Culture Clash

So, today the Australian woman with whom I'm traveling compared Thai toilets to American ones, saying they were just the same. This was while we were at the home of a rural hilltribe family. Their toilet? A squat toilet which required you to flush it by pouring a bucket of water into it.

Immediately upon hearing this, I was appalled. Mostly because I can't imagine an American who would buy a house with a toilet that required them to squat, and lord knows we love our toilet paper...and don't even get me started on getting our hands dirty to make the thing flush.

The conversation all started with Diane made the statement that Thai people must be shocked when they see bathrooms in America or other countries because we devote huge amounts of space to having a toilet area, shower are and sink area. Our idea bathroom allows us plenty of room and separation between the elements of the bathroom. In a Thai bathroom, it's an all-in-one affair with the shower being a handheld nozzle next to the sink, above the toilet. Most bathrooms occupy a space of about 5ft by 5ft. Unless you're living in a fourth floor walk-up in NYC, your American bathroom is considerably different.

So you can imagine my shock at the Australian woman's assertion that Thai toilets were just like American toilets. She quickly backpedaled and said that she didn't mean that we have squat toilets. No, her comparison had to do with the water level in American toilets. Apparently, she felt fear every time she sat on a toilet in America, thinking she might fall in.

It takes all kinds.

Later on in the trip, the same woman compared my traveling solo to Cambodia with her traveling alone to London to visit her daughter who lived there. Yes, traveling ALONE to a 3rd world country still recovering from genocide and under the rule of what is essentially a military dictatorship is EXACTLY like going to London.

End. rant.

PS. Diane is now coming with me to Cambodia, so you needn't worry. I'm just doing Laos solo.

So far, so good -- Would You Care for a Tattoo with Your Curry?

I have to say that Thailand may be the best travel experience I have had to date. I've never felt such camaraderie with my fellow travelers or found locals to be sol willing to help (without wanting money in exchange for their generosity). We had a free day in Chiang Mai and decided to take a cooking class. I have to admit that I was skeptical and not terribly excited by the prospect, but it turned out to be a highlight. Not only did I learn how to make some delicious Thai food, but I got to hang out with fellow travelers, laughing at ourselves and sharing insight into the places we had been. It was a glorious day!

After class we went for $5 massages, walked aroudnm the Old City, and sat down for dinner at a little restaurant that doubled as a tattoo parlour and guesthouse. We were totally unaware of the tattoo parlor at first. The restaurant was chosen solely based on the fact that they served massaman curry, and I wanted to eat something with potatoes. So, beyond a quick check of the menu, we did no further research.

We walked in, and the owner pointed us to a table. As we attempted to sit down, a pampered shihtzu made it clear to us that we were not welcome at that particular table. How did we know it was her table? She was standing on it, snarling at us.

The owner quickly shoved some restaurant supplies aside at a different table and had us sit there. We ordered our food and a couple of beers. That's when we finally acknowledged the constant buzzing sound that was coming out of the back of the restaurant. It didn't take long to notice the tattoo parlor behind us. It was about that time that we realized the owner's husband had made a quick run to the corner store to buy our beers. Talk about service!

With beers in hand and curry before us, we had the best meal one could imagine having in a tattoo parlor. The only thing that could have made it better would have been band of monkeys playing bongos in the corner.

It just goes to show that appearances are deceiving. You never know what you're walking into until you're halfway through it.

How bizarre, how bizarre...

When night falls in Chiang Mai, the markets open. Diane and I spent our night attempting to barter our way through the Night Bizarre. We were fairly successful with our not-so-well-honed bartering skills.

For the most part, we wandered around looking at the hundreds of stands, occasionally asking about prices, but not buying so much. Then we found ourselves smack-dab in the middle of a hard-sell, and neither of us knows how it happened. All we were doing was walking. Diance glanced over at a white shirt, and before she could event register as to whether ot not it was something she might be interested in owning, a lady boy popped out of nowhere, throwing the shirt in her hands and tying a pair of pants around her.

