tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13584873075544273762024-02-06T20:30:44.471-08:00Eastward BoundBrian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-35560096176030890482010-11-11T19:06:00.000-08:002010-11-11T19:15:28.840-08:00One time, back in 'Nam...After the trip to Halong Bay, I spent a couple of days exploring Hanoi. First, I visited an old French prison located near Hanoi's French Quarter. During the French occupation, it was intended to hold Vietnamese prisoners, particularly political prisoners fighting for independence -- many of whom were often subject to torture and execution. The prison was later taken by the Vietnamese after they ousted the French at the battle of Dien Bien Phu in 1954.<br />
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</tbody></table>During the Vietnam War, the Vietnamese used the prison to house American POW's and was sarcastically nicknamed the "Hanoi Hilton". This is the same prison where John McCain was held after his plane was shot down over Hanoi in October of 1967. He endured five and a half years here as a POW before finally being released. From the beginning, U.S. POW's endured miserable conditions, including poor food and unsanitary conditions. Today, the prison is filled with war memorabilia, old photographs and propaganda.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John McCain's Flight Suit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Later that day I visited the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum where Ho Chi Minh's embalmed body is kept. Ho Chi Minh was a Vietnamese Communist revolutionary leader who was prime minister (1946–1955) and president (1945–1969) of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam (North Vietnam). He led the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viet_Cong" style="color: lime;" title="Viet Cong">Viet Cong</a> during the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vietnam_War" style="color: lime;" title="Vietnam War">Vietnam War</a><span style="color: lime;"> </span>until his death in 1969.<br />
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One thing you should know about Ho Chi Minh is that he is revered with almost god-like status among the Communist Vietnamese. He is still referred to as "Uncle Ho" and his pictures are everywhere, even on every single piece of their currency. Ho Chi Minh was a well traveled man especially for that day in age. Living parts of his life in the U.S., England, France, Russia, and China, the communist leader took a bit of political knowledge from every country he lived in. <br />
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I know I've forgotten to mention it up until this point, but the Vietnamese currency is known as the Dong so you can only imagine the jokes I've heard while traveling. Currently, $1.00 is roughly worth 20,000 dong, which means it only takes $50 to be a millionaire here. I remember going to the ATM to take out 8 million dong when I bought the motorcyle and stuffing a wad full of dong in my wallet! I can tell you it's an awesome feeling to have 8 million dong burning a hole in your wallet. Walking the streets back to the hostel, I felt like I should have had my dongs secured in a locked metal briefcase and handcuffed to my wrist, but then again it was only $380.<br />
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<u>____Observations on Northern Vietnam</u><b><u> </u></b><br />
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In Hanoi, communism is alive and well. Mandatory curfews are enforced at midnight when police patrol the streets, ready to smack any late night "revelers" with their batons. I've been told the cops don't hassle foreigners too much, but the locals, they get this fear of God look in their eyes and run like hell when the "gestapo"shows up.<br />
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One comedic episode involving some curfew breakage occurred one night on the main alley where most of the backpackers stay. A local bia hoi (draft beer cafe) was serving past curfew when the men in blue showed up. The bia hoi was jam packed with people, but the bar owner had posted look-outs on each end of the alley to scan for the baton-wielding police. As the cops turned down the alley, the lookouts gave the bar owner the signal.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sign Next to the Bia Hoi</td></tr>
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The owner shoved as many customers inside the tiny bar as possible...and when I say tiny, I'm talking around 30ft x 15ft and standing room only. Then, the owner used a remote control to close an accordian-like overhead door over the entrance of the open-air bar. As the police rolled up, three other guys and myself (who hadn't been able to squeeze into the bia hoi) dropped our beers like a bunch of busted high schoolers at an after-prom party. Unsure of how they'd react, we stood there with a blinded deer-in-the-headlights look on our faces. But the cops just gave us an unfriendly scowl and told us to go to bed as we slowly backed away. <br />
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As the police proceeded to beat on the garage door of the bar, we hung back to see what the outcome would be. Finally, the garage door slowly opened and the owner sheepishly appeared. To everyone on the outsides chagrin, no one but the owner was in the bar. We knew what the police were thinking because we thought the same thing ourselves. "Where in the hell did everyone go?" The police walked inside the bar, sniffed around a bit, and then I caught the owner give me a wink. Highly aggravated they wouldn't be collecting any bribe money that night, the men in blue yelled back at us to leave the area. They then hopped in their paddywagon and sped off into the sweaty night. <br />
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I still couldn't believe what I'd seen. Really, where did all of those people go? Apparently the bar owner built a door in the back of his bar that lead into his small apartment behind the bar. When he got the signal from his watchmen, he funneled everyone into his tiny apartment where he cut the lights and told everyone to remain silent. As I stood there laughing and amazed, I kept thinking about how I love all the surprises that happen in this country. It also kindof reminded me of the prohibition era in the U.S. when everyone gatheredi in the speak easys to schnog down some ole-fashioned boot-legged spirits.<br />
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Oh and one other example of communism here... Facebook is blocked and you have to log in using a special website or you've got to get the head guy at the internet cafe to change some funky proxy settings for you.<br />
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Below is a picture of an old Russian Minsk that I meant to post a while back. They're a legacy left behind by the Russians and they look super cool, but they are really really pieces of crap. <br />
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Even though I'm home now, I'll try and put up posts since I spent another month and a half in S.E. Asia without posting anything. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where I learned to drive a motorcycle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-47671272974496966902010-09-23T03:52:00.000-07:002010-09-23T04:03:58.012-07:00Goodbye Eileen, Hello Halong BaySo I forgot to mention that after having Eileen brought back to life and talking to several mechanics about the status of her health, I decided it best to sell her. The mechanics told me there was no chance Eileen would make it all the way down to Ho Chi Minh City without going through the same troubles I'd already experienced. It was actually a sad day after hearing her crank up again and feeling the warmth (or the overheating) coming from her engine.<br />
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I put up a few advertisements in the backpacker area as well as few postings online and was surprisingly able to fetch a decent price for Eileen in only 1 day. I sold the bike to an expat who had been living in Hanoi. Poor guy. I told him about the problems I'd had, but he didn't seem to mind. Luckily, I was able to sell him the bike for a price that netted me a loss of only $35.<br />
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Unfortunately, the next day, Jake's trip ended and he had to catch a flight back to Bangkok to connect with his return flight home. I tried hard to convince him to extend his trip, but he had just accepted a great job working with Boeing that I knew would be impossible to pass up. We had a great trip together with both some highs and lows. We saw some amazing scenery and had incredible experiences. How many people can say they've purposefully been thrown off an elephant or motorcycled around 1,800 hair pin turns in the mountains of Thailand, or even better -- screamed like little women when we had a rottweiler-sized rat fall in our bed near the Laos border? Hopefully our trip together will inspire him and his girlfriend Jade to continue traveling and see more of the world, well maybe not the part about the rat. <br />
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After Jake left, I booked a boat trip to explore the UNESCO world heritage site of Halong Bay along the northeastern coast of Vietnam. Halong Bay -- Majestic and mysterious, inspiring and imperious: words alone cannot do justice to the natural wonder that is Halong Bay. Over 3000 incredible limestone islands rising from the jade waters of the Gulf of Tonkin and you have a vision of breathtaking beauty. Halong Bay is pure art, a priceless collection of unfinished sculptures wrought by the hand of nature.<br />
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<a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/08tBAeLL-NP0M_3OD3Omag?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5r08U6wbSzrNwRyUN_pBEfPDvJIIE_IGwyY5QbQDtNCNZ3Lre4LGDr1NUlsgZfzXQPT6NPH0kH9lq-Yhy_lh3rXBNbCBBLuUCvUG6ep_s9G_yp9-GzKg94cv4cTn9IciXxR03t_5PIg/s400/P1030353.JPG" width="400" /></a><table style="width: auto;"><tbody>
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</tbody></table>Halong Bay is the stuff of myths and naturally the Vietnamese have their own. <i>Halong </i>translates as ‘where the dragon descends into the sea’. Legend has it that the islands of Halong Bay were created by a great dragon that lived in the mountains. As it charged towards the coast, its flailing tail gouged out valleys and crevasses. When it finally plunged into the sea, the area filled with water, leaving only the pinnacles visible. <br />
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My 3 day trip through the bay began on an ancient looking Chinese-style 'junk' ship. The trip was geared for a younger crowd so after a few hours of cruising we jumped off the ship's top deck into the water. After a bit of splashing and swimming, we took some kayaks to explore the nearby caves created by the wind and waves.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Chinese looking junk ship</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: right;">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/keelsb/NorthernVietnam?feat=embedwebsite">Northern Vietnam</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: right;">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/keelsb/NorthernVietnam?feat=embedwebsite">Northern Vietnam</a></td></tr>
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We spent the first night on the ship and where I met my bunk mate for the night named Grant. Grant was a nice guy and quite an interesting character that had lived all over the world working for an Australian based organization that helped developing countries to train their police force. At dinner, he told me about how he'd lived in Sudan for a number of years and was now living in Papua New Guinea. <br />
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The next day, we headed for an island where we'd have time to wakeboard and explore more of the bay by kayak. Wakeboarding in Halong Bay was a surreal experience. I do it all the time at home, but being pulled behind a boat in bay was incredible to say the least. Afterwards the tour group all hung out on the island and enjoyed a bountiful meal of fish, squid, chicken, beef, along with fried noodles and rice.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Castaway for day</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wakeboarding Halong Bay</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: right;">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/keelsb/NorthernVietnam?feat=embedwebsite">Northern Vietnam</a></td></tr>
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We spent the next day cruising back to Halong City where the tour ended. Since I'm pretty far behind on the blog, I've omitting many details in order to catch back up. Sorry this one is kinda boring.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fisherman at first light</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: right;">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/keelsb/NorthernVietnam?feat=embedwebsite">Northern Vietnam</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuuscPZ5Ti5USkA2PozIoMykaLIKJq6Tu1sLfSMRT_miLt4KHp7kaVf0Q6aDASy_I_eeiuejSrqODEpueVsTZ4Rkm6AwKQg2dMz79Kw1pWeY0sw_8a2RiDR5clZVj_h8Gbhke7Uo4LIPQ/s400/P1030284.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Fishing Boat</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/I-UdwDc_Ggwhoin_NQAAww?feat=embedwebsite"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: right;">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/keelsb/NorthernVietnam?feat=embedwebsite">Northern Vietnam</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Zdp5lU1AEQqcup30IkqdYw?feat=embedwebsite"><br />
</a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: right;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-80245557610673177062010-09-23T02:52:00.000-07:002010-09-23T02:52:31.440-07:00Eating Snake in Hanoi, VietnamOne of the things I wanted to try while I was in Vietnam was snake. I had heard of this village called Le Mat "Snake Village", just outside Hanoi that sounded just up my alley. The village has been operating to breed and serve snake for hundreds of years as snake meat, and blood is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">considered</span> a delicacy for the Vietnamese men. It took some coercing, but finally I was able to convince Jacob along with 4 other English blokes from our guesthouse that it would be a once in a lifetime experience and also, according to Vietnamese folklore, would increase your virility -- not that we manly men need it or anything.<br />
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The drill goes something like this: You show up at the village where you cross a series of small bamboo bridges to get to the area where the festivities begin. When we arrived, we were sat on the floor at a table and were given drinks until our dinner was ready to be presented. Soon after, our hosts brought out 2 three foot long snakes and asked if these would suffice. Ideally, we'd have liked to go for the cobra, but it was just too expensive at nearly $100 a pop. <br />
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We were satisfied with our snakes and next we were instructed onto the next 3 important tasks proceeding the preparation of our meal: First, someone had to cut the snakes underside open to expose the beating heart. Second, someone had to find the beating heart and tear it out. I believe this was Jacob's task. And, last but not least, one person had to swallow the beating heart. No one seemed to want to swallow the beating heart so I volunteered. It actually kind of resembled an oyster shot, only an oyster doesn't pulsate as it travels down your esophagus and into your stomach. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAtaLVXmrOlQBQ40uoOlGBlB2dGDG5-MO1NfB56SXDCjoxSrt3lSck6PKDKFtxqDqyuu8OMhMgS56RQaHXUxUm12UkDa5dvYLrKKsT-6t1ruo08KgHFjaUnev7ENEViCNetKm26q_SPM/s1600/2010-08-25_19-48-17_490.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAtaLVXmrOlQBQ40uoOlGBlB2dGDG5-MO1NfB56SXDCjoxSrt3lSck6PKDKFtxqDqyuu8OMhMgS56RQaHXUxUm12UkDa5dvYLrKKsT-6t1ruo08KgHFjaUnev7ENEViCNetKm26q_SPM/s320/2010-08-25_19-48-17_490.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me - Post snake heart</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Once the snake heart was taken, they proceeded to drain the blood and bile to mix with rice wine as shooters.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg0SW8Gkct7O8tdr8i3oRUxZViRnNiBFGiPCVjmoKzQGK_mOhSjjEA40gEfWnb2UQGvLClGau4x4lrn0bUTBH3adm5eW0c6ftS7YBs1ZlpS9lWjjeycgeJWYD6rDX9UjSHdxDZ7qAtHqE/s1600/2010-08-25_19-47-48_319.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg0SW8Gkct7O8tdr8i3oRUxZViRnNiBFGiPCVjmoKzQGK_mOhSjjEA40gEfWnb2UQGvLClGau4x4lrn0bUTBH3adm5eW0c6ftS7YBs1ZlpS9lWjjeycgeJWYD6rDX9UjSHdxDZ7qAtHqE/s320/2010-08-25_19-47-48_319.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Draining the blood and bile</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Finally they took the snakes (or whatever was left) back to the kitchen and made an 8 course snake dinner. The dinner was excellent tasting, however not extremely filling as you can imagine. There was fried snake skin mixed with garlic and peppers, fried snake meat, grilled snake, snake spring rolls, vegetables, rice, and oh yes -- all the snake blood rice wine we could drink. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVGjyE5tCh-08l20tBo3WEI7Sccj-zw9vvVWoUkVGHAK3W6VMOff7W0Bp7h8Gp-9PhKvuhATcWHvzi38F4lxw9FzLhDNYlAzMQ-UUFJRA-k6FvH5xR3gDN8_k9MOKlEuadCNDzxpVgM3M/s1600/2010-08-25_19-55-20_158.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVGjyE5tCh-08l20tBo3WEI7Sccj-zw9vvVWoUkVGHAK3W6VMOff7W0Bp7h8Gp-9PhKvuhATcWHvzi38F4lxw9FzLhDNYlAzMQ-UUFJRA-k6FvH5xR3gDN8_k9MOKlEuadCNDzxpVgM3M/s320/2010-08-25_19-55-20_158.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red=Blood Shot Green= Bile Shot<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilgbPcpkgzqKZMUsJlK6bUsXmn-tZGs7Fwfsi-3S70J83VRWfL3cWuqE-bPEsU9ANPujc23_STaLJfSOnapDSyll90TrCx1jSJuo-FU2YoSYfWISoCxkSSP_6H8WA-RaENPtZSO60ZTVI/s1600/2010-08-25_20-00-15_702.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilgbPcpkgzqKZMUsJlK6bUsXmn-tZGs7Fwfsi-3S70J83VRWfL3cWuqE-bPEsU9ANPujc23_STaLJfSOnapDSyll90TrCx1jSJuo-FU2YoSYfWISoCxkSSP_6H8WA-RaENPtZSO60ZTVI/s320/2010-08-25_20-00-15_702.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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We underestimated the power of the snake blood rice wine and the table got only slightly inebriated before the two hour ordeal was over. When Jake got home, I believe he went to the toilet and threw up... He's still not really sure if it was from the snake or the rice wine or both, but I think he can say it was still an interesting experience!Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-87800392394471586262010-09-10T05:20:00.000-07:002010-09-23T02:15:16.850-07:00Motorcycle Chronicles - Days 4-5<b>Day 4</b><br />
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The next day we woke up early and continued on our journey. This was the longest leg of our trip (300km on dirt/semi-paved roads), and we were told it would take between 6 and 8 hours. We ended up making it in around 10 hours because of the back roads we took due to construction. We drove for about 1 hr in the dark, which is exactly what we didn't want to do. It was raining when we left and didn't clear up for over an hour, so that probably slowed us down a bit as well. Luckily, we picked the perfect time to motorcycle Vietnam...and by perfect, I mean worst. Late August through September is Vietnam's monsoon season so everyday there is usually a torrential downpour. Overall though, I think we were lucky an escaped the majority of the storms. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_FtQo3L0tLNcu40JbflMT5fgqIfhhK-6Q8j79gpXuK9h3Anv963oK5tkVbPvNpoJQaHUzp7KGZ6LyZbijEeIPsbh1hd5Odn_aJ5wwX-jjw-K2PP75Yq6p6EQUXKbNC_5L0U_K0DfiLmM/s400/P1030189.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Northwest Vietnam</td></tr>
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However long and uncomfortable our ride was, it was also amazing. We went through a very rural part of Vietnam (near the boarder of China). The paved roads at the beginning were small and windy with one side being rock where the road was blasted through the mountain side, and the other a small guard rail (if that) with sheer vertical drops. I kept half expecting a massive dump truck to come flying around the corner while blindly passing another massive car and us going flying over the edge. Luckily the traffic wasn't bad that day.<br />
