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5月29日 The M/V Hanjin Athens"And here is as great an adventure as ever I heard of, and here, if we turn back, no little impeachment of all our honours."
Last week I met the guy who replaced me at my old school. I took an almost instant dislike to him, and I was very surprised he'd chosen to become a kindergarden teacher. A more morose person I don't think I've ever had the displeasure to meet. When he asked why I had come back to Korea, I explained that I planned to travel from here to the US via cargo ship. "But why? Wouldn't it be cheaper to fly?" he asked.
Now, everyone asks why, but no one has yet asked in a tone a voice that made it seem as if it was the silliest idea in the world. Even people who say it's not for them realise that it might be good fun for me. The sense of adventure, the solitude, the craic...I couldn't, for the life of me, explain any of this to a guy like that.
Later, we got to talking about travelling in Europe, and it turned out that he had seen quite a bit of the Eastern-half. I asked if he had travelled by rail-pass like I had, but he told me that he had in fact used his own car. I was confused, until he explained he had had his car shipped from Baltimore to Rotterdam, then driven around Europe. Mimicking his earlier contension, I asked "Why? Wouldn't it have been cheaper to rent a car?" I honestly couldn't understand why someone would pay the obscene amount of money required to move something built in Detroit to the continent that gave the world everything from the Mini to the Lamborghini. He showed me some photos from the trip, and in each of them he had some sexy Eastern European girl in the passenger seat of his Dodge Viper. That's when I understood why he'd gone to all that trouble. So while he can't understand why I'd want to travel by ship across the Pacific, it's now perfectly clear why he'd spend so much money to ship his sportster across the Atlantic.
As for my own ship - the Hanjin Athens - here are a few stats for your perusal:
Length = 278.8 metres (a soccer pitch is on average 100m long; an American football field is 109m long)
Width = 40.3 metres (a soccer pitch averages between 64-75m, while an American football field is 48.8m wide)
Tonnage = 66,278 tonnes (this is so heavy I can't even begin to think of anything to compare it to!)
Speed = 26.3 knots (or about 30 miles per hour, or about 50 kilometres per hour)
I leave Busan, ROK, on Wednesday May 30th, and expect to arrive in Long Beach, CA, USA, sometime between June 6th - 9th. I don't expect to have internet access on board, but if I do, I imagine I'll have to use it sparingly. So, until you hear from me next, when I'm back on dry land, here are a few words from Jodi that (I think) she penned specifically for my voyage:
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale a tale of a fateful trip, that started from this Korean port, aboard this ginormous ship. The mate was a mighty sailin' man, the Skipper brave and sure, twelve (mayhap few'r) passengers set sail that day, for a nine day tour, a nine day tour... The start of the second-half of the long journey home"Things are moving pretty fast."
"You mean we're getting near the end?"
"We were always near the end."
I wanted to take the KTX from Seoul to Busan. The KTX is favourably (by the Koreans at least) compared to the French TGV and the Japanese "bullet-train". There were only two stations in Seoul from which I could board the KTX, and I chose the one at Gwangmyeong - partly because it was closer to Jodi's, and partly because Gwangmyeong was where I had lived in Korea, so this journey was providing a little closure to my time in the ROK. I have to say, I wasn't terribly impressed by the KTX. Certainly it was fast, but I didn't feel like I'd been fired from a gun. Also, it wasn't any more comfortable than most other trains I'd been on, and instead of reclining, the seat part of the seat would slide forward when you pressed the button. I've seen this before on Spanish trains, and I can't for the life of me figure out why. When you want a seat to recline, what is the use of the ass-part moving forward 6 inches?
The girl working the Tourist Information desk at Busan Station was very helpful, even going so far as to call the shipping office to get exact directions for me to give to the cab driver. The station is conveniently located near the port, so I got to the office in about 5 minutes. I found myself in a room full of maps, books on Korean maritime law, and a group of Koreans who looked confused, bemused, and embarrassed by my presence. Clearly, I was in the wrong place. I handed over my ticket, and suddenly everything made sense. In spite of the fact that Busan is the world's third-busiest port, all the shipping agents seem to know each other, and one guy in this office had my guy on his cell phone's speed dial. Soon I was talking to my shipping agent, which didn't really do me much good. Apparently, my ship was still in Shanghai, and they weren't sure when it would arrive in Busan. Therefore, they weren't sure when it would leave for the US (this is a day and a half before departure). He told me to check-in to a hotel, then call him on Wednesday morning (the day of departure).
I asked the first guy to recommend a hotel, and he advised me to go to the originally-named Busan Hotel. When I discovered that this would cost over $100 per night, I said I'd prefer a "love motel". In case you can't tell from the name, a love motel is usually used by businessmen to entertain women of negotiable affection. They're usually pretty nice, and cost less than half the price of a regular hotel. Naturally, the guy seemed a little confused that I'd want to stay in such a place, he's used to dealing with middle-aged couples who travel on cruises and stay in top-class establishments, until he remembered that I was travelling alone and would spend 10 days at sea. Checking-in to the love hotel took less than 10 seconds - I simply handed over the $40, took charge of my room key and box of goodies (toothbrushes, a razor, condoms, lotion), and went to my room. I didn't sign anything, I didn't hand over my passport, no one even saw my face - you do all your transactions through a hatch at waist-height (I realise that sounds rather off given the situation - what I mean is, there's a hatch through which you pass the money and receive the key, you don't have to look at anyone, or tell them how long you plan to stay etc. When you leave, you simply put the key in a box in the elevator, and slip quietly out the back door). Just as I had expected, the room was rather nice. No heart-shaped bed or mirrors on the ceiling, but the shower had a number of mirrors, and some handrails, and a seat, and various strategically-placed jets that would shoot water into interesting places.
Later, I went out in search of food and an internet cafe with Skype. It was cold and rather dull in Busan; the wind blew continuously, smelling of fish and oil from the nearby docks. It took me forever to find the type of small cafe that are ubiquitous in Seoul, but luckily the internet cafe was located upstairs from that. No Skype though, just lots of men smoking, and killing each other online.
This morning, my shipping agent turned-up unexpectedly at the hotel to tell me that my ship's come in. There's a good chance I'll have to clear immigration this evening, and leave early tomorrow morning. In the space of 24 hours, everything has changed. He doesn't know when we'll arrive in California, which is hardly surprising given that he didn't know when it would arrive in Busan. That means I can't tell my friend in California when I'll arrive until I'm nearly there, and it will probably require a ship-to-shore call. There's something incredibly romantic about the idea of placing a ship-to-shore call, it's right up there with sending someone a telegram, but I can imagine it'll cost a bloody fortune.
