I had a bunch of phrases written down from wiki, but trying to say them without knowing the correct pronunciations had proven to be utterly useless. So I copied all this new info down in my iphone, which I then proceeded destroy the following day when I dumped myself out of my kayak and into the lake in front of a whole bunch of people :/  Not my proudest moment. But hey, it wasn't the camera!

But besides that debacle, kayaking in the lake was super cool. There’s a big pagoda in the middle of it that can only be reached by boat. And the lake is very calm and you can paddle around and watch all the fishermen do their thing. And the sunset out on the lake is, without saying, beautiful as well. Back on land everywhere around the guesthouse it is brimming with pastoral Burmese life. In the early mornings the fishing boats are all going out while the kids walk down to the little wooden planks with buckets to collect water for boiling and cooking. In the afternoons the people are back to the lake to bathe and wash clothes while another round of fishing boats goes out to collect the fish from the lines before it gets dark. There’s kids playing in the dirt streets while all sorts of cattle trundle by and buses come occasionally and kick up dust everywhere. Women walk by with their yellow painted faces carrying all sorts of things on their heads. Men in longyis ride bicycles that look to be decades old. It seemed like such a timeless and happy little place. It was one of the many highlights of my trip in Myanmar.

After a few days I caught another truck to get back to the train station and hopped on the next train into “Macheena”.

pagoda in the middle of the lake

A monk turns the tables and takes a photo of me

fisherman coming with the fish traps in the early morning fog

Apparently its the kids job to go out and fetch the water

shower time

pajamas suits are all the rage

On more glimpse at public transport in this part of the country

BAGAN

The Ancient Capital

A half day away from Mandalay lies the ancient city of Bagan, home to thousands of temples, pagodas, and stupas, all within a radius of a few dozen square miles. It’s also Myanmar’s biggest tourist draw, and for a damn good reason: the place is amazing!

Early dawn light at the Thatbyinnyu temple

Bagan was the former capital of the Pagan empire from 1047 AD to the late 1200’s. It was also the economic, political, and cultural center of the empire that spanned most of present day Myanmar. Religion was an extremely important part of daily life and in Bagan many schools of Buddhism were studied. If there was one thing the rich and powerful seemed to enjoy doing back then it was building temples, lots of them! Over 10,000 religious monuments were constructed in that frenetic time period. I can just see the teatime conversation between two wealthy Burmans now:

       Hey Frank, whattya say you and I build our good pal Buddha another temple?

                    I dunno man, there’s like already 8,000 of them already out there…

      But surely one more can’t hurt! We need Buddha to forget about all the money we’ve been extorting.

                    Hmmm, you’re probably right. I suppose you can’t really have too many temples can ya?

      Of course not. Hell, I’ll go trick some peasants into working for us first thing tomorrow!

                    Niiice. Those peasants sure are dumb

       Indeed. Well, this deserves a toast. To Booooodha!

                   You’re my boy Buddha! (glasses clink)

                                  ..... And another temple is born.

Those few centuries were certainly a good time to be living in Bagan. The city was rich in trade and education, which attracted monks and students from all around, places as far as India and present day Vietnam. Unfortunately it all came to an end when those damn Mongolians came to town and sacked the place in 1287, forever extinguishing its role as influential city. 

Today over 2,000 of the religious monuments remain standing and draw in about 400,000 tourists per year (and rising). That sounds like a lot, but it’s really not much when you compare it to Angkor Wat in Cambodia, the most famous example of temple building fervor, which draws in over 2 million people per year. While Angkor Wat is really cool, and certainly wins the grandeur contest, I’m going to give Bagan the nod as my favorite due to its more compact nature, as well as the ease in which you can find yourself alone amongst the smaller temples. 

Random temple along the Irrawaddy

I arrived around noon and hopped on the back of a motorbike to find a place to stay. After three or four guesthouses I found one with an open bed in a 5 person dorm and quickly snatched it up. Bagan, being such a large tourist draw, can be difficult to find accommodation sometimes, especially if you’re getting in later in the evening. I rarely do dorms these days, but in this case I’ll take what I can get. As it turned out the other people in my dorm were French, which, when you get a few of them together, you can almost count on being dutifully ignored. I asked the guy at the reception for a good place to go for sunset and headed off to the recommended Shwesandaw Temple on a rented bike.