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The positive side of the monsoon season meant the mountainside contained every shade of green imaginable. I think National Geographic could do an incredible special on this area with their high definition cameras. About 2 hours into the trip, the roads started to have small sections that had been washed out and were filled over with dirt and gravel, which eventually gave way to complete sections of mud. The towns were spread out pretty far apart and we wouldn't see any signs of civilization for a good hour at a time. There was a lot of road construction going on and it looked as if a couple of the towns were built especially to house the construction workers. Again, I think we went through every element possible: rain, sun, mud, dust, small streams, etc. When we arrived we were again both completely caked with dried mud and dust. After our long day, I gave Jake a congratulatory pat and watched the dust rise from his back like a book from Moses' personal library. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37ylIiVEUFqc5HrjfRS1Yp_j73nEUGkNBqYyIUghyphenhyphenjcv8vTR0nNHM7IGMcvqfn2F_gKmuxgrgThIahQBgULw8xhuE6eoTyg4OwV7I3hXberCzdpXzoztmeigq4Jcvy_lXNfpdDMUeCxc/s400/P1030194.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Small village in a valley</td></tr>
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<b>Day 5</b><br />
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We decided to stay in a town (Son La) that was about 200 km away in hopes that we could have an shorter ride. The morning was crisp, and the ride started out beautiful. More majestic mountain views, and the roads continued to get better... back to mostly paved with only a few washed out sections. We would pass through towns, and the Vietnamese children whom were going to school or playing near the road would do a double take (probably since our bikes were much bigger than the norm), wave, and yell "Helloooo". We would do our best to return the wave, honk, or rev the engines. They loved it as much as we did.<br />
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About two hours into the trip, after we had just passed though a small town and were starting to pick up a steady pace, my nightmare began. Eileen (my Chinese Honda) broke down and by broke down I mean the engine melted and she became a worthless piece of scrap metal -- well not really, but it was bad enough that after 6 hours and 3 mechanics later no one was able to revive her. Thankfully Jake was there to tow me back to a nearby town or it would have been a nice fun sweaty workout pushing the bike back. What I later found out ended up happening was that a seal or gasket was broken which caused the engine to burn oil constantly (even though I checked it multiple times, dad) and thus overheated Eileen. Understandable given the fact that Eileen was old in her age -- 112 in dog years and we were driving +300 km's per day up steep hills and on rough terrain.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMbgD42mIZTJ895hwJMtx_u9WTHlRSP-p6-yh8H2I3ba63O6CReshC8E5UvdEh5srmRMtswh0uCv9swrfrn43I4y85IQex_3q8TY70LhRSpKzafE60WCoVb0kwDaGFTlYgEGiH4fSdltI/s400/P8221022.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Working with the mechanic</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMbgD42mIZTJ895hwJMtx_u9WTHlRSP-p6-yh8H2I3ba63O6CReshC8E5UvdEh5srmRMtswh0uCv9swrfrn43I4y85IQex_3q8TY70LhRSpKzafE60WCoVb0kwDaGFTlYgEGiH4fSdltI/s1600/P8221022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><br />
Since no mechanic had the parts to fix Eileen, they told me I had to put her on a bus and head back to Hanoi -- a mere 10 hours away. Great, I thought. Only 10 hours on an overnight bus with me being the only foreigner and a broken down motorcycle. This should be fun -- and man, let me tell you, it wasn't. Jake decided that he would finish the ride alone and that we'd meet back up in Hanoi. "Good luck," I told him. And he would need it. <br />
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My overnight ride back to Hanoi included an amazing stop for some delicious Vietnamese cuisine. At around 3 a.m., we stopped for pho which is basically noodle soup containing some bits of meat. The ultimate pleasure in this stop came when I found out the only meat being served was Rin Tin Tin (a.k.a. dog meat for those born after 1985). I declined the offers for the meat and claimed to be a vegetarian, which practically shattered my manhood. Generally, I eat at least 3 huge steaks a day at home, but eating dog was just too much. As several men proclaimed "dog" to be #1 in Vietnam, I faked a smile and sipped on my vegetarian pho. <br />
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Eventually, the bus dropped me off somewhere on the outskirts of Hanoi at 4 a.m. When they put the bike under the bus, they had to partially take it apart in order for it to fit. I imagined arriving in Hanoi and them dropping me off with the bike in multiple pieces so I refused to pay the whole bus fare until someone put my bike back together in Hanoi. Once the bike was put back together, it started raining. As I stood there exhausted from the lack of sleep and still covered in mud and sweat from the day before, I pulled out a map and tried to get someone to show me where I was. Unfortunately no one spoke English and I could not pinpoint my location on any of the maps I had. I was tired, hungry, only slightly irritated, and smelled worse than 3 day old opossum road kill.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/1chM8BNUC_57-uCv7OTgEw?feat=embedwebsite" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib55eppU8lltnOSzAuboE4DOb0wZmBCMLSoYfNed-YVF7GbCU9owCaUWJ1Tmj4yLF87lxWWGjbn7p_V7NNc87pA3BAhyphenhyphenXPsdhZStCf1Lr19x1NaMYQjlwG-iuVwzkS7gp76gTcLZCESQ0/s400/P1030183.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: right;">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/keelsb/NorthernVietnam?feat=embedwebsite">Northern Vietnam</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Eventually after a fun game of charades, I managed to hire a pick-up truck driver to take me around with my bike in the back in search of a mechanic. Since it was still dark, raining, and I had no idea where I was, both the driver and I knew I didn't have many options. I knew I'd eventually end up being ripped off. The young driver must have been no more than 18 years old, but he knew today was his lucky day. I was a stranded foreigner -- a walking dollar sign. <br />
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I later found that my driver did speak some broken English when he said that none of the mechanics would be open until 9 a.m., which meant I got to kill some time at his father's cafe drinking coffee. While we were there, he sat and tried to teach me some Vietnamese. The Vietnamese language has 5 or 6 tones, which means you can say the same word in 5 different pitches and it can have 5 different meanings. My 5 hours of Vietnamese lessons ended up being excruciating since I was still exhausted from the lack of sleep. The guy would get 2 inches away from my face and almost scream out the pronunciations coercing me into saying the words correctly. Then he'd pull on both my cheeks to help me say the word again and later he insisted on nearly choking me to death by sticking a chopstick in my mouth to use as a tongue depressor. <br />
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We continued the lessons and drinking coffee, which I should add, is some of the best coffee I've ever tasted. So strong it would probably be illegal in the U.S., each cup is individually brewed with about the same amount of coffee that we would use for just 1 pot. It comes out blacker than oil, thicker than tar, and is so strong that you can only drink it in the smallest sips. A splash of sweetened milk can be added to lighten the taste.<br />
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<a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/ORp84shN_Zs-s5PPYT8REw?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp12dN4jAtGlrlpc_VpwQh4qscrqUaOrqpgvZEXigX9OWcvrDoDH1tlmGC4iUjpfwqp23kFkQJS2ZwHmBFwW0H4S3VECNqAoiyUn5JkNmG7P2qCXgoWHid7-l7VH2KsJaQaVWqdMl9dKI/s400/P1030389.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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To make a long story short, I spent the better part of the day watching the mechanics disassemble the engine and put new pieces in. Watching Vietnamese mechanics at work is interesting to say the least. They all have a different opinion about what should be done and each one wants to show off his mechanical prowess. Their skills are pretty rudimentary. Often just banging on parts with a hammer on pieces that at home would normally be precisely tuned within a very small tolerance. Tolerances -- these guys don't care a thing about them. Bang on it a few times until it's in place and hope she fires up on the next crank. Ahhh....Vietnam.<br />
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Later that day, I met up with Jacob after he'd spend nearly 8 hours driving all day in the rain and around the city trying to find our rendezvous point -- The Backpackers Guesthouse. We both had that worn down look our faces and later we swapped war stories about our equally adventurous journeys back to Hanoi. "I almost got run over by a dump truck," Jake said. "Well, I almost had to eat dog noodle soup and then got dropped off in the middle of nowhere at 4 a.m.," I retorted.<br />
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While it was somewhat of a hellacious experience for both of us, it was well worth it looking back at it now. Would I have done anything differently I ask myself? Of course. I would've pushed Eileen over the edge of a mountain if I had the chance again.Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-4843647873190042542010-09-09T03:39:00.000-07:002010-09-23T02:18:20.459-07:00Riding Over a BridgeRode over this tiny wooden bridge today...insane. I stole some other guy's youtube video because mine won't upload.<br />
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<object height="405" width="500"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/YuXYjp_apq4?fs=1&hl=en_US&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/YuXYjp_apq4?fs=1&hl=en_US&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object>Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-83094442923890127912010-09-08T04:15:00.000-07:002010-09-08T04:28:12.899-07:00Motorcycle Chronicles - Northwest Vietnam - Days 1-3Jacob and I started our 800 km epic motorcycle journey through the northwestern part of Vietnam on a 5 day loop through the rugged mountains and countryside. What started out as one of the greatest experiences of my life turned into a nightmarish hell, but in retrospect as I'm writing this, it's definitely an experience I'll never forget. We planned to visit an old French hill station high in the mountains in a town called Sapa which lies near the Chinese border as well as several other interesting towns along the way. Jake was a little short on time before his departure flight back home so we decided to put our bikes on an overnight train to Sapa, which proved to be a trying, but interesting experience.<br />
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We found out you can load the bike on the train yourself, but since we spoke less than 2 words of Vietnamese, we paid some Vietnamese guys that worked for the moto rental company (where Jake rented a dirt bike) to help us. We reluctantly handed them our keys and trusted that we'd see our bikes on the other side of the 10 hour train ride. When we got to the train station, we picked up our tickets and crossed through the gate. Standing there were our 2 bikes...not on the train....."hmmm, not good," we thought. We were running a bit late and the train was about to leave so we started to panic. We asked the train station attendant why our bikes weren't on the train, but she didn't speak any english, nor did she pretend to care. Another guy that appeared to work for the station approached us and told us in very broken english that our bikes would not go on the train and that we should not leave or we'll never see the bikes again. We were pretty freaked out and not sure of what to do since I'd paid $400 for my bike and Jake had a $3,000 deposit down on his. We called the moto company and they told us everything was ok and that our bikes would go on the next train after ours. "Okkk," we thought. With only a few minutes to decide, we took a leap of faith and trusted the company that everything would be fine. We literally sprinted for the train as it was leaving and got on while it started to leave the station. That would never be allowed at home. Man I love Vietnam. Rules and regulations if they even exist are completely flexible, which can make things nice or it can work against you.<br />
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That night, we shared a sleeper cabin with a Spanish couple and swapped stories while practicing our Spanish. It was tough getting to sleep knowing that I might not see my bike on the other side, but as luck would have it, the bikes came on the next train about an hour after our arrival. We were also smart by outwitting the Vietnamese that tried to drain our fuel tanks...usually they drain the tanks for safety reasons on the train, but you don't get the gas back...or they charge you 3 times as much to buy gas near the station. We drained the fuel from our tanks into some plastic bottles to carry with us before putting the bikes on the train. Muhahahaaaa.<br />
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The train stopped in a small town called Lao Cai where we completed the remainder of the trip to Sapa by bike. It's always satisfying to have your own wheels especially when there are 20 eager touts (taxi drivers) hounding you to take their taxi. Most of the touts nod at you with an impressed look that you're able to figure things out on your own since most of the other tourists seem to be on the "spoon fed" tour -- the kind where everything is pre-arranged for you Most of the time, we enjoy the challenge of doing it on our.<br />
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It took an hour to get to Sapa from the train station and it was an amazing drive. We explored Sapa by bike for awhile and I found a mechanic to take a look over my bike to make sure it was running ok. It appeared to be burning some oil as black smoke seemed to be coming from the exhaust. "No problem," he said. I checked the oil, which appeared to be fine, but I kept having a bad feeling about what was to come.<br />
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<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/6lov" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDafiWFCg99-j4aCFMgPcbNaZZP2KrtgDwpiDxYTPwdO20SHcwmJrKdfmayNJbTmDJ_ZOF5EXRgmIGrvSJ386vjezNE5WvLEclT87p4v7tRsL3G4etsazUwtPdHmYvyI_S8xYFEBCJYsM/s400/P1030042.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
We ended up picking a place high up on a hill (with an awesome balcony) overlooking the cartoon-like emerald green valley. $10 a night between the two of us for a ridiculous view, free internet, and clean sheets -- what more can one ask! Many of the people around Sapa are Hmong, which is an ethnic minority that I believe originated in Mongolia, but over time were pushed further and further south into Vietnam, Laos, China, and Thailand. The town really has an out of this world feeling. The Hmong men wear navy blue French pettycoats with popped collars and silver bands around their necks. Women wear traditional clothing which they make themselves from hemp and dye with local indigo. They are a truly 'ethnic' looking people and those involved in tourism speak excellent english. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hmong_people">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hmong_people</a><br />
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<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/ELtp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2A7yiFBqXbz4j-JrkDmBI2wMZFXFj3AU5QZiEIdwTTdMSF-P8XV4_KSbpmtzMZ7s7C69ksM2b3csAOHILtWvnSJxis5EY3rn_KFsn2AJs-9dfU8O19vkl-VywIfL9RFCtePD5rdzLfPM/s400/P1030146.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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We hired a tour guide to take us on a trek through the local Hmong villages and the countryside. The views were almost beyond what I can describe. It was the kind of thing that sent chills down your spine. The entire mountain was a network of terraced rice fields framed by impossibly steep peaks . Again, I don't think I can even put into words how beautiful the scenery is and I am convinced there is no other place like this in the world. It's as if the scenery was digitally enhanced by some computer nerd and you're sitting in a movie theatre with 3D glasses just soaking it in. Words really can't describe the place or the feeling, but see the pictures for yourself and just know that pictures can't even do the place justice.<br />
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<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/tm4I" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz3jnwlGE8Izc1LAxNWKXsA1v7mlW0EvUdbsInaTFK_eMCJbcIETgomDJ23yP5kYy4iA0eRabpQAJZ7Ycydc6iiekRIvye010ikTuFOMmoM93x61iy1dTaFCat8dFSctjY9PLLYwzCAhY/s400/P1030162.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
During our time in Sapa, we met a lot of the Hmong women as they were selling handmade hemp clothes, bags, etc. They would all come up and with broken English say "You buy from me?!". It was funny because it was all ages (from 4yrs to 85yrs old), and they would say the same thing. I assume that tourism must be their main source of income, aside from the old days of opium cultivation. I've actually heard about tourists being propositiong to buy opium from 65 year old women.<br />
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Later that night, as Jake was in town grabbing a bite to eat, I returned to our guesthouse to find 5 Vietnamese men gathered on the floor eating and taking shots of rice wine. I was invited to join, and by invited I mean amicably forced. I tried explaining that my friend was waiting for me, but they would have none of it. They offered me full coffee-sized cups of rice wine and proceeded to get me drunk. I didn't want to be rude and decline, but I also didn't want to get obliterated like I was beginning to see was the case for these men. And I didn't want these men to think that Americans are squares so I took 4 or 5 big glasses of the "happy water" as they called it, which eventually gave way to several manly grunts of satisfaction. One old man (the drunkest of the bunch) grabbed my hand and shook it for what felt like a solid 10 minutes. "Gam Uhhnn," I repeatedly grunted back, which means "thank you" and eventually, I slipped out to meet back up with Jake.<br />
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<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/puPF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCcmxlzb26lkKvUrOIL1FdpGm_TGGEFdQKgFUA6DKOfmX6Klci2rwXNejKAmO02BdN3OhxWHn9fr73KyJNhWECm4FWZiG5dcMPGyPqc9bq0wCwVG0OpNHdRtK5v_Z7Ci4Ox1W53gmYHcc/s400/P1030168.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
The next day Jake and I spent time exploring the town and checking out the local markets, which had some interesting hand made souvenirs we bought. Realizing that we needed to get on with our trip, we left early the next morning for what turned out to be a 10 hour test of endurance. We drove through every type of terrain imaginable: mud, gravel, potholes, washed out sections due to small rivers crossing the road or because of rock slides, dusty back roads, you name it. The weather varied nearly as much as the terrain: rain, cold, and fog turned to radiating heat and humidity. We were literally in the middle of nowhere and due to some major construction on a new highway, we were forced to take all the back roads through small and remote villages. <br />
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The hard work was completely worth it though because the scenery was even more impressive than Thailand and Laos with continuous views of the mountains and rice terraces that constantly gave us goose pimples. The elements and construction work slowed us down a lot, and although we tried to make good time we didn't make it to our stop in Dien Bien Phu (the famous site where the Vietnamese won a decisive battle that ousted the French) until 8:30pm. When we arrived we were both covered from head to toe with mud and backcountry Vietnamese dust. To say the least we slept good that night!<br />
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That next morning we got on the road early in anticipation for another long-haul day. The views again were absolutely stunning. <br />