Now I have to return to my love nest and sit around waiting to hear from him - could be this evening, could be tomorrow morning. I really thought a life at sea would be a tad more organised than all this. What a week!I gave myself an extra week back in Korea, and it was a good thing that I did. I didn't think that I had that much to do: pick-up some things from my old school, go to the post office and bank, visit the bookstore, organise train tickets to Busan, but each of these things took almost a day to complete.
At the post office, none of the 30 or so people in front me used the waiting time to fill in the necessary forms; when it was my turn to be served, the girl expressed some mild surprise that I had not only completed and attached the address and customs lables to my parcels, but that I had tried to estimate how much it would cost, and had some cash ready.
At the bank, I waited for over 20 minutes to exchange won for dollars, only to be told I needed my passport. Why? Now, I've had my passport in my pocket everyday for the last 3 months, but coming back to Korea put me in a different frame of mind: having lived here and had Korean ID, I wasn't used to needing my passport, so I had left it in Jodi's apartment. Quite why I needed it to exchange money is beyond me. I'm not used to exchanging money in a bank - it doesn't cost me to withdraw money from my home account while abroad, so I never bother with the bureau de change. Is it normal to have show this kind of ID for this type of transaction? Possibly only in Korea, and probably only when you're a foreigner.
It only took me 20 minutes to get to the shopping complex wherein are located two huge bookstores, but it took me an hour to find even one of them, I couldn't find the other. No one working in the mall or the surrounding neighbourhood knew of the bookstores, or where they were located. And don't think I couldn't explain what I was looking for, I had membership cards for both places, so I was able to show them, in Korean, the names and logos of both businesses, and yet no one could help me. This is the nature of life in Korea - there are few landmarks, and businesses come and go so often that it's too hard, and too confusing, to try to keep track of them. In the end, I found a small Catholic bookstore, and gave myself over to the nuns. Now, unlike a lot of Catholics, I was never taught by nuns, so I don't fear them. My mother worked in a convent school though, so there were always nuns coming to our house. They were always old, and gentle, and spoke with lilting Irish accents, which even I found amusing. These nuns were the same, except they spoke with lilting Korean accents. One took me, more or less by the hand, and led me to the bookstore, jabbering away all the while, as if I could understand what she was going on about (the nuns at home did this too). I was rather pleased with this, and really wished I had been able to tell her that I was Catholic, as if that made any sense.
Buying the train tickets was easy, it took less than five minutes. Getting to and from the train station, however, was a four-hour roundtrip.
And besides all this, I spent much of my time downloading tripe to Jodi's laptop, and bothering her with inane questions about how an iPod works. I know what it's like to have guests stay in your house, and after about 3 days, unless you get on really well, and sometimes even despite that, you want them out! Jodi had me in her space for over a week, and she never complained once (and bear in mind that her space is Korean-sized). I really appreciate Jodi's hospitality this past week, and I'm truly grateful for her friendship this past year.
But don't think this week has been all about riding the subway and chatting with nuns, oh no, there was much merriment too. I managed to make it back in time for the Lotus Lantern Parade, which basically gives us a chance to walks the streets of Seoul all day drinking beer and laughing at white Buddhist monks. (I'm sorry, I realise that isn't very tolerant of me, but I have to say, white people dressed like Buddhist monks always look like hippies who haven't grown-up. A monk from Tibet I can understand; a monk from Arizona looks silly. I probably deserve to have my ass kicked for saying that, thankfully Buddhists aren't violent.)
On Thursday everyone was off to celebrate Buddha's Birthday, so on Wednesday night Jodi's boss took everyone out for a staff dinner. Happily, this included me. Jodi has a great Korean staff, not only does everyone, including her boss, speak English, but they all drink like troopers. My boss was very friendly, but he couldn't speak English. At our staff nights, some poor Korean member of staff would be landed with the job of translating for the boss - not much fun when you've been doing the same thing at work all week. As for the drinking, I'm not saying you need alcohol to have a good time, but when you put a bunch of Koreans and a bunch of westerners together in a small room, it certainly helps!
At the weekend Stef, Jodi, and I went to Itaewon for a detox and breakfast, before moving on to Platinum for the beer buffet - inexplicably in that order. The detox is quite simple, and not at all painful. You place your feet into a bath of water, and for 30 minutes it somehow sucks all the crap out of your body. Never having done this before, and having walked, more of less barefoot, over most of SE Asia the past few months, my water turned ugly very quickly. After 2 minutes there was an oily slick on the surface, after 5 bubbles began to appear, after 15 there were solids in the liquid, and when the 30 minutes were over, my bath looked like a toxic river! It was scary. (I have photos, but not with me. Too bad, I'm sure you're dying to see that mess.)
Platinum was a lot of fun; we were joined by Brooke and Chad, Woody and Rena, and Nico and Yuni. Very late in the evening, about 45 minutes before last orders in fact, our James turned up with some friends. I was very glad to see him; my time in Korea was running out, and it would have been very disappointing had we not met up. After copious amounts of free beer and delicious food, the party moved to Tin Pan Alley, in Hongdae. I don't know how long we were there, but after a while everyone had disappeared, so Jodi and I decided to go home. We got lucky with a taxi driver who spoke English, laughed at jokes, and encouraged my singing North Korean pop songs - perhaps he was a spy.
It was harder to leave Seoul this time around, because I'm pretty sure I'm not coming back. I'll see Britt and Stef in a few weeks; but as for John, I might have to come back to Korea!; and as for Jodi, well, she's threatening to come to Ireland sometime in the new year - all I can say about that is, that it had better be true. 5月25日 Friday's Feast 145Appetizer
Name a sound you like to hear. Strangely, I could think of a number of sounds I don't like to hear a lot faster than I could think of the ones that I do; I like the sound of rain, and waves crashing on a beach, and children laughing. (I know it said name a sound, but I had to note three in order to clear my head of the annoying sounds of mobile ringtones, Koreans eating, and people clearing their nasal passages onto the sidewalk.)
Soup What is your favorite kind of cheese? I'm quite a fan of smoked cheese - cheddar, applewood, anything like that smoked is fine by me. I love parmesan on my pasta (but not on my pizza). And I really like a huge, cheesy grin.
Salad Do you sleep late on Saturday mornings? Why or why not? Not really; when I was a kid the good shows were on Saturday mornings; when I was a teenager and in college, I worked Saturday mornings and afternoons; in Korea, certainly over the last months that I lived here, I had to get-up to go into Itaewon for breakfast at the Rocky Mountain; when I was travelling, it was usually too hot and uncomfortable to remain in the bedrooms beyond 10.30 a.m.!
