They Call Me Mr. Long Trousers...
Why, I don't quite know, but as usual my favourite mystery comment poster - 'anonymous' - seems to think I'm overdue somewhere, and I'm known by that name.
Well, I know what you're all thinking;
The old grey nag she ain't what she used to be,
Berin: Ain't what she used to be,
Mike: Ain't what she used to be,
... so, it might have been just a little while since my last post, and to all (both?) of you who a regular readers, my sincere apologies. BUT - this doesn't mean that I've lost any of my pep or vim, and after some pretty uncivilised living, I'm back on the internet wagon again.
I'm beginning today's update with some news, it's the start of my official campaign to start 'giving a little back', instead of illin' 'round my hood with my whack rhymes - so to speak.
Congratulations to my sister Kate, who speyed her first ever live animal (a dog, in case you're wondering), and it's still alive, so, um - choice bro! She's rool good at stuff wiff animals, and I'm not supposed to tell, but Berin and I had an idea - call it a 'vision', if you will - of a new kind of bird, with 6 legs and a really long neck. Except, on its neck it had hundreds of little hands, that it fed with. It might have also had a spring-like muscle at the back, but that's highly questionable bird design theory. Anyway, I reckon, that seeing as Kate's rool good at stuff with animals she can make if for us and we'll sell it to Motat. Someone send me the numbers.
Rightio, I last signed off from Vientiane, reeling from my newly aquired baguette habit. Well, we rolled out of there on the 19th, back on that old mule that has served us so well; the overnight bus. Twas a mild but sleepless journey, thankfully free of the blasting karaoke that usually accompanies these journeys. After pulling into Pakxe - and a botch-up with collecting our passports (with vital Cambodian visas) caused by the improbable chance that there were two offices by the name of 'Kiengkai', both situated by the ubiquitious 'markets' - we were straight onto a little truck (28 people skillfully packed into a Hyundai flatdeck truck) south to Si Phan Dhon, or the 'Four Thousand Islands'. This is a part of the Mekong abutting the Cambodian border where it widens out to create a multitude of little islands a bit like a delta, and we camped up in a little riverside guesthouse for three nights of rest before hitting Cambodia.
'Our' island was called Dhon Khon, and was really pretty quiet. There was a nice waterfall to see, an old steam train left behind by the French (I am sure I have wronged the French in a former life, as there's been a strong Gallic theme to life lately...) and some loverly cycling to be had, but we pressed on for the border on the 23rd.
It seems that our border crossing is only semi-official, so departure and arrival charges seem to depend on the particular guard you have, and how much he won at Russian Roulette last night. Despite now looking so poor that even beggers look past us, we managed to attract a US$3 per person 'overtime charge' just to get checked out of Laos. The other side was a similar tale of extortion, as we haggled with the speedboat drivers (who hold a complete monopoly on southbound transport) to get our boat trip down.
Anyhoo, after an hour and a half in the speedboat (anywhere between 6 and 87 hours by slow boat) we arrived in Stung Treng, but not before driving through the submerged forests which flourish in these parts. All very Lord Of The Ringsy, but I was disappointed that we didn't have an armed guard this time.
Stung Treng detained us for a night (as I get more tired, I feel each stop being condensed into less and less) before we embarked on a much bungled boat/bus charter to take us in the direction of Phnom Phen. The first half (boat ride) went very smoothly - no bottoming out, or just plain sinking as happened the week before - until we stopped in Kratie to pick up our, ehem, 'van'. Contrary to the original claim of "A/C van, only the 7 people who paid, many stops along the way, comfortable bus," we were collected in a grotty old behemoth, filled to the gunwhales with timber of every shape and description; from clean 50x50 cuts to completely assembled bookcases.
Oh, and then there was the, 'These are my three friends, who will come to enjoy Phnom Phen!' call, which came at a late hour.
There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth...
Don't ask how we ended up part of this, but sometimes you're in situations beyond your control, 'nuff said.
After our guide/organiser kindly organised another van, we experienced - in no particular order - a leaking transmission, crab snacks, a complete breakdown, an empty transmission, our guide crying, and demands of money from both sides.