"Where are you from?" The lady boy asked.
"America." We responded.
"Oh! California?"
A little surprised, we said, "Yes."
"I've been to San Francisco (ed. soooo not surprised by that one.). I went to Chinatown, and what do they call the fishing place with shops?"
"Fisherman's Wharf."
"Yes! Oh, I loved it there. Now you," he turned to me. "You need an orange shirt."

Magically an orange shirt appeared in my hand. Before I had time to turn share a glance with Diane, he was dressing her in a pair of pants."

"I show you how it works. See, you wrap it around, you understand? Then pull it under, you understand? And tie at the front, you understand? Yes. Very nice. Now I show you on me." He grabbed a pair of the pants from the pile and quickly wrapped them on himself. "This is how they look. Not for boys. Only girls wear these. Not for boys. I just put them on to show you. Not boy pants. Understand?"

"Yes," Diane said. "But I don't want pants. Maybe a skirt?"
I jumped in, "Can I get a green shirt instead of orange?"
"Yes!" He wrapped a skirt around Diane and handed me a green shirt. "Okay, let's talk turkey."
We laughed.
"I give you price, then you give me one. I show you on calculator." He pulled out a calculator, showed us his first offer, then said, "Your turn."
We countered.
Then he said, "My turn."
We looked at it, countered again, and....
"Deal!" He shook our hands, took our money, and sent us on our merry way, still unsure as to how that all happened in the first place.

The next night we happened upon him as he was dressing a confused Dutch woman in the pants. She was laughing and saying, "What is happening? I'm Dutch!"

He carried on, asking her if she understood, assuring her that the pants were not meant for boys. Then he spotted us. His face lit up, and he proudly told everyone what we purchased the night before and asked if we wanted more. We declined and said goodbye.

And that's how you keep the people coming back!

That, and my friend, Tong, who sold me a skirt. I bartered him down from 350 baht to 290 baht. Iw alked away, shopped some more, then realized that I accidentally gave him 390 baht. Thirty minutes had passed, but I felt it was worth a try, so I went back to him. He was happy to see me. I asked him on what price had we agreed, and he told me 290. I then told him that I mistakenly gave him an extra 100 baht. He was totally surprised, pull out the money, and said, "Oh no! You're right. I'm so sorry. I didn't even notice."

He gave me the extra 100 baht, and we both apologized profusely.

That would never happend elsewhere! That's why I have a friend in Tong...unlike any friendship I could possibly forge with a car dealer.

This whole karma thing works out well for me, the consumer.

I Love the Elephants!

After a fun and fairly restless night of sleep ont he train, we found our way to
Chiang Mai in Northern Thailand. Once we dropped our luggage at the hotel, our first stop was...the elephant conservatory!

We arrived just in time to watch the elephants take a bath, then see the demonstration on how they were used in logging. As soon as that finished, we booked it over to the "loading dock" to ride our very own elephants. It was fun to say the least, as well as a little hairy going downhill since we weren't harnessed to our seats and could have easily fallen off had we not employed the death grip. Good times indeed!

ONce we finished our rides, we thanked our elephants by feeding them sugar cane. One elephant was a bit greedy. He blocked the other elephants and took all of the sugar cane. What he couldn't fit into his mouth, he just held in his trunk. Who knew there were lunchroom bullies in the elephant world too!

Making All My Karaoke Dreams Come True--One Country At a Time

I will dominate! Mark my words. I will make the magic happen. You heard me alright. My quest to sing karaoke in every Asian country I visit is quickly coming to fruition. To be honest, I didn't even know this was a goal until I was knee deep into the game.

My first foray into the Asian karaoke scene was in China. We found a karaoke bar that was not a thinly-veiled prostitution front (as are, apparently, the norm) in Beijing. It was called "Happy Bar", catered to Australian ex-pats, and was decorated with enormous murals of Che Guevara's visage. The staff's uniform? Che shirts. Oh yes, and there was a stripper pole in the middle of the stage which my brother used rather adeptly during one of his performances. Random? Definitely. Too much? Never.

My second? Japan. After much convincing, I dragged my friends to the same karaoke bar that Scarlett Johanssen and Bill Murray went to in "Lost in Translation". I had to promise that we would only stay for an hour. At first, my companions refused to sing, thus making it L-A-M-E. Then, the spirit of song made its way into their hearts, and they later admitted that an extra hour would have been nice.