Main Course When was the last time you forgot something? What was it, and how long did it take to remember it? I can't remember. (Isn't that a truly weak and obvious answer to such a question?)
Dessert Fill in the blank: I notice ____________ when _____________. I notice everyone else's mistakes when I read something they've written. 5月24日 Finally, a little luckLast weekend, Jodi and I headed to Itaewon for breakfast. Instead of going to the Rocky Mountain Tavern, as was tradition, we opted for The Wolfhound instead. I have to admit, my feelings toward The 'hound have changed over time. I wasn't terribly impressed with the place when it first opened, but I have since had many a good night (and morning, and afternoon) there, and I rather like it now. Apart from the tasty and reasonably-(for Korea)-priced Guinness, the food is delicious. I've tried nearly everything from the menu, and all of it has been good. On Saturday, I decided not to have the breakfast, but instead chose the bangers and champ. Champ is the sort of thing my Dad was forever making, and I was forever refusing to eat. Along with cabbage and ribs, and stew, it came under the term "War Food" in our house; when it was served, Mum always let me order Chinese take-out. It's either a sign that I'm growing up, or getting homesick, that I ordered it in a bar a few days ago. It was yummy though, and it reminded me of my Dad, so I was happy with it.
John joined us, and we left for Yongsan Digital Market. I wanted to price iPods, and Jodi was after computer games. Yongsan is a great place if you want a camera, a kimchi refrigerator, or knock-off DVDs. But for iPods it isn't so good. Because Koreans don't really buy iPods, preferring instead to use their multifunction phones, or stick with Korean-made MP3 players, they aren't as cheap as I would've liked. Furthermore, and this is where it became annoying, none of the vendors wanted to make any kind of deal. I can understand them not really wanting to give a discount to me, but they weren't even competing with each other on price. Having travelled around the rest of Asia, where in markets you can haggle yourself silly if you so choose, it was a bit of a come down to be in Korea, where the stated price, even in a market, is pretty much what you're going to pay.
While I was trying to decide if I wanted an iPod that badly, John called a friend of his who is in the habit of buying things online and then selling them on for a profit. As it turns out, this guy's girlfriend had bought an iPod a few months ago and then hadn't used it. It might sound incredible that someone would hand-over $300 for a piece of technology then neglect to use it, but it should all become clear when I explain that she's Korean. I think almost as soon as she bought the iPod she bought a new phone, which not only played songs and videos, but was capable of taking photos, storing kimchi, and even making phonecalls; so why would she need an iPod? Anyway, she was quite happy to get rid of it by selling it to me for the paltry sum of $175! As you can imagine, I was over the moon. I hugged John, warned Jodi that her laptop was going to be used to download the sort of music I like listening to, and made plans with Stef to go to her church the next morning to meet the guy and buy the iPod.
I have spent most of the week trying to gather together as much music as I can get my virtual hands on. The internet rocks, and I love my new iPod. (But Jodi's laptop hates me. Not to say anything of Jodi's feelings toward me.)
5月18日 Surprise comeback!Before I started this trip, I wondered if 7 weeks would be enough to go to all the places that I wanted to visit. As it turns out, 7 weeks was more than enough. After I left Bangkok the first time, I realised that I'd have more time on my hands that I needed. Being robbed in Laos really put me on a downer, and I knew that, once I had visited Kanchanaburi, there was no more of SE Asia that I wanted to see. So, I decided to come back to Korea a little earlier than I had planned.
Changing the ticket was easy - all I had to do was call Malaysia Airlines and ask. They didn't even charge me. However, I had to pick-up the ticket three days before I flew out, which meant I had to be in Kuala Lumpur for three days. Three days is more than enough time to spend in KL, and as I'd already been there, I didn't quite know what I was going to do with myself.
Arriving, I found a decent hotel right on the main street in Chinatown - Jalan Petaling. I had a bunch of books to read, and cable TV for when I was really bored, and I knew my way around the city, so I thought I could spend a few days relaxing, before getting back to Korea, and spending two weeks there relaxing. By the end of all this travelling, I should be very relaxed.
Nothing much of interest happened while I was in Kuala Lumpur. I spent two afternoons in the Petronas Towers. There isn't much to do there, except shop, but I like the buildings, and can spend quite a bit of time just looking at them. On the day that I was due to depart, I was there again. As I walked around the garden, stopping occasionally to gaze upward, I was approached by a man who asked where I was from. When I told him I was Irish, he informed me that his sister was moving to Ireland. He then asked me to join him for lunch, to talk about the Emerald Isle. Having just eaten, and with plans already made, I tried to decline. He insisted, and then told me that his sister would soon be along, and perhaps I could advise her personally about living in Ireland. At this point I was beginning to fear some sort of arranged marriage, so I begged-off, and got away.
Back in Chinatown, I was walking toward my hotel, when a woman stopped me and commented on my nice shirt. She asked me where I had bought it. When I said Korea, she asked me if I was Korean. Smiling, and removing my sunglasses, I explained that I was Irish, but that I was living in Korea. What do you think she said next? She told me that her sister was moving to Korea, and perhaps I'd care to join her for a drink to talk about the Land of the Morning Calm, and give her sister some advice. Of course by now I was seriously starting to wonder what was going on, so I lied and told her I was on my way to the airport, and therefore couldn't stick around.
After all that, I wasn't much in the mood to walk around the streets, so I hid in an internet cafe, talked to Rose for a while, then made my way to the airport.
Having entered and exited Korea so many times as a resident, I had never had any problems with visas and such. However, before the Malaysia Airlines rep would let me check-in, she wanted to see my onward ticket. I explained that I didn't have one with me, that my ticket for the ship was in my Korean apartment. She refused to allow me to check-in. I explained that, as an Irish person, I didn't need a visa for Korea, and there was no chance of being refused entry to the country once I arrived there. She wouldn't budge. I then started flicking through my passport, showing all the entry and exit stamps, trying to prove that I knew what I was talking about. Of course, her computer stated that I needed a ticket, so she was standing firm. Then, she caught sight of my multiple-entry visa for Korea, and this seemed to settle her, because she allowed me to check-in. It didn't seem to matter that the visa was 5 months expired. So much for immigration regulations.
For such an important city, Kuala Lumpur International isn't much of an airport. I know that it was after 9 p.m. when I was there, but as there were flights arriving and departing into the wee hours (my own flight left at 1 a.m.) I felt there should be more services for the late-night traveller. When I asked to be directed to some place to eat, I was told to choose between McD's, BK, and KFC. The only Malaysian restaurants still open were selling curries that had sat all day under the heat lamps, and didn't look at all appealing. I settled for a coffee shop sandwich, and read my book.