On the bright and shiny side though - Jules and I stopped in tiny little villages, rode the local van, met some school teachers (6 of them - all going to the dentist...) who invited us to come and teach for a day, got offered fried spiders over breakfast, and saw some right nice temples that pre-date Angkor by a good couple of hundred years.
In the course of all this travel we managed to meet up with Angela (from our Chiang Mai trek), Sandra and Christian (hereforth known as 'The Germans'), and Kenny, a scot of pallid complexion but as wily an old fox on the chessboard as you ever did see, aharrrr!!! Thus, all was not lost, and the wild passage into Cambodia was a fun one.
Laos really did hit the spot, with all the satisfaction of the last one and a half seconds of your weekend morning stretch. I lacked nothing, wanted for little, and the whole place was just plain lip-smackingly good.
At the risk of sounding like a certain pop star who's awaiting trial shortly, but by hokey I've seen a lot of naked children... They really started showing up fast when we got to Laos, but the seem to be the front yard accessory of choice here in Cambodia. They're closely trailed (literally) by topless grandmothers, who are usually doing something with a bowl when I've seen them.
Hey, I just say-what-I-see...
Cambodia is shaping up lovely, and I had my first day at the temple complexes today.
It was really, really good.
I need a couple more days to take it all in, before attempting to write about it. It's even better than my Mum's pavlova, it's that good. The most commonly hawked souvenirs today were 'Mister! Cold Water I have!', and 'You buy postcard,' but it was the third placed yet somehow more charming, "Souvenir? My badge I sell you", from a police officer that really moved me.
So, those of you out there wondering where Rakish Richard has been, I'm safe and sound, but using dialup. I have no baguettes but crepes are showing up more and more. My handlebar mustache has gone, but I have now shaved everything from the collar up.
Angkor, is a wat.
Policemen sell their stuff. Still,
Angkor is a wat.
Your man, contemplating the sound of one hand clapping,
Arch :)
It Is Possible To Eat Too Many Baguettes...
OOOOO, I've really got my blog on now, so 'wattchout!' That's 'wattchout!', like how James Brown would say it, not how some miserable extra* playing a dock worker in a bad suspense thriller would yell it as he saw the first of numerous evildoers scale the perimeter fence.
Jeepers, that whole 'Plain of Jars' really is quite something to see. Since my last post, we had a nice little travel day, heading out of Luang Prabang (it's so hard to say goodbye) on the public bus for Phonsavanh. We chose seats down the back, cos that's where the ARMED GUARD sat, making us feel right at home with his expressionless face and lack of English. I thought it was an AK, but there were a few on the bus certain it was a Kalashinikov. I can't tell anymore, it's been years since by boots saw the parade ground, but he was a nice enough chap in the end, and given all the teenagers and other non-uniformed folk with assault rifles we saw during the day - an all round good guy to have about.
Arriving in Phonsavanh was a pretty normal affair, but it didn't take to long to notice just how close this country still is to the years and years of war it has endured. Most of the trucks are ex-Vietnamese heavy troop vehicles, patched together (presumably) with parts from the wrecks of other, older ex-Vietnamese heavy troop vehicles that are scattered around. Most prevalent however, are the leftovers of war which are now literally part of the city - notably the American bomb casings which are used for everything from seats and tables, to stilts for the houses. As our bus got closer to Phonsavanh we saw houses roofed with the round lids of fuel tins, cluster bomb casings being used as feed troughs, and pressed steel all-weather airstrip panels as wall cladding. Not surprisingly, Phonsavanh is not yet even 30 years old, as it was only founded when the local residents emerged from 9 years of hiding in caves and found their entire district had been blown to pieces and was covered with unexploded cluster bombs. Of the various materials available, war junk was in plentiful supply...