On both sides of the road I passed numerous temples of all sizes, glowing nicely in the late afternoon light. As I got close to the Shwesandaw temple it appeared that I certainly would not be alone. Tour buses, cars, horse drawn carriages, and motorbikes all jammed the small road leading to the temple. A traffic jam in Bagan… definitely not what I had pictured in my head. Walking up to the temple you could see that it was like a life form of its own, a sea of waving bodies and limbs, all jockeying for space on the sunlit side. I was a bit late for the party. I had brought my tripod, but there was no room to put it down, so I wedged myself in behind some middle aged English people that said the word ‘lovely’ twice per sentence. Ugh. I hate tourists.

TOURIST!

Yes yes, I know I’m a tourist too, but not the kind I’m a referring to. There’s so many people who come for just a day or two and get shuttled around by tour bus or carriage to the all the major temples, take some crappy photos, check the place off their little lists, and move on. It’s an awful way to travel in my opinion, but that’s the usual modus operandi I guess. Anyway I found it hard to enjoy myself smashed in with the horde, even though the sun setting over the pagodas was very nice. Then people clapped and cheered when it was over. Gross. Who claps for a sunset?? Why would you even think to clap for a sunset in the first place? I’m pretty sure the sun doesn’t need any validation on how it looks or doesn’t look going over the horizon. I guess a weak sunset should be met with a chorus of boo’s as well! In a perfect world, when that first guy started clapping, everyone else would have promptly turned around and gave him the ‘dude, wtf?’ look, and he would have shrunk meagerly back into place. But no. They all joined in. Maybe if I wasn’t a cynical asshole I would have too. Instead I got out of there as quick as I could and vowed not to go back. 

Sunset view at Shwesandaw temple

So how do you avoid all the tourists in Bagan? It’s easy! Rent a bike or e-bike and wake up early! The sunrises are spectacular. The sun cuts through the morning mists while hot air balloons float across the temple filled skyline. And there’s almost no people around either! After sunrise you can take your bike through the dirt tracks around some of the smaller temples while the soft morning light shines through and you will have the place completely to yourself. By far my favorite part of Bagan was the first few hours of the morning! Being the photography nut that I am I woke up at 5:30 every day to find a new place for the sunrise, which I admit is a bit excessive for most people, but I think everyone should wake up early for at least one sunrise in Bagan. The only problem really is the bicycles themselves. They’re all one speed street bikes, which don’t agree  with the sandy, rocky back-roads. Not to mentions the seats! One day on those bike seats is enough to make anyone resort to basically anything else. And then there’s the dust! Unless you’re traveling in some sort of bubble suit, after a long day in Bagan you will be coated in a healthy layer of grime, guaranteed. You just have to embrace the dirt. It’s those dusty earthen roads that give it that old, timeless feel to begin with.

balloons crossing the sky around sunrise

Anyway I really did enjoy my time in Bagan. It’s probably the most beautiful man made place I’ve ever seen, so hopefully my photos reflect that!

people pour water on the heads of the buddhas for each day of the week

Walking home... like a boss

ox carts still readily in use

pile on

I bought one her cigars, it was pretty harsh

Away from the temples on the Irrawaddy River

I think the women do all the work in this country

early morning mists

I was hoping he was carrying a double banjo... somehow I think its not

monks walk up a dirt track in a small village

Welcome to Myanmar!

1st stop: Mandalay

The moat surrounding the National Palace

To begin I’m going to address what to call this country. It has been the subject of domestic as well as international controversy for the last few decades. Most countries recognize its name as Myanmar, short for “The Republic of the Union of Myanmar” which the government adopted in 1989. Many English speaking countries (including the US) refused to adopt the name change as a protest against the undemocratic policies of the government. Despite that, most American media outlets currently opt to use the name Myanmar. In Myanmar’s defence, the name Burma is non-inclusive, which only refers to the largest ethnic group in the country (the Burmans), despite there being many ethnic minorities.  Playing devil’s advocate you can say that most minority groups have grown accustomed to the name Burma, and the name change is representative of the domination of the ruling Burman class. No one seems to ever agree on this issue. But when I was in the country everyone called it Myanmar, so that’s what feels right to refer to it as. Although I still have no idea what the plural of Myanmar is, so I ‘m gonna say Burmese for the plural. Confusing? Very. Anyways…

The street in front of my hotel

I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect when I decided to go to Myanmar. It’s a country that most people don’t know much about, myself included. I think your average person might know something about its military junta, which is currently the longest running military regime in existence. It has had bad track record of human rights violations and its isolationist polices have set the country back decades in terms of development, although it has tried to open itself up more in the past few years. It was also the setting of the last Rambo movie where rebel armies rape and kill everything that moves and then make the survivors run across landmine laden rice paddies for the day’s entertainment. So public perception of the country is probably not the best. While the Rambo movie is obviously, well… a movie, it is true that some rebel armies are still active up in the northern foothills and the Burmese government certainly has not been a pinnacle of virtue. Seem like a good place to visit right?!