There was no one working the Foreign Passport counters at Immigration, so I was processed through the Diplomatic Channel. I wasn't screened once by security until after this point, when I had technically left Malaysia. I'd love to know who would have the jurisdiction to prosecute me had I been found to be carrying weapons or drugs or something - The Hague perhaps?!
As always seems to happen, my departure gate was furthest from the security post, and it took me nearly 15 minutes to get there. None of the travellators were working, which was disappointing, for I love to walk along them. Walking on one that has stopped is silly, but not quite as strange as walking up or down a broken escalator.
At the gate, I was reminded again of how safe Korea is, and how trusting Koreans can be, when the man nearest me got up and went to the bathroom, leaving his hand luggage and camera case sitting in the seat next to me. Having just travelled around SE Asia, with a lock on my bag, it was refreshing to be going somewhere where that wouldn't be necessary.
For some reason, the flight attendant came and offered me a chicken sandwich shortly after take-off. Nothing strange in that, you might say, except that no one else in our section was given one. I never figured out why I was chosen - do I look like a person particularly in need of a chicken roll? The flight felt like it took a long time, mostly because my TV didn't work, (not that I would've watched the tripe on offer even if it had), and because they dimmed the cabin lights while my overhead light was broken, which meant I couldn't read.
Entering Korea for the first time as a tourist felt rather strange. I knew how everything worked, and where I wanted to go, but I had a stamp in my passport that said I had to leave within three months. I'm only going to be here for two weeks, but it's weird having a deadline, even such a distant one.
Arriving in Suji, I headed directly to Stef's house. Ringing the doorbell, I watched as someone came to the peephole, stared at me for a minute, then left again. Because I was tired, and knowing that Stef would've opened the door immediately upon having seen me outside, I walked away. I was sure I'd gone to the wrong apartment.
I was reluctant to go to Jodi's school, because we would never have interrupted my mother when she was teaching, and they could be a bit strange in my school about friends visiting during class time. Luckily, the secretary recognized me, and went to summon Jodi. She screamed when she saw me, and gave me a big hug. This, combined with the fact that the secretary had announced that her "boyfriend" was here, set her kindergarden students to giggling.
I relaxed in Jodi's all afternoon, then we went for galbi. When I lived in Korea I never thought I'd miss the food once I had left. A few weeks in Malaysia and Indonesia changed that idea though, and I've been craving it ever since! It was a delicious meal, but I was once again reminded of how bad Korean beer is.
Later, John came over, and nearly fell over, when he found me lounging in Jodi's apartment. We all went to Stef's, and I discovered that I had been to the correct apartment that morning. Stef was of course surprised to see me, but not all that surprised, because she'd seen me once already that morning. As it turns out, when I rang her doorbell, she was just about to get into the shower. Wearing a towel, but not her glasses, she looked out the peephole and didn't recognize the man on the other side. Not wanting to answer the door to a stranger whilst in a state of near-undress, she just went ahead and got into the shower, leaving me tired, confused, and anxious about where to go. I suggested that the next time someone rings her bell, she put something on, not least of all her glasses.
It's great to be back in Korea, partly because I don't have to work, but mostly because I get to see my friends again. This weekend I plan to buy a new iPod, see my cousin James, and go to the Buddha's Birthday Lantern Parade. It should be good times. Friday Feast 144It's been a while since I was able to partake in the Friday Feast; on Fridays over the last few months I've been in some internet-unfriendly places, like Indonesia, and Laos. Anyway, enjoy.
Appetizer I've experienced so many emotions in the last 24 hours, that it's hard to make such a sort list, and the question doesn't allow for explanations. On the flight from Kuala Lumpur, I managed to go through periods of intense boredom (they only showed two movies: one Korean, and something with Diane Keaton playing the role she's been playing for the last 10 years; then they dimmed the cabin lights, and because my overhead light didn't work, I couldn't read; and, I never sleep on flights), and happiness (because I was going back to Korea, and no one knew about it!), and homesickness (because a flight from Kuala Lumpur to Seoul takes as long as a flight from New York to Belfast, and I was thinking about flying home). Soup A De Lorean Motor Car. Salad I don't think two mornings have been the same since I left Korea. When I still lived here, I'd get up, turn on the news, start the coffee brewing, shower, dress, eat oatmeal, and go to work listening to music. Once in work, I'd turn on the computers, dispense hugs to any of the kids that came into the staff room to see me, and do some prep for my classes. Since leaving Korea, my mornings have largely been based around trying to get my hands on a copy of the local English-language newspaper, deciding where to have breakfast, and wondering what I'm going to do with myself in a new city. Main Course No. Jodi and I once wanted to contact Peter Weir, director of The Truman Show, to tell him that, contrary to statements made in the film, you couldn't see The Great Wall of China from the Moon. This is silly I know, but it sounded like a good idea at the time, mostly because we'd climbed the Great Wall that morning (and therefore considered ourselves experts), and we were both drunk on Chinese beer. I doubt that, had I written, he would've replied; but if he had, I hope he would've told me that not everything to happen in a movie is real. Dessert I don't have an iPod, yet. When I do, I hope to download podcasts from various radio shows, such as BBC Radio Two's Steve Wright In The Afternoon - it's got the best blend of news, views, factoids, quizzes, and of course, music, and I used to love listening to this when I'd collect my mom from school. Yellow FeverAlmost as soon as I'd moved to Korea, my male colleagues insisted that it wouldn't be long before I fell in love with a Korean girl. One said that Korean girls were so kind, generous, and helpful that he was sorry he hadn't come here sooner. The other went into quite lurid detail about why he loved Korean girls so much, which rather put me off him. They both referred to this condition as "Yellow Fever", and believed it would only be a matter of time before I came down with it.
Luckily, I was never to succumb to Yellow Fever, and not least because I'd taken a vaccine against such a thing, in the shape of a beautiful Dubliner named Rose. You see, as far as I could make out, dating a Korean was like dating in the 1950s, and you were really dating her entire family, especially her father; so, it rather seemed like too much work.
But most importantly, I couldn't understand how a mixed couple communicated. No matter how good her English was, the guys always seemed to be explaining things to the Korean. And as for making jokes - you can forget about it. The sense of humour is just too different. I used to think I was terribly funny, because my partner was always laughing, then I discovered the she laughed when she was embarassed, which was often, or to cover-up for the fact that she didn't know what I was talking about - which happened even more often.
