The End of the Road

After travelling for almost a year, over ten countries and 30,000km, by bus, train, boat, hitchhiking, motorbike, tuk-tuk, and our own worn-out two feet, we can safely say that we have learnt one thing. Despite our effort and enthusiasm, we are infact terrible travellers. We are forever lost, disorganised, losing things, unable to make decisions, unsure of ourselves, or where to go. If we can survive such a journey, it is definate proof that almost anyone can do the same, and probably even more.

So at the end of it all, a massive thankyou, to everyone that helped us to make it across the continent in one piece. The greatest surprise of our trip was the amount of people who went out of their way to welcome us into their homes, or to show us something of their lives. So thanks to all of those whose paths we crossed and to those who became good friends. And of course, xiexie to our pengyou in China for making our time in Kunming hen hao.

The Last Steps – From Leeches to Beaches

With time pressuring us, we are forced to prematurely leave Cambodia and head south through Thailand towards our departure point- Kuala Lumpur. With a whole day of travel (5am-11pm!), we decide to make a break in the resort town of Hua Hin, a few hours south of Bangkok. After wondering the streets at night for about an hour looking for a backpacker haunt, we get more and more ready to leave. This is package holiday town, complete with cabaret entertainment, and as ever in Thailand - its disturbing slice of sex tourism, with over-tanned old men and prostitutes of questionable gender. In the morning we head straight for the bus station, which as usual ends up being about a 3km walk from the town centre. With our bus not leaving until the evening, we deposit our backpacks and hit the beach, which turns out to be the one plus side of the town. Miles of soft golden sands and warm sea, and apparently perfect kite-surfing weather, as we watch hundreds of them skimming the waves. After absorbing an obligatory amount of UV, normal and infra-red spectrum we finally leave the East Coast, and head South-West on a night bus to the unpronounceable town of Phang-Nga.

Our hopes for a less touristy beach get rewarded with a slight change of plan- due to the fact the “beach” is surrounded by mountains and actually consists of about 10 km of mangrove-forest. Nevertheless, surrounded by dramatic limestone cliffs and rainforest covered national parks, we decide to make a few day motorbike trip into the wilderness. Shortly after buying a tent for this purpose, the clear blue skies turn grey. And then black. And downpour begins. With a short, almost suspicious brightening of the sky, we decide to drive anyway into the park. After half an hour walking into the forest the drizzle begins and as we are about to turn back my leg encounters some unfriendly (or maybe over-friendly) local wildlife....leeches! After noticing that whilst trying frantically to get them off, more are creeping there way up our legs, we freak out and run hysterically back to the bike, before retreating to the safety of the hotel. Lesson learnt - do not wear flip-flops for jungle trekking.

The next day the outlook is brighter and we head off to some waterfalls and caves. The trail is a pleasant one as we hop over small streams and follow stepping stones over the cascading forest floor. On the way, we meet a few companions - an American couple, and two Germans called Ben. All appears well until we reach the end of the trail, when Ava's efforts not to get her shoes wet become somewhat ironic as the path is transformed into a river channel. Luckily sheltered in a cave we watch as the thick heavy rain gradually lessens and we try to make our way back. The phrase written at the entrance of the park “Don't go into the forest during rain” acquires shocking new dimensions as we find the clear babbling brooks replaced by thigh-high muddy torrents. Soaked to the skin, we wade our way back to the entrance alive and thankfully leech-free. Amusingly, out of the row of motorbikes, us six foreigners are the only ones to leave their helmets upside-down and consequently full to the brim with water. Another lesson learnt.

On our final day, we embark on the must-do tour of the countless islands off the coast of Phang-Nga. Arriving early in the morning for our pick-up, we find ourselves in a tuk-tuk with our compatriots from the previous days' adventures. The day begins with a tour through the still waters of the mangrove forest on a traditional long-tail boat. Looking almost like they would walk off, the long roots of the unique trees reach down into the water. Soon the channel opens out to reveal a stunning blue ocean from which dozens of small island extrude. The almost lack of tourists in the town of Phang-Nga is made up here by the plethora of boats from near-by Phuket. This reaches its comical climax as we stop off at the so called “James-Bond island,” the location of Scaramanger's layer in 'The Man With The Golden Gun'. Hundreds of flip-flops scramble over the rocks and through the foaming polluted shallows to get a snapshot. Any remaining space is taken up by souvenir laden stands that line the tiny beach. Some more islands, caves, and a spot of being chauffeured around in a kayak later.. and finally we head back into town, enjoying a well deserved beer. 
 