When you’re traveling you hear lots of stories about different places, some of which might contradict your preconceived notions of said place (which always seem to be wrong).  The people who I talked to that had been to Myanmar always had great things to say about the country, so after hearing enough positive things I decided I had to check it out for myself. After Indonesia and Singapore I headed to Bangkok to get my visa for Myanmar, which is very simple these days.

Kids walk through the pigeons that feed in front of the Mahamuni pagoda

I flew into Mandalay, the second largest city and former ancient capital. I arrived sometime in the afternoon and made my way to my hotel, which I had actually pre-booked. Normally I almost never book anything in advance unless I’m getting in at 3am or something, and I have yet to encounter any serious difficulty finding a room. BUT I had read on the Lonely Planet Forums that last year there was a major shortage of rooms (this is when they made getting a visa much easier and the demand for rooms quickly surpassed the supply) and that people were having to book ahead everywhere they went to avoid sleeping in the hotel lobby or in a monastery. I wasn’t exactly sure what the hotel climate would be like, so I made sure I had my first two nights booked.

When first arriving its hard to describe what a feast for the eyes the place is! Driving in from the airport I could see pagoda tops off in the hazy distance and men riding behind big white oxen plowing the fields. Once we got near the city center cars shared the road with rumbling buses, motorbikes, trishaws, and bicycles. All the men walking down the street wore skirt-like plaid longyis rather than pants while the women had their faces painted with a strange yellow paint. In many major cities you arrive and everything looks pretty western, and well kind of boring. Not the case with Myanmar! It’s certainly not a beautiful city by any means, in fact its downright ugly and dirty, but it’s got flair.

The majority of Burmese women wear the yellow thanaka bark patterns on their cheeks

I was dropped off somewhere near the city center and paid a trishaw (3 wheeled bike) driver $1 to take me to my hotel. Upon checking in, the small girls at the hotel wouldn’t let me touch my bags and hauled them up the three floors to my room. After a brief nap it was time to see what was around. The hotel was right down the street from a pagoda, so I set my sights there. Within seconds of walking through the gates some man was yelling “soos!” “soos!” and frantically pointing at me.  I put my hands up in the air, very confused, and he came over and pointed at my shoes… aha… I was supposed to take off my shoes. Rookie mistake.

I headed in barefoot and immediately enjoyed the atmosphere around the pagoda itself. There were some old people sitting around, a few dogs playing, the occasional monk walking by, some young kids playing soccer while the older ones played leg/head volleyball (I have no clue what to call this sport). The soccer field was highlighted with brilliant beams of light, dispersed by the tree branches and illuminated by all the dust being kicked up, which as a photographer I found particularly enticing. Yes, I realize this kind of stuff is not exactly what most people get excited by.

Kids playing soccer behind the Ein Daw Yar pagoda

I ended up playing badminton with some kids for a bit, and after a man came up to talk and wasn’t try to sell me anything! He just wanted to chat and have tea! His English was actually really difficult for me to understand, so I declined, but still I was really enjoying the feel of the place just a few hours in.

Ein Daw Yar pagoda at sunset

Monks doing other stuff than praying and looking pious

The next morning I woke up ridiculously early (4:30) because I wanted to take some sunset photos on Mandalay Hill, but when I walked down the street I was shocked at how busy it was. The market had already began and the women had all set up their baskets on the roadside, lighting their goods with candles or bright LED bulbs. I ditched the Mandalay Hill plans and just wandered around the market for a few hours. Everything about it seemed so fascinating to me. The clothing, the yellow thanaka bark on the womens faces, the strange vegetables, the monks receiving alms, the old bicycles and wooden pushcarts, and the energy at this time of morning. The motorbikes and LED lights were the only things betraying the fact that this was almost 2014. 

