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Our bus arrived in Ho Chi Min (formerly Saigon) in the middle of a monsoon and quickly got into a cab to take us to our hotel. After a few blocks, we noticed that the meter was already very high. We told him to stop and asked what was going on, telling him that our hotel was very close and that it should only cost $1. He said, “no, you pay $10 or meter!”

As always, an argument ensued and we decided to leave the cab, smelling a rat. We refused to pay and, somehow, he let us get away with that. After seeking shelter from the rain in a mall and properly looking at the map, we realized that the bus had, in fact, dropped us off a block from the hotel. Thank goodness we didn’t let the cabbie take us for a ride. Welcome to Vietnam!

The next day, our only one in Ho Chi Min, we set out for a walking tour of the city that our guide book outlined. We manged to get lost a few times, but saw the old post office, a few beautiful temples from the inside, many more from the outside, war remnants such as tanks and helicopters on display and a wide variety of architecture. After spending nearly an hour searching for an ice cream parlor with no success, we got caught in monsoon rains and had to take solace in the Reunification Palace

The Reunification Palace is especially important to history, as when it was overrun by the North Vietnamese army in 1975 it marked the end of the Vietnam war. Propaganda-filled exhibits were on every floor: a theme that would continue throughout the country.

I also got a kick out of seeing the old spy communications rooms, still preserved with their old-school phones, computers and more. We opted not to watch the hour-long film on the history of the country and just headed home instead when the rain slowed down.

Based on advice from a fellow traveler, we decided to book an organized ticket all the way from the island of Don Det in Laos to Kratie in Cambodia via the border crossing at Voen Kham. This included a boat to the mainland, a deluxe mini bus to the border and an AC coach bus the rest of the way. Pretty much the only thing that was as advertised was the five minute boat ride.

After arriving on the mainland, we had to wait with dozens of other tourists heading all over Laos before boarding our cramped minivan for the hour trip to the border. Our first task was getting an exit stamp from an office located in an old train car. The stamp was supposed to be free but because it was a weekend the corrupt stamp-giving men decided that there was a $2 per person fee.

Next, we walked through a gate onto a 500 meters long road that was neither in Laos nor Cambodia. Why they couldn’t just put the two country’s offices next to each other we will never know. Anyway, once in Cambodia we had to get a visa on arrival from a dinky shack off to the side. Next, we walked to another shack to get our entry stamps.

It literally took three men to give us our stamps. One person checked the visa, another collected more corrupt money and a third one’s sole job was to make sure that the first guy had actually stamped the passport. Unreal. Finally, we had to fill out a health declaration form stating that, as always, we had no contact with swine flu. However, this time the guy at the health office asked for our immunization history cards…good thing I had ours in my bag.

In all our travels around the world, this is the first time anyone has ever asked for our cards. The best part…he just glanced at them and gave them back. No checking to make sure we had the proper shots or anything; I guess he just wanted to make sure we had them?

Finally a legal visitor to Cambodia, we found a bus waiting on the side of the road. After talking with other travelers heading to all parts of the country we determined that we were all supposed to get on, but there was no driver to confirm this for another half hour.

Shocker, the mystery bus had no AC and only took us as far as a nearby town before we had to wait for more than an hour for the travel agency staff to figure out where everyone was heading and put us on yet another hot and stuffy bus to conclude our journey. I would say I was shocked by all of this, but by now it is really just standard operating procedure.

To walk through the whole border crossing process, just click the first image then use the on-screen navigation to go through them all.

We knew that we were going to be traveling during monsoon season but, up until arriving at Kratie, it had never affected our plans. However, shortly after arriving the deluge began and we had no choice but to hole up in our hotel for the night instead of doing our planned activities. This was a big bummer, as our schedule had us on the first bus out the next morning and the town became a casualty of war.

The next day our early morning bus took us to Phnom Penh, the capital, where we had to drop off our passports at the Vietnam embassy to get a visa. We originally thought the process would take a long time and we would have to spend the night but it took less than five minutes.

At this point we decided to try and make the last bus of the day to Siem Reap that was leaving in 10 minutes on the other side of town. A taxi or tuk tuk would never make it so we hopped on the back of motorcycle taxis and sped off. Weaving in and out of traffic we narrowly avoided cars, trucks and other motos…but we made it on time. And then the rain began.

We finally made it to Siem Reap at nearly 10pm after leaving Kratie at 7am and hopped into a motorcycle tuk tuk to take us to our hotel. The monsoon rains were still falling and halfway into our ride the moto started to skid out in the mud. Bags went flying out of the open sides as we slipped down a small hill: the driver trying hard to get the vehicle under control.

We finally came to an abrupt stop and got off to reclaim our bags and survey the damage. No one was hurt and everything seemed fine until I discovered what actually caused the tuk tuk to stop: my DSLR camera backpack wedged under the wheel! We won’t go into the mini-freak out I had but when we finally arrived at the hotel I got to survey the damage.

Looking at my stuff I realized that the wheel had come to rest right on top of my big super zoom lens. Fortunately, I had a filter attached to the front of it that absorbed most of the damage. The filter glass had shattered and the ring that screws onto the actual lens was badly bent and could not be removed, but the lens itself still worked. To this day the filter ring is still on there and a few shards of glass remain. Guess it’s something I have to take care of when I get home.