We decide before our final departure to make one last attempt at a beach holiday, making the tourist town of Krabi our base from which to find a decent spot. Driving past the sun-bed and lobster packed area of Ao Nang, we manage to find a rather quiet beach populated only with a few Thai families and the odd foreigner. It gets better when the tide starts to go out, revealing a hidden sandbar path to a small cluster of rocky islets. As we walk along, hundreds of tiny crabs scuttle out of our way, building miniature castles in the sand in which to hide. The beach is covered in perfectly delicate shells, some of which (after collecting them) appear to be inhabited, as they make their way, probably rather annoyed, back to the sea.

After some asking around, we hear of a nice backpacker location, accessible only by taking a boat. Stopping off at the upmarket beach of Railey- which is apparently one of the top 20 in the world (and priced accordingly), we walk for half an hour or so through the rainforest and come to hippy/climber paradise. Its hard to imagine how this haven exists, next to its overdeveloped, crowded, and ridiculously expensive neighbour. Chilling out at the beach bar made for the large part out of imaginatively put-together drift wood, we watch fire spinning and tightrope acrobatics daringly performed by a Thai man with the biggest and most impressive afro probably in existence. After one night in the tent that we were determined to use, I of course end up with fever and thus leaving the UV light from then on to Ava, whilst seeking the cool safety of palm tree shadows. We manage to make it out for one last day of kayaking, where we explore the small islands off the coast, and very cleverly snorkel around the razor sharp rocks, in painfully salty water. Nevertheless, we return happily to our beach, for one last delicious green curry, before taking a final sunset paradise beer.

The time comes to leave the high cliff-wall surrounded bay of Ton Sai. With the memory of this beautiful scenery in our hearts we head for Malaysia, where our flights awaits us to take us to a very different world. Ready for fish and chips.

Angkor - Wat a Wonderful Place.

With the speed of a snail we leave the island behind us on our ferry and say our goodbyes to our favourite Norwegian. Equipped with enthusiasm for an Indiana Jones adventure we head for the city of Angkor in Cambodia. We hop on an extraordinarily cheap bus to the town of Siem Reap in Cambodia. Of course if something seems too good to be true then it probably is, as we find out when 4km away from the border we are asked to pay the $80 Visa-fee. After rejecting the polite offer and subjecting ourselves to threats of queuing for hours and missing the connecting bus we decide out of principle and experience, to take the risk on our own. Some arguing later we effortlessly cross the border, without paying the 200% higher 2-minutes service fee, and in fact reaching the next bus even before the rest of the passengers had been herded into the country. Scams are big business in South East Asia but for once we can say they didn’t get us this time.

Siem Reap offers a cheap and lively night life, which is taken advantage of by a strange mixture of young party-goers and middle-aged Germans in full khaki jungle exploration wear. Resting on a 50cent pint we watch two rather plump 'ladies of the night' having their fun hunting a Westerner down the road. He appears fairly disturbed and embarrassed by the situation, which for them only acts as playful encouragement.

For the next days we embark on a history safari on a pair of squeaky old dollar-a-day bicycles. About 8km north of the modern town, protected within a large forest, lies the ancient complex of Angkor. Once a flourishing city, the ruins of hundreds of temples are testament to this once mighty kingdom. In the boiling heat we bike 40km on our first day, only to find out we have done the 'small loop' through and around the city. Hard to imagine what must have went through explorers' minds when they found this unbelievable site centuries ago in the middle of the jungle. Tomb Raider herself found it a worthwhile place to stop by anyway.

Having bought the three-day ticket (for a not cheap $60), we have plenty of time to explore. Pictures cannot describe the magnificence of this 1000 year old wonder that was once home to a million people, and the extra days are necessary to take everything in. What the main temple, Angkor Wat has in shear magnitude and design (based on a scaled representation of the Hindu universe), Prasat Bayon shows in decorative intricacy with its huge timeless stone faces looming over the bustling tourists below. Most of Angkor was built in only 40 years, which was only possible by the hands of a heavily skilled army of 50,000 workers. Yet as with many blooming societies it found an end through the lethal grip of overgrowth and enemies. Temples like the one featured in Tomb Raider - Ta Prohm - stand testament, being as much tribute to nature, as to the Khmer empire, with huge trees enveloping these relics of a lost time into the jungle.

Having experienced the ancient Cambodia we decide to have a look into the new one as well, hopping down to Battambang for a couple of days. We start the visit with a rather depressive but humbling excursion to the 'killing caves', a massacre point of the Khmer Rouge during their rein of genocide just 30 years ago. During this time, most of the educated population, men, women and children, were tortured and killed. With such a violent and painful legacy, which many of the population were alive to witness, there comes a renewed respect for the light-hearted, cheerful and welcoming people that inhabit the country.