Man hauls bags of garlic at the early early morning market

LED lights are used to illuminate the fresh produce

But some still prefer the candle light

girls at the onion warehouse

streets get more crowded as dawn approaches

I liked this outfit

Monks ply the roads collecting alms

During the day I found a motorbike driver to take me to some of the sights around town. ie: Pagodas! This is at the point where seeing new pagodas was still fresh and exciting to me (it wears out fast) so I really enjoyed walking around and seeing all the monks (OMG MONKS! MUST TAKE PHOTOS!) and people praying. At sunset we went to Ubein Bridge, a famous teakwood bridge, that has a very interesting confluence of tourists, locals, and monks walking across it. Later I found some people to hit the Myanmar drinking establishments with, and the next day it was off to the ancient temples of Bagan!

They have female monks too

Buddhists often buy a bird to set it free, which is said to earn merit

A farmer works with the Ubein Bridge in the background

I love the silhouttes of the different people crossing the bridge

Photos Photos Photos: Wrapping up Indonesia

Ok I'm just going to post a bunch of photos that I like but never really got a chance to post. They're from the boardwalk in Labuan Bajo, the beaches around Bira, and the markets in Rantepao. Enjoy!

Guys playing hand and leg volleyball ( I have no idea what this game is called)  in Labuan Bajo

girl eats a mango on the boardwalk of labuan bajo

traditional boat building near Bira, Sulawesi

the beach was a bit dirty after Indonesian party goers came in for the weekend from Makassar

girl in the island village near Bira

woman collecting clams/seaweed/rocks/who knows at sunrise at the beachside village in Bira

kids using a boat as a walkway

sunset, Bira

walking on the clouds

guy preparing his fishing boat

using a log to haul a boat onshore

I have no idea! This is definitely the weirdest photo I took in Indonesia

Man looking to sell his cock at the market in Rantepao, Sulawesi

sun shield

creepy

Man fondles his cock 

Hey baby...

Is this idyllic or what?

The view of the coast from the plane taking off from Makassar, Sulawesi. So long Indonesia!!

Next up, Myanmar!

Tanah Toraja and the Path to Heaven

Life in Preparation of Death

After diving at Komodo I headed a bit north to a big starfish shaped island named Sulawesi. I flew into the capital, Makassar, which of course is sprawling, ugly, and dirty, just like all big Indonesian cities. I bused out the next morning to hit the nice beaches of Bira and then head up North to Tana Toraja, an area known for its elaborate funeral processions and ceremonies.

In Torajan, the funerals are often massive, expensive, pre-planned, and scheduled, similar to that of a western wedding. You might be wondering how exactly funerals can be organized in advance? When a member of the Torajan community passes away the body is crudely mummified and stored under the house so the family has time to save up for the funeral. This can take months or even years depending on the size! So its fairly common to have dead grandma chilling in the basement for a while. The belief is that the person isn't really dead until their spirit can ascend to heaven at the funeral, so family members might come down and leave some food or have a chat with their somewhat taciturn relative. 

When the funds are adequate its time to get the show on the road! These funerals are big public events, so theres a lot of preparation involved. The family will set up wooden huts for seating, which of course in traditional torajan style also have the big curved roofs, called Tongkonan. All around Rantepao you can see these unique structures, which for the locals are meant to serve a link to their ancestors, as well as show status. It's a bit odd to see people living in little shacks next to these beautiful Tongkonan, but in Torajan culture the main focus isn't this life, but the next. 

The funeral ceremonies last for a few days, with the size depending on the status of the person who died. The success of the funeral isn't measured by how many people that attend, but rather how many animals are offered up to the gods, primarily the number of water buffalo. These buffalo are very important to Torajans as it is believed a person's spirt will ride the spirit of a dead buffalo into heaven. Sounds kind of fun, doesn't it?

The funeral we attended was a three day affair. Me and two lovely German girls hired a guide to take us to the ceremony on day two. It's not mandatory to have a guide, but its nice because they introduce you to the family, you give them some small gifts, and they show you a place to sit and drink. Keep in mind the other guests are bringing things like chickens and pigs to slaughter, while we foreigners get off easy with a carton of cigarettes. I suppose its a bit odd being a stranger at a funeral, but the people were very welcoming, and you feel like you're part of the ceremony, not just an outsider looking in. 

The scene in the main yard. Men carry off a pig to be slaughtered

The second day involved a few processions of the deceased's family through the main walkway; the female members are bathed in white make-up, wear special red dresses, and carry around some sort of wooden sword, making them look as if they came straight from the scene of a bad sci-fi movie. But outfits aside, the day was mostly just a lot of pig slaughter. When you walk in you can see pigs lying everywhere lashed to bamboo poles. The poles are used to carry the pigs off when the time comes. They don't make the killings a public spectacle, but just walking around you see plenty of it. They knife the pig, singe off the hair with a huge blowtorch, cut out the internal organs, and chop it all up. Yep, a whole lotta knifing, singeing, and chopping is what I mostly remember from the day. Afterwards the meat will be cooked up and served to the guests. No catering here! The rest of the meat will be distributed to the people of the village and other family members. 