Thailand brought the karaoke to me. While were were in Kanchanaburi, we spent one night on a raft, which was kind of like a floating barge. Three large rafts were tied together and pulled by a speed boat. The back raft was a sunbathing spot, where we tied intertubes and floated along with the barge. The middle raft was our sleeping quarters, bathroom, and kitchen. The front raft was our dining room during the day, and our disco at night--complete with fog and lights.

During the day we made stops at a couple pretty impressive temples that required us to walk up 300 or so steps to reach. When night fell, we had dinner, and our karaoke-loving host set up the karaoke lounge. Later we would find that he opens up every karaoke set with "Hotel California". At first, we were the only two participants, but it didn't take long to get the whole gang on board. At 10pm, the karaoke abruptly stopped and we were suddenly thrust into a bizarre disco for about 20 minutes. The smoke machine, disco ball, and lights were a bit excessive considering the fact that only three people were dancing (mostly out of a deep sense of responsbility to make our hosts feel that their efforts were appreciated), but it was fun nonetheless.

And with that, I checked off another karaoke destination. Cambodia and Laos are coming up, and I suspect they might be a bit trickier. Time will tell!

Liability Waiver Who?

There really is something magical about Asia. Some might say it's the colors and smells, the excess use of neon lights, or pherahps the feeling of welcome (or at least the constant state of shock and awe that everyone you pass seems to be in when they spot you, the foreigner). Personally, I think it's the availability of potentially life-endangering activities without the need to sign one of those pesky liability waivers (or got through any sort of safety inspection or training before commencing said activity).
I suppose when you live in a place where the mere act of crossing a street (or walking through a pedestrian walkway in a shopping market) immediately thrusts you into a game of Frogger with vehicles (cars, buses, tuk-tuks, motorcycles carrying a family of seven) speeding at you from all directions with no intention to slow down or avoid you, that insisiting someone fill out a liability waiver for anything from diving to zip-lining is just plain silly.

I first acknowledged this phenomenon in China when I paid $2 to take a zipline off of the Great Wall. As my friends and I completed our jumpes, we laughed at the improbability of doing such a thing with so little preparation in our own countries. "Hey, did anyone fill out a liability form?" No. "Uhh...did we get a quick safety briefing?" No. They just took our money, quickly strapped us into the harness and sent us on our way, flying over a lake. Fun? You betcha'! Something you could do in the US of A without a half-hour video and safety inspection after filling out and signing a 20-page legal document declining your right to sue should anything go wrong? No way, Jose.
Safety truly is an afterthought here. Want to ride a bike or even a motorcycle? Rent one. Want a helmet? Why, are you some kind of wuss? Thinking of kayaking down the river, but have never set foot on a boat? Hop in! You'll learn as you go. What's that? The gondola is closed due to 100 mph winds? We'll just find another one down the road that'll take us to the top of the mountain. How about a nice rock-climbing lesson? Come on over...you will have to sign a form accepting their insurance policy (which is the closest I've EVER come to signing anything remotely close to a liability form).

Thailand is crazy when it comes to transportation. I had no idea that you could fit an entire family from grandma on down to baby onto one tiny motorcycle, or that you could drive a motorbike while your girlfriend sits side-saddle behind you holding a full-sized 20" television in a box, but you can! Hell, the most frequent transportation we take is to pile into the back of a pick-up truck with a sketchy cover and no tailgate, then speed down the highway for a couple hours. No one ever falls out, so we must do alright.

The most hilariously shocking example on this trip was our visit to the tourist trap that is the Bridge of the River Kwai. There isn't much to it except the opportunity to walk over the rebuilt bridge (see the movie to find out the history of the good old Death Railroad, and to learn to mispronounce the word, "Kwai"...it should be pronounced like "Square" without the "S"). When we got there, we took the requisite photos and started to walk onthe bridge. I determined after the first ten steps that it was in my best interest to walk on the metal center rather than rotting wood planks on the side. After walking a little ways, we came upon a warning sign that said something to the effect of, "Be careful walking on the bridge as it is a working railroad bridge. IF you see a train move aside quickly." Really? That's the nod toward safety on on operating railroad bridge? How about, don't walk on the bridge, lest you get hit by a train? That so wouldn't fly anywhere else! Oh yeah, that and the fact that there was no railing and enormous, gaping holes that the largest of people could easily fall through.