By and large, most of the guys I'd meet seemed to be in the relationships for the wrong reasons. With few exceptions, and there were excepions to this, they treated their girlfriends like slaves, which was horrible, or like children, which was horrifying. They were to be seen, but not heard. And to be honest, few of the Korean girls I ever met socially made much of an effort to get involved in the group discussions, mostly because the stuff we'd talk about would be silly shite. Even the guys that genuinely cared for, or, dare I say?, loved their Korean girlfriends, had a way of treating them sometimes that wouldn't be acceptable to most Western females.
I got to thinking about all this the other night on the night-train from Bangkok to Butterworth. I had the misfortune of sitting beside a middle-aged Australian man and his Thai wife, in the overcrowded dining car.
The man was drunk, and drinking non-stop from a seemingly-bottomless bottle of Sang Som whiskey. But even taking his inebriation into account, there was no excuse for how he spoke to the lady. Everything he said was an order; everything she did was followed by a criticism, as if she couldn't do anything right.
You know how they say a person that's nice to you, but not nice to the waiter, is not a nice person? Well, this guy was nicer to the waiter than he was to his lady friend; and of course, he was very nice, in the fashion of a loud and obnoxious drunk, to all the other Westerners in the car.
I knew, with a certainty born of experience, that he would try to talk to me. I pointedly read my magazine (Private Eye - hilarious), and didn't even raise my eyes to pour beer from my bottle into my glass.
The beer was my downfall. He could see what I hadn't yet noticed - that my bottle was nearly empty. And what did he do? He bought me a beer. I had no choice but to accept (I may not have liked him, but I wasn't going to cause a scene, especially not when the beer cost three times what my hotel room was).
He introduced himself, but ignored the lady. I made a point then of asking her name, and shaking her hand. He talked about everything under the sun, but liked to return to his favourite subject: her, and how he never sees a penny from her hairdressing business. I wanted to ask him why he thought he was entitled to any of the money she earned, but I didn't. I guess I'm too polite. I simply smiled sympathetically at her, but she didn't seem to notice. Perhaps she's beyond the point of sympathy.
I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and when I returned I saw that he'd bought me another beer. I was wondering how I could possibly get out of this uncomfortable position, when she came to my rescue. Suggesting it was time to get to bed, she handed him some sleeping pills, which he washed down with a mouthful of whiskey. I was wondering if it was a good idea to be taking sleeping pills with all that alcohol, when they got up to leave.
Perhaps she's trying to kill him. I wouldn't blame her. I have to wonder though, why doesn't she just leave him? What's in it for her? It's not like she's even improving her English by being with him, for he spoke to her like she was a baby. I'd love to know the reasons for their still being together.
I was relieved to be rid of him, and I'd only suffered him for an hour. With any luck, the Yellow Fever will eventually finish him off, and the relief with be all hers.
5月16日 Cinema BangkokI've been to the cinema in a lot of different places: Ireland of course, England, Scotland, Spain, America, South Korea, Bulgaria, Serbia (or, as it was known then: Yugoslavia), and two US military installations - 1 in Sicily, 1 in Puerto Rico. But for a long time I've wanted to go to the cinema in Thailand. Everyone I know who has been to Thailand (which sometimes feels like everyone I know on the planet) has told me about the cinema there (unless they went to Thailand specifically with, and with the sole intention of, spending 2 weeks on the beach). So, on a Friday night in Bangkok, with no one to see and no temples to visit, I decided to go to the movies.
The receptionist at my hotel seemed to understand that I was going to the cinema for the experience itself, as much as the movie. In fact, because the only English movie on show was Spiderman 3, I was going more for the experience. So, she recommended a certain theatre.
When it came time to choose and pay for my seats, I was a little surprised to be asked for less than half what I had been told to expect to pay. Was it some sort of deal? Were English language movies cheaper? Did she just like my new haircut? I handed over the money, returning a bow to the girl (everyone in the theatre bowed to me, with their palms held together - you don't get that in Korea!) and made my way to concessions.
Not really in the mood for popcorn, and not seeing ice-cream on the menu, I bought a bottle of water. It cost the same here as it would have in the 7-11. What was going on? Didn't they know that cinemas are entitled to charge three times what stuff costs in the real world? Apparently not in Thailand.
Excited, I walked into the theatre, and...nearly cried. With the exception of Belgrade, this cinema was exactly the same as every other cinema I've ever been in. Where were the reclining seats? The pillows and blankets? The waitresses poised to take my order? I'd been had.
Well really, that's putting it too strongly. I hadn't been overcharged, in fact I'd paid less than half what it would cost to see a movie in Belfast, and less than a third what it would cost in Dublin. It was just a normal cinema, whereas I'd been told to expect something like a cross between a top class restaurant and a first class airline cabin. The disappointment was painful.
At least I'd made it in time for the previews. Or so I thought. They showed two previews, and then 20 minutes of ads. Should I ever have to be interrogated, they can forget white noise or the Chinese water torture. Simply tape my eyelids open, and sit me in front of a TV showing Asian advertisements. I'll admit to anything you like. In the cinema, I closed my eyes and didn't open them again until I felt everyone around me standing to attention.
I had a feeling I knew what was coming, but it still took me by surprise, for the only other times I've seen this happen in a cinema were in the ones on the US military bases - and we know how patriotic the Yanks are these days. We were standing for the national anthem.
Of course, I stood to attention like everyone else, lest the crowd turn on me, or I be charged with lese majeste.
The video for the national anthem was bizarre, as such videos are wont to be. It started with two little children asking us, in Thai and in English, to stand for the anthem. Then it cut to various shots of the King, with his wife and a soldier, in a field, on a boat, somewhere else, each time holding a map and consulting with a local. Was he lost? Was he handing out patches of land to the peasant class? I don't know, but everyone around me was getting rather misty-eyed. The video concluded with a group of youngsters, most of whom were missing their two front teeth, making them appear all the more adorable, grinning and waving at portraits of His Majesty.
And I have to say, whereas the Irish national anthem video, that used to play at the close of broadcast on RTE, made me want to visit the Cliffs of Moher, and the US national anthem video played on the bases filled me with a surreal sense of jingoism, the Thai video just made me shake my head and laugh quietly to myself.
But what about the movie?, I hear you ask. Well, it was a Spiderman movie, so what do you expect?
I reckon as soon as the makers of Spiderman stop trying to make-up for what happened on September 11th 2001, they might stand a chance of making a decent movie. Every Spiderman movie seems to be more about reflecting the resilience and good nature of New Yorkers, rather than tell the story of the web-spinning hero.