A man sheathes his sword after killing a pig

blowtorching the dead pigs

A girl from the deceased's family looks on

The next morning we came back again to witness the final day of the funeral, the buffalo sacrifices. Giving a water buffalo to the deceased is basically the ultimate gift. A good buffalo is very expensive and can take many years of saving in order to purchase one. The more that are slaughtered, the greater the chance the deceased has of getting to the afterlife. Because ya know if your soul falls off that first buffalo spirit heading to heaven, its nice to have a dozen or so more to catch you! 

When we arrived there were 10 buffalos lined up in the main yard. That amount of buffalos signifies a large funeral, but not huge by any means. There were two men who facilitated the sacrifice, one to hold it still, and another to slash open the throat. Some buffalos would stand in shock as the blood poured out of their neck while others would frantically jump around before collapsing, much to the amusement of many of the guests. Our guide said that while growing up he never felt any remorse for the animals because its all just a normal part of their lives. All the cheers from the crowd definitely cemented that view. We watched about 5 or 6 of the buffalo sacrifices and then decided that we had seen enough carnage for one morning, happy we had eaten beforehand. After all the killing eventually the body of the deceased will be carried to to their tomb, preferably inside a cave, where the body will be laid to rest and the funeral will end. 

I must say, those buffalo slaughters are probably the most gruesome thing I've seen while traveling. Although I guess its important to remember that these buffalos live a free ranging lifestyle and are taken good care of. They're killed quickly, (one wishes it was quicker) and the meat is not laid to waste. So even though its quite shocking to see, I don't think its inhumane or anything like that. I'm going to a couple photos from the ceremony, which are a little graphic, so scroll down at your own risk. The men certainly seem to find a bigger kick out this kind of thing than the women!

First buffalo goes down

The  mood is quite jovial as another one bites the dust

Mother of Dragons

Komodo National Park: Home to the Dragons (and other stuff)

The viewpoint looking over the islands at Rinca National Park, off the island of Flores

When most people think of Komodo national park, two words automatically spring to mind: Komodo Dragons! Yes, its true, the largest reptile in the world, the Komodo dragon, can be seen on the Komodo islands as well its next door neighbor, Rinca, and few other places. However the two words that come to mind should be Scuba Diving!!

A turtle floats by 

The diving around Komodo is truly fantastic! There are tons of very good dive sites and a few spectacular ones. Originally I was hoping to do a live-aboard boat, but my timing wasn't too good as the dry season was just ending and the far south dive sites that are normally accessible by the live-aboard were no longer and option. I decided on doing day trips with Blue Marlin, and we had a fun group of divers as well as great instructors, which made the experience all the more enjoyable. During the week we saw plenty of sharks, massive wrasses and bumphead parrotfish, turtles of course, rays, sea snakes, eels, huge lobsters, I dunno, all sorts of shit. And then there's the color! The corals of the reef display a massive range of dizzyingly bright hues, which really is something to behold. If there's one thing I'll remember about Komodo, it's the colors. Well, and Manta Point...

Manta Point is basically a stretch of current in between reefs that acts a manta super highway as well as a good place to feed. It's a must do when diving at Komodo. You drop in the water and let the current take you along the bottom at around 13 or 14 meters and basically wait until you see some mantas gliding along. Once one is spotted you exhale to lose buoyancy and drop to the sea floor, hanging on to whatever you can get ahold of, so the current won't sweep you away. If you're lucky the mantas won't notice and will swim up close to your group. We got extremely lucky and saw something like 20 of them! It was a field day! As I'd never seen a manta before I got a real kick out finally being able to do the manta hand signal, which is flapping your arms at your sides when I spotted one. We even had one large black one stop and hover right in front of for a few minutes, like it was observing us just as we were observing it, before gracefully sailing away. Seeing the mantas move by you feel kind of like the slow unathletic kid (ie Brett Kotecki) at basketball tryouts. If only us divers could just glide through the currents like they do! 