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I am probably a good 2 weeks behind on the blog, but will do my best to catch up...for some reason I can't access the blog site. Stay tuned.Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0Sa Pa, Lao Cai, Vietnam22.34059 103.83480122.181814499999998 103.6013415 22.4993655 104.0682605tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-18466291914714606302010-08-27T17:22:00.000-07:002010-08-27T17:22:15.476-07:00Good Morning VietnamAfter leaving Laos, Jacob and I took the easy way out and flew from Vientiane, Laos to Hanoi, Vietnam in order to avoid the grueling 25-30 hour bus ride. We flew with Vietnam Airlines because apparently Laos Airlines has a sketchy record and doesn't report the number and cause of crashes, which have been relatively frequent in past years.<br />
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I'd heard many bad things about Vietnam from fellow travelers and especially Hanoi so I wasn't quite sure what to expect. Vietnam's capital Hanoi is a living museum. A fascinating glimpse into an Asian city of old, yet oozing with the energy and pace of a modern metropolis. The constant buzz of motorbikes, street hawkers, pedaled rickshaws, pedestrians, bicycles, and cars envelopes this fascinating city as tourists apprehensively negotiate the narrow streets and risk life and limb to cross the road.<br />
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Everywhere you turn, there is constant activity and noise. Honking motorbikes, squawking street vendors (and sometimes wildlife), the clanging of beer mugs at a bia hoi (local beer) cafe, everyday there's a sight that makes you ask yourself, "Did I really just see that?" Life takes place in the outdoors. People eating, cooking, playing, feeding babies, laughing, or just sitting and talking over a glass of hot chai tea, it's all here. I could spend days (and I have) just people watching in this city. It's insane, it's beautiful, but at the same time dirty and disgusting. It's hectic and frustrating at times, but it's steeped in history and it's never dull. I can't get enough of the madness that is Hanoi.<br />
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For example, as I was walking down the street the other day, I watched a lady stab a goose in the neck and drain it's blood into the street while a brand new Range Rover drove by. I ask myself how can these two things be seen in the same place at the same time. I watch poor farmer women selling roots, vegetables, and meats from their old-fashioned wooden carrying baskets as they sit outside a modern 40 story building. The buzz of the city is different than the other big cities I've been in. It's organized chaos and I like it. Crossing the street is an adventure in itself as the streets are filled with a sea of motorbikes. One must venture out into the street one step at a time being ever vigilant, but mostly, you let the motorbikes do all the work and dodge you as you slowly, but directly put one foot in front of the other until you reach relative safety on the other side. That is until you have to dodge the three people driving motorbikes on the sidewalk. I also saw a whole dead big cut in half thrown on the back of a motorbike dripping blood being carried down the street. The ingenuity of what these guys can carry on a motorbike is truly impressive.<br />
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On to the rest of my trip...<br />
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Every adventure lusting man dreams about venturing off on his own into some exotic and unknown country. For me, my dream was to buy a motorcycle in Vietnam and ride Che Guevara-style from tip to tail, exploring the rugged mountains in the north along the Chinese border and then follow the Ho Chi Minh Trail all the way down to old Saigon, now known as Ho Chi Minh City (all the while jamming to some classic Vietnam War era hits like CCR's "Fortunate Son" and the Rolling Stones' "Paint it Black"). For a foreigner, owning a motorcycle in Vietnam is technically illegal, but authorities turn a blind eye as long as you have the proper ownership document (mine said I was born in 1960....nice!). This incredible 2000 km motorcycle journey has been featured on the BBC series <i>Top Gear</i> and has gained popularity ever since the program aired. I estimated it would take me a solid 4-5 weeks to explore the north and finish in the south.<br />
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I ended up buying a motorcycle (a "Honda" Bonus) from another Spanish traveler who had the bike for several weeks. The bad part is that I had never even driven a real motorcycle, the kind with the full clutch. All the bikes I've driven in Indonesia, Thailand, and Laos have basically been semi-automatic scooters since larger motorcycles aren't widely available. Hanoi has to be one of the worst possible places in the world to learn to drive a bike, but I was determined to figure it out. After a quick lesson from Jake, I had it figured out and was driving around Hanoi dodging motorbikes, pedestrians, chickens, and cyclos.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VBQDh06_pUc/TGzUnEiyF0I/AAAAAAAAASo/zncDSfMPcFM/s1600/2010-08-19_13-49-49_16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VBQDh06_pUc/TGzUnEiyF0I/AAAAAAAAASo/zncDSfMPcFM/s320/2010-08-19_13-49-49_16.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eileen - the "Honda" Bonus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>One type of motorcycle that many foreigners like to drive here is an old 2 stroke Russian legacy called the Minsk. While they look awesome and the idea of riding an old communist Russian motorcycle across Vietnam sounds romantic, they break down every 100 km's, parts are hard to find, and the Vietnamese hate them; thus, I ended up buying a "Honda", and when I say "Honda", I mean a cheap copy of one from Taiwan. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-kquLKBFHa_HDUUbAkWp86z-ttSofJEK1dVJZftQ5Fjiw2X40SqU8FOSt9mTqi_2eXG1P-2OIC6kbiOqxcJl-6s4cZKSgVJQ24akilFwc1swF6fPdCLh8c-jrNfL9iHAKEuC-yYMaXXo/s1600/P1030166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-kquLKBFHa_HDUUbAkWp86z-ttSofJEK1dVJZftQ5Fjiw2X40SqU8FOSt9mTqi_2eXG1P-2OIC6kbiOqxcJl-6s4cZKSgVJQ24akilFwc1swF6fPdCLh8c-jrNfL9iHAKEuC-yYMaXXo/s200/P1030166.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My 'official' ownership paper</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Our plan was to spend the next 10 days in northern Vietnam exploring the mountain towns and colorful ethnic Hmong villages by bike. After our mountain trip, we planned to explore the Unesco World Heritage site of Halong Bay. I also forgot to mention that Jacob rented a nice 230 cc dirtbike for the trip which is more than double the size of any of the bikes here and until recently, was also technically illegal to ride because it's bigger than what the police ride.Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-11976366954680007182010-08-20T08:49:00.000-07:002010-08-20T08:51:58.529-07:00Tubing in Vang Vieng, LaosThe 5 hour minibus ride to Vang Vieng was well, for lack of a better word, insane. If we didn't hear the wheels skid around each turn, we were going too slow. Our driver considered himself the Laotian version of Dale Earnhardt and took us around mind bending 180 hair pin turns as if we were the Starship Enterprise entering warp speed to escape the cling-ons. Off the ever-crumbling side of the roadway was a deep deep ,but beautiful valley, which I pictured the bus being hurled into since there was no railing. We couldn't decide whether it was better to close your eyes and not see death coming or to be prepared for a death roll and brace for it. We ran over multiple live animals and almost took out an entire village as our driver made his best attempt to break the sound barrier. I jokingly asked if we could go back and pick up the chicken that we'd flattened so as to save a few bucks on dinner, but I all got was a sort of gruff "bwah" sound, which I guess meant the answer was no.<br />
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Arriving in Vang Vieng, we were greeted with some rather obnoxious (read blood alcohol content of 2.0) English folks singing and stumbling down the street. Vang Vieng, a town literally in the middle of nowhere, in a country in the middle of nowhere can be defined as southeast Asia's Cancun. While the scenery is beautiful, the town is completely centered around a new "sport" called tubing.<br />
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Tubing consists of renting a tractor tire inner tube and hiring a tuk-tuk to take you upstream. From there you deposit yourself into the river and prepare to have fun. The float down the river would probably take about 1 hour at full speed, but due to the stops and "recreation time" at the numerous bars on the river, it takes about 4-6 hours depending on how much you fancy blaring techno and slurring obnoxious folks all wearing the same souvenir t-shirts proclaiming there descent of the river. Our tolerance level was set at about 4 hours, but they had some amazing (and very sketchy) bamboo towers with rope swings that kept our attention.<br />
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Along the sides of the river, there are about 10 different bars, each advertising their own array of swings, ziplines, waterslides, etc. The local Lao workers have ropes that they throw out to you and pull you in with. It's a great setup and I'm sure they're making plenty of money off of it. The river s surrounded by yet again, more beautiful mountain landscape, and it's definitely an ironic mix of natural beauty and spring break debauchery. Lots of music, drinks, and water activities made for a fun day, but a few days were enough for us.<br />
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After the tubing, we'd had enough and decided to rent some bikes to explore some of the other surroundings. We drove into a small Hmong Village where we were stared at by little kids as they peeped their heads from behind doors. We also ended up talking to a local Hmong kid who spoke really good English and said we were welcome to explore around the village.<br />
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Later we checked out some caves and some natural springs. That's about it for Vang Vieng. Mostly just a stop for us in between Luang Prabang and Vientiane for a few days, but man, was the scenery beautiful See for yourself. <br />
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After taking the slow boat down the Mekong to Luang Prabang we spent a few days relaxing and exploring this Unesco protected World Heritage city. The town is completely the opposite of anything you'd expect to find in Laos, at least in my mind. French influenced architecture, food, and some awesome bakeries fill the town. A lot of the town actually reminded us of our home town in Charleston. Originally we were going to rent dirt bikes so we could explore the country side, but this proved to be difficult and expensive. After one afternoon of speaking to local tourist companies and dealerships, I started getting the impression that bike rental was discouraged due to the local tourism office wanting us to pay for the local taxi services. Anyhow, we changed our plans and decided to relax in Luang Prabang for a couple days, then head to Vang Viene for some tubing down a river and cave exploration, then to Vientiane (Laos' french capital) to fly out to Hanoi, Vietnam so we could get dirt bikes there. This cuts our trip a little short in Laos but allows us to extend the time in Vietnam. To try to relax from the frustration, we rented some beach cruiser style bicycles and grabbed some cold beers for a leisurely pedal around the town. <br />
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While exploring the town we ran into an UXO (unexploded ordinance) museum that was really interesting. We learned about the 'Secret War' going on in Laos that wasn't made public until sometime later in the 70's. Apparently, Laos is the most heavily bombed country in the world and it continues to affect the Laotians even to this day. Below is an excerpt I pulled from Lonely Planet to briefly explain the history during the Vietnam war.<br />
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<i>In 1964 the US began its air war over Laos, with strafing and bombing of communist positions on the <a href="http://www.lonelyplanet.com/destinationRedirector?atlasId=356936">Plain of Jars</a>. As North Vietnamese infiltration picked up along the Ho Chi Minh Trail, bombing was extended the length of Laos. According to official figures, the US dropped 2,093,100 tons of bombs on 580,944 sorties. The total cost was US$7.2 billion, or US$2 million a day for nine years. No one knows how many people died, but one-third of the population of 2.1 million became internal refugees.</i><br />
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A large portion (they estimate some 30%) of the bombs dropped on Laos did not explode leaving millions of unexploded bombs (technically called bombies) all over Laos. This has made the land very difficult and expensive to farm, develop, and improve. It's really a sad thing to hear about and they say that every day someone is injured by an unexploded ordinance. Many of the small bombs are round and look like toys children. Many, many children and adults have died or are missing limbs. Many of the farmers are so poor that they try and salvage the bombs for there scrap metal, which often results in dire consequences. The museum was really interesting and gave us some good insight on the damage that was inflicted on the people, and it was saddening to see how they're still being effected. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VBQDh06_pUc/TGOMHOhID5I/AAAAAAAAAQE/KdyCTeLl2rM/s1600/2010-08-10_15-36-35_859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VBQDh06_pUc/TGOMHOhID5I/AAAAAAAAAQE/KdyCTeLl2rM/s320/2010-08-10_15-36-35_859.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Collection of UXO's</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VBQDh06_pUc/TGOMHXLfWDI/AAAAAAAAAQI/vMxHPnmzqUk/s1600/2010-08-10_22-42-52_426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div>One night we met a Malaysian guy (Andrew) who was in the room next to us. He spoke great English (in addition to 5 other languages), and he joined us at the local pub for some (Tower Beers).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VBQDh06_pUc/TGOMHXLfWDI/AAAAAAAAAQI/vMxHPnmzqUk/s1600/2010-08-10_22-42-52_426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VBQDh06_pUc/TGOMHXLfWDI/AAAAAAAAAQI/vMxHPnmzqUk/s320/2010-08-10_22-42-52_426.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>They were the cheapest drink out, and pretty cool looking. We rode our bikes to the pub, in the rain and when the pub closed Jake offered to give Andrew a ride (the bikes had a seat that you could sit on above the rear wheel), which obviously sounds like a bad idea from the start. Things were going pretty well (although I'm sure Jake had things completely under control in his mind), until he missed a turn. Andrew shouted "There it is", and about 3/4 the way past it he tried to make a quick turn. The bike slipped out like they'd run hit a banana peel, and they both spilled...laughing. Luckily no one was hurt. Jake offered Andrew another ride and he said "I would rather walk"...which no one could blame him for. Jake then preceded to get back on the bike and continued riding down the right road. Before we got back to the Guesthouse, he tried to bunny hop off of a curb...and the bike did the same thing...slipped out....adding a nice ding to his upper thigh. "All part of the experience," he said. Andrew then suggested that "maybe Jake should walk too"...He agreed and made it home fairly unscathed.<br />
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The next day we ended up renting two scooters from a local restaurant for $15 (3x more than in Thailand) and going to some really interesting waterfalls. They had a cool rope swing and also a small waterfall that we could jump off of. We were soon joined by a busload of Buddhist monk children, that were soon jumping off the waterfall and rope swing with us. It was great seeing them in a relaxed state since we always see them marching around town with such serious faces. <br />
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<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/Svc0" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-CmsMLIBfiW_82xeyrZeiResnDPDLwzz-1awPG1flFcSa2cRQVReY0invPyGftyGBAnNyPuuPfH5DDIG8a6DQiedwM1smSjo4E2P3TpKtlA8LLx5EMVTAXOSO-W3ry3wihCPxyu8XY44/s320/P1020350.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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We are now leaving on a small bus for the 6hr trip to Vang Viene...Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-54770890204424894182010-08-13T21:11:00.000-07:002010-08-15T05:17:22.244-07:00Laos - Land of One Million Elephants<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp-LebzA7qFG2ur3dKWbkQQCIeJRsIk2N4djJi7rckrbkp2g9wNY3Iw-z7prHHSA3RhLUg4OAZVm61MQUx_vremZj67otgBHimonceZRFZVPSthBlZ6Eq6IbArHNYPnOyVCj_xr5HL4zM/s1600/giant_rat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div>Communist Laos flung open its doors to tourism in the early 1990s and the last decade has witnessed an explosion in development. To be honest though, I had never even heard of Laos until I started planning the trip and looking at maps of Southeast Asia. With it's mountainous terrain and more laid back pace, it sounded like it would be a good place for our next stop.<br />
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We left Chiang Mai, Thailand for Laos on a 2nd class bus which took 5 hours to get to Chiang Rai. We then had to catch the last bus in Chiang Rai leaving for the border town of Chiang Khong at 5 pm. The bus arrived at the station at 4:45pm, and when we went to buy a ticket to Chiang Khong, they told us that we had to go to another bus station across town. If we missed this bus it was going to put us back another day, so we hustled, caught a tuk-tuk, and made it to the other bus station at 5:10...luckily the buses never leave on time and we got on just before it left. The 3rd class bus ride was slow, but went through beautiful countryside. When we got to Chiang Khong, we caught another tuk-tuk and had him take us to Bamboo Guesthouse, which was recommended in the Lonely Planet book. When we got there, the place seemed semi-shady, but the room looked clean (although it was made of thatch and looked like it would fall down if I sneezed too hard), so we trusted Lonely Planet and took it. This is where our interesting night started...<br />
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<br />
In preparation for our trip to Laos, we read in our guidebook about the 2 day journey down the Mekong on a long and extremely slow boat, which required an overnight stay in a village along the river. The accommodation in the village was supposed to be very basic with limited power, but worst of all, reports of "rats the size of beagles" inside some of the guesthouses. As we prepared ourselves mentally for what might lie ahead in the coming days, we thought of the likelihood that these same mega-rats could potentially be in the same area where we were staying that night. "No worries," we told ourselves. "We are men and can handle it." The more we looked at the holes in the ceiling and walls of our basic thatched hut, the more our confidence in ourselves dwindled. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp-LebzA7qFG2ur3dKWbkQQCIeJRsIk2N4djJi7rckrbkp2g9wNY3Iw-z7prHHSA3RhLUg4OAZVm61MQUx_vremZj67otgBHimonceZRFZVPSthBlZ6Eq6IbArHNYPnOyVCj_xr5HL4zM/s1600/giant_rat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp-LebzA7qFG2ur3dKWbkQQCIeJRsIk2N4djJi7rckrbkp2g9wNY3Iw-z7prHHSA3RhLUg4OAZVm61MQUx_vremZj67otgBHimonceZRFZVPSthBlZ6Eq6IbArHNYPnOyVCj_xr5HL4zM/s200/giant_rat.jpg" width="145" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our vision of a Beagle Sized Rat</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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That night in Chang Kong will be a night neither Jake nor I will ever forget. About an hour before we cut the lights out for the night, we heard something scurrying up a tree outside the room. Then a large thump as something heavy sounding landed on top of the ceiling. "Holy explicative," we said, "What was that?" It sounded large enough to be a dog, but we couldn't tell exactly what it was. I assured Jake (and myself) that surely it wasn't the dreaded beagle rat and more than likely it was probably just a cat...since rats don't climb trees, right? I'd been through rats in the ceiling before in Borneo so I was sure we could handle it without any worries this time.<br />
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We listened for a while as we heard something scurrying around above the ceiling. We banged on the ceiling a few times and the noises subsided for a while. Not wanting to seem like sissies, we both laughed it off and said that we would sleep with one eye open. I then turned the lights (the room was pitch black...couldn't see a thing), and we proceeded to drift off to sleep with visions of mega-rats in our heads.<br />