One of the main attractions in Siem Reap, other than Angkor Wat, is a boat ride through the Flooded Forest and stilted village of Kompong Pluk. Located on the banks of a river that leads into a lake, the entire forest is flooded annually by the monsoon rains to the point where only the tops of the trees are visible. All houses in the village are built on high stilts that protect them from the rising waters.

Depending on the time of year there are two possible ways to get to the tour boat. During the monsoon season the water is high enough that a tuk tuk can drop tourists off at the side of the river where the boat waits. If it is dry season the river begins much further back. As such, the tuk tuk drops people off in a small town before transferring to the back of a motorcycle to drive down a bumpy dirt road to where the river is high enough for the boat to pick up passengers.

Our experience was neither of these, but we’ll get to that in a minute. Originally we wanted to do something else that day, but the hard sell of our driver/guide convinced us that this three hour tour was the way to go. So we hopped into his tuk tuk and after a brief stop for tire air and gas (bought from a shack on the side of the road and poured from a whiskey bottle) we were on our way.

A short while later while driving down a very rural road we heard the unmistakable sound of a flat tire and had to stop again, this time in front of someone’s house that happened to have an air pump. We sat there for nearly a half hour while they tried everything to repair the tube before eventually replacing it. While waiting, I tried my hardest to befriend a dozen curious but shy local children by making faces, playing peek-a-boo and more. In the end, I won them over with high-fives and by the time we left they were all smiling and waving and high-fiving each other.

Back on track, despite nonstop rain over the past few days, the monsoon season was still young enough that we had drive over the dirt road to reach the far away boat dock. So, at our next stop Carrie and I hopped onto the backs of two separate motorcycles driven by our guide and his younger brother and headed out. The tuk tuk remained behind for yet another tire repair.

Motorbiking through mud and pool-sized puddles

While there were a few puddles in the dirt road, there was enough space for the bikes to maneuver around them with little effort…at least in the beginning. As the drive continued the puddles became more frequent and the dirt road got more muddy. One puddle was actually more of a pool and, with no way to get around it, we drove through water at least two feet deep that engulfed half of the motorcycle and reached my shins.

By the time we passed the pool puddle the road was entirely mud. Still, our drivers pressed on: slipping and sliding the whole time. The bikes were all over the road and, despite his best efforts, my bike slid out and fell four times. Fortunately, falling off a bike in a mud pit is more funny than painful so it really wasn’t bad. As for Carrie, I guess the younger brother was a better driver because he didn’t fall once.

Not wanting to turn around, we kept going until a local man told our drivers that the road got even worse up ahead and we could not possibly make it on the bikes. So, with no other choice, we took off our flip flops and began to walk the final mile barefoot.

At first the walk was no problem; I even had fun sloshing around in the mud. However, shortly after we began walking the road dried up and became hot and hard. Making matters worse were the tire tracks all over the road that had hardened and become razor sharp. Needless to say, it went from a fun walk to a painful one very quickly.

Laughing at the absurdity of our tour was the only way I made it through the experience, but finally, about 30 minutes after we got off the bikes, we arrived at the dock. Here, our driver handed us off to the boat captain (a 12 year old boy) and the pilot (his 10 year old younger brother).

The boat tour itself was outstanding, even if the water level only flooded the trees half way up. I went nuts taking photos of the village on stilts, which was on a scale the likes of which I have never seen before. The entire village is based around the river that floods every year and boats are the only way to get from one side to the other.

Sadly, the villagers have tourism down to a science. At one point, a woman jumped onto our boat and got me to buy 10 notebooks to donate to the school children. When she got off there were four other women waiting to do the same thing who were disappointed to find that she had beaten them to the punch.

After spending a few minutes in the middle of a lake we were dropped off in the actual village for a walk/tour. How surprised were we to find a Buddhist celebration going on and a parade winding it’s way thorough the street. Townsfolk were all dressed up in their Sunday best, music and speaking blasted from a loudspeaker and everyone had a big smile.

All around, people hoisted up money trees and other gifts for a group of monks about to enter a three month period of silence and isolation. We followed the parade to a temple atop a hill where the monks sat accepting the donations while villagers banged ceremonial drums as loud and hard as possible. The scene was amazing and the people were super friendly, though it was very awkward when I had to give out the books.

Originally, I thought we were going to walk into a classroom and just hand the teacher a stack of notebooks. However, due to the celebration the kids were all in the street. So, at the urging of the girl who sold me the notebooks, I stood there and handed them. One by one, kids came up, accepted the books, bowed their heads and said thanks. The whole thing seemed incredibly fake and scripted and I was so glad when I got rid of the last book because it was also very awkward. Like, are these kids actually going to use them? Do they want them? Is the girl going to take the books back to sell to the next boat of tourists? I don’t know nor do I want to.