Mantas swimming overhead at Manta Point (photo courtesy of Ewan Chamings)

Komodo is renowned for some of its intense drift diving, where divers must battle heavy currents. These dives can be quite dangerous if you get sucked up or down quickly before realizing what is happening. We experienced a few strong currents here and there, but nothing wild like I expected. Theres a couple of dive sites called Castle Rock, Crystal Rock, and the Cauldron that are known for having some crazy drifts, but I went right after the full moon, which apparently is when the currents were at their lowest. No need for negative entries (diving off the boat and descending right away rather than meeting at the surface), which actually bummed me out a little bit because some of the stories I've heard made those dives sound pretty damn exciting. Oh Well. But overall I think Komodo is the best dive destination I've been to so far, really only being trumped by a few of the remarkable dive sites at Sipadan in Malaysia. I give it a big thumbs up!

Unfortunately because most of my time was spent underwater, and I don't have an UW casing, I don't have any dazzling sea life photos to share. I got the manta pic from one of the other divers in our group, and the other two are from the Gilis, when I rented a camera for one dive. Although most of those photos turned out like crap! I must say, photography is very difficult underwater. You've got to worry about keeping still, the white balance, fiddling with buttons on the awkward camera casing, as well as the other dive-related stuff, like running out of air and the like. But I know if I actually got into UW photography, eventually I'd have to get the big ole DSLR casing and externally mounted flash, as the extra lighting really helps bring out the colors that get filtered out of the UV spectrum underwater. Which is also why most amateur underwater photos you see often look dull and muted, and well kind of suck. And I hate taking sucky photos! But the casing is expensive and cumbersome, not exactly ideal for long term travel. Maybe some day...

But hey, you're probably wondering when I was going to get to those big stinking dragons! It is Komodo after all!

dragons chilling under some guy's house in Rinca

We went to Rinca island to check out these massive beasts. To be fair this was only like an hour of out my week in and around the Komodos. You get the island and a guide shows you to where the dragons hang out, which is mostly in the shade under trees or people's huts, because its hot as hell during the day. Then everyone says "oooh" and "aaahh" and takes their photos of these big scaly creatures, who aren't really doing much of anything. Then you go for a hike, but like I said, it's hot as hell, so before you know it you've had enough and you're back on the boat. And that's it! You've seen the dragons! Although I didn't really learn much about them from our guide, I did do a little research afterwards, and they really are interesting animals. Which leads to my next segment:

FUN KOMODO FACTS WITH ADAM

I didn't know shit about Komodo dragons before I came here, and I'm guessing neither do you, until now!

There are less than 5,000 dragons left in Indonesia, with the majority residing in the Komodo and Rinca island sanctuaries as well as a few other places. These carnivores have been around for millions of years and look the part! You notice that they are constantly flicking their tongues in and out, which they use to detect taste and smells, sometimes dead and rotting flesh up to a few miles away. Mating season begins in May, with the males fighting each other to win the females. Courtship involves several days of wrestling, with the female attempting to fight off the male with her teeth and claws. For intercourse the female must be fully subdued (rape?!), so that the male can insert one of his two penises into the female. Yes, you read that right, the male has what is known as a hemipene, which is sort of a double ended penis. Double the pleasure, double the fun!  According to wiki the hemipene often has hooks or spines which help anchor it into the vagina. Sounds great, eh ladies?

After an incubation period of 7-8 months the newborns chip their way out of their egg with their eggtooth and eventually are forced to live up in the trees for the first few years of their lives, as they are quite defenceless and can fall prey to canniballistic older dragons. Once they get big enough they come down and enjoy their spot on land with their pals, where they can join in on the hunting trips. Supposedly the big lizards can eat 80% of their weight at a meal and can live off as little of 12 meals a year. Their appetite is voracious, similar to Ed's at 3 in the morning when some large pizzas are in the freezer. During one of these feasts they might even ram the  animal carcass against a tree to force it down their throats faster. Later they lay in the sun to speed digestion of their meal, so it won't rot inside their stomach. 

The dragons are slightly venomous, but this is believed by scientists to be overstated and misunderstood by the public. 

Eventually, after living for up to 50 years, these killing, raping, cannibals die. The End

The Island of Flores

The view of Ende from the summit of Gunung Iya

I flew into Ende and worked my way west overland to Labuan Bajo and Komodo National Park

So after seeing everything that I wanted to see in Bali and Lombok it was time to head to the island of Flores, three islands east of Bali. I was tempted to take a four day boat trip from Lombok, but after listening to some stories about the conditions on the boat I decided to take a pass. I had heard that there's nowhere to sit, the food is lousy, there were rats, you sleep on the floor, and if its raining there isn't really enough room in the cabin for everyone to sleep and stay dry. No thanks! A flight to Ende it is!