Whilst driving through the flat countryside with our scooter, I can't resist stopping to take pictures of one of the many wedding parties going on. One of the men signals me over and before I know it I'm delivered into the messy situation of wedding crasher.. being placed right next to the monks and opposite the praying bride and groom. Indeed I might have looked like the (second-)best man. Locked with 20 people in a 16sqm room just as the chanting begins I am left with no choice but sharing the prayers. 30 minutes or so later I use my chance of escape disappearing out of the room with the giggling of the ladies behind me. Enough of local Cambodia for me.

We Made It to the Beach!

Avoiding extortionate prices set by the TukTuk mafia, we set off on our scooters hired for the week to Lonely beach. Inspired by the Asian style of driving, we manage to squash two big backpacks and ourselves onboard as we drive like tanks along the roller-coaster like roads through the jungle. We stop at the down-market backpacker paradise, consisting mainly of hippy bars and tattoo joints and opt for the more basic (and cheap) accommodation: small wooden huts, equipped with bed, fan, and all important mosquito net. The communal bathrooms consist of four walls, no roof and a shower head attached to palm tree. More than refreshing after hard days of island exploration. After only having worn my bikini once (at a freezing cold outer mongolian lake), I take great pleasure in making the most of the clear blue seas and skies, sipping fruit shakes on the beach. Unfortunately, Mr Bump (/Penzkofer) has other plans, including slicing open his big toe and taking us on a trip to Accident and Emergency to be patched up. Nothing serious, other than not being allowed in the crystal clear waters for a couple of days, and having to walk around with a novelty sized toe sticking out of his flip-flop.

With not much else to do, we decide to take a drive to the opposite side of the island. A task which at first glance of our tourist map with its cartoon whales and waterfalls, appears simple. Two hours later we arrive, thirsty and bright red from a mixture of sun and wind burns (thanks to helmets without visors). We make the most of the views of the bay with a quick slap-up meal on the pier, before the sun goes down and we have to make the journey back, in the dark, on treacherous island roads, and an infinite number of kamakazi bugs splatting themselves at our faces (again, helmets with no visors).

At night we make our stand against the mosquitos, and ants, and whatever else, by drinking beer by the beach. After some hours of Andi's drunken philosophising, he eventually falls asleep, leaving me and Thomas in search of another party. We find ourselves within a fairly representative cross-section of the the beach's inhabitants: a couple of Swedish girls (the scandi's making up the majority of the population), a dreadlocked spanish 'cast-away', who sleeps in a hammock and lives from the sea, an old english man who clearly spent too long in the mid-day sun with the other mad-dogs, and of course, a singing irishman.

 

Later in the week, we get abit more into island life with some good old-fashioned campfire cooking. The boys do the manly part of collecting firewood and gutting and 'fileting' the fish, and i quite literally sweat it out, cooking up a (partially burnt, partially undercooked) feast in the hot embers. The reality of 'campfire on the beach', or anywhere for that matter, is always slightly over-idealised. A fact which is often forgotten until we are already in the midst of it, covered in coal, sweat and grease, with no light, no cooking tools, potatos which take a hell of a long time to cook....but thank-god, plenty of beer. All is well, and happily fed and we proceed with our evenings entertainment, which comes in the shape of a whisky bottle.

From Ancient Civilisation to Modern Chaos

Leaving behind the peace and tranquillity of the monastery we return to the material world, swapping some of our dwindling funds for a newly tailored suit, before leaving Chiang Mai. We head south to the ancient city of Sukhotai, where we drag ourselves around countless temples and ruins in the sweltering heat. Contemplating whether to torture ourselves with another day of exhausting, yet interesting sightseeing, we hear news from Bangkok. The arrival of a classmate from our days in Kunming makes the decision a little easier and we set off for the capital. 

 

Overwhelmed by the scale of the city, we are drawn into the safe arms of Khao San Road, the famous mecca for backpackers and party goers. After a long day of travelling we put down our backpacks in the most cheap and horrible room we can find, something comparable to a soviet prison cell. Without either of us really knowing exactly where the other was, we miraculously manage to meet up with our favourite Norwegian, despite needle in haystack odds. This is cause for celebratation and we toast to our surprise reunuion with plenty of beer and cocktails.

The next day, we take things easy with a leisurely trip along the river. Whilst at the Temple of Dawn, where Thomas bravely conquers his fear of height, we get as much entertainment as is possible from 10 baht (25cent) by feeding the frenzied fish in the teaming Buddhist waters. Before leaving Bangkok, we make an excursion to the city to Lopburi, to meet with yet another former classmate (the fifth of our trip so far!). Being a tourism major, Jane gives us an excellent tour of her historical hometown including the ruins of an old temple which has been taken over by a small, rapidly breeding, army of monkeys. The boys seem to make a special bond with their not so distant relatives, and with three of the little cretures attached to Andi, I am for the first time convinced that our Rabbies vaccinations were a worthwhile investment.