Waving goodbye to the townsfolk, we got back onto the boat for our walk back to the motorcycles. However, upon returning to land we were happy to find that our guide had found someone to drive us back to where our bikes were waiting. So, Carrie and I hopped on back of the best driver in town’s (according to our guide) bike and were amazed as he easily navigated through the mud and dry patches. The only problem with the ride was that the best path to drive on was right next to a wall of spiky bushes that often whacked us in the face, arms and legs. Still, we were too busy laughing at the absurdity of it all to care.

Once back on our original bikes, the rest of the return trip was much the same as the trip out there. Lots of slipping and sliding, another trip through the pool puddle and a few near falls. By the time we got back to the village and boarded the finally-repaired tuk tuk the sun was already setting, filling the sky with an awesome display of oranges, reds and blues. We finally pulled into our hotel after dark, having spent double the forecasted time on the tour and full of memories to last a lifetime.

A boat ride through the village on stilts next to the Flooded Forest of Kompong Phhluk

Buddha celebration at the village on stilts next to the Flooded Forest of Kompong Phhluk

Tourist Travel: Buses, Sleeper Buses and Minivans
Like most countries, Laos offers tourists pre-packaged ways to get from one popular destination to the next at a price way higher than local transportation. The advantage of taking one of these AC minivans or comfy first class buses is that they pick you up at your guesthouse and take care of all transfers along the way.

Overnight trips are taken on sleeper buses that literally have beds instead of seats. Some beds are big enough for one, others have space for two, though barely. The twin beds are very narrow and too short to lay straight on the back. This worked out fine for Carrie and I since we just curled into a ball and fell asleep next to each other, but we know some people traveling alone who got stuck with random strangers in their bed.

While we sometimes took the packaged buses, we also tried to do it ourselves in order to pay less and travel like the locals. While we always got to our destination, we often found that it took far longer, was more uncomfortable and cost just about as much. We still got the foreigner price, even on local transportation, and got none of the frills. Still, that didn’t stop us from trying.

Songthaew:
Take an oversized, rickety and old flatbed truck. Put benches on either side of the cab and possibly a third bench in the middle. Then put a canopy attached to poles overhead and cram on as many people as humanly possible. That’s a songthaew and the most common way to travel as these are the only public buses offered. Bags, chickens, bikes and anything else people carry are placed on the roof or tied to the rear bumper, which usually has an extended grate for stepping or storing.

On one particularly uncomfortable three hour ride from Champasak to the 4,000 Islands we joined 21 other people in the back of a songthaew, bumping our way over potholes and dirt roads. Tied to the back bumper were about a dozen pigs in a wicker basket and a few more stuffed into sacks: all tied down with rope, squealing and sending their stink wafting into the songthaew. I had a guy next to me for a while who used me as a pillow. Carrie was pointed at and discussed in the local language for a few minutes after we got on. Best of all, we paid as much as we would have if we had taken the AC bus. Gotta love traveling!

In towns there are other types of songthaews that are a hybrid of pickup truck and tuk tuk. Maybe 10 feet long, they run on three wheels, have a single seat up front for the driver and a cab-like back with benches on either side. They hold less people than their truck counterparts and go way slower, which is why they are not used for long distances.

Tuk Tuk:
Aside from the songthaew tuk tuk, Laos also has smaller versions of these popular Asian taxis. Still using only three wheels, the driver sits on what looks like the front half of a motorcycle (it is also driven like one) with an area to put his feet. The back part has two benches like a songthaew but is significantly smaller and can fit only four people (as long as they don’t have bags) comfortably…or as comfortably as one can sit on a wooden bench in a vehicle with no shocks.

Boats:
With the Mekong running through the entire country as well as tons of other rivers and lakes, boat travel is very popular in Laos. Options range from speedboats to ferries, motorized canoes, barges and even a long wooden boat big enough for hundreds. But more on that later.

Street vendors selling chicken, drinks and more surround our sangthaw in southern Laos

The Mekong River is the lifeblood of Laos, running through most of the country and providing resources for more than 50 million people. The shores are filled with villages, farms, boats and locals going about their daily lives. A glance into the horizon reveals beautiful mountain ranges, rock formations, blue skies and more. What better way to take it all in than a two day slow boat ride from Houayxai to Louang Prabang.

Filled with all Western tourists except for one Lao family and a few monks, our boat the first day was long, narrow, wooden and reminded me of a short ceilinged hallway. Our seats switched between the floor and thatched wooden chairs, as all of the comfy bus seat chairs were taken before we got in. The scene on the boat reminded us of a bar, as many travelers spent the day boozing it up on Beer Lao, singing and mingling. In fact, the most popular meeting spot was the line for the toilet.

While the party raged around us we relaxed in our chairs, watching the world go by. Fishing was a common theme as many local fishermen sat in small dinghies with bamboo fishing poles waiting for a tug. Others cast out nets to catch their day’s meal while others still just placed their fishing poles on rocks with a line in the water and left them there until later.

Every few hours the boat would stop on the shore somewhere to drop off something being ferried on the roof or to pick up more cold beer and we would be invaded by hordes of vendors: usually children. The boat was quickly filled with the sounds of “chips, coca cola, Beer Lao, pineappllllllle?” Literally, they were selling the same goods as the boat had for sale but for some reason they made a killing and left with their baskets empty.