The town of Ende is a port city that's almost entirely Muslim, unlike most of Flores. It's pretty unattractive and dirty, which is why most tourists don't really stay here for any longer than they have to. You do get lots of attention walking around the city though! I had read about a nice volcano hike on Gunung Bagging, a database of Indonesian volcanoes, so I at least wanted to do that hike and maybe rent a motorbike to check out the countryside. However there are no tourist facilities and almost no English speakers, so finding a bike, or guide, or even a map was fairly difficult. When I did inquire about renting a bike around town I did get a few offers, but at the ridiculous price of 200,000 baht per day, which is 4 times the price I normally pay. I think not!

boys hanging out down by the pier, Ende

having some fun with the kids on the street

to the waves!

After walking around for a while the following day a man on his motorbike saw me and came over to chat. An English speaker! He said he was a guide and could take me wherever I wanted to go. As I had been aimlessly wandering the town for a few hours this offer sounded pretty good. He suggested the Wolotopo traditional village, we worked out the price, I hopped on the back of the bike, and off we went. Well the village wasn’t exactly ‘traditional’ in the sense that the traditional villages normally have longhouses with thatched straw roofs (okay, there was one), but it was still interesting enough to walk around for an hour. Lots of people wanted me to take their photo, which always enjoy doing. By far the most awkward part of the trip was when I was talking to one of the rare people who spoke any English and he asked if he could come to my hotel. Confused, I told him there was nothing at my hotel, but he said he’d really like to see it. Since I didn't seem to understand what he could possibly want to see at my hotel, he then utilized a more direct approach and tried grab my balls. Alright, time to get the hell outta there! I certainly wasn’t expecting any encounters like that in small, conservative, Indonesian village, but there ya have it! I hurried to find my guide and we zipped back into town. He then arranged a guide for me early the next morning so I could hike up to the top of Gunung Iya, the volcano that overlooks Ende. 

Many women still do traditional weaving in Wolotopo village

This is what happens to your teeth from a lifetime of betel nut chewing

Now when I first got to Indonesia I was pretty reluctant to take a guide when hiking volcanos because I really don’t see the point if I can do it myself. On Bali’s Gunung Agung it was supposedly not allowed to do the hike without a guide, but I scouted out the trailhead during the day, showed up at 11:30 at night to start the hike, and made it up through the darkness in 6.5 hours with few problems. A little bit dumb? Maybe. Anyway for Iya, the hike is only an hour to the top, so it should be easy to do alone right? Well, I had read a trip report on Gunung Bagging from the founder of the site (experienced volcano hiker obviously) and him and his partner almost died on the descent because they did it during the middle of day with no backup water and they couldn’t find the extremely vague path down. Every way they tried dead-ended into steep ravines. So they were both trapped on the volcano in the scorching heat, suffering from heatstroke and exhaustion, with no water. Luckily one them had his cell phone and was able to call his wife in Thailand, who was able to contact his travel insurance company, who then contacted the police in Ende and search party was formed to get them down. Pretty crazy! Well, this story had me rethinking my do-it-on-my-own policy. Anyway this particular volcano erupted about 30 years ago and left behind a big smoking hole with a lake that is supposed to be cool to see. I woke up at 3:30 the next morning, got picked up the guy I met yesterday, he took to a small house near the foot of volcano where my hiking guide emerged, and we were on our way! 

approaching the summit

The pits of doom

As expected the hike took about an hour, we made it the top for the sunrise, and it was well worth the early start! So after we got down I took a nap and then caught the next bus to Moni to check out the famed Gunung Kelimutu, a volcanic crater with three differently colored lakes that change colors depending on the day, the season, and the levels of volcanic gas activity. It’s the main tourist attraction on mainland Flores. I met some guys at my guesthouse who were also looking to see it the next morning so we arranged a bemo at 5am to take us there. Unfortunately its not really a hike to get the top, its more like a 15 minute stroll on a paved path (a goat track if you will) to get to the lakes. We got to the lookout point and were treated with a nice sunrise over the two adjacent lakes, one that is a weird seafoam green color and one that is dark turquoise color, as you will see. 