And I'll tell you what else Spiderman needs - a catchy theme song. You know how when Superman blasts off into action, you hear that rip-roaring John Williams tune? Well, Spiderman doesn't have that. Instead, whenever he swings into battle, there's always some handy New York landmark in the background: an American flag, a yellow cab, a Hasidic Jew, a hot-dog vendor. It's just silly.
I guess I enjoyed the movie as much as I could, for a Spiderman flick; and, if that really is Kirsten Dunst singing throughout then yeah, she gets my vote. But really, I can't take much more of him swinging to and fro between the Chrysler and Empire State Buildings, can you?
Thai cookingOne thing I was looking forward to during this entire trip (and, during my last three months in Korea!) was the Thai food. I love Thai food. When I got to Thailand however, I realised that I love Thai food in the same way that I love Chinese food - as long as it's made outside of either country, it's fine by me. Thai food is awfully spicy, and it seemed everywhere I went I couldn't explain clearly enough that I wanted the stuff served mild. There were only a few places where I got what I ordered, and didn't leave with a numb mouth and inflamed stomach.
In Kanchanaburi, you can take a cooking course. Rose had recommended this, telling me that, not only had they met some great people, but they got to eat what they made too! I couldn't resist.
Our teacher was late, and when she arrived, she was a strange specimen altogether. She went by the name of Mickey, but she was anything but fine. She was what is commonly referred to as a ladyboy, but there was nothing ladylike about her, and she'd left boyhood long before I'd reached my teens. She was hungover, and terribly thirsty, and in no mood to teach cooking to a bunch of foreigners.
Unfortunately, the other two people on the course with me - an aging Swede hippy and his Vietnamese wife - loved spicy food, and wanted everything prepared with an unhealthy dose of chili.
I have to say, I wasn't on form that day either. I seemed to do everything wrong. I added too much water to my soup, so it was tasteless. I didn't add enough water to my noodles, so they were undercooked. I even managed to break an egg. And, like your least favourite teacher in school, Mickey was bitchy the whole way through, not so much advising me as taking her hangover out on me. I was getting very fed-up, but not fed at all - nothing we had made appealed to me, and not simply because I'd messed the dishes up: it was all too spicy and full of ingredients that you don't eat (like lemongrass).
However, Mickey redeemed herself by suggesting we make a yellow curry - my favourite. And I redeemed myself by making it properly! Perhaps I've discovered that the trick to cooking (for me anyway) is in making stuff that you actually want to eat!
My yellow curry was rather yummy, and I'm looking forward to getting home and making it again. 5月15日 The Secret GardenThe best thing about Bangkok, in my humble opinion, has to be The Secret Garden - the Israeli cafe and traveller centre. I love it there, and I went in everyday while I was in Bangkok. (I realise that there are some people out there who'll consider that a worse confession than when I earlier admitted to having once travelled on a British passport. But, what can you do?)
The Secret Garden is a great place to hang-out. Sure, the Mossad will have taken your picture and worked-up a complete background profile before you've even ordered (given the fact that I grew-up on the Lower Whack, and that the Palestinian flag flies with almost as much regularity as the Irish tricolour where I live, it's a wonder I even get in the door). And certainly, as soon as someone asks you, in Hewbrew, to pass the salt, your answer in English will mark you out as a Gentile, leading to looks of, at best, suspicion, and at worst, open hostility. But it's worth it.
Apart from the food, which is great value, and the shakes, which are orgasmic, and the music, which is a curious mix of Manu Chao (someone that would have somewhat less than Kosher ideas about the situation in the Gaza Strip, I'm sure) and modern Israeli pop, the atmosphere is wonderfully relaxing. (Probably more relaxing than any cafe in Israel itself, I'd imagine.)
Nowhere to found are the knock-off t-shirt vendors, or the guy who tries to sell the over-sized Zippos; nor will you have anyone trying to sell you a woman, or invite you to a ping-pong show (if you don't know, don't ask!). And while all that doesn't excuse the occupation of the West Bank, it certainly gets a thumbs-up from me. Swimming the Falls, and spotting koalas everywhere in Hellfire PassOn day two in Kanchanaburi I had decided to take a tour that included a trip to the Erawan National Park, a march through Hellfire Pass, a ride on the Death Railway, and a walk over that famous bridge on the River Kwai. (Incidentally, the day I arrived in K'buri I received an e-mail from Jack recommending the Park, for its famous waterfalls).
Having travelled all the way up through the north of Thailand, then down through Laos, without a single interesting conversation, I was hoping I could meet some people on this trip. However, it was not to be. My travelling companions were two couples, from Holland and from Germany, and they seemed to be the only citizens of either nation that I've ever met that didn't speak English. Still, it could've been worse: they could've been the usual English cliche-on-legs that I was seeing more and more of; and, unlike some people, I rather like the sound of German.
The Erawan National Park contains a series of seven waterfalls, stretching up the mountainside. The falls are spaced every few hundred metres, and it's a pleasant hike to each one - the climb is far from taxing. There weren't many people around when we were there, and it was possible to have an entire lagoon to yourself if you wanted. We were warned that, when we were swimming, to be on the look-out for monkeys - apparently they steal your belongings, searching for food, and MP3 players.
When I reached the 7th fall, I stood waist-deep in the water, while the little fish nibbled at my toes. As soon as the bigger fish started to make an appearance though, I dived in, hoping to scatter them. The water was clean, and clear, and wonderfully refreshing (which is a slightly more poetic way of saying it was bloody cold!). I didn't mind, because it was a hot day. I stood for a minute under the waterfall, pretending I was in an ad for shampoo, until my brain started to go numb.
Later, we visited another museum concerned with the Death Railway. Unlike the one in K'buri itself, this museum repeated the story of Japan's entry to World War Two over and over again. I knew the story, and was tired reading it every few minutes. It reminded me of the South Korean museums, where you'll hear the story of North Korea's invasion ad nauseam.
You have the option to walk the 4km of remaining train track here, but why anyone would want to do that in this heat is beyond me! Instead, we hiked the 300m to Hellfire Pass.
Towards the end of the War, the Japanese moved the deadline for completing the railway forward, which meant that the half-dead POWs and Asian labourers were forced to work round-the-clock. Hellfire Pass was a trail that had to be cut out of the mountain, using little more than their hands. Because they had to work through the night, the men stuck candles into the side of the pass, and the flickering of the flames, and the hellish conditions under which they were forced to work, earned this clearing the name Hellfire Pass.