The next morning (freezing, I might add. I thought I'd forgotten how to feel cold...) we boarded our van with our local guide, Long Wan (stop giggling) and headed to the first of the three jar sites. (I looked into the whole 'wrecked plane' site, but was told that it's all been cleaned up now, and there's nothing but a rusting Russian Tank to be seen... I tried... ) Being a fount of local knowledge, Long insisted on pulling us over to show us the local swallow farming operation, which really deserves an explanation;
Littered on the hills are little huts, with a bare patch of earth out the front, perhaps 8m by 5m. This holds a pair of nets in a stiff rectangular frame, held flat on the ground in the 'open' position. Inside the hut a small lad waits for swallows to come down and say hello to Mr. Captive Swallow - who is tied up in the bare ground between the nets - at which point he pulls his string, closing the nets, and he's hit feathered gold. But, it seems that waiting, and pulling a string, were a little too strenuous - and another more modern method was adapted. Atop the hut (remember? hut? young lad waiting?) the farmers have now erected a long bamboo pole, complete with many side branches. Now - here's the trick; as you might expect, captive swallows are used to lure other birds down BUT, the branches are coated with glue, and as each extra bird lands the poor wee fellow is trapped, becoming yet another decoy, so ad infinitum.
The birds are a big hit at the local markets, enough said.
So, the Plain of Jars... For some reason I can't add weblinks to this post, so you'll have to do the donkey work yourselves if you want to see some pictures. We stopped at all three sites during the course of the day, each being a collection of between 100-300 stone jars carved approximately 3000 years ago, sitting atop three hills in the district. My theory about a 'colossal pickling monopoly' was promptly rejected, as the local legend suggests they are in fact buffalo skins, hardened over the eons - well, I was close...
We trekked between two of the sites, having lots of fun filming 30 second news reports on my camera, and talking to Long. So, I have gone on a little about the bombings, but it was when we were walking between the sites, coming down into a wide valley, that you can really start to see the pounding the area took. There are craters as far as you can see, and what's really horrific is that these bombs weren't aimed at anything - everything you can see has simply been carpet bombed into oblivion. In 1992, upwards of 100,000 pieces of ordanance were still being located and destroyed annually. Have a look here if you're interested;
Read: http://www.itvs.org/pressroom/pressRelease.htm?pressId=109
Laos is a poor country still losing lives to bombs dropped 30 years ago in operations which contradicted the Geneva Accord. These bombs are true terror weapons, so if you're looking for a cause, give some help to the Mines Advisory Group. Given that these devices have been dropped in Kuwait, Iraq, the Falklands, Ethiopia, the Sudan, Sierra Leone, Chechnya, and Kosovo (not to mention their current use in Afghanistan) - they'll have their work cut out for them for a while yet.
OK, I promise not to mention the war,
any more...
Righty-hoo! So, our day out on the Plain of Jars was a tough one, lots of sun, walking and a LOT of jars. Still, there's something very eerie about being around things that are so ancient and roughly finished(like Berin's model plane) and it's something I'd highly recommend.
We were pretty tired little kiddies that night, but as luck would have it, we met up with some of the folks we'd taken the river boat with, and trotted straight to the local town fair, which happened to be on at the time. As usual, there were all the young guys with AK's, an awful lot of barbequeing (my chicken was so raw that the owner actually took it back to re-cook it, eeeeewwww...), and some strange sort of competitive drumming - a lot like Taiko, for all you 日本に住んでいる人。 Seeing as I still had my raw chicken to eat, as well as the requisite single dinner bottle of Beer Lao to finish, Jules took off on a walk to take another look at the drumming. Her return later was reminiscent of Roberto Benigni's 1998 Oscar Win, as she proudly announced she had participated in some kind of 'Duelling Drumsticks' type drum solo competition. Unfortunately I wasn't there to see it, but papier-mache effigies are being put up all over town as we speak, as she seems to have attained the status of Sun-God in these parts.
But, time was short, so we flew the coop and made for the capital, Vientiane, where we are now. We splashed out on the V.I.P. bus, fat lot of good our extra dollar over the public bus did us, as when we stopped for lunch our brakes were on fire.
That has happened to me SOOOOOOO many times...
Vientiane is very cool, and Helen (Clark - we go way back) - if you're reading, I'm pleased to report that there is a hive of activity surrounding the upcoming ASEAN conference, it's gonna look real perrrrty here when you arrive.