Eight hours after leaving Houayxai we arrived in Pakbeng, a river town whose sole means of income seems to be the daily stop over of hundreds of westerns. There is one street that makes its way up a hill and features nothing but guesthouses, restaurants and little stores. While I’m sure that there is a whole other side to the town, it is one that tourists never get to see. After getting off the boat and a mad dash to find a cheap and good guesthouse, we spent the evening wandering around before the power went off at 10pm, as it does every night.

Day two of our boat ride began with a surprise: the two boats leaving that morning had been consolidated into one. So, instead of leg and walking room we now had more than 100 people crammed into a space big enough to fit maybe half of that comfortably. Our seats for the next seven hours were benches with little leg room and, although the scenery continued to be stunning, we were very ready to be done with the trip by the time we got off at Louang Prabang.

A panoramic view of the Mekong River from the slow boat including a look inside

With our new friends Claire and Karen in tow, Carrie and I left the Perhentian Islands in Malaysia at 7:30am to head to Koh Phangan, Thailand, for the Full Moon Party. Referred to as the best and biggest party in the world, we had based our entire schedule for Malaysia and Singapore around getting to the party. It was something that we just had to experience. Little did we know that getting there would be an experience all in itself.

Our day began with a quick boat “taxi” to the speedboat ferry that would take us from the Perhentians back to the mainland. From there we hired a proper taxi to take the four of us to the Thailand border at Sungai Kolok. Getting our passport stamped to leave Malaysia was quick and painless. Getting into Thailand was not.

First we had to undergo a health check, which involved filing out a form swearing that we had no swine flu symptoms and getting our temperature checked. After mine came out at 36.7 degrees Celsius the nurse showed it to me and said, “very close.” I freaked out a bit until I saw the sign that said 38 was the minimum for concern. What was she scaring me for?!

Next we had to wait on a long and hot line to get our passports stamped with our Thai visas. While waiting, a money changer approached me and tried to give me a terrible exchange rate. As everything does, it turned into a little scene that ended with me refusing to give him my money.

The encounter did have a positive effect though, as Reuben, a Spaniard traveling alone and standing behind me in the line, asked me why I didn’t want to change money with that guy. We continued to talk about traveling and soon established that he too was going to the party without pre-booked accommodation. And just like that we had a fifth member of our crew.

After successfully getting through the border check and entering Thailand we found that the train station we needed for the next leg of our journey was about 4 kilometers away. There were no car taxis anywhere so we had no choice but to all hop on the back of motorcycle taxis with our big bags. For ten minutes we caravanned through the streets of Sungai Kolok: waving, hooting and hollering at each other. Depending on whom you ask it was either a fun or terrifying experience; Claire said she had never been more scared in her life!

Safely arriving at the train station and buying our tickets to Surat Thani, we joined a train full of other Western travelers heading to the same place. The ride was long, dusty, hot and highly entertaining. Reuben was sitting next to a Thai who was drinking beer for 10 hours straight. Karen and Claire drank whisky with a Thai police officer in the food car. Carrie and I met an army officer who loves scuba diving as much as we do. Good times were had by all.

We finally arrived at Surat Thani at around 9pm and quickly started looking for cabs to take us to the boat dock. However, we had somehow picked up a straggler (we’ll call him San Diego because that’s where he’s from and I don’t know his name) who invited himself into our group to try and save money on the cab. He alternated between making sure to latch onto us and trying to find his own cheap deal. In the end he tagged along with us, which made us need two cabs instead of one and we all had to pay an extra 10 bhat for helping him. No problem, I would hope the same would happen to me in that situation.

The boat, which doubled as a cargo ship filled with food, beer and other dry goods, wound up costing double the normal price due to the party. The inside was lined with mattresses both on the floor and elevated in the aisles. Everyone had an assigned spot, though we did have to kick a few sleeping locals out of our beds after playing cards until nearly 1am. It took a while, but we all finally fell asleep to the rocking of the sea.

Arriving at 5:30am, we were awoken by the sounds of the ship’s horns and countless taxi drivers on the jetty shouting “good morning! You want taxi? Where you go?” through the boat’s windows. Still groggy, we had no choice but to enter the taxi gauntlet waiting for us and try and figure out where we were headed. Not surprisingly, it was at this point that San Diego reappeared after being MIA all night and tagged along with us. Our destination: a hotel with a room big enough for six.

The epilogue to the story is that Claire’s place didn’t work out but we did find a wonderful AC room that we could cram the original five into. San Diego had been both trying to find his own place and make sure to stick with us all morning just in case, so we were a-ok with him doing his own thing. We even helped find him a cheap single room, but were completely done with him. Finally, at around 8:30am we all plopped into our beds and passed out.

Final tally
1 train ride
1 motorcycle taxi
3 car taxis
3 boats
26 hours of travel

Views from the back of our motorcycle taxi to the train station

The scene on the dock when our boat arrived at the full moon party at 530am

It didn’t take long for us to realize that Bali was unlike any place we’ve ever traveled before, in that it is nearly impossible to use public transportation. As always, after arriving at the airport we were greeted by scores of taxi drivers. And as always, we politely refused and said that we wanted to take public transportation. After finding another pair of backpackers and getting information on how to make the 50 minute journey to Ubud, we walked out of the airport towards the bus stand.