While such a warning sign and the obvious dangers of walking the bridge (along with the number of people that refused to step aside and let people pass as they all walked back and forth across it) might be a deterrent for some, it just made the whole excursion more of an adventure.

Asia truly is a magical place.

Monkey vs. Dog

My gorilla suit sure could have come in handy the day I went to Erawan Falls National Park. Sure it started off fine. We loaded up into the back of a pick-up truck, rode a couple hours to the park, bought some lunch, then walked over the waterfall. We found our way to the second level, jumped in to enjoy our free "fish massage" which was just a weird, tickly experience of having a swarm of fish bite our legs relentlessly.

Once we finished our swim, we headed up to see all seven levels of the waterfall, which was a little over a one kilometer hike. Prior to getting to the waterfall we were given guidelines on appropriate apparel. The Thai people (and really SE Asia as a whole) appreciate conservative dress, specifically for women. We were instructed not to wear bikinis and to swim with a t-shirt on. Our trusty guide noted that we would probably see people from the former Soviet Union wearing a little bit of nothing, but warned us NOT to take our fashion cues from them (which, honestly, is a good policy for anyone regardless of the social customs of wherever you happen to be).

As we hiked, up the hill, we passed scads of scantily clad women, and most of them...were Russian. At first I laughed at my own puritanical surprise and my shock at those crazy Europeans and their lack of body shame, and then I spent a half an hour climbing rocks behind a woman wearing a thong and what may as well have been pasties. I don't care how well you've managed to fend off cellulite or how large your breast implants are...that shit should not be paraded through a damn jungle. I now see why the Thai people are so offended by the crass Westerners.

Around the sixth level, I got seperated from the rest of my companions because I was stuck behind three Russian couples taking their bikini prom photos on the rocks. Once the photo session finished up, I carried on with my climb to the seventh level. It was tricky to say the least, but at long last, I made it. Oh the joy! Unfortunately for me, I made it with only 15 minutes before I was supposed to catch my ride at the bottom.

I scurried as much as I could down the hill, but fear of my own clumsiness slowed my roll. A friendly dog and a group of Russian guys were behind me for a bit, so I started up a half Russian-half English conversation with them (the guys, not the dog). As we walked, we found ourselves at a clearing. The friendly dog had discovered the monkeys.

Now prior to getting to the first level of the waterfall, there was a warning sign that said something to the effect of, "Be careful of fierce monkeys. They will steal your belonging." (No, that's not a typo.) Up to this point, I hadn't seen any monkeys, and I couldn't imagine that any monkey would be fierce. I mean, come on! Who didn't watch BJ and The Bear? The greatest buddy show ever about a trucker and his monkey who fought crime and solved mysteries as they drove cross-country?

Apparently, I was wrong.

The dog barked wildly at the group of monkeys that numbered around 7 adults and 2 babies who were all in a tree over a narrow part of the path (thus blocking everyone from continuing). The head monkey screeched at the dog and occasionally took a swipe. We all took photos. At one point, the dog backed off, and the Russian guys took a break for it. I, unfortunately, really wanted more monkey photos, so I stayed behind. That was a bad move on my part. The fight flared up and dog completely blocked the path. I really wanted the dog to give up, but he stood his ground while the head monkey became more agitated.

Finally there was another slight break, though the head monkey was hanging from the tree right in the middle of the path. My new Russian friends kindly waited for me on the other side and encouraged me to walk over. I hesitated, but I didn't think it was going to get any better, so I slowly made my way over to the path while all parties were silent. As I quickly walked under the tree, the head monkey started screeching and took a swipe at my head, sending me off whinneying through the trees. He didn't touch me, but he was darn close.
The Russians and I continued down the path. As I stumbled over the rocks, my Canadian friend caught up to me and we shared stories of the monkey fight. In the end we were a half an hour late, but what better excuse do you have than, "I got caught in a monkey fight?"

Too bad for me it wouldn't be my last 'cuz I could really use that gorilla suit after all.