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And then it began again, but worse this time. Heavy scratching sounds followed by eerie hissing/squeaking noises began on the ceiling above. We both woke with tense nerves and the hair on our necks stood like two feral cats in a street fight (well, not mine, but Jake was terrified). Then we heard the creature running back and forth thumping around heavily up above. We turned on the lights and banged on the ceiling a few more times while yelling a few Thai explicatives at whatever it was since it probably didn't speak much English. The noises stopped and somehow we managed to drift off to sleep again.<br />
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As we slept, the unimaginable finally happened. A noise more violent and louder than all the others pounded down hard on the ceiling and a few seconds later as I lay there asleep something large and warm and furry fell from above onto my back. Even though I was still deep in an almost delusional sleep, my senses were in commando mode. While my mind was still in a state of innocuous sleep, my body reacted like a trained military forces agent. I sprang to my feet on top of the bed like Rambo except the only difference between a commando and me was that I was screaming louder than Little Richard at his farewell performance and high stepping faster than any NFL prospect at the combine.<br />
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Feeling the warm fur running around in the bed, I jumped down to the floor where I continued yelling and cursing and furiously practicing my high steps. Meanwhile, Jake hadn't had a chance to make contact with the beast, but was obviously panic stricken by the fact that the room was pitch black dark and I was screaming, "AHHHHH it's on meeeee. It's on meeee, dude." <br />
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Feeling what I thought was the massive rodent on the floor now, I hurled myself back up onto the bed and Jake and I both continued yelling and dancing like school girls. Not wanting to touch the floor, we scrambled for a flash light and shown it around the room. Unfortunately, I drew the short straw and had to be the one to look under the bed. Jake envisioned that the beagle rat would come out and naw my face off, but luckily that wasn't the case. <br />
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We knew he was in the room somewhere, but didn't know where. I got off the bed and turned on the light...nothing was there... but the noises above started again and even louder than before. We were both white with fear, and didnt know what to do at that point. I didn't have any scratches or bites, and we didnt know what just happened. After pondering leaving, we decided it was best to try to tough it out and go back to sleep. The noises continued until morning, and we both jumped every time something made a noise in the room. Neither of us slept a wink, and decided to leave at 6 am to get out of there. We later discussed the incident over food and beers and to this day are not sure what truly happened. Our best guess was that when Jake tried to wake me up, he hit me which made me think a rat had fallen, then he must have hit my leg... who knows... funny story though. <br />
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<b>Slow Boat to Luang Prabang</b><br />
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<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/n3IO" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHBEjox-RCcdxQGyKWBIyDNLm-Dm0dYbGqsOWrjo40euqSahygR5AC9Wn7m67cCbynildSm6fkjW84L5oaPQunGV7Qv_4hJUmVQICXB_xJLNwHux6AKekPfHraKYQPPzQSdt6x7hNa9A/s320/P1020261.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9szkcG5Tu_54PabSFmv4ehB9V8S1lA5TZlgK3i_GQ4psHw4ORkuoHYGPdW_ncZ4IHOflgkehbEUPk35hzuLSD-sMGgopQclSWxtkf7wTA7zN96dJGYvcMmVMshKXG3JISeQ9yZmmqZo/s1600/2010-08-08_11-06-53_450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9szkcG5Tu_54PabSFmv4ehB9V8S1lA5TZlgK3i_GQ4psHw4ORkuoHYGPdW_ncZ4IHOflgkehbEUPk35hzuLSD-sMGgopQclSWxtkf7wTA7zN96dJGYvcMmVMshKXG3JISeQ9yZmmqZo/s320/2010-08-08_11-06-53_450.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The slow boat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The slow boat to Luang Prabang Laos down the Mekong River was pretty cool. The oriental style polished teak boat was great to see, and even better to be going down the river on. Although the boat was slow and moderately uncomfortable, the scenery was beautiful. But back to the uncomfortable... the boat had two options for seating... the floor which was preferred or VIP seating or wooden bench seats. (Mind you that the boat ride consisted of (2) 8hr days). As we started down the river, Jake and I started scoping out where we could hang our hammocks from. We found some good ceiling joists and got them situated so we were partially hanging out over the side of the boat above the water... this was not only a great view but also had a nice breeze.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwyu1WiVOHMN7V7t8rrAmjRanTuurJbZ1l_Vb3oD_cE2uz5FyKx7rSKpeDaU1_mTOMNtOYTfkdJ7mMJRS-IEejJ89lj35fcwuNCEXA6csRc_TUB2FXz7kAaf5vA5_qbJKklmqxoZdz6CM/s1600/2010-08-08_12-55-10_937.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwyu1WiVOHMN7V7t8rrAmjRanTuurJbZ1l_Vb3oD_cE2uz5FyKx7rSKpeDaU1_mTOMNtOYTfkdJ7mMJRS-IEejJ89lj35fcwuNCEXA6csRc_TUB2FXz7kAaf5vA5_qbJKklmqxoZdz6CM/s320/2010-08-08_12-55-10_937.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Despite the "I hate you and hope your hammock breaks and you fall in the water and drown" looks from the other uncomfortable passengers, we managed to rub it in a little more by breaking out a couple Big Beer Lao's to sip on. It was an incredibly relaxing first day. Day # 2, the rug was pulled out from beneath both of us... for some reason we changed boats. The new boats didn't have joists that we could hang the hammocks from and we were forced out of the super VIP hammock section into the wooden seats with the masses. Day 2 was a backbreaker, however we met two cool Canadians (Dave and Jan) that helped pass the time.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIsre2vDKg-pK_15_04LWglWzkP2saQsVXZd0lcWBg6pqtGT7s0X8McyudnP9S88xmZn-0lktqAUDX5y2OG8EKKDQ3zZ6PABgLyqfVSSmLYrcNZg9mfmU8YTlqZqoVjzckBIFI7ijuK_M/s1600/2010-08-09_18-12-07_436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>The Mekong River had little signs of civilization, other than a few small river villages. The boat must have doubled as a supply boat, because it carried bags of rice, chicken cages, and other supplies on the roof which we dropped off at the small river towns. Most didn't have power lines or any signs of roads leading to them, so I assumed they were pretty isolated. We we arrived at our destination Luang Prabang, which was more of a town than a large city. So far it is a really cool town that seems to have a lot of French influence (used to be a French colony). Dave, Jan, Jake, and I walked into town and found a nice guest house with a large balcony and a river view. The guesthouse was a whopping $3 for each of us and had to be one of the most ornately decorated guesthouse of our trip. The house was completely trimmed out in varnished teak with large planks of wood that would have to cost loads of money at home. So far, Luang Prabang seems like a cool place to spend a couple days.<br />
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<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/QnRi" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_jy1NOL4GbEg/TGfZ72TdABI/AAAAAAAABkI/jlpTDFznEoU/s320/P1020319.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIsre2vDKg-pK_15_04LWglWzkP2saQsVXZd0lcWBg6pqtGT7s0X8McyudnP9S88xmZn-0lktqAUDX5y2OG8EKKDQ3zZ6PABgLyqfVSSmLYrcNZg9mfmU8YTlqZqoVjzckBIFI7ijuK_M/s1600/2010-08-09_18-12-07_436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIsre2vDKg-pK_15_04LWglWzkP2saQsVXZd0lcWBg6pqtGT7s0X8McyudnP9S88xmZn-0lktqAUDX5y2OG8EKKDQ3zZ6PABgLyqfVSSmLYrcNZg9mfmU8YTlqZqoVjzckBIFI7ijuK_M/s320/2010-08-09_18-12-07_436.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the balcony of our room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-69238624972340416992010-08-02T05:26:00.000-07:002010-08-12T08:49:57.101-07:00Thailand - Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Mae Hong Son Loop by Motorcycle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border: medium none;"><div style="border: medium none;"><b>Bangkok </b>was as one would expect -- a major urban city buzzing with activity, with lots of characters, scams, temples, with same amount of energy as a locomotive trapped inside a glass bottle. The political situation was calm and there were no signs of protesters or army officials, which is basically what we were told to expect before we arrived. <br />
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We took every method imaginable to get around the city from river rides, to the urban overhead sky-train, down below on the underground MRT (subway), on three-wheeled gas powered scam loving Tuk Tuks, and on foot. Jake and I quickly decided Bangkok wasn't our scene, but we did check out a few of the major attractions while we were there. <br />
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<div style="border: medium none;">We checked out a few of the famous Wats, or temples as we would call them, a few savory markets, and went to one of the world's largest snake farms. The snake farm is a research facility where anti-venom is studied and created. We also got to see a couple of insaneThai guys play with cobras. </div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border: medium none;"><a href="http://goo.gl/photos/ixmy" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz8cS7K-yHzULinOuCCOPQsFOodVj_mEuCWe7BMUiY8mfsx53vcfFSQ0kcQgBIKGwLaVcd0_ARoDjVuSF4AchvkR9v7qTGpMSEj-MND7kfMf5LavZqkBpk_cW0Sbz-FGn8wQIwlxKDHkk/s200/P1020057.JPG" width="200" /></a>Since Bangkok is the sex change capital of the world, there was no way we could miss the sex change factory. Jake even opted to turn into a girl for a day since it was so cheap...while in Rome they say. Only kidding. </div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border: medium none;">After a couple of nights in the Khao San flea pit (the main backpacker area) we decided to head north to Chiang Mai on an overnight sleeper train. It was a great and new experience as well as being an efficient way to travel and save a day by traveling at night. </div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
<b>Chiang Mai</b> is revered by the Thai for its cultural heritage and its salute to the old way of living. For us, it was just a break from dirty Bangkok. One night we decided to go to a Mui Thai kickboxing match to watch a headline fight between a Myanmar and Thai guy. Most of these guys were tiny, but had huge legs and threw some impressive blows.</div></div><br />
Jake and I were joking as to whether we would get into the ring with these guys (the weight classes started at around 120lb and ended at 160lb), and after watching a few high kicks we were both like "no way" (little did I know that before the end of the night, Jake would enter the ring for two rounds). Later we spoke to one of the 130 lb kick boxers, and joked about getting into the ring... he said "no problem...I go see," and asked the ring announcer. For 400 baht ($12) he lined Jake up for the next fight. After having several beers and some Thai rum, I knew better and was not about to let the liquid courage convince me that I could take a trained Thai kickboxer (even if he was 5ft 7in.), especially in my current state. <br />
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<div style="border: medium none;"><a href="http://goo.gl/photos/Z55u" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis0NEzU_W5ttQtCZvkeUR-dZ0NubiCrev-D1Dv9Rf4KdWGqWi-DjwIjadlZldQeYj-E8bfdaNfdko2JKrSWY5O3EvaOT6ulp1xs4IHBVY56Voad3dVf8tqd_146qbA-LQpx6QUNB5_Qng/s200/thaiboxing.jpg" width="200" /></a>Jake had some training and boxing experience and was eager to test his skills against one of the Thais so I made him sign his will over to me before entering the ring. Jake and the fighter agreed on the conditions: No Kicks, No elbows, No knees, and big gloves. I think he assumed Jake was going to be an in-experienced tourist, but figured out pretty quickly that he knew how to box. I have a good feeling that if there were kicks, elbows, and knees, Jake might have two black eyes and a concussion right now...but amazingly, he was able to go both rounds, dropping him on two separate occasions, and finish him off with an impressive flurry of jabs, crosses, and uppercuts. Pretty neat experience, crowd was into it, and not many can say that they got into a ring with a Muay Thai kickboxer for 2 rounds...especially to put the hammer down like Jake did. Truely impressive. Here's a video of the finish: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kUVCvUQ3dhQ" style="background-color: white; color: lime;">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kUVCvUQ3dhQ</a></div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="border: medium none;">After doing some research on things to do in northern Thailand, Jake and I came across the Mae Hong Son loop, which is said to be one of South East Asia's motorcylce riding meccas. The loop is probably the most popular riding route in Thailand. Almost 600 km in total, the Mae Hong Son loop is also known as the road of 1000 hairpin bends. Besides exhilarating turns on well-paved roads, the loop passes through scenic mountain regions blessed with points of interest such as caves, waterfalls, national parks, hot springs, temples and hill tribe villages. </div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border: medium none;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17cwICwDb0wC2VZPk1y5Jn9uzma8MRmNNqg5UtBIyWNVGJ4bmkkLrMESlucJ72cQhfp3Nme_1PhsvVxmWzhSU-V2KrAQWXOZ1DVRKej1tYuoMzozrOHw8Y7xCcnJk5O-Y0qBoDwy80Lc/s1600/01_Mae_Hong.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="363" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17cwICwDb0wC2VZPk1y5Jn9uzma8MRmNNqg5UtBIyWNVGJ4bmkkLrMESlucJ72cQhfp3Nme_1PhsvVxmWzhSU-V2KrAQWXOZ1DVRKej1tYuoMzozrOHw8Y7xCcnJk5O-Y0qBoDwy80Lc/s400/01_Mae_Hong.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mae Hong Son Loop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>This sounded like exactly the type of trip we needed to help us escape the heat and hustle of over-hyped Bangkok. Anyhow, Jake and I found some "motorcyles", well in the US they are actually mopeds...but here 125cc is as large as you need and there are a lot smaller bikes all over the road.<br />
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Traffic here is interesting... driving on the left takes some getting used to mentally, and just the chaos of the road is daunting. Motorcycles can go between cars while stopped, and when you are driving it seems like there are always 10 thai motorcyclers zooming past you on all sides. Interesting to say the least. But they are definitely the way to get around.</div><br />
Our route took us counterclockwise from Chiang Mai to the laid back hippy enclave of Pai, then onto Mae Hong Son, and later skirting the Myanmar (formerly Burma) border to Mai Sariang, and finally back to Chiang Mai. Northern Thailand was at one time well known for its large role in the world's opium trade, but has since substituted other cash crops in place of the poppy flower. I bet the local farmers were excited when they found out they had to trade in their poppy plants for legit crops. <br />
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The route from Chiang Mai to Mae Hong Son was built during WWII by the Japanese, who forced villagers to complete the road to allow better access to neighboring Burma. Burma was occupied by the British at the time and was later attackd by the Japanese. Interesting stuff.<br />
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The Mae Hong Son loop provides a good opportunity to visit North Thailand’s rugged north-west frontier. This region of Thailand is also home to the famous Karen hill tribe. If the name does not ring a bell, the images of women with long necks adorned with brass rings would probably be more familiar.<br />
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<b>Pai - Our first stop</b><br />
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<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/FGnF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzMU_lAq_1FZmAA8yX3Ds69T6btLntyWExpHo54tQ_iOUvLzY7EYl30J0x83xehrfZr7MyTt-Fus2XoTU7JTHd65Qe32kd7ytA-0Y49ySirKMiXsG3jOwvi2fliMGsqffQVut66cnCK98/s320/P1020114.JPG" width="320" /></a>During our first day in Pai, we went riding through the countryside to a local canyon which had some neatly carved out mountain tops used as trails.We then went to an elephant camp (elephants were a large part of the Thai culture and workforce before machines were popular) and were able to take the elephants down to the local stream and play. They were huge and the one they let us ride was even more massive than the others.<br />
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To get up on the elephant they lifted us up with their trunk onto their head and then we climbed the rest of the way up. The ride was basically bareback (on a small blanket), and quite scary as we had to be 8-10 ft up since there's nothing to hold onto.<br />
<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/izml" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgItgGrz_gNqNS6Ntcw8gWuNpHuanFc5MnTdpg2FUURHX9QCZoq5_Ns2cS4PjruWSKrWRHeJHSHvuCROvxS5fUB6nuQM5_A-g_k7qFfyL522gW05xsuqjG_GBn3NgBtFKZZK6pJVw8uOgY/s320/P1020107.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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Our elephant was constantly eating any plants it could find on the way to the stream and was playful when we got there. We took turns sitting near his head and the trainer would yell a command for him to either spray us with water from his trunk or throw us off. We got to feed the elephants as well, which basically felt like being groped by a wet vacuum cleaner. Pretty wild...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://goo.gl/photos/hrnO" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFXBFJyNh_9nPlH5Tm7uabpm4ypsGEcsyMULaTtuX80VGUC8U4qWTNiEfe1hqoifjhtS5nD-3a2urk71kJg9Qn2xIrK4x-G2uGP8SQy1tkiiJXzPC4W44x35wjvim9li3DxnbW2crYvGU/s320/P1020139.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting tossed by an elephant is as fun as it looks</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">The food in Thailand is some of the best I've ever tasted without even exaggerating. And this is coming from a guy who ate only PB&J's until I was 20 and started eating salad just a few years ago. Jake and I decided to try a cooking class to learn how to prepare some of our favorite local meals in hopes of impressing our lady friends back home. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">First, we took a trip to a local market to gather the many ingredients. The market had all kinds of food from fried chickens (including the heads, feet, you name it), to whole pig ears, wasp larvae, quail eggs, and lots of other vegetables, herbs, and spices. We made 5 different dishes which included: Green Chicken Curry (the best), Tom Yam Soup (spicy prawn soup), Pad Thai, Stir-Fried veggies, and Sweet Sticky Rice with Coconut Milk and Mango for dessert. It was ridiculously good and all made from scratch. We discovered that we're such good cooks that we may even open our own Thai restaurant back home -- watch out Basil. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Tomorrow we leave Pai to continue the rest of the loop which will take us only a few miles from the border with Burma.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Mae Hong Son to Mae Sariang and back to Chiang Mai</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">After two days in Pai, we got back on the Mae Hong Son loop with the motorcycles and it was incredible. I had no idea that Northern Thailand would be such a motorcyclist's paradise. The roads were great by US standards, 1864 curves (perfect for the bikes... I have tons of video and pictures, but something is wrong with my camera at the moment and I'm unable to upload so here's a video from youtube <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gwkcuGjz0rc">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gwkcuGjz0rc</a> ).</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">The scenery was incredible. Flooded rice fields with the most vibrant greens I've ever seen, surrounded in tall mist covered mountains...amazing. It was a bit rainy, and would rain hard at least once per day, but we had rain gear (thankfully I am the son of an ever-prepared father who has never ventured outside without rain gear) and were often dried out quickly. It was a bit cold when we got to the tops of the mountains (50's F), but other than that it was spectacular. We went from Pai to Mae Hong Son, then to Mae Sariang... the further we went the less tourists we saw. Mae Sariang the level of English speaking locals went way down. The towns were a mix of Thai and a local mountain people "Karen" who were refugees from Burma. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> Next we are on to Laos...we have to catch a couple buses to Chaing Khong, then taking a 2 day slow boat down the mighty mud filled Mekong river (Southeast Asia's largest river) to Laos (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jD6lqFRIOO4">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jD6lqFRIOO4</a>). The scenery is supposed to be great and there's no better way to see the country than a slow boat through the country's heart. The only problem is that the boats are generally overcrowded and the painfully uncomfortable especially with our abnormally large (at least in Asia) western body frames. The boat is filled with rows of tiny, straight back, wooden bench seats of which we'll spend a masochistic total of 16 hours sitting on. However, being the clever lads that we are, we bought cheap hammocks to hang up for the ride. Will give an update once we get to Luang Prabang in Laos.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b></span></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-40478764802898844812010-08-01T06:46:00.000-07:002010-08-02T19:55:24.798-07:00Malaysian Borneo - Mt. Kinabalu<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/7QSu" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