Public buses in Bali (called bemos) are actually little vans with bench or bus style seating. They do not go long distances and getting across the country can be done only by using multiple bemos for each little leg of the trip. Each bemo ride should not cost more than 5,000 rupia (50 cents) per person and should drop us off at either a bus stop or terminal where the next bemo should be waiting or on its way.

For locals in Bali, this is exactly how it works. However, as we quickly found out after leaving the airport, the reality is quite different for tourists. We had to haggle hard with every single driver  we encountered to get even close to the fair price and often drivers would just flat out refuse anything less  than 20,000 rupia per person to go even a short distance. Most told us that there were no more bemos to Ubud that day and we should just give them large sums of money to take us.

“But aren’t you a bemo?” we would ask the drivers. The answer was always the same: “yes, but this is a private bemo.” We would later learn that all bemos spend some time doing trips for locals but most just wait around and use their vehicle as a private transport for foreigners, as it makes them far more money. Very few public bemos were even willing to stop for us, as the system in place is designed to frustrate foreigners to the point that they throw their hands up and accept whatever price the private ones ask for.

The epilogue to our airport to Ubud story is that we finally made it there: four hours and four bemos later. We spent God knows how much time haggling and saying no to absurd prices and even despite our best work the trip wound up only being $9 cheaper than it would have been to have a 50 minute long AC cab ride from the airport to our hotel. At that point we too threw up our hands and decided no more bemos!

After a few days in Ubud, we decided to try out the other cheap option for travelers in Bali: the shuttle service. For anywhere between $5 and $20 per person, a private car will pick up as many people as it can cram in. Reservations are required, but last-minute additions are welcomed. Regardless of how many people are in the car, the per person cost remains the same. We were lucky enough to have our first one be for just us, but we have heard horror stories from other travelers.

While the shuttle service is ok, they only operate in major destinations. Other times, there is no choice but to pay a driver to go wherever we need to go. This is the most obnoxious of all, as they know you are lost without them and charge between $20 and $30 for a quick drive anywhere. We contemplated going back to bemos, but the odds of those working out in our favor were slim so we just sucked it up.

Next we come to the public and private taxis. In big towns like Kuta and Denpensar (the capital), iit is not hard to find a normal metered taxi. However, once you get out of these places the taxis are just more private drivers. As we learned, actual taxis are only allowed in a select few cities. Everywhere else, anyone with a car is welcome to line the streets and hawk out their vehicle for a ride. This results in the most commonly heard things on the streets of a town like Ubud being, “hello taxi? Yes, taxi? You want taxi? Taxi? No? Maybe tomorrow?” It gets quite overwhelming with more drivers than tourists and becomes something of a joke for all travelers.

Finally we come to the most economical way to get around that, unfortunately, we didn’t realize and take advantage of until the end of our trip: rental cars. For $9 per day we rented a Feroza, which is a Jeep-like bucket of bolts with a very wide turning radius, speed and gas gauges that don’t work and very little pickup. In order to rent it all we had to do was fill out a simple form with our name, address in the USA and passport number, but they didn’t verify any of it and I easily could have put down any info and still gotten the car.

As I can barely drive stick on the right side of the road, Carrie was our driver and did an amazing job navigating driving on the left side of the road and shifting gears with her left hand. We got lost a few times due to terrible signage in the country, but all in all the rental car was the best way to travel and we wish we had done it from the start…it would have alleviated much stress, hassle and wasted money.

Rating: Bali Low (except for the rental car)

I didn’t notice until I had to pay $50 at the Bali airport to get a visa, but the women at our Phuket hotel totally robbed me. I had 2 $20s, a $10 and a $1 in my wallet that they replaced with 4 $1 bills. I even looked into my wallet before leaving, but saw 4 bills so I didn’t bother to check that they were the right ones until standing at the visa counter in Bali. The worst part is the women totally pretended to be our friends and were so super nice. That’s how they get you…lull you into a sense of security then strike!

When we arrived at the Bali airport, we had to fill out a yellow card stating that we had not been in any swine flu infected areas lately and that we had none of the symptoms within the past two weeks. Then, we had to walk through a body temperature scanner that would show if anyone had a fever and they would be instantly quarantined. Scary!

Someone thought I was from Germany just because of my green floppy hat

Most soda comes in 250ml Red Bull sized cans

For some reason some prices require change that either does not exist or that the store does not carry. In place of the small change, clerks will often give the customer a piece of candy instead.

Everyone has a business card from the taxi drivers to the guys trying to book you on a tour to random people you meet in a restaurant who just want to be your friend…until the other shoe drops and they are trying to get money from you somehow.

One of the things Lovina is most famous for are sunrise dolphin spotting boat tours. Despite the fact that our hotel owner knew that we had booked a scuba tour for that day, at 6am he woke us up with a knock on the door asking, “you want dolphin tour?” To which I very irritatedly yelled back, “no, I want to sleep!”

Much like 7-Eleven was all over Thailand, Circle K was all over Bali.

Further proving our thoughts on the over-tourism of Bali, we heard a radio program in a taxi that said that the island had nearly twice as many hotel rooms as possible clients and far too many for an island of that size.