Yesterday we went to the spectacular Wat That Luang - a massive golden stupa at the end of town's main avenue, and today's highlight (along with finding the incredibly fortified American Embassy and determining that Julie can cast here vote here instead of faffing about with postal nonsense) would have to be the Buddha Park, featuring loads of unconventional statues (Buddha pulling on the leg of a massive cockroach, Buddha with four heads, a giant pumpkin with a depiction of the three levels of Hell, Life, and Heaven depicted inside, and a nonsensically large reclining figure of - Buddha) and a good view over the Mekong. It's been a pretty good time here in Vientiane, but my high baguette consumption is tearing my mouth to shreds; curse the French and their crusty breads!
Tomorrow is our last day before heading down to Pakse, where we'll stay on one of the islands in the Mekong, then it's a short bus ride, palming a few dollars to the border guards, and we'll be in Cambodia!
This little laddie's off to bed, another big day planned before we board our first night bus in a while. I'm currently reading The Penguin Complete History of The Second World War, which should pass the time; 1350 pages, 150 maps, 3 authors.
Big war. Big Book.
Congratulations also to John Howard - you big doofus, I've already met Australians who've politely asked if it's possible to become honourary New Zealanders for the next four years. Good one.
Your man turning the political content up to 11,
Arch :)
*No offense intended to Jurgen Masterton, who worked excellently as “Dock Worker 4”, “Attendant at Party”, and “Crane Victim (as a boy)” in the hugely successful “Port Violators”, the widely panned “Party! Party! Party?”, and the deeply emotional “My Daddy Wasnt Just A Crane Driver” respectively.
Unexploded Ordanance, Anyone?
Greetings to you all, or as we say in the Laos Peoples' Democratic Republic - Sabadee!
So, we're finally here in Laos - the most bombed country on the planet - after a three day spurt of travel that involved a lot of slow boats, and not many cushions.
Here's the rundown - I'm Richard Archbold, for the Cheviot Bugle.
Friday took us by minibus from Chiang Mai, to the Laos border, where we stayed in a pokey little guesthouse overlooking the Mekong. Although our bus was full of all the folk we'd soon be sharing a very tightly packed boat with, I didn't really make enough effort to meet them all, as my head was buried in Michael Crichton's 'Airframe'. Standard procedure after a full day in the minivan is to fall straight into bed, but we persevered (bacon sandwiches across the road) and watched a couple of movies.
If you're unfortunate enough to ever find yourself strapped into a chair, with your feet in a bucket of leeches, and matchsticks propping your eyes open, Stephen King's 'Secret Garden' is enough to make you ask for more leeches. This author recommends you do not watch it, under any circumstances.
We started on the 'slow boat' early the next morning, from whence the glory of the Mekong became very quickly apparent. After a cursory customs check and immigration, we waited in a cafe for a few hours before boarding our longboat and heading inland.
Our boat was oversold (I know! Here in Laos, of all places!) at least twice over, so seats were at a premium. Still, there was much gawking over the gunwhales and general "oo-ing" and "aah-ing". There was also quite a bit of "cripes I'm glad I'm not on that-ing" as the faster and more expensive speedboats roared past. Crash helmets are optional, but recommended. As my friend Stefan said, you know that if they're wearing a helmet here, that it must be reeeeeaallly frikkin' dangerous!
A prop failure near the end of the second day left us stranded by a very small village for an hour, where there was some idle chit-chat, and handing out of pencils to the local children. I think it's fair to surmise they don't get a lot of balding guys with massive sideburns and a handlebar mustache around these parts...
Still, we made it to Pek Bang for the night, halfway to our destination, and had a night there. I have learnt this much so far;
- Lizards can come in any colour,
- Beer Lao beats any Thai beer hands down. Don't try Wine Lao though...
- The Mekong is big.
After a candlelit dinner with The Irish, The Swedish, and The American, we rolled into bed, our bellies filled with baguettes (something good did in the end come of the French occupation of these parts...)
Our second day was longer, and much harder to endure as the bruises on my gluteals were really starting to smart by now.
Anyway, there was a lot of shuffling position, standing up (ooooo, standing up really starts to feel pretty fun after a long time sitting), and watching the dirty old river - whirlpools and all.