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Towering 13,435 feet above northern Borneo, Mt Kinabalu is the highest mountain in all of southeast Asia. Known as Gunung Kinabalu in Bahasa Malaysia, the mountain is quite unlike any other on earth, rising almost twice as high as its Crocker Range neighbors and culminating in a crown of wild granite spires. When the summit is visible (usually in the morning, before the clouds close in) the mountain literally demands your attention.<br />
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<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/iYS0" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwFN7rU2NN3J8hhcOe3ut07mXwN9Lsq5fHNjG4d-YXBxB2z7ux_-oydgzA0q4bjSB8OxmqqVuc4N9M_2fpLeTIuPwyYS4oWGDGGB5adtnHXxhPpmxYuEprUqKszRFjVqoBWf9NwOdy9A/s320/P1010951.JPG" width="320" /></a>I had heard this mountain was the highlight of many people's trip to southeast Asia so I decided I had to see what climbing Mt. Kinabalu was all about. The only problem was that it's so popular that people book 6 months to even a year in advance in order to obtain a climbing permit. I was determined to obtain a permit and I would do <i>almost</i> anything it took to climb the mountain. Many people laughed when I told them I hadn't booked in advance and said I wouldn't be able to climb the mountain, but this only fueled the fire.<br />
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I figured my best option was to go directly to the mountain and camp out at the park headquarters in hopes that someone would cancel their trip or to see if I could sneak in. Staying inside the park is ridiciulously inflated and they charge around $50 a night (most of my accommodation has been no more than $5-10 per night) to sleep in a dorm. If I was going to stick around the park for awhile, I'd have to find somewhere more reasonably priced. I walked just outside the park and found a local home-stay where they only charged $7 per night, but the only problem was that there was no heat and I only had shorts and t-shirts, and the mountain air was freezing at night. The other problem was that I heard noisy rats running around in the ceiling all night so I put a few more blankets over me and put<br />
<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/J7pM" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigAGVX6ENI2dquS45bOoK87jjNCZw8bHaA6_kZV57byb_v7HsRuVVdLzg11OmSYc9g1dHHyD3jeykfRHoOK2X1PwN-PeoO7H9GvZsP2Pnei8P7Y5wrAub8PsLY9GNQ0kmdSQwqJc_k1M0/s320/P1010947.JPG" width="320" /></a> in some ear plugs to drown out the rambling rats. <br />
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The next morning, I walked back to the park headquarters with my "I'm sad and desperate" face and made my best attempt at charming the female park ranger. Unfortunately, my nose must have not been big enough for her (Many of the Asians here apparently find big noses attractive), because she shot me down in under 2 seconds. Luckily, I had emailed the park the day before asking them to let me know if their was a cancellation. I asked if I could check my email and surprisingly, someone had canceled and their was 1 space available. Awesome! I had to scramble to get some gear ready to hike the mountain since I had virtually none of the stuff I would need. I was able to rent some warm clothes, a head lamp, and a poncho to keep me dry. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://goo.gl/photos/kQtU" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKIdgrpBURoXDslC4MFQUZA07GAvuhrF7CnO14fGx2t3Ag249wsDo43sxI76pj2I-bGfshJAafF5SCGjs_0bU_uKddJM3xJdxKfa7WpICT9NEeZO7FKEF3XXM2TS9YL9p1QHETtn5M9zo/s320/P1010968.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The devils and me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I also found 2 nice couples that let me join them and share a guide. The two couples were from Tazmania and planned to travel around Borneo together for several weeks. They were a bit older than me which at first I thought would be awesome. I thought I'd be able to take it nice and slow going up the mountain and that surely they would wus out before I did. What I found out later was that one of the couples competed in ultra-marathons and ran 100 km races. Just great, I thought, now I'll get smoked by the old folks. (Sorry Dan, Kylie, Tom and Lynn...you're not really old folks, you're just older folks than me.) <br />
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The calf busting climb is usually completed in 2 days with an overnight stay at a small lodge near the top called Laban Rata. You wake up around 2 am to finish the remainder of the climb and reach the summit by sunrise. Mt. Kinabalu at sunrise is stunning to say the least. One of the most beautiful sites I think I've ever seen. You look over all of Borneo and can see out into the South China and Celebes Seas. Simply humbling.<br />
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It was also great being the fifth wheel for 2 days with the Tazmanian couples. They basically treated me like their son and refused to let me pay for anything. I legitimately enjoyed hanging out with them and I would definitely hang out with them even more if I were to ever move to Taz. After the mountain hike, we split ways and they went to the island of Sipidan to dive one of the world's best spots. I was highly jealous since I didn't have the time (or the reservation) to dive there. <br />
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<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/NOmU" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw0aQS-6P7AhXxzQfzIYww45xcaRZWE3Ydg0M8QuTkzXN8l_QSgs2L9BvTsdtwwp-QIwcz72EHOzSTVpK1gooQrwB6GdaVlDe-_7uONgeJMbD-45zKhqbL8b8inSZVDZCUKRkGq1YDsk8/s320/P1010940.JPG" width="320" /></a>One other interesting person I met on the mountain was an English woman by the name of Roz Savage. Roz quit her career as a management consultant in order to accomplish one of her dreams which was to be the first woman to row across the Pacific Ocean -- that's right, ROW, not sail, across the Pacific Ocean Truly insane. Roz has also rowed across the Atlantic and plans on doing the Indian in the near future. She now works as an public speaker, a novelist, and an environmental advocate. <br />
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<div style="border: medium none;"><a href="http://goo.gl/photos/7QSu" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ZLwX5JjUKWDCx1prCK2IUi83ArzUSj_5kACZkOyFbF1_Qow-jidj8tTSEJw-Zmc7eIbJn2JrnkBKb_x2J5b-WgydoNY9O2S10l3H9mcD_ywgzcWR2orNQrRA5_FaXzex06zA-rPTfA8/s320/P1010923.JPG" width="240" /></a>After hiking the mountain, I headed to the capital of Sabah, the lively town of Kota Kinabalu, where I spent the next 5 days licking my wounds and moaning in pain from the soreness of hiking the mountain with ultra-marathon runners. I didn't do too much here besides eat lots of really good fresh (and cheap!) seafood from the Phillipino fish market along with lots of ice cream. I also watched movies at the huge air-conditioned shopping mall. Glorious!<br />
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</div><div style="border: medium none;"><a href="http://goo.gl/photos/EFxd" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOh7M1xGCgbM84e-fjCT_243wWS5BlPRnECGzt1g2t3pRTTgcuu8bOkaXlxHC74qlQDAtH2ykmCSdGGt7ZOGklJRXylUxuxbeo0TkWksOlAE-Fvhipzsg0rlTmBdCToUZ3QZuQ6DbiVE/s320/P1020010.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div><div style="border: medium none;"></div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://goo.gl/photos/4C3C" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4JVWPQ29CPXj1bd1vcTAysiXrwHU1rS-vE5Xchc9Sb7FniHSxCwZox4Lbq7cKcnSov1TdMRG1qgr7FgoJDpIvs7yvZqFZwr4ujA4AH88CA_t2IHcriSmz39mHQtu7eC2EkZZTajSvEYI/s320/P1020008.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3 huge Tiger Prawns and 1 BBQ'ed tuna steak for a whopping $4</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-90998598390097349042010-07-23T01:39:00.000-07:002010-07-23T01:39:42.487-07:00Malaysian Borneo - Swingin' in Sandakan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj12dTV4xwZnU2er5ttE_VL33effHVtNkWHDkTZRpuiOD1gmbTUktWEUUJ54E0Rs84Q3-2JDCt-pvaJOQOnlJ8_B4EDbDnrIOLD89grnbguwsd4dBndGSq5bvn0YFT8wZAZQU5ti7JEKZo/s1600/P1010812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>The mere mention of Borneo, as the Lonely Planet says, conjures up a host of vivid images: thick jungle teeming with wildlife, wild rivers flowing through tunnels of overhanging trees, orangutans swinging through forest canopy, craggy mountains soaring above the steamy lowlands, and remote longhouses inhabited by the descendants of head hunters. Incredibly, all of these images are accurate. You'll find this and more in Malaysian Borneo, but what is surprising are the prosperous cities with first class resorts, efficient public transport, and an extensive network of paved roads. Borneo - the world's 4th largest island, is located just east of peninsular Malaysia and is made up of two countries: Malaysia in the north and Indonesia in the south. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj12dTV4xwZnU2er5ttE_VL33effHVtNkWHDkTZRpuiOD1gmbTUktWEUUJ54E0Rs84Q3-2JDCt-pvaJOQOnlJ8_B4EDbDnrIOLD89grnbguwsd4dBndGSq5bvn0YFT8wZAZQU5ti7JEKZo/s1600/P1010812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj12dTV4xwZnU2er5ttE_VL33effHVtNkWHDkTZRpuiOD1gmbTUktWEUUJ54E0Rs84Q3-2JDCt-pvaJOQOnlJ8_B4EDbDnrIOLD89grnbguwsd4dBndGSq5bvn0YFT8wZAZQU5ti7JEKZo/s200/P1010812.JPG" width="200" /></a></div> I needed to find somewhere to occupy my time for the next week and a half until Jacob and I meet up so I decided to head to the northern state of Sabah in Borneo. A nature lover's paradise, Sabah is the place to see some of Borneo's famed wildlife. It's also home to one of the world's best dive sites, the uninhabited island of Palau Sipadan - a massive coral fringed oceananic pinnacle in the Celebes Sea. But, the main reason I came to Borneo was to climb the craggy peaks of Mt. Kinabalu, the 13,435 foot freak of a mountain that dominates Borneo's northern landscape with its twin granite peaks. <br />
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After researching the ridiculous bureaucratic requirements involved with climbing the mountain (apparently people book a permit as early as 1 year in advance), I decided to first fly to Sandakan, a city four hours east of the mountain to spend more time figuring out how to reserve a permit to climb. Since I only had 10 days time before I flew out of Borneo to meet Jacob, timing was an issue.<br />
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Sandankan is a city with an interesting past. It was once a thriving port heavily involved in the timber industry that depleted much of northern Borneo's forestry. Surprisingly, Sandakan used to be the home of the world's highest concentration of millionaires. This is no longer the case as I would find out from a local that befriended me at the airport.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0issYgf9H71-yzpFzy9odqTW432RXDw7ztW-lmSjD0R4NawOrivUfboRi6IkfP9hqr68WbwbldMACXmQvDtmVW_rDYQCviCvJqPvBlkYP8NKfK7BQZCYS0btq0Ky6TjMyC68nQZ-ysFc/s1600/P1010823.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0issYgf9H71-yzpFzy9odqTW432RXDw7ztW-lmSjD0R4NawOrivUfboRi6IkfP9hqr68WbwbldMACXmQvDtmVW_rDYQCviCvJqPvBlkYP8NKfK7BQZCYS0btq0Ky6TjMyC68nQZ-ysFc/s200/P1010823.JPG" width="200" /></a>I arrived in Sandakan late at night, not exactly sure of how I would get to the town center. After I got off the plane, I ended up talking to a local guy from Sandakan that lived and worked in Kuala Lumpur. He asked me how I was getting to town and I said I'd probably take the bus. He insisted that he and his family give me a ride into town. I was hesitant at first, but when I met his elderly mother and the rest of his family, I felt a bit more comfortable. <br />
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CT, as he liked to be called was a Chinese Malaysian and had been educated in London. He spoke with a British accent, which I never expected to hear coming from a Chinese guy. It appeared CT's family had profited substantially from the logging industry since he along with his three brothers had all been educated in England. CT explained that he owned his own business in KL, but was visiting home to see his sick father in the hospital.<br />
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CT dropped me off at a hostel in the city center and walked inside to make sure the place looked ok. He gave me his card and told me he'd be happy to show me around the town after he visited his father the next day. I thanked him for his offer and the ride and he left. <br />
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The next day, I visited the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Center, one of only four orangutan sanctuaries in the world. At 10 AM each day, they feed the orangs a tray full of........(you'll never guess)................bananas and milk, what a surprise. It was an awesome experience to see these endearing and freakishly human-like creatures up close (especially since I was still bitter about my like of animal sitings in Taman Negara). Their movements are clearly that of a primate's, but their facial expressions make it seem that they clearly have some emotional intelligence. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDTyibIiFscjvqXwzyoIArP4Sy6owxx0ewshS9IpcqSPGndIiyO7XfKVPQQxnUFzydbO5QzQ5MCsVhA-WqPJfRZRSzdCid7QMJQ7ZafjiLP8uc2Z__KbvTY5c8uimUKHRijbs3uK70Es/s1600/P1010806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDTyibIiFscjvqXwzyoIArP4Sy6owxx0ewshS9IpcqSPGndIiyO7XfKVPQQxnUFzydbO5QzQ5MCsVhA-WqPJfRZRSzdCid7QMJQ7ZafjiLP8uc2Z__KbvTY5c8uimUKHRijbs3uK70Es/s200/P1010806.JPG" width="200" /></a>The rehab center's goal is to take injured and orphaned orangs and nurse them back to health. This involves training them how to climb and find food on their own, which I thought would obviously be instinctive. Surprisingly, baby orangs must be taught to climb and find food and if their mothers aren't around to teach them, they won't survive on their own. Some orangs in the center take as long as 10 years before they are capable of surviving on their own and others never even leave. But, in my opinion, and with my vast knowledge about orangutan habits, I think the link between humans and orangutans is even closer than we know. The situation is similar to our welfare system in that there are always those orangutans that exploit the program and live off the government cheese or in this case, free milk and bananas. So apparently, political issues exist even in the confines of an orangutan sanctuary. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHaztH2QMUuK6SogWH9IShbJ4GL_qfZFkLiJOsQ36qx0aHLyxMW7U5UA3dLkUq9NyI2gD2_uHO5ourEEI1T0ynx-VflTMNpwAFASDIBsNHBz-pH7Ci9luM6Xu6dBbb2qyPm_ePyjFBXE/s1600/P1010824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHaztH2QMUuK6SogWH9IShbJ4GL_qfZFkLiJOsQ36qx0aHLyxMW7U5UA3dLkUq9NyI2gD2_uHO5ourEEI1T0ynx-VflTMNpwAFASDIBsNHBz-pH7Ci9luM6Xu6dBbb2qyPm_ePyjFBXE/s200/P1010824.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Government Cheese</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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Later that day, I received a call at the hostel from CT to go for lunch and a tour of the city. CT took me to lunch where I was introduced to some local food that included chicken and deer satay, which is basically schiscobobs with some fresh peanut sauce. We also tried a cool dessert made of partially frozen milk, fresh fruit, jelly, and strangely, soy beans - an interesting, but tasty mix. CT refused to let me pay for lunch and I thanked him graciously. We later drove all over the city where he pointed out where he grew up and the areas that were heavily developed for the logging industry. CT explained how the town was essentially a wild, rugged cowboy town back in the boom days where rough uneducated men suddenly became rich by stumbling into the logging business. <br />
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Shortly after the the timber industry took off, the town began to rapidly develop and expand with huge hotels, casinos, bars, and night clubs - hence the highest concentration of millionaires. This is all much different than it looks today though. Once the timber started to run out and the government finally stepped in by putting restrictions on the industry, the town began to burn out. Today, Sandakan is a faded boom town with many abandoned and dilapidated buildings. Not exactly the most charming city, but travelers mostly use it as a base camp for outdoor related excursions.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2-aClRakAcg5vjSUHH1-aplfJ43tmgZUGyC_Du7kduVzijQL7nLUpcL4OVMHqq2odtmJTtB75jobMJSNN9vpUpE1faJpjMQnRcK0vKbKXTKfoWLve3lIW8_iwWNMccLi5NVoAFeJEKA/s1600/P1010845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2-aClRakAcg5vjSUHH1-aplfJ43tmgZUGyC_Du7kduVzijQL7nLUpcL4OVMHqq2odtmJTtB75jobMJSNN9vpUpE1faJpjMQnRcK0vKbKXTKfoWLve3lIW8_iwWNMccLi5NVoAFeJEKA/s200/P1010845.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some Spaniards and I with CT</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Later that night, I met CT along with some friends I'd met at the hostel for a drink along the harbor. He took us all in his car to a lookout above the city and later, a famous British tea house, once occupied by some famous author I cared nothing about...nice of him to do anyways. CT's hospitality was very unexpected and I was wary at first since we don't usually have people that friendly back home. In the end, he ended up being a nice and genuine guy who was interested in learning about me and showing me his city. <br />
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After researching my options for hiking Mt. Kinabalu, I decided my best chances of hiking the mountain would be to go directly to the headquarters at the base of the mountain and do whatever it took to get a permit, whether it meant begging, sneaking, bribing, or selling my soul (not all of it, but maybe just part of it).Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-666784791047577892010-07-17T20:47:00.000-07:002010-07-19T17:25:47.429-07:00Lombok to Bali to MalaysiaI updated my last post with a story about the rooster fight in Lombock, so scroll down to where you see "***Updated***" in the "Back to Lombok" post if you care to read. I've also posted a good many more pictures under the picture section for the Gili Islands, Lombok, Uluwatu (in Bali), and my latest pictures of Malaysia.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlIiaPA5PJiagoR1a_i2MX7K9GaY-q2Nfzyw7yHWg9hiph-Ts4wkM-4O2NoImLw2vLvtBmP_uUPa7ZdB67q33aG0mk2AkIa9Za-dGM6hjeBRjZGU-eZNWyHAYt5-ROCtDK7n_t2221HiQ/s1600/P1010726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlIiaPA5PJiagoR1a_i2MX7K9GaY-q2Nfzyw7yHWg9hiph-Ts4wkM-4O2NoImLw2vLvtBmP_uUPa7ZdB67q33aG0mk2AkIa9Za-dGM6hjeBRjZGU-eZNWyHAYt5-ROCtDK7n_t2221HiQ/s320/P1010726.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>We spent the remainder of our days in Indonesia in Bali trying desperately to find any waves to surf. On our last day before we left, the waves finally arrived and the swell jumped from 5 feet to 13 feet in one day! We got up early and surfed Kuta Reef with around 100 over zealous surfers who had also been waiting eagerly for the swell to show up. There were some huge waves coming through and many people were getting barrels, but with so many people in the lineup it got pretty dangerous. Later that day we headed to Uluwatu, the famous surf break, where we knew the waves would be even bigger. <br />