When we picked up rocks at the top of Mt Batur they would crackle and begin to turn from black to grey as they interacted with the fresh air for the first time.

A local was telling us about how for very big occasions they sacrifice a cow by taking it out on a boat and dropping it into the water to kill it. For lesser occasions, they kill a chicken, fry it up and eat it.

While taking photos of rice terraces, a vendor came up to me and told me to buy his postcard because it was better than the photo I was taking. Great sales pitch, ass!

One night in Ubud we were forced to listen to the never-ending repeating music of a local festival. Literally, it was the same 10 second tune over and over again for hours.

I love when they ask if I want transport when I’m already in a car or vehicular!

When taxi drivers ask, “hello, transport?” they make a driving motion with their hands that often looks like they are milking a cow.

My favorite vendor/taxi driver/massage vendor expression is when they, out of the blue, come up to you and say “yes?” Like, I’m sorry, did I miss something? Did we have an entire conversation about me using your services and you are just checking in to see if now is a good time? I thought not.

We saw a clothes dryer that was heated by fires atop the unit.

We saw a guy sitting on the street with a chicken in his lap relaxing and smoking a cigarette.

Local pride, or whatever you want to call it, seems to reign supreme in Bali, as we were constantly cut in lines by locals and our orders at restaurants and food stalls were pushed back so that the orders of a local who arrived after us could be filled first. Imagine that in our customer service oriented society in the USA?!

The lights in our hotel by Mt Batur were so bad that I often had to check and see if I was still wearing sunglasses.

We treated some tap water with the pills to kill any parasites inside, which worked well but left the water tasting like a swimming pool. Yuck!

After we spent the last of our Bali money at the airport and went through the gates, we were treated to an airport departure tax. Luckily, Carrie had a few US dollars left so we didn’t have to pay absurd ATM fees, but how can you not warn passengers of that before blindsiding them with the expensive fee. That just ain’t right.

There were bootleg movies on every street corner. I read in a newspaper that the US just placed Indonesia on the Priority Watch List for piracy this year after causing $132 million in losses in 2008. At present, there are more than 550 million pirated movies and CDs on the streets of Indonesia.

The phrase “hello massage” is so common that we even heard it in the airport. Listen to someone saying it here…

Much like the rest of Southeast Asia, there are no open container laws, so people walk down the street drinking beer all the time.

Scuba dive masters make $3.50 – $4.50 per dive as a salary and considering Southeast Asia is a non-tipping culture, they rarely make any more.

We saw a monkey laying on his back on the side of the road holding one finger up, as if begging for one banana. Crazy what a lifetime of tourism will do to an animal.

It was actually in Thailand, but we were given bananas during our snorkeling tour and the fish flocked around to eat them out of our hands. It felt really wierd when these toothless animals missed the food and nibbled on my hand.

While Indonesia was the country hit hardest by the 2004 tsunami with more than 200,000 deaths, Bali was completely spared. Local legend says that it is because the island has temples on all four corners and the Gods spared Bali.

Lovina is famous for its early morning dolphin spotting tours, but Carrie and I had no interest as we were there to scuba dive. However, someone forgot to tell our hotel and at 6am we heard a knock on the door and someone saying, “you want dolphin tour?” NO! We want to sleep!

The police in Ubud have black teeshirts that say Police in the local language and some weapons on their belt. other than that they look like any other local going to temple for the day wearing a sarong and festive head covering.

When shops don’t have the correct small change or the change due is in increments that do not exist in Balinese currency, they give little pieces of candy as change instead.

Despite the legal driving age being 16, we see kids far too young looking to be driving scooting around all the time. This was true in every country we’ve visited so far as well.

We learned that the actual Division Bell statue from the Pink Floyd album of the same name was located just a few km away in Ubud. Sadly, we learned this just before we left and could not go visit it. Lame!

Our last night in Bali was spent in Kuta, a super-touristy resort town. I just wanted a bowl of Bakso, which is chicken ball soup. After being told a price that was double what the price was everywhere else in Bali, failing to bargain the vendor down and talking to other locals who speak English about how crazy the Kuta markup is, I finally bought the soup at the higher price and took it to go. When I got back and started eating it, it may have been the spiciest thing I’ve ever eaten. Literally, my lips were on fire and my stomach burned. Despite saying “only a little spicy,” I’m convinced it was their silent revenge for my trying to get the price I knew was correct. I mean literally, the soup was bright red! That couldn’t be by accident.

During our last stop in Ubud, I saw a sign with directions to the actual statues used for the cover of the Pink Floyd album The Division Bell. Of course that wasn’t in our guide book and by the time I saw the poster it was too late to head over there. Bummer!

On our drive from Tanah Lot to the airport, we ran out of gas in our rental car. I had to walk a while down the highway, dig through some trash to find a used water bottle and go to a gas station to have them fill it up with petrol. Thank goodness laws are different than in the US, where I could never just show up with a water bottle and expect it to be filled.

And finally, after telling a pair of British girls that the hotel they were looking at and we were already staying was a great place and the price was as good as they would find in Ubud, the manager who overheard my talking his place up came over, shook my hand and said thanks. I don’t think that’s ever happened before.