Luang Prabang is spectacularly beautiful, embodied perfectly by yesterday's visit to Koung-Xi waterfall. I've never had my breath taken away so rapidly as when I rounded the track and saw this little beauty. We spend quite a while there, swimming in the pools at the bottom, and just generally being agape at how fantastic 'The Nature' is.
Time's running out for this man's day, so I'd better wrap up today's report for the Cheviot Bugle, and let you get back to peeling the beans.
Lastly, I would like to issue - in the public forum of Rakish Richard's Rants - an apology. It would seem that in my last post, whilst lauding my first encounter with a tropical disease, my mind was elsewhere - as I forgot the undeniable fact that my very dear friend Brian Stern was in fact the first person I knew to catch a tropical disease. Not only was he first, but he also gets extra style points because it was the dreaded Dengue Fever.
Brian, I boobed, and I'm sorry.
It should be noted that this does not in any way detract from the suffering, anguish, and general lethargy experienced by the Tinseltowners in their encounter with the mystery 'tropical disease'. I am happy to report they are now safely in London, from where they will be providing financial and sartorial advice to the best of their abilities.
Well, tomorrow we head to The Plain of Jars, a bunch of sites (mostly cleared of bombs) covered with hundreds of large (up to two tonnes!) stone jars. No-one really knows what they're for or why they're there - I'm guessing a colossal pickling monopoly, but the theory's not going down well at the local museum - but it should be good for a look. I'm told there's also a crashed F-105 Thunderchief (don't know how that got there, seeing as there was never any 'official' American action over Laos…) which you can be sure I'll be going to have a look at. Berin, how's your model plane coming along?
Your man, certain there's a Douglas Skyraider gathering dust in Hatsukaichi,
Arch :)
And Then There Were Two...
People of the world.
October 7, 2004 - a day that will live in infamy, the Tinseltowners (a.k.a. Smithcorp, a.k.a. Aaron and Jodie) cut their tour short, did not pass GO, did not collect $200, and passed directly to London.
Or Beijing.
We don't actually know.
Either way, there's been a lot go down over the last few days, which can be summarised;
Aaron felt bad.
Aaron did a three day jungle trek.
Aaron didn't feel any better.
Aaron went to hospital.
Aaron had a true blue tropical disease!!
Yes, my beloved best mate of 16 years, and business mind so sharp it can cut steel, became the first person I knew to get a tropical disease. Suffice to say, after lots of injections and antibiotics, he's fine and dandy, chipper and chirpy, bright eyed and bushy tailed - again. However, they have decided that three days on a slow boat on the Mekong, plus inumerable lengthy bus trips, dodgy food, and limited english signage don't cut it when compared to a damn good job, a comfy house, and the delights of London - and have flown on.
O Tinseltowners, you are already sorely missed. The last four weeks have been a special treat, and I hope that you arrive safely in either London or Beijing, and all the best for your first few weeks and settlement in Ol' Blighty.
As for us, Jules and I embark for Laos in 90 minutes, next update - The Mekong!!!
Your man with tears on his pillow,
Arch :)
Questions, Questions...
Good morning one and all.
Well, as promised, and just prior to our departure for Lao Peoples Democratic Republic, I am here to answer your questions, as posed by three of my readers. (Three! I find more questions scribbled on napkins when I'm scrounging through the rubbish, but I'll harangue you all later about the pitiful reader participation this site seems to garner...)
In no particular order, here are my answers to the questions posed.*
1. "Why do you hate America" - Georgie W. Bush. Well, as baffled as I am that my readership extends to the leader of the free [sic] world, I will do my best to respond. Mr. Bush, in this world, there are many things I hate; wet shoes, chained monkeys, pineapple, and the Bay City Rollers - but America is not one of those things. (Hang one, it is possible that America is the Bay City Rollers, but it's too early in the morning for that kind of debate...) While in the past I have expressed some dissatisfaction (heck, let's be honest - I overturned tables in Jakarta, knocked out teeth in Houston, and single-handedly stole the Hope Diamond in protest) about American foreign policy, it is misplaced to suggest I dislike America, as a whole. So, Concerned in Texas, I hope this answers your question. If you want shorter sentences, please email me directly.