While it's not hard to imagine the nightmarish conditions the men were forced to endure, it is hard to understand why the Australian visitors insist on leaving mini-koala bears stuck everywhere along the Pass - in railway spikes, on the sleepers, on the memorials themselves.
For reasons that were never properly explained to us, we didn't get to ride the Death Railway. There were rumours of a crash, which had some people making unfunny jokes about its name, but no official explanation was forthcoming. Also, while we were waiting at the station, a huge thuderstorm erupted, which meant we couldn't walk across the bridge. However, I wasn't too fussed, as I'd already taken a stroll out along the tracks over the River Kwai, which was probably just as good.
Arriving back at my hotel, I discovered a big leak in the ceiling of my room, right over the spot where I'd left my bag. Luckily, clever old me packs everything in plastic bags, so the only things that got wet were my sneakers, and I don't plan to have to wear those until sometime in September! 5月14日 KanchanaburiThe mini-bus arrived in Kanchanaburi over an hour ahead of schedule. This was good, as I had less than 3 full days to spend there, and Rose had said you could happily pass a week in this pleasant town, 2 hours west of Bangkok. The bus dropped me at the Jolly Frog guesthouse, and I got a room on the upper deck. I was eager to get out and explore the place, but I was also famished. Before I could get to a table in the restaurant however, my attention was grabbed by the well-stocked book exchange. It had all sorts of cheap thrillers, the type of John Grisham / Stuart Woods page-turners that makes travelling on SE Asia's roads bearable. I bought four, getting a good discount and a promise that they'd buy them back if I finished any before I left.
Like other cities, such as Krakow and Belfast, Kanchanaburi is known for the wrong reasons. It was near here, in 1942, that the Japanese started to build the Thai end of the Thailand-Burma railway, which they intended to use to move troops and equipment as part of their takeover of Asia. The track has since become known as the Death Railway, for 100,000 Asian labourers, and 16,000 POWs, died during its construction. It was made famous by that seemingly-neverending film The Bridge On The River Kwai.
The Thailand-Burma Railway Museum is one of the best museums that I've ever visited. It's small, well designed, and not overpacked with information. (Inexplicably, the other museum that deals with this particular event in history, the JEATH Museum, also has an exhibit dealing with the Miss Thailand contest.)
How the Japanese treated the POWs during the war was pretty atrocious, and the temptation to harp on about this fact must've been great during the construction of the museum. However, the exhibit doesn't overdo it; in fact, a lot of space is given over to the stories of the men involved, and that really tells the story. It was their stories that I found most moving.
Outside, the sun was setting as a team of Thais worked in the cemetary across the street from the museum. They were cutting the grass, cleaning the headstones, and even watering the flowers that had been left at some of the graves.
All of the headstones have the name, rank, and age of the soldier that died, as well as a message from their parents at home. Most said something along the lines of "His duty nobly and fearlessly done", some had "At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, he shall be remembered". I thought then how hard it must be for the families of these men, not just to have lost a young member of their family (nearly all the soldiers here seemed to be in their 20s, some were younger than me), but to have them buried so far from home, and I understood then why the Americans have their war dead repatriated.
One unfortunate result of my visit to the museum was that I couldn't get the tune from Bridge On the River Kwai out of my head for the rest of the trip. Baiting ScammersHave you ever received one of those e-mails from someone in Africa, or Iraq, or wherever, claiming to represent a church, and asking for money; or claiming to be from a member of the government of that country, and asking for your help in embezzling funds?
Well, have a read of this:
5月8日 How very random!Last week, the following were the subject headings of e-mails from Paul. Being so ridiculous, they made me laugh no end, and need no further introduction:
Que pachuca con toluca!
Pandora didn't think outside the box
I served in the military under General Apathy
we have located your pants
Do watch dogs know they're working?
Hold me closer, Tony Danza
I don't know quite how to say this
four fried chickens and a coke
No me pidas un beso mientras como mi hotdog
If you don't tell lies, at least you don't have to remember what you have said.
Aux armes, citoyens!
I'll take that drink now. 5月7日 Back to BangkokIt seems that everytime I come to Bangkok, I have stuff to do other than just look around Bangkok. Whether it's sending books home, or buying train tickets, something always gets in the way of my being a tourist in this city.
I arrived this morning at 7 a.m. and had taken care of all my business before noon. I set off therefore to see the sights. This proved more difficult that I had anticipated. Today is Coronation Day, so everything is closed. I've never understood this about places. You give everybody a day off work, then close everything they might like to see. I wanted to see the Grand Palace. Closed. Makes perfect sense I suppose: who would want to visit the house of the reigning monarch on the anniversary of his coronation?
After that, I decided to visit some of the wats, to see the Emerald Buddha, and the famous Reclining Buddha. First of all, there are no signs pointing the way to these temples. There are signs for the Khao San Road, positioned so close to that thoroughfare of depravity that you needn't read them. Presumably, the city fathers either assume everyone knows the way to the Wats, or they think no one will bother to go if you steer them to the sex shows of Khao San instead.
Dejected, I gave up and returned to my hotel. As much as I hate to admit it, I had lunch there too. It's the only place I've found in Thailand that does a decent yellow curry.
I'm leaving Bangkok in the morning (ding-dong the bells are gonna chime!), but I'll be back at the weekend, for another night. I don't hold out much hope for a view of the sights though, no doubt everything will be closed for some reason or another.
So far, the only interesting thing I can find about Bangkok is its name - it's the longest placename in the world, apparently. Here it is:
"The city of angels, the great city, the eternal jewel city, the impregnable city of God Indra, the grand capital of the world endowed with nine precious gems, the happy city, abounding in an enormous Royal Palace that resembles the heavenly abode where reigns the reincarnated god, a city given by Indra and built by Vishnukam". Like deja vu all over again...Main Entry: dé·jà vu
Pronunciation: "dA-"zhä-'vü, -'v[ue] Function: noun Etymology: French, adjective, literally, already seen 1 a : the illusion of remembering scenes and events when experienced for the first time b : a feeling that one has seen or heard something before 2 : something overly or unpleasantly familiar Last night, as I sat in the dining car of the train from Nong Khai to Bangkok, I had an overwhelming feeling of deja vu. It's not the first time this has happened to me, but it felt very intense.
Everything was familiar, even though I'd never been on that train before, hadn't ever travelled that route before, and the differences between last night's journey and the previous night-train journey in Thailand were manifold. For one thing, I was travelling between two different places, in the opposite direction to last time. I was sitting in a different seat, facing another direction. The layout of the dining car was different. I was drinking a different beer. I was reading a new book. I was surrounded by strangers.