As one might imagine for a country in the middle of a civil war, there are military checkpoints everywhere. The most frequent ones we encountered were on the road when the bus we were traveling in would be stopped and people would have to grab their bags and head through an inspection station. Some were searched, some were not. However, Carrie and I would just sit on the bus and wait.

Eventually a soldier would come on and start checking the documents of the other passengers who didn’t get off. We have no idea why some got off and some didn’t. Anyway, the soldier was always stern and gruff with the locals but full of smiles when they got to us. “What is your country? How long in Sri Lanka? Do you like it?” These were the most common questions. I don’t think we had to take out our passports once, though one time I did get off and walk through the checkpoint just for fun. While others were being searched, I got smiles and chuckles from the soldiers and was waived on.

Our theory, which was backed up by talking to locals, is that everyone knows that it’s not the tourists who cause civil unrest. Sure, they might be a day or two over on their visa, but they still have thrown caution to the wind and come to a country that most dare not enter. Why would the Sri Lankans want to cause trouble with the few of us who are willing to come spend our hard earned money in their economy!

We had similar experiences with checkpoints when we hired a private driver to take us up north to the Ancient Cities. While other cars were stopped left and right at checkpoints, our driver just slowed down and let us wave to the army officer who quickly sent us on our way. When driving at night he had us turn on the inside lights when we approached the checkpoints in order to assure our speedy continuation. Usually, when driving locals, the driver has to stop at every single one and wait for the whole car to be searched. It really did make us feel like a sort of royalty at times.

Our final stop in Sri Lanka was the beach town of Hikkaduwa, though it was unlike I have ever been to. The main highway is also the town’s one road with a row of restaurants and guesthouses separating that road from the ocean. Mostly a surfer’s destination, the waves crashing were some of the largest I have ever seen and I think it may also be the first time I ever saw someone surf. We treated ourselves to a beach-front room and slept to the sound of the ocean for two nights.

One morning we took a walk down the beach until we came to the spot where hundred year old turtles lived. Knowing exactly what we were there for, a local grabbed some seaweed and lured one of them over so we could see, touch and feed it. At first it was just us and the local, but within minutes there was a crowd of rich resort patrons who joined in the fun. No surprise, we were the only ones who tipped the local.

Later that day we hopped onto a local bus to go an hour north to a turtle hatchery where we could see baby turtles and release one into the ocean. I told the money collector the name of the town, he nodded as if to indicate understanding and printed me up a receipt with a price and the name of our destination. Unfortunately, the ticket was written in Sinhalese, which is a completely different alphabet, so I had no idea if it was right. We just assumed it was and, like all other bus helpers, he would tell us when it was our stop.

Carrie had called the hatchery earlier in the day, so we knew that it was about an hour away. Turtles are released only at the end of the day, so we timed our trip to coincide with the closing of the hatchery, even leaving ourselves a little wiggle room. We watched every sign closely to make sure we got off at the right place until the rain started. Soft at first, by the time we hit the hour mark it was a torrential downpour: and of course we had no umbrellas or plastic to cover ourselves or my camera bag.

The rain also made reading signs much harder, but around the hour mark Carrie saw one that looked like the town before ours. We watched intently, looking for our town’s name, watching for a kilometer marker sign or anything else to let us know we were there. Finally, at around the 1.5 hour point I went up to the front and asked. Shocker, they had no idea what I was talking about and spoke no English. I continued to say the town name and was greeted with blank stares from all around until finally it clicked with someone who told me, in broken English, that we had gone too far.

We jumped out of the bus into the downpour and found a dry spot across the road to wait for a bus back, still hoping to catch the hatchery on the flip side. Well, as it was raining and the bus was coming from Colombo, every one that passed was so full it had people hanging out of the door and would not stop. We finally had to take an air conditioned minivan bus for nearly 5x what we paid to get there.

Upon getting into the minivan we also saw a kilometer marker and realized that we had gone nearly 35km too far. By the time we were back in the town with the hatchery it was too late and they would have been closed. We rationalized it by saying that with the rain we probably wouldn’t have gotten to release the turtles anyway, but it was still SO frustrating. The worst part is that it all could have been avoided if the money collector had just said that he didn’t understand me. I could have taken out our book, showed him and had no problem. But that’s just the way it is.

With our pacakge off in the mail, it was time to find an Internet cafe to book a ticket to Sri Lanka for 7:30am the next morning. However, we quickly learned that you couldn’t book an e-ticket less than 24 hours before the flight. Next we tried to call the airline directly to book, but despite it being almost an hour before they closed, the woman Carrie talked to said that there was not enough time to do it and we had to come in the next day when they opened…well after 7:30am.

Frustrated by the call (I guess we used up our good karma for the day at the post office) we decided to just relax for another day in Chennai and book an e-ticket for the day after. However, nothing is ever as easy as it should be and every single credit card we are traveling with was rejected by the site. I even called my credit card company back home and they told me that they had no idea why it was rejected, as their system had not gotten a single request for credit card approval from Air India Express. At this point we gave up and called it a night.