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Jed had to leave to go back home and we said our goodbyes before I left for my early morning flight. Jed has been a great travel partner and an even better friend. I was lucky to have someone like him to share the adventures with and I wish he could have stayed on longer. Good luck back home, Jed, and I can't wait to get back and relive our stories!<br />
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I've been in Malyasia since July 12 and spent the first 2 days in the capital city, Kuala Lumpur. The city is similar to Singapore, but not nearly as clean. The people are interesting and most are friendly, but not nearly as friendly as the people of Bali and Lombok. I spent my first day exploring the city and checked out the Petronas Towers. The two massive towers are the headquarters for the Petronas oil company are a truly a sight to behold. The first 5 to 6 stories consist of a huge shopping mall with more stores and people than I've ever seen in a mall, so needless to say I didn't spend much time there. I spent most of my first day alone without talking to a soul since there seemed to be hardly any tourists around Chinatown, where I was staying. I ate dinner that night by myself and a local Chinese man sitting next to me began talking with me. I ended up moving over to his table and talking over dinner with him about the U.S. and where I was from. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGnHhOI9szo-mWrT1lecPgaZKYyopmaA7sKjKzWx5Rc9aEMmlXjqTiF4k9M9T_UZWVtmeg4B5sXk0F7ivjZFF7Tlciugr7B3EXITB4ieK_-K6ubHzCt1H16NgzFBIgsW4pzs6UEC55aQ/s1600/P1010740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGnHhOI9szo-mWrT1lecPgaZKYyopmaA7sKjKzWx5Rc9aEMmlXjqTiF4k9M9T_UZWVtmeg4B5sXk0F7ivjZFF7Tlciugr7B3EXITB4ieK_-K6ubHzCt1H16NgzFBIgsW4pzs6UEC55aQ/s320/P1010740.JPG" width="320" /></a>After dinner, he invited me for a walk around the town and showed me some areas of interest. Hong, was a retired economics professor and principal who proudly told me about how he'd worked for 34 years with only 4 sick days. Hong and I talked about many things like the way children should be raised and how they needed discipline. We walked around for about 3 hours and I ended up buying him one of the local fruit drinks. Hong was a nice guy and I'm glad I had the chance to talk with him.<br />
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On my flight over from Indonesia, I met a German guy named Sevor, who had been traveling the world for the past 9 months. He'd lived in Australia, working and studying, and traveled to Hawaii, Fiji, and some other remote islands in the South Pacific in search of surf. We were trying to figure out what we were going to do in Malaysia and decided we would travel together to Taman Negara, Malaysia's oldest national park, where we hoped to trek around in the jungle and see some wildlife. <br />
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The jungles of Taman Negara are a buzzing, leech-infested mass of primary forest over 130 million years old. While we were there we decided to give something back so we decided to give blood to the locals -- and by locals, I mean leeches. To get to Taman Negara, we took a 5 hour bus ride followed by a 3 hour journey by boat up river to Kuala Tahan, the base camp for Taman Negara. On our first day, we hiked 15 miles into the jungle towards a hide (a primitive jungle hut) where we would stay the night and try to see the Asiatic Sun Bear or a tapir. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjyImt7QT2W07MN86wn8fmfkRkgVRYbgmg6f0O6E3JAoB4cdZ0ur8Ce9_3bGhknR2yJHVrD_t6bbgU0aDshdCr92l8ApaeUOQt8t9FJ64xpj5ug4COFd3w5_vIvh_83rIsOty61r07qE/s1600/P1010741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjyImt7QT2W07MN86wn8fmfkRkgVRYbgmg6f0O6E3JAoB4cdZ0ur8Ce9_3bGhknR2yJHVrD_t6bbgU0aDshdCr92l8ApaeUOQt8t9FJ64xpj5ug4COFd3w5_vIvh_83rIsOty61r07qE/s320/P1010741.JPG" width="320" /></a>Hiking in the jungle could be compared to putting a wet plastic bag over your body and blowing a hair dryer inside to make sure things are warm enough. Throw in a few thirsty leeches, about 12 billion finger sized monster ants, 9 different species of ultra-venomous snakes, and some of the most dense vegetation imaginable, and you can picture what I'm talking about. I counted over 20 leeches around my ankles and legs and my shoes were soaked with blood at the end of the hike. And I am positive I have never sweated that much in my life. Every square inch of clothing was soaking wet, but hey, that's what we asked for right? Not really. On our trek, we scrambled up steep trails, over twisted roots and forged our way across rivers. I learned that Sevor went to school to be a physicist, but after finishing his bachelors, decided to take a year long break to explore the world. He was a great guy and we had some interesting philosophical conversations about life -- because what else is there to do when you're trekking through the jungle?<br />
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After hiking for about 3 hours and not seeing any more trail markers, we began to get a little bit worried. Judging by the scale on our map, we should have crossed a river and made it to our hide by now. We kept thinking we might have made a wrong turn somewhere and the guide at the headquarters (who we turned down because we're men and real men don't need guides) told us to be careful not to wonder off the path because aborigines that live in the forest have their own trails. What!? People actually live in this hell hole, we thought? Sevor and I had to make a decision. Should we turn back now and walk through the night to get back to the base camp by 11 pm or keep going and try to find the hide? We decided to walk another hour in the direction we thought the hide was in. After an hour had passed, there was still no sign of the river or the hide. Crikey. I told Sevor I thought we should walk 10 more minutes and if we didn't see any signs for the hide, we'd turn back and make the brutal hike back in the dark. We really, really, really didn't want to hike back in the dark and we especially didn't want to sleep on the jungle floor after seeing the Jurassic Park sized ants and millipedes. After 5 minutes more of walking, we finally came across the river and trail marker! Relief! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcG1SQ7dn7-j1GVZFhn4BtAkYtgy4AycLhlKXVKrnZw578eOQ9Ps5IkWvQz5vGCprzMeC22AqHG4eehF3rqgzVGBvGIbaUvpZP1Lud4Ap4Gt2oxiNjKqE1E78GOibG0ZafV7IbKORyQ-k/s1600/hide.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcG1SQ7dn7-j1GVZFhn4BtAkYtgy4AycLhlKXVKrnZw578eOQ9Ps5IkWvQz5vGCprzMeC22AqHG4eehF3rqgzVGBvGIbaUvpZP1Lud4Ap4Gt2oxiNjKqE1E78GOibG0ZafV7IbKORyQ-k/s320/hide.jpg" /></a>We crossed the river and finally made it to the hide where we spent the night with 10 other people. These other people (we'll call them the "cheaters") had arrived at the hide by boat, which took a measly 2 hours and a lot less effort. We slaved our way through the jungle for 8 hours and looked ragged and war-torn. We were jealous of their dry clothes and lack of leech bites. We spent the night there and saw not one single damn animal. Ahhhh! It was an experience though, hearing the jungle come alive as the millions of animals started making their night noises. The animals were so loud you could barely hear yourself talk. It was also cool to think about where I was, on the other side of the world in Malaysia, in the middle of the jungle, 30 feet above the ground with 10 other people from all over the world, who I've never met.<br />
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The next day we hiked back a different way on the trail that the guide at the lodge told us was the "flat" way. He must have mixed up the trails because the trail back this day was even worse than the day before. Up and down steep slippery root-knotted trails for another 8 hours. After 6 hours, I'd finally had enough and trekked down to the river where I hired a boat driver to take me back to the base camp. I was done with the jungle!<br />
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The next day Sevor and I headed back to Kuala Lumpur where we would split ways. He was heading to Bangkok to meet friends and I am heading to the city of Sandakan on the island of Borneo to see some orangutans, do some diving, and hopefully climb the highest peak in southeast Asia, Mt. Kinabalu (approx. 12,000 ft.)Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-288740780219156802010-07-13T08:20:00.000-07:002010-08-01T07:17:54.669-07:00Back to LombokAfter the Gilis we returned back to Lombok to surf, but sadly, there weren't too many waves to be had. We got in a few more smaller days at Grupuk Bay on the outside reef, which had a sketchy take-off in front of a huge rock formation. The next day we surfed at a familiar break called Mawi, where I broke a board. Jed and I have had a good many problems with boards and bikes on this trip. So far, I've broken one board and broken the fins off of two, wrecked a motorbike, while Jed has broken the fins off of two more boards.<br />
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The small waves actually ended up turning out not to be so bad since we got to experience some pretty unique cultural aspects of Lombok. One day, Jed and I went back to the surf shop to see our friends, Ebay and Alam. Ebay invited us to another wedding, which we assumed would be another circumcision ceremony, but he assured us this time it was an actual wedding. The wedding started around 4pm the next day so Ebay told us to meet him at his sister's shop, where he would pick out some sarongs for us to where. Jed donned an orange and purple sarong in honor of Clemson, and I wore a black sarong with my tuxedo t-shirt. We picked up 5 kg's of sugar along the way to bring with us as a gift -- apparently that's a tradition.<br />
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Before the wedding took place we sat indian style (just like in kindergarden, only we're not that flexible anymore so it is incredibly uncomfortable) on a raised wooden floor where we ate curried chicken, jackfruit, and rice with our bare hands -- but we were only allowed to use our right hand since the left is for when you use the bathroom. We watched some traditional Sasuk dancing, skits, and stick fights which looked pretty dangerous. During the stick fights, two guys lined up opposite each other, then they charged in towards each other and attempted to beat the crap out of one another -- both would fend off blows from the other using a wooden shield. Finally, one guy dropped his shield on accident and the other guy moved in for a strike. The guy that dropped his shield turned and ran like a girl, which I can't blame him for. <br />
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We later got on our bikes and followed the bride and groom in their car which was decorated with ribbons. After we reached the destination of the "wedding march", we all parked and watched as the wedding party and guests lined up in a procession down the street. Little boys were first, dressed in some traditional looking clothes, followed by teenage girls, and then the bride. Behind the bride were what appeared to be the equivalent of our brides maids and behind them was the groom. He had his friends or "groomsmen" lined up behind him and finally all of the friends of the bride in groom at the back of the line. Following everyone was a 6 foot tall set of speakers hooked up to 3 guys playing electric guitars and about 6 guys with varying sizes of drums.<br />
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After everyone is lined up, the music begins and the procession starts the march down the street. The blaring indo-rock sounds like a Muslim version of Metallica. Way too hard to explain, but it was very odd to hear heavy metal combined with traditional Muslim music. On the sides of the street, everyone is watching and cheering. There's so much energy being pumped out by the guys playing the music and by the procession of people both in and on the side of the street. Our friend Alam shows up and tells us we have to go join the procession. "What?! We don't even know these people. They won't want us in their wedding," we said, but he didn't even give us a chance to say no, before shoving us in the line of dancing Indonesians. Alam then grabbed Jed's video camera and recorded the whole thing. Dancing in the procession was awesome and all of the people were welcoming and studying our dance moves. Many of the girls kept asking if we were married and complimented us on our traditional unrythmatic "white man" dance moves such as "the sprinkler", "the grocery shopper", "the lawn mower", and everyone's obvious favorite, "the funky chicken". <br />
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<div style="margin: 0px;">Well, it's getting late here so I need to get to bed. I am now in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia and am heading to Tamara Negara, a remote jungle, to do some treking for the next few days. I still need to write about how we were invited to a cock fight in an even smaller village in Lombok and how we ate the loser at Ebay's mom's hut for dinner. Will try and update and post pictures gain soon.</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;">Good news: My friend Jacob is coming to meet me in Thailand for a month of travel.</div><br />
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<b>***Updated***</b><br />
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So I left off last time where we got invited to a cock fight in an extremely small and remote village outside of Kuta, Lombok by our friends Ebay and Alam. While we don't condone the sport, we didn't want to be rude and decline the invitation. Also, there's a slim chance that either of us will be working for PETA when we grow up so we thought it might be ok to watch. Ebay calls the rooster fights Ayam (Indo for chicken) Kung Fu, which he thought was hilarious. The village Ebay took us to was really basic and many people lived in simple huts with thatched roofs. Most people had a cow tied to the hut with several chickens and ducks running around freely. Ebay took us to the back of the village where the men were supposed to be fighting the roosters. <br />
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<a href="http://goo.gl/photos/VfVl" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi5-k6AGgzX1RN1FcA5hDe1LvnKdRGKZD133JQ1VK_wWlqXLI-8upnCMW93X9B0jHT2bMwPVvDFV_8_lD6ilmNgL_SyrY92tbg5Ej6N6W6tq28dDbW8zkABPKAianGpde7ltJBFw6d5J0/s320/P1010694.JPG" width="320" /></a>Cock fighting is technically illegal in Indonesia, but some of these places are so remote, I'm sure it goes unnoticed all the time. We walked up to the pit where the men were congregated and they stared at us in amazement. I'm not sure too many white boys have been in their neck of the woods before. We weren't sure if it was ok for us to be there, but Ebay assured us it was and I began passing out cigarettes (I don't smoke, but they come in handy as gifts) like candy to the village men. They were happy with this and then we watched 2 roosters fight. They insisted that we bet on the roosters and Jed got to choose his rooster first. From the start, I could tell my rooster was a bit of a sally and would probably lose quickly, which actually ended up being the case. <br />
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My rooster tussled with Jed's for a few minutes and then bolted away in the opposite direction. The men immediately busted out in laughter as my rooster headed for the hills. One of the men quickly snatched my rooster by the tail and put him in a bag and proclaimed it, "The loser." He handed the live rooster to me and said, "You take." Ok, "I take," I said, but what were we going to do with a live rooster. Ebay said we could take it to his mom's house and she would cook it for us to eat that night. Problem solved. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://goo.gl/photos/m6hX" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM6CoBBrPF3h02dNEZqaOzq0wJruDrnT3yQQkloClKNlctM3CuKCzIz8_mL_Mz0hzdZAOcrBZaW4AaGtsmOUtE7iV2lFFXfAlrpEzr-u9Bzuib9w08_rbbCWcNbhwuXjeHCjtIChfUwxY/s320/P1010703.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The loser</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So, we ended up dropping the rooster off at Ebay's mom's house and were told to return that night for a traditional Sasuk dinner. We returned later that night to watch some traditional Sasuk dancing, which was still a part of the wedding celebration from the day before. Later, we sat down with Ebay's family and ate the loser and drink some of the local rice wine.<br />
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Later, we walked behind the area where the dancing was taking place in a small patch of woods where men were gambling. Jed joined one of the games which involved betting on a character such as a crab, lizard, fish, or frog and rolling dice to see if a your character came up. I think he ended up breaking even that night after going down a bank busting 20 cents. <br />
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The generosity of Ebay and his family, the food, and the rice wine were incredible. We've only known Ebay for a couple of weeks and he has shown us so many things most people never get to see. Later, we thanked him profusely for showing us his culture and headed back to Kuta.Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-47797697370708774912010-07-10T06:39:00.000-07:002010-07-17T19:05:09.403-07:00The Gili Islands<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iwiJxSGU0mbtuA9fStPwFzbmgNUhBNzvZ28RZLoArrlval2QCY0jrcS35msxrhS_HZ-TbpQGKWCbztif-pQGeYsv4ihqH3Lj0ljYLHuYb6qH9OeK3mHGnEOC7rivXs-H8tMy8r5DO8A/s1600/P1010608.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iwiJxSGU0mbtuA9fStPwFzbmgNUhBNzvZ28RZLoArrlval2QCY0jrcS35msxrhS_HZ-TbpQGKWCbztif-pQGeYsv4ihqH3Lj0ljYLHuYb6qH9OeK3mHGnEOC7rivXs-H8tMy8r5DO8A/s200/P1010608.JPG" width="200" /></a>After the swell dropped in Lombok, we decided to take a vacation from our vacation by heading to the Gili Islands. There are three islands off the northwest coast of Lombok, about an hour's ferry ride away. We chose to go to the largest island, Gili Trawajangan. There's not a whole lot to do on the island except relax, snorkel, and go diving. On the ride over, we met a Dutch guy named Jordick, who we spent the next six days with. Jordick is traveling in Indonesia for two months and had some interesting stories to share. One story involved him ending up sleeping in a bed with three other Javanese men on the big island of Java. He told us he arrived into a small town late one night without a place to stay so a friendly Indonesian invited him to stay at his house. Jordick accepted and endured what he said was one of the most awkard night's of his life. Nothing bad happened, but the thought of 6 foot 4 Jordick sleeping in the sweltering heat with three other really short men was hilarious to us. He said he barely slept, but he got up the next morning and thanked them for their hospitality.<br />
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Gili is probably even more beautiful than Lombok and the water is crystal clear. A few interesting things about Gili:<br />
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-There are no dogs, only cats.<br />
-All the showers you take are with salt water.<br />
-There are no cars or motorized vehicles; only horse drawn carts, bare feet, and bicycles.<br />
-There are no police on the island so any problems must be reported to the village chief. <br />
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We planned on spending 3 days in Gili, but ended up staying for a week. We went diving one day and snorkeling another, but that's about the most energy we spent the entire time. Since Jed isn't certified to dive and it had been 5 years since my last dive, we took a refresher course to refamiliarize ourselves (Jed has gone diving multiple times in Australia, so he wasn't too worried). The dive was pretty fun, but probably not the best, despite the guidebook's claim of Gili being one of the best dive spots in the world. Others have told us that Bali is actually better, but enjoyed the dive anyway. The rest of the time we spent laying around doing absolutely nothing and the most stress we had was deciding where to eat lunch and dinner -- which was painfully cheap. I figured Gili would cost us a lot more money, but we found some cheap digs to stay in only a few steps from the water AND it included a free banana pancake breakfast -- all for a measly 5 dollars a night. Despite the somewhat arduous trek to reach Gili, there were a good many tourists on the island, but we didn't mind too much since we'd been away from much civilization in Lombok. <br />