2. "What happened to your hair?" - six foot muffin of love. Dear Mr. Muffin, you're not the first to hit me up for style tips - let me tell you. I'll do my best to answer your polite question. As you know, my hair naturally grows in thick, rich, lush golden tresses, and has turned heads from here to Tokoroa. However, as a person in the public eye, I have some responsibility to lead, to set trends - not follow them my friend. As such, I can reveal - exclusively here, on Rakish Richard's Rants - that my current 'Male Pattern Baldness' 'look' is actually the result of an arduous plucking regime. You really have no idea how difficult is it my friend - taking a few extra hairs each day, meticulously thinning out the top, leaving a few tell tale hairs on the pillow; this is the price I pay to be a fashion leader. I hope this sets you all to rest, don't say I don't to anything for my fans...
3. "Humans and elephants have some of the most advanced brains on the planet. Yet, mice shake up elephants in the same way that cockroaches shake up humans. What is the physical reasoning behind this phenomenon? How can these potentially harmless, small creatures have such a frightening effect on us larger, more advanced animals?" - detroitjapan. Dear DetroitJapan, sadly, I can choose only one of your two questions, let's debate the other later, on company time. This one's a real doozy, and took quite a lot of research. I outline my conclusions as follows; After some time at the Chiang Mai Public Library, and a detailed chat with Kapiah (my erstwhile steed), it would seem that the correlation between large animals and the creatures that scare them lies in (long, ascending trumpet peal here!) the length of their second toe! I know it's a little hard to believe, but look at the numbers; The length of an average mouse corresponds exactly with the average length of an elephant's second toe. Similarly, the average cockroach is the same length as the average adult human's second toe (there are exceptions to every rule, and Mr. Muffin - your squid like toes and bird-like feet are testament to this). Taking this further, it's easy to see that the mouse's most feared animal - the ladybug - is (you guessed it), the same length as a mouse's second toe! Again, although I'm stating the obvious now, we can see that the cockroach is deathly afraid of the aphid - a creature the same length as a cockroach's second toe. Now, what use is all this knowledge if there's no way we can use it, and I hear you ask - Dr. Arch (of the Jungle), how about those of us who want to overcome these fears? Well, the simple solution is this;
clown shoes
With these doozies, no-one will know the length of your second toe, and you'll be trekking through fields of cockroaches (works on any sized cockroach, guaranteed) without a care in the world!
Well my dear readers, I hope you can go out into your respective days enlighted, enlivened, and emboldened, ready to take on the world with zest and gusto (no, they're not clowns).
I remain,
Your humble servant,
Arch :)
*The information contained in this post may be a complete load of rubbish. Should you receive this information unintentionally, it is recommended you print it out and eat it.
Getting In Touch With My Inner Mahout...
Arise! Shed your spent chrysalis! Dry your wings in the sun, born again, for Arch of the Jungle is back!
Blimeny heck, I just don't know where to begin. I'm going to take a couple of deep breaths, unwind, and compose myself. Everybody - join with me for some relaxing deep breathing before you read on;
deep breath one, iiiiiiiiinnn... ...out...
deep breath two, iiiiiiiiinnn... ...out...
deep breath three, iiiiiiiiinnn... hold it, and ...out...
OK, now that you're all chilled out, light up a stick of Nag Champa, and we'll get down to it. Comfy?
Right, I last posted on Thursday. Friday night I crashed your party, Saturday I said I'm sorry, Sunday came - you trashed me out again. That could be a Billy Joel song, so I'd better try again.
Get the feeling that I'm procrastinating?
This time, with feeling... Friday had us piled into the back of a little covered ute (the standard for organised transport up here), headed into the mountains to being our three day trek. Hopes were high, spirits were raised, and we'd all bonded with the group, which - excluding Smithcorp, myself, and my volleyball Julie, comprised;
Sara - (SWE) - Born in Iceland, lives in Sweden. Never seen an elephant before.
Dave - (ENG) - Looked like Beckham, with a touch of boy-band thrown in. Funny.
Claire with the hair - (ENG) - The best part about Dave, with green and white braided hair.
Lisa - (ENG) - Claire's sister, the 'rock' of the UK contingent.
Shan - (ENG) - Quiet girl, lovely and quiet. More on Shan later.