We now found ourselves with no other choice, so we hopped into a cab the next day and soon sat down in front of the same woman who refused to make our reservation over the phone the day before. One by one, each credit card was once again rejected by their system and, after wasting nearly 20 minutes trying, she finally informed us that they do not accept US credit cards. Why she couldn’t tell me that at first is beyond me. I also don’t get why they can’t take US cards, since I was trying to use Visa and Mastercard, which are both issued and used all over India.

Regardless of the reason, we had no choice but to pay ATM fees and buy the ticket using good ole cash. It was an odd feeling doing it with bills, and even more odd was the fact that we had to buy a plane ticket in person. It’s tough to remember a time when the Internet wasn’t the best way to make your reservation.

One of the jellyfish. Imagine thousands more of them and us diving through that wall

• During one day of scuba diving we swam through seas of jellyfish. No joke, hundreds of them at the surface. The craziest part was coming up from below and seeing a wall of pink ahead of us and knowing that we had to swim through it to get back onto the boat…and that it would be waiting for us the next time we went in.
• I am so so so so so so so sick of itching! If it were up to me, mosquitoes would be wiped off the face of the earth. I don’t care what it does to the circle of life!
• A boat mechanic on our ferry ride to Havelock showed Carrie some moves on her new drum.
• The mosquitoes were so bad on Havelock that every day just after sunset Carrie and I would spend a few hours watching movies in bed under a mosquito net and not socializing with our fun neighbors, just to avoid getting mauled.
• Everyone on Havelock wore Andaman Island tee shirts, which were sold in the marketplace for $1 and are made of some of the cheapest fabric ever.
• It’s terrifying to sit in the front of a bus and watch how many near accidents it has on an average journey.
• When cars pass other cars in the right lane, they come at your vehicle head on and often don’t get back into their lane until the last possible second.
• We were on a 2.5 hour bus ride from Sadhana Forest to Chennai where the horn was pretty much used the entire time.
• Our hotel in Havelock was very dangerous, as it was filled with coconuts falling from the trees above. One of those things hits your head, it’s lights out! At least we had the warning sound of a snap then leaves rustling. A few seconds later, THUD!
  

  Pelican Guest House, our home for a week was surrounded by dangerous coconut trees

• On that same ride, one man who spoke English was asking Carrie and I all sorts of questions and then relaying the answers to everyone else around in Hindi. This meant that everyone on the bus knew all about the Americans traveling who really like India and are sad to be leaving and have been there for three months…etc.
• I spent 20 minutes or so on a bus ride with a bag of watermelons resting on my feet and my knee being used as a seat.
• We found a great natural suntan lotion whose main ingredients are ficus, liquorice, aloe, indica, sandalwood, carrots and wheatgerm. Sounds crazy but it works.
• Despite the amount of English spoken in India, I find it quite tough to understand with the thick accent.
• Due to the fact that many of the men from the ships in the beach area stay for days or weeks at a time, it took Carrie and I nearly two hours of wandering and looking hard before we found a hotel room in our budget.
  

  The white manequin selling burkas at the burka store across the street from our Chennai hotel

• When we finally found a hotel in Chennai, it was in the Muslim area. We were across the street from three different burka stores.
• The most frequently stereotyped Indian expression in the USA is “thank you, come again.” In three months in India we have shopped at countless stores and never heard it once.
• Affection is never shown in public in India. Even holding hands is not done, which is sometimes tough for Carrie and I to remember.
• Room for rent signs say To Let, which when I quickly walk by looks a lot like toilet.
• As I have mentioned, most double beds are just two singles pushed together. When there is a real double bed and I don’t spend my nights falling into a hard crevasse between two mattresses, it’s very exciting.
• Our boat ride back from Havelock was filled with roaches, one of which even crawled on Carrie.
• Not sure if I mentioned this before, but for men, all of India is a urinal. This is both very handy and very disgusting, as people urinate everywhere and it often is quite smelly.
• We had no rain for three months, then it rained three times in a week..
• Someone said this and I love it. Travelers are born to travel. They can’t fight it no matter how hard they try. So why try.
• In Havelock I had ands crawling all over my laptop. I hope none of those suckers are still in there.
• I was told i have hands like a woman’s by a woman in a glasses store in Chennai.
• All of the paper money in India has scenes of the countryside and of monuments except for the 1,000 rupee note, which has images of computers and industry. This is telling, as a large percentage of people will never have a 1,000 rupee bill.
• We rarely see police cars and every time we do, it still shocks us.


The only reason these to go cups are paper is because of how scalding the coffee is

• There are just about no plastic or paper cups anywhere. When you buy fresh juice, coffee or tea on the street it comes in a glass or ceramic cup that you drink and hand back. Unless it is scalding hot, to go drinks come in plastic bags.
• Many streets have no sidewalks so pedestrians are forced to walk on the side of traffic. As such, it is a constant game of dodging cars and other people with varying degrees of success.
• Stray dogs, especially on islands, tend to pick a human and stick with them for that person’s stay in the area. We had one in Hampi, Goa and on Havelock.
• While waiting to get our ticket to Sri Lanka, Carrie and I stayed in the beach area, which actually was a shipping hub. As such, there were no other tourists around and we feasted on cheap local food.