Returning to Bangkok, with our grim hostel room, a stifling combination of heat and pollution, and 15 millions people chaotically filling the streets, the call of the beach proves too much. We decide to accompany Thomas for the rest of his holiday as we all head East to the island of Ko Chang.

A Bit of Meditation

The screeching of the tired old bus engine is replaced by silence of the mountains as we jump off somewhere between Pai and Mai Hong Son. We are directed towards our home for the next days by a path lined with yellow Buddhist flags. Entering the perfectly kept grounds we watch as the people dressed in white pyjama-like clothes embark on the endless task of sweeping the forest's discarded leaves into piles. We meet Luanta, the top monk, and with a smile that appears to have grown into a constant reminder of his happy personality we are welcomed into the arms of the monastery and the comfort of some baggy white pyjamas of our own.

Waking up as early as the sun we are part of a ceremonial offering of food to the monks. Only being permitted to take what is given and not being allowed to handle money goes some way to explain the humbleness of these people. The idea of religious leaders leading by example is indeed refreshing. Having dined ourselves with plenty of rice, vegetables and fruit (with the added luxury of hot chocolate) we are strengthened to join the morning walking-meditation. Silently putting one leg ahead of the other whilst trying to clear the thoughts lets me encounter an hard enemy: the own mind. Having difficulties to calm down for more than 3 seconds I have a hard time imagining how monks are capable of meditating in silence for 7 years 7 months and 7 days. An unbelievable task made only more unbelievable when facing a tiger who is checking out his potential snack as Luanta tells along his many stories. Happily he shares his repertoire of adventures with us .. after all he is human and since finishing his silence years he talks like a waterfall. Ava herself makes an own encounter with the wild life during forest walking meditation - having a snake nearly falling on her head from a tree- hopefully not some kind of omen!

Not enough that I had to survive on only vegan food, I wasn't allowed to eat even that after 12 noon (although I admit cautiousness obligated us to be prepared with a bag of crisps and some emergency peanuts)! But huge portions of food for breakfast and sessions of group-meditation lets you quickly fall into a routine without thinking much about food at all. Indeed worries faint if you are surrounded by an environment that doesn’t care much about money or anything else treated so holy in our world. And so we manage to grasp a tiny impression of what reality looks from a different light – a view that is based upon actual reality ... rather than the interpretation of our chaotic minds. An unimaginable long but rewarding track must lie ahead for the young monks and I deeply find respect for the elder monks as it gets clear why they are honoured so much throughout the people. Its a way of living that requires the individual to work on themselves and to actually understand what you observe. A giving up of desires and extremes along this neutral path. The effect on the whole society must be enormous, with most of the Thai experiencing a monastery in their lifespan, including 20 Thai-woman during our stay. A way not only chosen by locals but also attractive to Westerner of whom some stay for months and maybe years. 

 

Down the Mekong River to the Kingdom of Smiles

After three or so weeks in Laos, we plan our escape to Thailand by slow boat along the Mekong River. Andi makes a last minute dash for supplies for the eight hour journey, and comes back with four donut-like objects containing a bright orange fluid. Not particularly being a fan of donuts, I buy some snacks from a vendor, which turn out to be more donuts, this time with sugary noodles inside. Mentally prepared for the starvation ahead, we board the boat and set off at a steady pace, along with plenty of other foreigners and a few South-East Asians. Passing eight hours through hilly forested landscape with the odd village on stilts, we are occasionally overtaken by the notorious Lao speedboats. By sticking a huge engine onto the back of a canoe, you can make a two day journey in only six hours, if you manage to survive that long. A few hours into our very sedate journey we gained a couple of passengers mid-river, as three very green looking Germans evacuated from the bone rattling speedboat, swapping crash helmet and life jacket for a more favourable Beer Lao.

Finally reaching our stop, we find ourselves unexpectedly on the road less travelled, as everyone spare a few Laos and some chickens stay firmly in their seats. We hop off the boat and are ushered to a waiting pick-up truck, which after being pushed up the hill by the men, is somehow crammed with 22 people and all kinds of luggage. Having a twisting mountain road made purely of sand, we accumulate a nice coat of brown dust before reaching the nearest town. After retreating there for the night we finally reach the border town of Boden, and walk two kilometres across into Thailand.