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There's not too much else to report on Gili since we spent most of our time relaxing. We eventually decided to part ways with our friend Jordick and head back to Lombok to surf. I was torn between surfing and going with Jordick to see the Komodo dragons on Komodo Island, but I figure I can always see the dragons on National Geographic so we decided to head back to Kuta, Lombok.Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-54717161627081833192010-07-05T19:57:00.000-07:002010-09-25T07:42:21.240-07:00Lombok Continued...After surfing Grupuk Bay for a few days we took the 1 hour drive west to another break called Mawi. Even if the waves end up being small, the drive through the valleys and farmland surrounded by towering green mountains covered in palm trees makes the trip on the terrible back roads worthwhile. <br />
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Luckily, the waves were the opposite of flat when we arrived with no one out. We met a couple Aussie guys (a father and son) traveling together along with another Kiwi. It was late in the afternoon when we arrived and Mawi was breaking in the 8-10 foot range -- now we know why no one was out. When Mawi is big it's a big jacking left hander with a steep takeoff that'll allow for some nice barrels. With it being so late in the day and the heavy cloud cover it was pretty eerie especially since there were only a few of us out there. The Aussie guys talked us into paddling out and showed us where the channel was. We caught a few waves and narrowly escaped the beat down these waves were trying to throw out. Eventually, one got the best of me and my leash broke, which made for a really fun swim back in as I got pounded by 3 or 4 more big ones. The Kiwi broke his board on the next wave and we figured it was time to call it a day. <br />
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<tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/JwuZWncpD6xFXIow9T78FA?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0rAaODt3OvQUa33kBdCFN-bi2xnfFRt4g6Qoao98TtbxohuJPafKwZ0HpnPLPtQ0aVE05aK2N-j_2EZBqAy9lCW5fMxKivauDkAhtVR27UvEtIrb2bVFMkTul5wDx0Ttm0fkGnHdSQP4/s400/P1000126.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: right;">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/keelsb/4LombokIndonesia?feat=embedwebsite">4. Lombok, Indonesia</a></td></tr>
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By the time we left, it had gotten dark and we had to make the long drive back up the steep gravel road in the dark. What made matters even better for me was that the lights on my bike went out so I got to make the extra fun ride back home with no lights. Trying to stay in between the guy in front of back of me was all I could do to try and use their lights to see the potholes. Luckily, I made it back unscathed. <br />
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The next day we took a boat trip to another break called Eckes. To get to Eckes, it's a 30 minute drive by bike and then another 30 minute boat trip. We paired up with the Aussies and some other English guys we met to split the boat ride to Eckes. On the way their, we had to go down a super steep incline covered in huge potholes and gravel. Their was no way all of us could make it down without falling off so of course I went ahead and volunteered to fall off. I ended up flying over the handlebars twice on the way down and luckily only came away with a few scratches and bruises. The worst part was that my board broke when it got crushed by the bike. Thankfully, I was able to borrow the worst board I've seen in my life from a local kid at the boat pick up. <br />
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<tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/fh6IGvPpyv-5GsSK5KtHWg?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ZkB1aQ0txHUw0j2fpn2_04D5WuCFf9kANCOHZIMOenm40ngmksyfLgH5TLLAfIqwvdT7QqrJHiq64zuAfDw4RMmUO-7X27eZetPnsPeA6ImAbHnFoyu7HAKiOJ7KotOQhoA-pH_GEgk/s400/P1000183.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: right;">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/keelsb/4LombokIndonesia?feat=embedwebsite">4. Lombok, Indonesia</a></td></tr>
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We finally made it to Eckes and there were only a handful of people out. Everyone was hesitant to go out when we pulled up since it was almost the peak of the swell. I estimated the wave faces to be around 10-12 feet, but the Aussie guy swore there were big one's coming in around 16 feet. It took us all a good 10 minutes to even get out of the boat -- the shear size and remoteness was pretty intimidating, but again the Aussies convinced us to paddle out. It ended up being one of the biggest and most fun sessions of our trip and definitely my life. Big rolling waves that throw over into some pretty heavy barrels were coming around this point and making a 90 degree turn to break. It's an insane sight to see, but we loved it. <br />
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On the last post, I think I mentioned that we got invited to a wedding ceremony. We brought some sugar with us as a gift and followed our host's on their bikes to a small village about 20 minutes away. When we got their we were invited into the host's house, which was basically just a hut with bamboo walls and a thatched roof. We all sat down in a circle indian style where they brought us loads of food (spicier than any of us could handle) and even cigarettes on a platter -- awesome. Everyone was really friendly and welcoming. The father hosting the party welcomed us with a big, "Hallllooooooo," and we thanked him for having us. There we many more people outside the hut socializing and playing really weird, but good Muslim Sasak music. Maybe I'll get them to burn me a CD.<br />
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Eventually, we got around to asking where the bride and groom were and they said, "Oh no, this not wedding. This cut deeck ceremoney." "Cut deeck?" we asked. Desperate fear rushed through our heads as we realized what they were talking about. Did we just get invited to get circumsized? We politely said "No thank you, and they laughed at us and explained that the ceremony was for boys in the village. Thank God! Our friends, Ebay and Allam later explained this was just the party for circumcision, which we were invited to attend the next day. I'm not too sure we wanted to see that, but we planned to leave for the Gili Islands the next day anyway.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/BGTaKsrdzyoFo8BdCEVWLA?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3j_5I8djYQoGPKuzMxBulhPiEjgg3FkRIB7iD5j6CTuJxfr7EiTp0dye8KjBWD1iSOQ32UvUiyhnZueNQF8rpvgmUpEdLnzhJYV1WzejqWFq2-sj9-pOOaoJ9Re2ksPr3uQy56IpzWek/s400/P1010704.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: right;">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/keelsb/6BackToLombok?feat=embedwebsite">6. Back to Lombok</a></td></tr>
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Riding around on the back roads of Lombok is like stepping back in time. Seeing all the people living so simply makes you think about all the things back home we take for granted like clean running water and reliable energy. Women here walk around with baskets on their heads and the men wear traditional Muslim/Sasak clothes while working with hand tools in the fields. Most of the people live in basic bamboo huts with thatched roofs, but they seem content with where they are. When we drive around many of the kids run up to the road and scream, "Halllllooo," and some give us high fives. <br />
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<tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/wT8ngFSsIpTWzb7XGp6wzA?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhRj0F4grB18fQ8vsfw5-MI1XTAhuFT1IZYliLqae-2EP3lt5DKq5keVrB5m6OMlB1JYNHA7w3HPzWmPmGN5X-XKEOooJtr1Wo4mm0g4ZN0lc_RhhFuv45MgZ54pB0rqd3H94Cafi25g/s400/P1000179.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: right;">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/keelsb/4LombokIndonesia?feat=embedwebsite">4. Lombok, Indonesia</a></td></tr>
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The people here don't seem to have been influenced much at all by western culture, but I think things will be changing soon once the new international airport is complete, which is scheduled for some time next year. For investors, now seems like it would be a good time to buy land here before all the tourism comes. With Lombok's location so close to Bali, it's inevitable this place will change -- some for the better and some for the worse. Overall, the people are optimistic about the coming change as it will be mean more chances to make money, but hopefully they'll maintain their culture. <br />
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Lombok has been our favorite place so far and we hate to leave, but we know there are many more interesting things to see around the corner. Our next stop, the small island of Gili Trawajangan -- population 800. Will try and post more pictures when we get back to Bali and the internet speed picks up.Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-83658007853899281772010-06-30T22:02:00.000-07:002010-06-30T22:02:19.546-07:00Kuta, Lombok<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEKsLnhjvWd3Q7WEH4Bricf91k2HQF519kYG3u6mcrsWIl2_zl7vYQHivjCp7pCtgNvD7NmgU6whcokWabJuhzWdrmpYl_5qoIS4rFjTdtas4gD_e0lMi99mWLpO9UT_asgnvQK2z7Fo/s1600/P1000205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEKsLnhjvWd3Q7WEH4Bricf91k2HQF519kYG3u6mcrsWIl2_zl7vYQHivjCp7pCtgNvD7NmgU6whcokWabJuhzWdrmpYl_5qoIS4rFjTdtas4gD_e0lMi99mWLpO9UT_asgnvQK2z7Fo/s320/P1000205.JPG" /></a>So far we've been in Indonesia for 3 weeks and we've met heaps (as the Aussies and British people say) of people from France, England, Switzerland, Norway, Holland, Belgium, Australia, Sweden, Germany, New Zealand, and of course Indonesia, but only a handful of people from the US. It gets kind of weird to hearing so many different accents and languages, but never any American accents. We try and teach most of the people we meet how to say "ya'll" and they think it's hilarious. Interestingly enough, the Aussies say "you's" in place of "ya'll" or "you guys".<br />
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We finally decided to escape the hustle and bustle of touristy Bali in search of a more laid back and real experience. While Bali has a lot to offer, we've heard it's changed much over the years due to the explosive growth of the tourist industry. Almost every place we've been in Bali has had locals that speak pretty good english, but it's probably due to the fact that we've stuck to the coastline where the best surfing has been and many people have gone before us. <br />
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Armed with our Wavefinder Indonesia and Lonely Planet guidebooks, we left Bali and headed further east toward the string of islands known as Nusa Tenggara. Our first stop, the small island of Lombok. We negotiated transportation from Kuta, Bali to Kuta, Lombok which involved multiple bemo (local trucks/vans) rides and a 5 1/2 hour ferry crossing. Finally arriving in Lembar which is a a small picturesque harbor surrounded by palm trees, white sandy beaches, turquoise tinted water, and small lean-tos, we hopped on another bemo to our next destination -- the small village of Kuta.<br />
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It's said that the island of Lombok is in some ways a flash-back to Bali in the 70's. It is considerably less developed for tourism, which is exactly what Jed and I have been looking for. We surfed on the first morning after our arrival near a small fishing village call Grupuk about 9 km north of where we are staying in Kuta. Reaching each surf spot is an adventure in itself. First, we bargained for a motorbike for a few days then drove to a few basic surf shops where we negotiated for our boards. In Indonesia everything has been negotiable thus far. Next, we hopped on our bikes (Jed opted for the pink scooter with purple flames while I chose the one with the flaming skulls and Hell's Angels artwork) with our boards and took off down the pock-marked back country Indonesian road.<br />
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The scenery is breathtaking. Mount Rinjani (the 2nd highest in Indo) dominates the entire island. The semi-arid landscape with aqua-marine tinted water makes for an unforgettable backdrop for our mini-excursions. After dodging hundreds of potholes, huge water buffalo, and their massive dinner plate sized poos (the water buffalo have taken the place of Bali's traffic jams), we arrive at Grupuk Bay. There we pay some locals to watch our stuff and hire a local fisherman to take us to the breaks by boat. There are four different breaks in the bay called Outsides, Insides, Don-Don's, and Kids Point. The swell has picked back up and Insides has been breaking pretty big in the head to head and 1/2 high range. Insides is a nice right hander (finally!) which peels down the coral reef pass opposite Perigi Island. Our driver anchored us up and we paddled over to the main takeoff spot. It was super crowded when we first got in. We were thinking, "All of this work to get here and there are already 20 guys on it?" Luckily as the tide came in, the waves picked up even more and many of the people left. Apparently Insides is considered an intermediate level break, but when the swell hits, many of the beginners leave. <br />
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My fourth or fifth wave ended up being a death bomb (at least in my standards) -- a double overhead wave jacked up out of nowhere and I took off late on it. Surprisingly, I landed the free fall drop, but got absolutely pummeled by the freight train of white water when I kooked it and lost my balance. I was going so fast that I skipped across the face of a wave a few times before taking what i felt was the longest hold down of my life. This might not have been the biggest wave I've ever surfed, but it was one of the most powerful. The best part of my beat down was that Jed was paddling back out and saw the whole thing so we had a good laugh. I give much respect to the Indian Ocean and its massive waves. After my lashing, I saw a pretty good New Zealander do the same thing twice in a row so I didn't feel as bad. Many more fun rights were had that day and at the end of the day we hopped back in the boat with "King", our boat driver. King's job is to drop people off at the breaks and he gets to surf while waiting on his customers. I'm sure it doesn't pay much, but it sounds like a pretty fun job -- at least it beats untangling fishing nets.<br />
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After surfing Jed and I explored on our motorbikes and checked out various single-track dirt roads leading to different bays. Enough cannot be said about the sheer God-given beauty of this place. Since I'm not the greatest writer, I'll try to emphasize my point with a good description from Lonely Planet: "Lombok is languid, empty and stunningly gorgeous, with white-sand bays that lick chiselled cliffs and rugged hills, and world class surf." If only it weren't a +25 hour flight, a 5 hour drive, and a 5 hour ferry ride away. <br />
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On one of our motorbike adventures we turned off an already desolate road onto another smaller dirt trail engulfed on both sides by thick shubbery. We flew down the trail until coming across another massive water buffalo in the brush, which scared the previous night's Bintang out of us. Jed dared me to drive around it so I did and he followed with no problems. Apparently they are pretty mild-mannered, but they can be pretty intimidating if you're right next to them. After continuing on, we were yelled at by some smiling kids in a tree house they built. We were surprised to see them since we were out in the middle of nowhere. We stopped and tried talking for a awhile and just hung out. It was awesome talking to them because of how shy and interested they were. We took a few pictures of them and showed them what they looked like on camera and they thought it was hilarious. <br />
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Later we stopped by another group of people herding water buffalo and tried talking to them. They spoke little to no english, but the one thing the girls did know was "Hey babies," after which they just giggled and ran away. One major difference between Bali and Lombok is the difference in religion. Bali is mostly Hindu while Lombok is mostly Muslim. <br />
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We are in the Gili Islands now and I'm getting behind on my posts. There are many many more stories to come so if I get time I'll post some stories about the Aussies we hung with for a few days and my invitation to an Indonesian wedding that actually turned out to be a circumcision ceremony. I should also mention something about the time I flew off my bike when heading to a remote surf break, breaking my board and borrowing a local's prehistoric board to surf some of the biggest and best waves of my life. I also just uploaded more pictures under the "Pictures" section so make sure to take a look. Thanks for reading.<br />
Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-76494520496672775532010-06-24T05:36:00.000-07:002010-09-27T06:37:08.175-07:00Bali LatelyDuring our past few days in Bali we spent most of our time in the south near Kuta continuing to surf and check out the local scenery. On our first day back from Medewi, we surfed Kuta's beach break which is a horrendous smack down closeout. I went home with more sand in my butt crack than on my feet that day. On our second day, we hired a boat to take us to Kuta Reef which is a break right out near the airport so you can see the planes coming and going. Basically you pay the driver $3 or $4 and he drops you off at the reef and comes back 3 hours later. 3 hours later for us was around sunset so it was getting kinda dark. It's a little unerving being dropped off in the middle of the ocean (not really, but it's about 1/4 to 1/2 miles out or in other words, a long lonnng paddle back) and trusting that your driver will come back and get you. Jed and I surfed some decent fun waves in the chest to head range with not too many other people. Pretty fun until Jed's leash broke and he lost his board. Luckily it was one of the last waves and I caught one in to grab Jed's board. <br />
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When the swell dropped, Jed and I decided it was time to get cultural since we are such fine connoisseurs of history and the arts. We went to see a big temple at Uluwatu that overlooked the ocean up high on limestone cliffs covered in some nice foliage. At the temple we had to wear sarongs to cover our knees and we, being the ultra-masculine men that we are, decided on purple -- well, actually it was the 100 year old looking toothless man that decided for us. <br />
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The temple had hundreds of cheeky kleptomaniac monkeys around that weren't the least bit shy. One guy got his prescription eyeglasses stolen and was screaming, "I can't drive, I can't drive now," in with an Italian accent. The "monkey men" (guides with long sticks and fruit) had to bribe the monkey with fruit to give them back. The monkey was not having it though...he knew these were expensive prescription glasses and that it was a long trek back to Jakarta for new ones. Finally after multiple failing attempts to bribe him with fruit, he settled on a bag of chips and returned the glasses. Most of the monkeys are friendly and only want you to give them food, but if you try and pull on them like they pull on you, you will get the "death face", which is when he shows his 4" fangs. The monkeys put the fear of God into us even though we had our ultra-manly sarongs on. <br />
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Later we checked out the fabled Uluwatu surf break with the cave entrance. To get to the break at high tide, you have to walk down a long flight of stairs (what used to be a bamboo ladder) and jump into this cave sloshing with breaking waves and water. You then scramble to paddle your way out of the cave and into the current that sucks you out to the right. It's a hard paddle from there to the north where a super hollow freight train barrel awaits. Coming back in can be even worse if you miss the cave entrance, but sitting in the lineup and looking back, you're surrounded by a humbling view of the huge limestone cliffs, which is said to make you forget your possible impending doom. Since Jed and I were exploring our artistic side that day, we didn't bring our boards so we opted to surf Uluwatu later in the week. Before continuing our cultural expedition, we also checked out the world famous Padang Padang break, but there weren't many waves since the swell was down. <br />