Des - (AUS) - A man with an enormous clip-on visor. Des isn't his real name...
Angela - (NZL) - Ex-St. Margarets girl, straight outta Seoul.
After a stop at the local markets (a LOT of handmade water bottle holders were sold, let me tell you...) to pick up supplies, and watch our guide ('O', no first, no last - just 'O') eat freshly roasted unhatched chickens on a stick, we headed straight for the hills. (I chose a lovely blue bottle holder, bought solely because the woman selling it had the reddest teeth out of the lot of them.)
Sadly, our mood wasn't to last, as one of our guides, who we dropped off just after the markets, had a rather nasty spill on his scooter as he overtook the truck. Luck was on his side, as he was one of the 7 people in all of Thailand who was wearing a helmet that day. Despite some nasty grazes (nasty is quite the understatement), lots of blood, and all the help that a team of 11 foreigners can manage, I can safely say that he's quite alright after his two nights in hospital. The rest of the trip was spent pondering how vehicles are actually quite dangerous, and how far down it was to the bottom of the valley from the road we were travelling on...
Still, we arrived safely, stopping for lunch at a little village just out of a place called Pai. After waiting for our guide to clean the village chief's gun (who I might add, is 72, with four wives, and his youngest son is only one year old!), and a brief wander, we took off into the wilderness, trailing several of the local children - some of whom weren't even sons of the chief.
I quickly realised that there really are a lot of things to look out for in the jungle; enormous millipedes, poisonous green snakes, and dodgy paths. But, I soon became a pro (as you would expect - I used to be a mineclearer) and made it through safely.
After a couple of hours of walking - stopping only to free some birds trapped in a net - we made camp at the local 5 star hotel; a thatch hut with spiders the size of crabs. Stranger still, in a country where crabs are the size of cats, but that's another story. We showered (the good old bowl and a bucket of water, naked in the jungle. Again) and changed, and soooooo proceeded the party games... As a good start, someone broke out the whiskey, which the aforementioned Shan polished off at an alarming rate, providing us with some of the best entertainment this side of Bangkok's darkest alleys. Her repertoire included, pole dancing, yelling English idioms at the top of her voice, and as the night wore on and her drunkenness overcame her; just counting out loud. We were a tight bunch by this time, and stories were traded with reckless abandon. We eventually wore down to just a handful of us, hanging out in the corner with the local guy who smoked opium non-stop while Dr. O pulled out some of the best card tricks I have ever seen in my life. It should be said that by this time, I may have been just a little more likely to fall for them than I would normally, but this only enhanced the experience.
Jules and I were proudly the last to bed (2:30am, very late by jungle standards), capping off our first day in the jungle right nicely I thought.
Morning broke, with coffee and brekky, courtesy of Dr. O, before talking Shan out of her hangover and heading down to the village for some chilling with the locals. Now, we're talking no electricity, no water, and not a lot of much except for pigs, dogs, chickens, lots of thatch, and of course the obligatory naked toddler - who ran around, and just generally got himself (yep, I could tell it was a he) grubby. Day two had us trekking out to the next village, stopping at a waterfall camp for lunch (more thatch), some sketching, and a swim in the icy water. Des came close to losing his visor, but hung on like the little battler that he is.
Next stop, holiday highlight number one! Filled with anticipation, dodging the large oxen that lined the track, we made it to the elephant camp late in the afternoon, where I had a realisation. In this land of rebirth and reincarnation, it became apparent to me that I was most definitely a mahout in a former life. Elephants are my new favourite animal. After meeting my steed (Kapiah, a fine fine name, if I remember my past life correctly) and having some quality hand-trunk time, I was lucky enough to be chosen as the only member of the group to ride on the neck of the elephant!!
While all the other suckers were sitting in their wooden back-mounted chairs, I was sitting on the head of an Asian elephant, master of my domain. Now, swimming with giant turtles was pretty great, evading Komodo dragons was also kind of fun, but riding on the head of an elephant rates up there as about the most fun since I worked out I could fit my finger in my nose. After an hour and a half (and having to swap places with the others on my 'phant, stink!), which seemed like faaaaaaarrr too short a time, we arrived, wiser, more tired, and somehow dirty (seeing an elephant poop kind of changes your life, dude...). I farewelled Kapiah (she said she'd call) and we had one last little hike before making camp for the second night.