And yet it was all so familar. The train pulled into a station, and, without looking up, I knew that the cop in the dining car would be leaning out a certain window. He was. That's when the hairs started standing up on the back of my neck, and I started feeling the deja vu. I had the distinct impression that they were going to close the dining car for some reason. That, within a few minutes, they'd dim the lights, and ask us all to return to our cabins.
Well, they didn't close the car. But the lights did go down. In fact, the whole train stalled, and the power died. I was sitting close enough to the engine to hear them try to start the train again. It's kinda funny hearing a train start and stall, like an old car. But what was strangest for me was the fact that the lights were going on and off, and when they finally got the train started again, the lights were dimmed; so much so, in fact, that I could no longer read my book, and had to return to my cabin.
I've no idea what this all means. Probably nothing. I'm sure that someone could explain it all away. But still, it was weird, and fun, and exciting, and it made what was otherwise a pretty rough journey pass all the more enjoyably.
5月6日 Money! Money! Money! Must be funny...One of the good things about getting back to Thailand is the currency. Thailand has a more-or-less stable currency, the Baht, and they use it first. In places like Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos, they use other currencies, such as the US Dollar, and the Thai Baht, because their own isn't stable.
In Cambodia, the Dollar is preferred to such a degree that ATMs will dispense it; in order to get some Cambodian Riel, you have to go somewhere and exchange it. It's really not worth your while - prices will always be quoted in Dollars, and they'll be surprised if you want to pay in Riel.
In Laos, it's even worse. They use the Baht, and the Dollar, and then their own Kip. Prices are quoted in Baht first, and Dollar if you like. In the same way as their Cambodian neighbours, they'll be slightly surprised if you offer or request to pay in Kip.
Furthermore, the design of the notes for Cambodia and Laos is so strange as to make you think it's another attempt to confuse and swindle foreigners. Indeed, one infamous scam involves handing a customer a stack of local currency (the denominations are in 100s and 1000s, and with the 2 currency system, and the exchange, it's easy to become befuddled) containing notes that are almost worthless, but that look like notes of a higher value.
There's little or no uniformity in the design, so that not all notes have their denominations printed in the same place. That means on one note, you'll have the denomination printed on the top right corner of the face side, whereas on another, it's in the bottom left of the reverse side. You find yourself constantly turning notes around and over, looking to see how much they're actually worth.
It gets worse: most of the notes have a curious squiggly design in the corners. To the untrained eye, it often looks like a 6, or maybe a 9, with a bunch of zeros after it. So you think you're paying with (or receiving as change) a 6000 (insert currency here) note, when in fact it's only worth 500.
In Thailand, all the notes have the King's face on them, and the denominations are always printed in the same place - on the face side. Furthermore, they don't bother with using more than one currency, though I think they'd be happy to accept Dollars in some places. (Interestingly, it's considered rude to put a wallet with Thai Baht in your back pocket, as you would be sitting on the King's face - a serious sort of offense in Thailand.)
At this point in my travels, I can't wait to get back to good old Ulster, where there are only 8 different banknotes to contend with. 5月5日 How bored am I?So, I'm waiting to get out of Laos. All the buses were full this morning, even the ones with empty seats. Seems they're determined to keep me here. I managed to get a ticket for the afternoon bus, but as it's only just gone 10a.m. now, I've time to kill. I was writing an e-mail, and my mind began to wander. Looking at that little address box in Hotmail, I noticed there were bunch of different nationalities represented by people I have occasion to e-mail from time to time. And here's how bored I am, after I had sent said e-mail, I started counting the people in the list, and doing a tally of the nationalities.
I only counted people in the so-called "Favourites List", people I e-mail (or should e-mail!) regularly. I didn't count anyone more than once (you know how some people have multiple addresses?), and I didn't count companies like Amazon, 'cause that'd just be stupid. (As if this whole thing isn't stupid, but seriously, there's really nothing to do around here while you're waiting for a bus.)
So here's how it looks:
Austria 1
Romania 1
Holland 1
Basque Country 1
Mexico 1
Philippines 1
England 2
Denmark 2
Sweden 2
Spain 2
France 2
Italy 2
Korea 2
Germany 3
Canada 4
America 9
Ireland 45
I also have one person for whom I can't decide upon a nationality. She was born and raised in Germany, to an Irish mother and a Kenyan Sikh father, she went to university in Ireland and Germany, and now lives in Belgium. I believe she carries a British passport, but sure didn't we all at some point?! I'll have to ask her myself!
And I spotted two people who don't exist outside of an e-mail account, and I can't recall the nationalities associated with their mythical personalities.
I do wonder what we'd all talk about should I manage to get everyone together in the same room. 5月3日 Laos - why did I bother?I had intended to write a rather long post about the nightmare journey here, from Thailand. It took three days to get to Laos - 1 on a bus, and 2 spent sitting on a narrow wooden bench in a tiny slow-boat. I didn't have one interesting conversation over the course of the three days, nor during the last two days spent here in Luang Prabang. I found the other passengers intensely boring, in fact the only interesting thing about them was their capacity to bore me. I'm sure they'd say the same about me. Now I'm wondering why I even bothered coming to Laos at all.
Yesterday afternoon, two Laotian guys checked-in to my guesthouse. No one thought it strange that two guys who live down the road would check-in to a foreigner-filled guesthouse that charges more than the average Laotian makes in a week. After I had gone out to dinner, they broke into my room, rifled through my stuff, took my MP3 player and all its parts, and some cash.
The people at the hotel have been very good, doing as much as they can. The police were less than helpful. In spite of the fact that I wrote out 2 reports, when I went to collect them today they gave me one they had written themselves. It didn't list the cash that I had reported missing. They refused to issue me another, or return to me the ones I had written myself. They then had the audacity to ask me to pay for the report. I refused.
While I was there, I got talking to three other foreigners. Their room too had been broken into, and among other things, their passports had been taken. The passports were recovered, but the police were refusing to return them until they had paid an "administration commission".
I know this sort of thing happens all over the world, but that doesn't make it any easier to accept. I realise I was lucky, in a way. I wasn't hurt, and they didn't get my passport, tickets, or credit cards. They even left my sexy sunglasses. But the loss of the MP3 player is hard to take. I would've accepted the loss of my camera a lot more easily. A camera can be replaced cheaply enough in Thailand, or Korea. But there were over 3000 songs on my player, taken from dozens of CDs borrowed from people before I left home. What I am supposed to do now to escape the boredom of the upcoming journeys?
I'm getting out of Laos as quick as I can. I don't really feel like dealing with these people anymore, as friendly as most of them have been. The theft, and the actions of the police have ruined the place for me. |
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