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The next day we hired a driver to take us to Ubud, which is the cultural center of Bali. This is where many of the artists, sculptors, and woodworkers hone their skills to create some of the most ornate pieces of artwork I've ever seen -- and for insanely cheap prices. Too bad we don't really care that much about art, but they had another monkey temple so that was a big draw for us. This monkey temple was more or less the same than the last, but the monkeys may have been even a little more cheeky at this temple. Free to roam around, you might be walking in a narrow alleyway and be surprised by one on a ledge, where he'd attempt to steal your sunglasses or water bottle. <br />
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The next day we balled up our manhood and decided to surf Uluwatu. Since the swell was down, the crowd had thinned out and we figured we could survive without getting an ars kicking from the wave and reef. Since it was low tide, we didn't have to paddle out through the cave and we were able to walk out of the cave onto the reef (with booties of course...locals are far more manly and do it barefoot) and hop in. Uluwatu is one of the most famous breaks in Indonesia and probably the most well known in Bali. It's a heavy, hollow freight train left breaking over shallow and sharp reef. The paddle out wasn't bad, but we were a little worried about the reef since it was low tide. To make matters better and worse, the water was ultra-clear so you could easily see the reef. It was beautiful, but this also meant you could easily see the steak knives waiting to greet you at the bottom. Luckily for us the waves were around head high and not quite lethal, but they were some of the most powerful waves I've ever been on. Taking off here meant a quick drop and turn with a race to the finish to avoid the tomahawk to the back of the head. Catching a wave here was quite remarkable since you can see the reef flying underneath you as you're riding. Along with the clear water came the sheer beauty of the place. Huge limestone cliffs and some of the most post-card looking views I've ever seen. On top of the scenery, we saw all kinds of sea life including at least 10 stingrays, a whale-like looking animal (but not a dolphin), and a small shark. I saw a guy today that got a nice skinning from the reef at Uluwatu. Luckily we escaped unscathed. Here's a link to a video of the entrance...luckily we avoided this and went at low tide to take our chances with the reef. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlLG0_Mhzt8">Cave Entrance Video</a> <br />
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After surfing we decided to go out for another night on the town in Kuta with some more Swedes we met. For a country with less than 9 million people, they dwarf us in numbers here. They are very friendly and ask us to join them for dinner. We learned 2 Swedish words, which I've since forgotten that they said could easily carry us through any conversation with another Swede. One of them wasn't actually a word, but if you suck in air hard like you would through a straw it means, "no shit". Interesting... <br />
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We are actually pretty tired of Kuta and are looking for something more laid back. We've booked transport to Lombok which is a smaller more remote island east of Bali. We've read that is has great surf, post-card picturesque beaches, and some amazing diving on the Gili Islands which are just north of Lombok. <br />
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As I'm finishing this post, we are going on our second night in Lombok and there are a lot more interesting stories to come from our first day here. Since it is more remote, internet is expensive and slower so it may be awhile before I can upload more pictures. Stay tuned.Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-19006946960728138362010-06-16T02:00:00.000-07:002010-06-22T06:23:04.289-07:00Balling in Bali - June 12th -<div style="font-family: inherit;">We left Singapore for Bali on June 12th and arrived late that night. Bali is probably the world's biggest surf mecca with some of the best surf in the world. Ranging from mellow beach breaks to kamikaze suicidal reef breaks, it has waves for everyone. We hope to score some good waves without losing any limbs or taking any lashings on the reef. </div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">We stayed in Kuta for our first two nights in Bali, which is a bustling network of narrow lanes and alleys lined with losmen (no not </span><meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 11" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 11" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CMEDEWI%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><style>
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</style><span style="font-size: x-small;">overly promiscuous men, but cheap hotels) and vendors hawking all kinds of </span><meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 11" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 11" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CMEDEWI%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><style>
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</style><span style="font-size: x-small;">souvenirs. Everything is pretty cheap and decent rooms near the beach are around $10/night. It's even cheaper the further away you venture from Kuta. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Walking the streets in Kuta makes you fear for your life at times as there are hundreds of people flying past you down the narrow alleys on scooters. Your best friend often times becomes the alley wall as you end up hugging it to avoid being run over by a wreckless balinesian. Scooters are the main form of transportation and I've seen some interesting combinations of people and animals riding together. I've seen as many as 4 people on a scooter, but have heard as many as 5 can fit on one together. I even saw 3 people and a lab sized dog riding together. It's truely amazing the balancing acts they can pull off. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Kuta was our basecamp for a few days until we figured out the best way to make it to the surf breaks. As I am writing this, I have heard the same Indonesian Idol song over 4 times and the music is pretty terrible. Very slow and depressing. Anyway, while we were in Kuta we met a Swedish guy named Petter who has been in Bali for a little over a month. He was looking to split a bemo (local transport) up to a small town with a left-handed point break called Medewi since none of nearby breaks were working.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Jed and I thought about renting scooters and driving up to Medewi, but were happy on our decision to hire a driver when we saw an Indonesian that had been killed in a scooter accident. Sad and scary. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRJRhs6l40VmpxbYvOMKrMboRWQWKClWGukWxZUGF1XQlFV2s8lF94bNxeJYNSUlbfFUWOzeyDTpvknRz2eiki68ZTTOmvYtEiDtzvIbrTRRFyuoBJ-4m8-XFTrB8n01r_RSzw_IHuR4/s1600/_MG_9536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRJRhs6l40VmpxbYvOMKrMboRWQWKClWGukWxZUGF1XQlFV2s8lF94bNxeJYNSUlbfFUWOzeyDTpvknRz2eiki68ZTTOmvYtEiDtzvIbrTRRFyuoBJ-4m8-XFTrB8n01r_RSzw_IHuR4/s320/_MG_9536.JPG" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;">We've spent the past few days in Medewi, which has been much more laid back and even cheaper than Kuta. Medewi is easily the longest left I've ever seen with rides over 600 yards. I timed one guy who had a 50 second ride. No joke! Waves are a pretty good size, around head and a half and are expected to get up to double over head tomorrow. It's a pretty mellow break, but can get crowded. It's sharp rocky bottom required us to buy booties to walk out to the point. We figure this will be a good investment since almost all of the breaks are on sharp reef. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">So far, Bali has been great. The Balinese are very friendly, helpful, and always smiling. Best of all, the scenery is amazing and the cost of living is ridiculously cheap. Yesterday I ate 3 great meals, had a few beers, and a 1 hour massage for a grand total of $13. Our room is probably the nicest in the area and is right on the beach for $7/night. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Of all the languages in southeast Asia, Indonesian is supposed to be the easiest so we've attempted to learn what we can while we're here. Most of the Balinese in the surf or touristy areas speak pretty good English so that has made things easier. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRFAEOBM8wZwQSnfGSMpwCXbOvjuzweSXw_LQaBiU_iXPtZjMidCtO-_GFUxkaCSz8lLDz042FG-_XVJR5EiGwGNPkITG6DwtzkzB-yTU00ACdE2V5rmsouoOS8fzGh50BPKBK7NfgE7g/s1600/P1010231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRFAEOBM8wZwQSnfGSMpwCXbOvjuzweSXw_LQaBiU_iXPtZjMidCtO-_GFUxkaCSz8lLDz042FG-_XVJR5EiGwGNPkITG6DwtzkzB-yTU00ACdE2V5rmsouoOS8fzGh50BPKBK7NfgE7g/s320/P1010231.JPG" /></a></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">One thing I forgot to mention is a story about Jed when we were back in Kuta. One night after watching the US vs. England football game, we were walking back to our room and Jed was accosted by an ugly woman with a large adam's apple and big hands, AKA, a lady-boy. Jed being the gentleman that he is politely declined the lady-boy's offers for "her" services. But, when the lady-boy upped her sales pitch by petting Jed (in a way that our parents warned us about as children), he ran away with the highest pitched scream I've ever heard from a male, which made me wonder who the true lady-boy was that night. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">We are planning to spend the next day or so in Medewi and will probably head back to Kuta when the swell drops. I will try and upload pictures when I back to Kuta because the uploads take too long. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-3904126245628543702010-06-14T07:54:00.000-07:002010-06-20T08:01:09.218-07:00Sweating in Singapore - 6/9/10 - 6/12/10My flight to southeast Asia took me from Denver to LA, where I met my traveling buddy John Edward, hereafter known as Jed, Jedi, or Jedburg. Jed will be with me for the next 5 weeks through Singapore and Indonesia and I'm very glad I have him to travel with. After LA we had an 11 hour flight to Tokyo where we hopped on another 6 1/2 hour flight to Singapore. Total travel time from Denver to Singapore was around 22 hours, which was kind of brutal, but worthwhile.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzsvxImzaAUtdGoq6-RLRgvru4azTPeRJIS9IN54bsvzYszh616xHS8UjppMeetTDwvzF7EvmPp2uPPMiHRcESkqTgXjKwCVrmuVOfrPuvH1tNOExWtV5j0gjvFLjD3h1aWdhgR3gNtOg/s1600/P1010197.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzsvxImzaAUtdGoq6-RLRgvru4azTPeRJIS9IN54bsvzYszh616xHS8UjppMeetTDwvzF7EvmPp2uPPMiHRcESkqTgXjKwCVrmuVOfrPuvH1tNOExWtV5j0gjvFLjD3h1aWdhgR3gNtOg/s200/P1010197.JPG" width="200" /></a>On my long flight to Tokyo I sat next to a Buddhist monk from Thailand, which made for an interesting 11 hours. He was dressed in an all orange monk costume and even though he told me his name 11,000 times, I still can't begin to pronounce it. I'll guess at the spelling and say his name was Tiktateetahyawsah. He had been living in Tucson, Arizona for the last 10 years and was going back to Bangkok for a year. In broken, but decent English, he quizzed me on my job, age, marital status, and whether or not I still lived with my family ,which is the norm for someone my age in many parts of southeast Asia. Tiktatee asked me what percent Christian I was as if there is an answer different than 0 or 100 percent. Maybe I understood him wrong, but I told him 100 percent and he seemed confused. He later offered me what he called a "sweet" that he had made earlier. It was a ball of sticky rice mixed with coconut milk, dried beans, and sugar, wrapped in banana leaves. I asked him where he got the banana leaves since I couldn't think of any stores where you could buy the leaves. He looked at me with monk-like sincerity and said "They come from banana tree," which made me feel like an idiot. Oh well...we both got a laugh out of it.<br />
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Our flight from Tokyo arrived in Singapore around midnight and we took a cab to a part of Singapore called Little India. Disorderly and pungent (but in a good way), Little India could be another country in itself. Getting dropped off in Little India at 1AM was a little unnerving as we never heard back from our hostel on whether or not our room was confirmed. After walking around several dark streets and asking various helpful Indians for directions, we finally found our place, Alie's Nest. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb50hNNsLlbIhGON_EHKE-UDbjTnC9uLWTm5jUEkQk7sdX5QRNXxXQFV8EJ8g2KcAfFCSx6WZeFmT5_w-u8gW2Pa3SNp-Sdzdl7FsXuozE8agkQ6UYG9iM_YsyC_Qg4s0T7t5Adgi5cVg/s1600/P1010196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb50hNNsLlbIhGON_EHKE-UDbjTnC9uLWTm5jUEkQk7sdX5QRNXxXQFV8EJ8g2KcAfFCSx6WZeFmT5_w-u8gW2Pa3SNp-Sdzdl7FsXuozE8agkQ6UYG9iM_YsyC_Qg4s0T7t5Adgi5cVg/s320/P1010196.JPG" /></a><br />
We spent the next day walking around Singapore, which I'm convinced is one of the hottest places on earth. I come from an area that's known for it's high temps and high humidity, but Charleston has nothing on Singapore. It's a clean, ultra-urban city, but the air feels like you could swim in it. Most of our time was spent walking around Singapore and exploring the British history there. Where we stayed in Little India was really interesting and we were definitely the only American tourists.<br />
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Here are some of the high and lowlights from our time in Singapore:<br />
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<b>Highs</b><br />
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-Great food (we even tried goat heart one night in Little India which ended up being quite tasty)<br />
-Cheap and easy public transportation on the MRT (underground high speed train). $2 will take you halfway across the Island.<br />
-Interesting mix of culture including Chinese, Indian, and Malay. Singapore is a melting pot like the US.<br />
-Super clean and well developed.<br />
-Low crime and tough laws make it safe. Jed spit his gum out on the street on a dare and was in handcuffs within 5 minutes.<br />
-Jed being called gay by a prostitute when he wouldn't take her up on her offer. <br />
-Over air-conditioned shopping malls. <br />
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<b>Lows</b><br />
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-1 million degrees in the sun; 1/2 million degrees in the shade.<br />
-$10 beers and everything is generally expensive.<br />
-Not a whole lot to do, but spend lots of money on tours.Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1358487307554427376.post-191909101930237552010-06-04T00:09:00.000-07:002010-06-15T06:49:13.284-07:00And So it BeginsI never thought I'd be writing a blog, but after traveling several times and trying to keep in contact with family and friends, I find it easier to update friends on a blog rather than sending multiple emails. Hopefully this method will be a good way to keep in contact with everyone and let people know what I'm up to. If you feel like leaving comments, go ahead. Just make sure it's funny or you'll be banned from the site. I'm still new to this and will probably learn as I go so bear with me. Also to all the grammar freaks out there, relax and let me not worry about gramar/spelling/puncutation for a little while. You know who you are. I'm on a mancation.<br />
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<div style="border: medium none;">The past few weeks have been hectic to say the least. Finishing up projects at work and covering all my "to do's" at home have kept me busier than I've ever been. What I've done (quit a great job) and what I'm about to do (venture somewhere as far and as different from home as possible) hasn't really hit me yet. Getting to this point has been a journey in itself. I've worked hard for this opportunity. I've planned, and saved, and scrimped. I've been called various names referring to my "cheapness" over the past few years, but I can't blame those people. I've had a different set of priorities. One of those being this trip and I think the sacrifices have and will be worth it. I've had my mind set on long-term travel for the past 5 years and all those years of eating those damn turkey sandwiches has finally paid off. Pardon my language if it offends anyone. This will most likely be a PG-13 rated blog, but I may throw a few random PG-18 comments in from time to time. </div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCpulL9erLdTwmAZ9QMIW2xHfOTl_kGjLr__9nOA1xPnpcXJPRMQTo2HD62zjeIqqkchbydIBugloq6zrwvzA8mUKRsED5kOFIRRtADGV90FjxoX5Eo-AC6EEG2I6HH4p64UY7DYTLAdA/s1600/alpine+slide.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCpulL9erLdTwmAZ9QMIW2xHfOTl_kGjLr__9nOA1xPnpcXJPRMQTo2HD62zjeIqqkchbydIBugloq6zrwvzA8mUKRsED5kOFIRRtADGV90FjxoX5Eo-AC6EEG2I6HH4p64UY7DYTLAdA/s200/alpine+slide.jpg" width="150" /></a>So I just realized the title of this blog seems off. I'm heading west in order to reach my destination, yet the title of this blog is "Eastward Bound". Apparently the world is round. Go figure. Tomorrow I leave for Colorado for a few days and Kailey and I are heading up to Steamboat to camp, fish, and do Coloradoian stuff (I use the term "camp" loosely as I'll be roughing it for the next 4 months...we will most likely be staying in a friend's condo.). One of the things we have planned is something called the Alpine Slide. It sounds like it's about the equivalent of an olympic luge, only it happens during the summer and on a concrete track. I'll admit that after watching this year's olympics, flying down a hill at mach 12 on a thin sheet of wood and 4 rusty wheels sounds a little dodgey. Because really, who wants to die before they leave for a vacation?</div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH8IraB94usuFeK9NHiK130qyL3kpPt7o-ZeRGnM1dA_DFWu0zGPzayoPDoFXxuIF9jk5n7MyCzmHwk5qjl6bEL0eurT_tWshu9fXUTVjGbgnLid5vrriM-r0QX5op0_6vM2sbWYr76vI/s1600/P1010130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH8IraB94usuFeK9NHiK130qyL3kpPt7o-ZeRGnM1dA_DFWu0zGPzayoPDoFXxuIF9jk5n7MyCzmHwk5qjl6bEL0eurT_tWshu9fXUTVjGbgnLid5vrriM-r0QX5op0_6vM2sbWYr76vI/s200/P1010130.JPG" width="200" /></a>Tonight as I was trying to finish my last minute packing, my dad grabbed me and said, "Son, it's time to do the family toast." "Family toast?", I thought. I'm not sure our family has been around long enough to have a designated toast, but I went along with it anyway. So my dad breaks out the family traditional Wild Turkey of course (I admit we are rednecks, but are of the classy sort). My friends who know my dad well won't be surprised and I wasn't too surprised either. So my dad commences pouring shots of luke-warm Wild Turkey into our glasses and our mom, not to be outdone steps up to the plate as well. This is the stuff that either puts more hair on your chest or makes you hide in the corner and beg for mercy. Apparently my mom is a true Keels because she took a small, yet burly sip along with us and a great toast it was. So it's probably time I wrap this up because either 1.) you're eyes are glazed over or 2.) you need to get back to work. Thanks for reading so far and I'll try to keep this as entertaining a blog as possible. I'm thinking of coming up with dares that may earn me money along the way. For example, you could bet me $15 that I won't eat dog meat in Vietnam. This is probably not a good bet for you though because I once ate wet catfood for less.</div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border: medium none;">By the way, the other pictures are of what I'm taking and my backpack. I just got tired of typing. </div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuXBqQvkd-f7CLiIF2IkYJHVBzfCPTktJ_gdbYs1gTGQDYQ4nX9dsVt4Eyo7q95Gtg4OH5E7aEQ-ldLjHesLnYriHl2T3V6wQOnPXebeEZMG2dehHHACnoBWWzJTlDGuAuobBIsvzGzMg/s1600/P1010122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuXBqQvkd-f7CLiIF2IkYJHVBzfCPTktJ_gdbYs1gTGQDYQ4nX9dsVt4Eyo7q95Gtg4OH5E7aEQ-ldLjHesLnYriHl2T3V6wQOnPXebeEZMG2dehHHACnoBWWzJTlDGuAuobBIsvzGzMg/s200/P1010122.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border: medium none;"> </div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpD6WbVDSjcXG6MLOlfuPjwvkaZiQuyqBcORQFpwAh0T0EK5PcGDlaL8Ag2yNd4qEwIWPajHHXflenG1vVR2ISGWZmMJST-PyB0bmFZYt3MvzqEeIBfBcSIMoyMB_cL3BInY5YSYEa9o/s1600/P1010128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpD6WbVDSjcXG6MLOlfuPjwvkaZiQuyqBcORQFpwAh0T0EK5PcGDlaL8Ag2yNd4qEwIWPajHHXflenG1vVR2ISGWZmMJST-PyB0bmFZYt3MvzqEeIBfBcSIMoyMB_cL3BInY5YSYEa9o/s200/P1010128.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Brian Keelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04227600411322114894noreply@blogger.com6