We were greeted at camp by a bunch of Burmese (we were pretty close to the border by now), selling all sorts of wares, and I just couldn't resist having Julie buy me a slingshot, which I am yet to quite master. As usual, Dr. O turned on a fine feast of selected curries, and we washed it all down with some fried tree caterpillars - quite tasty, if you don't mind the fact that you're eating, well, caterpillars... We managed to still be the last to turn in again, but had a good night's sleep before the last push out to civilisation the next morning.
Day three's hike was just a littley, compared to previous days, and it's amazing how much you forget to keep looking for snakes just because you haven't been bitten by one yet. We pulled up in a slightly larger village (the first road I'd seen in days - days!), and piled into a truck for the last attraction - rafting on bamboo rafts. Now, raft is used rather liberally here, as it really was little more than a section of wall, cut down and turfed into the river. Instructions were clear, men at the front at back, ladies in the middle. Rightly so I think - next thing you know they'll be wanting the vote...
Turns out steering a raft down a river with nothing but a 5m long bamboo pole is harder than it looks, but I called on the stunts I learned when I starred in 'Bamboo Poles of Doom' (Dreamworks, 1989) and after a few minutes was pulling 360's like Tony Hawk. We had a couple of spills (hey, I wasn't driving), and ended up wedged against a dead tree, with muddy water surging over my rippling chest, but our guide (Mr. X) and I managed to free our vessel and continue on to meet the other three boats, where much jocular 'pushing of one's new friends into the silty silty water' ensued. After an hour of this, we had come full circle - piled into the back of the ute heading back to Chiang Mai.
Twas the best of times, and I thank our team for the effort. If you're ever up here, even if you don't stay at the infamous 'Nice Place 2', go there for all your jungle trekking needs. This has been easily one the best things I've done here, and while my post today is mostly about things we've done, the scenery alone is worth it. Dr. O is an amazing guy, full of tall tales, good jokes, a swagbag of jungley knowledge, and he's pretty damn natty with the old slingshot.
We're off to Laos tomorrow, and I would like to thank all of you who contributed with poems. Please check them out here. Berin, I've forwarded yours to 'Non Rhyming But Pretentiously Clever Prose Monthly', hoping you'll be banned for life. As for your virus-y old computer; format baby, format...
Now, I have a question, who made the recommendation for Huen Phen restaurant? Was that you Berin? If so, since when have you been an expert on the culinary offerings of Chiang Mai? Suffice to say - we went, we ordered, we chose the whole plate of pork crackling with green curry paste on the side. Good call, really really good call my friend. Mystery Restaurant Recommender, my thanks go out to you. If you can prove your identity, you'll be the winner of this wonderful washer dryer gift set!
Well, just like at the beginning, it's audience participation time. Today's theme is questions, or if you're reading from Japan, 質問. I would like to invite all interested readers to pose a question to me in the comments section. As long as you sign your name, I will promise to answer all acceptable (it's a G-Rated blog, mmmkay?) questions in my next post, from Laos. Any type of question is acceptable, from 'How do you make the ladies swoon?', to 'I have a summer garden, but want something to add colour over the winter months, what should I plant?', and I will do my utmost to answer you.
We're bussing to the border tomorrow, staying our last night in Thailand in view of Laotian authorities, before taking a two day slow boat down to Luang Prabang. I'll let you know how hard the seats are, and just how slow a boat it is later. As for Laos, a cursory read of the Lonely Planet had this to say;
"Lao Aviation flies by sight alone. If the pilot cannot find a hole in the clouds, procedure is to return to the home airport, refuel, and try again. For this reason, many countries recommend against using Laos Aviation."
Sunny little forecast eh? I for one will be picking up a sturdy Ox and a saddle as soon as I get off the boat...
Your man in seat 7C, with a compass and a parachute,
Arch :)
PS: I'm also a mahout, don't forget that.
PPS: That's a person who is a master of elephants. That's 'master', mmmkay?