The multicolored lakes of Kelimutu

 We spent more time taking photos and following the path that circles the crater rim before calling it a day. I hopped on the bus back to Ende and then hopped on another bus to take me to the small town of Boawae, where Gunung Ebolobo volcano awaits!

cool circular rainbow that formed in the blowing mist

The bus driver dropped me off at the gas station in town and I was left to my own devices to figure out where I was going next. I was getting lots of strange looks as apparently no tourists visit this town, like ever. I wanted to get to the village at the foot of the volcano, but I idiotically had forgotten the name! I thought I knew enough Indonesian to say “I want to go to the town near the volcano” or something at least close to that, but every time I tried I was getting nowhere. Eventually someone brought me into the house and called up someone who spoke some English (a very loose definition of 'some') and he eventually figured out where it was I wanted to go. Molowaki!!

He said there was no hotel there, but I had read you could sleep at the guide’s house, so I convinced them to take me on a motorbike. Bad idea!! I’m sure most of you haven’t ridden uphill on the back of motorbike with a full backpack, but its not easy! You’re trying to lean as far forward as you can, but the pack is always pulling you backwards, wanting to pull you off the back of the bike, so you’re constantly working your abs trying to counter the weight of the pack. So anyway the guy didn’t have the most powerful bike and the very first steep uphill part the bike stalled when he was switching from 2nd gear to 1st, and then jerked really hard With the steep gradient and the weight of my pack I just went flying off the back! The bike’s front tire flew up in the air, he jumped off as well, and the bike crashed hard onto the pavement. Yikes. Everyone was fine (I landed squarely on my backpack) but the bike was not so lucky. My driver was not happy, not too happy at all. After his moaning I asked him how much it was to fix and he said 300. My American thinking brain kicked in; “Oh shit, 300 dollars!” Wait, wait, no, it was just 300,000 rupiah or about 30 dollars. So I paid for his repairs because that’s certainly a lot of money for him and after that we were on okay terms again. He ended up flagging down another motorbike driver for me, one with a better bike, who agreed to take me to the Molokawi. This was certainly not a good idea, but I can be quite stubborn sometimes.

This bike ride was by far the most gut-wrenching and sphincter tightening experience in Indonesia. The road of course was super steep and filled with potholes and broken pavement. Going over every single bump I was clenching my legs and my abs as hard as could, praying I wouldn't be going airborne again. It was a pretty brutal test of endurance. During the really rough spots I have to get off the death bike and walk, then hop back on again. After about half an hour I honestly thought my abs were going to give out. Now I know you're all thinking, "there's no way Adam's rock hard abs of steel could possibly give out" but it did indeed happen. About a kilometer from the village the road managed to get even worse, and I was so thoroughly exhausted from clinging on for dear life that I told the driver I had to walk. He drove along with my pack and eventually we made it to Molowaki in the darkness. It was dead quiet, but fortunately the driver showed me to the house where the guide lived. I was invited in, met his family, conversed in broken Indonesian, was fed some rice and vegetables, and shown to the spare bedroom. Wake up time: 3:30 am!

The hike itself was straightforward, nothing near as exciting as the motorbike ride. It was actually the guy’s sons who took me to the top, which took about 2.5 hours, and we made it to the summit so see the sunrise over the beautiful island of Flores. This was the nicest volcano sunrise I’ve seen and I think my favorite volcano hike to date. It was just a spectacular view from the top that really gives you that high on life feeling. After hiking around the summit for a bit we headed down, I was fed breakfast (more rice and veggies!) taken back into town (so much easier going down!) and caught the next bus to Bajawa. 

sunrise on Gunung Ebolobo

uninspired photo of the Bena village

Ok well this has drawn on too long, so I’ll try finish up. At Bajawa there are lots traditional villages, so you get there, pay the entrance fee, and the people living there all kind of stare at you or try to sell you something. It’s not really my thing. And once you’ve been to one, you’ve kind of been to ‘em all. I had much more fun riding to random small villages where the people are much more friendly and curious about the strange westerner that has just rolled into town. So I spent two days there and then it was back on the bus. I was going to go to Ruteng, which is about 5 hours away, but the weather was shitty and Ruteng’s main tourist attraction is also traditional villages! Ugh. So I decided to keep going to Labuan Bajo, the launching point to Komodo. After five more hours of blasting Indopop music, winding turns, and a dude puking constantly, I had arrived! Exhausted, I checked into the guesthouse I was dropped off at, the grossest one I’ve encountered in Indonesia, and despite the noxious fumes from the bathroom (err toilet pit) I promptly passed out on top of my not-so-white sheets. Next up Scuba diving Komodo!

The viewpoint at Rinca island