A lot can change in two kilometres and we find ourselves in a blacked out, air conditioned minibus heading for the provincial capital, travelling at a speed and smoothness unimaginable in Laos. Nan, characterised by the friendly happy people that inhabit it, proves to be the perfect welcome to Thailand. With never enough time, our journey takes us quickly onwards to the North-Western city of Chiang Mai. A pleasant town, with a walled old town at its centre, but bearing the undeniable scars of tourism in Thailand with special 'Farang' prices, western restaurants outnumbering Thai's, and bar girls (or boys) entertaining men old enough to be their grandfathers. We end up staying longer than expected as Andi cant to resist the temptation of getting a tailored suit. With a full day spent annoying every tailor on the map with a bombardment of questions, he finishes with a good deal, some broken tailors and a newly found expertise on the trade.

After some measuring-up we head off into the mountains to the hippy town of Pai while the beloved suit comes into creation. Away from the pollution of the big city, we cross a rickety old bamboo bridge to find ourselves living in a small wooden hut complete with hammock. With all the necessary facilities of restaurants, bars, shops selling hippy attire, and of course free wifi, its not hard to see why this quiet, laid-back, little town is a haven for the backpacker kind. Its a place where you could relax for weeks, months, or even years (and many in fact do), but on advice of a good friend met previously in China, we leave after a few days for a very different destination- Wat Tam Wua, The Forest Monastery.

Stories of the City of Drunks

After a lovely week relaxing we head for the Anti-Christ of Luang Prabang: Vang Vieng. Known as the Mekka for drinking, partying, drugs and complete idiots we decide to check out the place for ourselves.

We arrive to find that the rumours have overshadowed an amazing limestone landscape with dramatic towering cliffs along the river side. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on the observers view) its not the only thing along the river side. Armed with canoes and an international crew of compatriots we drift silently along the beautiful scenery as out of nowhere faint but rhythmic drum beats reach us from the distance. As we draw closer hordes of half naked barbarians crowd the river banks, armed with glass bottles and what appears to be buckets filled with whiskey as legend tells. To our misfortune we get stranded on some rocks in the river right in front of a main bar, which draws great amusement upon the intoxicated dancing mass. Slowly surrounding us in their tractor inner-tubes we do not have a chance left but joining their obscure rituals. Before we know it we find ourselves comfortably perched on the bamboo bar, watching the escapades below. All seems right again with a beer Lao in hand. Even better with two.

Back in town reality quickly conquers back its territory as we encounter an American limping along - foot surrounded by bandages - injured during his excessive river adventure. A typical appearance indeed, with plenty of others hopping around wearing nothing but their swimming attire and a plaster cast. In fact the place seems to have mutated into an outpost of hedonism. For those that are partied out there is bar after bar screening hypnotising episodes from 'Friends' or 'Family guy' (selling happy shakes, space pizzas and of course banana pancakes as well). Not all bananas should be allowed to get pancakes and so, after some discussion on the big white telephone, we take some days off for adjusting to the delicious local food. Being cured first from the travellers illness I use the time for trying to help at the local voluntary 'community' project. Claiming to be aimed at supporting local organic farms and schools by promoting a sustainable community this project invites travellers and their money to make a contribution by building in rural Laos an – as I would describe it – Italian pizzeria. A future guest-house that will offer the controversial 'Eco-Tourism' or more general and better described by some words that slipped out from the owner himself: a possibility to “make money from tourism”. There is not just black and white in this world and the volunteers seemed to be happy to be doing something – whether or not its for the good of the Lao people, themselves or somebody trying to procure a free work force.

We rent a scooter to explore the nearby valley and some of the many caves. On the way we stop along the dirt-road for a necessary tyre-check. Having never been charged for air I react surprised to the mechanics' demanding words after the finished 30 seconds of 'work'. A tiny girl – most likely just having learned her first words – clarifies the confusion: “Money money!”. A phrase that is later also screamed after us by a women attempting to charge us for crossing a tiny wooden bridge over a river we might as well have driven through. In the peaceful back end of the valley we find young children playing in the water and diving with their self-made harpoons for fishes. One of the boys demonstratively shoots the metal arrow, which rams its way into the stony ground like into butter, assuring me of the efficiency of his deadly device. We stop at the rather hidden 'gold and silver flower' cave, passionately and perfectly maintained by an old but surprisingly nimble local and find ourselves surrounded by stalactites shimmering indeed in those precious colours - a fairytale scenery if you wish so. Being called Mister and Misses from a man reminding me strongly on the little boy from Indiana Jones (just 60 years older) gives the event the whimsical feeling of being in a strange film. We stop at another lagoon for a swim, to which a bizarre amount of Americans get transported before heading back to the centre of noise.