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As always, trying to get information on traveling like a local from locals was like pulling teeth. For those who managed to actually get on a local bus they had to face super inflated prices, dangers and the occasional incident with police. Fortunately, for once we weren’t trying to travel like locals, as we only had 18 days to see the entire country and couldn’t waste the time. So, for $34 per person, we bought the open bus ticket that let us get on and off at six different destinations while traveling the 1000+ mile stretch between Ho Chi Min (Saigon) in the south and Hanoi in the north.

Buses ranged in duration from a few hours to overnight. They could be nice comfy AC ones just as easily as a teeny minibuses that crammed people, bags and even a motorbike into the seating area. The worst ride we had was an overnight one where we were in the front row behind the driver. There was no leg room and I was forced to rest my feet on either a fire extinguisher or the driver’s toothbrush holder all night.

When I did manage to fall asleep, I was woken up every few minutes by the sound of a horn: either ours or that of another driver. When I would open my eyes for a second I usually saw the bright headlights of oncoming traffic heading right at us from the driver’s window. I guess passing cars when he didn’t have enough time or space to do so and driving in the shoulder of the wrong lane was how he stayed awake all night.

On another sleeper bus the seats in front of us reclined so far that the only position I could sleep in was with my body completely straight, bracing myself against the wheel hump on the floor in front of me. At one point it was so uncomfortable that I took my blanket and slept on the floor for the rest of the night.

Cyclos
Buses aside, the other transportation method we used was the cyclo. Propelled by a Vietnamese man on a bicycle, it is a variation of your classic bike rickshaw. The seats are big enough for one person to fit comfortably, though locals often cram whole families onto one cyclo. As for us, we managed to both get into one only once. The other times they told us we were too big and had to take two. Really, they just wanted more money.

I learned how to drive a car in New York City rush hour traffic. I learned how to ride a scooter on the dirt roads and busy streets of India. So, it only made sense that I teach myself (with lots of help from Carrie) how to ride a proper motorcycle in Vietnam: one of the most dangerous places to ride in the world. Never having driven a stick shift car (successfully), I had to learn how the concept of gears at the same time as trying to steer clear of the constant flow of traffic.

My first day driving, fortunately, was in the quite town of Mui Ne, which was pretty empty. Unfortunately, shortly into my first day of driving we were hit by monsoon rains. I got the bike home with no problem but got soaked in the process. Next, I took it into the hilly mountains of Da Lat and had a quick crash course on how to use gears on steep inclines. Finally, we took another motorcycle out to explore Na Trang: a busy beach town. This was my favorite, as we returned to the hotel in the middle of rush hour traffic and I got to put my new skills to the test.

Traffic madness in Ho Chi Min

Traffic in Vietnam is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Stop lights are few and far between and motorcycles outnumber everything else. Intersections are the craziest, with all modes of transportation converging together and having a giant game of “who goes first.” Somehow, with a lot of honking, everyone gets their chance to go. Moto drivers tend to let the bigger vehicles go first, but at any given time another bike, car, pedestrian, cow or whatever can jump right out in front. I swear, crossing the street should be an Olympic sport.

Really, the whole thing is quite beautiful: like a noisy dance with a chance of an accident. I never dared to drive in Hanoi or Ho Chi Min, as they take the traffic to a whole new level, but I think I could have done it.

Crossing the street is terrifying in Ho Chi Min

The primary way for both tourists and locals to get around the country is via air conditioned bus. These range from deluxe first class to ones where the AC barely works. Either way, there is not much to write about these as anyone who has ever taken a long distance bus can picture the inside easily. Perhaps the only noteworthy part is the fact that loud Cambodian karaoke videos are blasting over the speaker system for most of the ride.

As for the Cambodian tuk tuk, it differs a bit from any I have seen in other countries. The actual carriage part is attached to a standard motorcycle by a clamp that straps onto the middle of the bike seat. The carriage can move from left to right but has a slight delay from when the bike actually makes the move first. It is also far less stable than other tuk tuks, as if the motorcycle falls over, it will take the carriage with it.

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

We spent the night dancing and having a blast before going to bed at around 8am. Reuben returned. Karen came back. But where was Claire? This was the question we were still asking at 7pm when I hopped onto the back of a motorcycle driven by a Thai friend I had made. Our destinations? Health clinics and the police station to see if anyone had seen the girl whose passport I held in my hand. None of us knew what to do but we were very worried.

My friend told me that people go missing all the time and if she didn’t show up and we filed a police report that we would have to stay on the island until she surfaced. I had no luck on our motorcycle ride, but upon returning what did I see? Claire chatting with the girls telling a story about meeting new friends and winding up on the other side of the island with no cell phone. Thank goodness she was ok but what an experience for us.

The next day we all said our goodbyes and Carrie and started our 700 kilometer journey north to Chang Mai for some trekking. We had gone against our usual method of travel and booked a direct trip to Bangkok through a tour agent to make our life easier. Our taxi left the hotel at 11am and we next joined thousands of Westerners boarding a boat to what we thought was Surat Thani.

In reality the boat dropped us off a few hours later at some dock somewhere in Thailand where busses waited to take us the rest of the way. We were among the last people off the boat by the time we finally got our bags all of the busses were full and we had to wait on this random dock for nearly two hours before the next bus came.

When we finally arrived in Surat Thani we were left at a bus terminal in the middle of nowhere so we had no choice but to buy their overpriced food. Our bus left 30 minutes late and got into Bangkok 30 minutes early: at 4:30am. We hopped in a cab to the train station, booked an 8:30am train to Chang Mai and waited in the terminal for it to leave.

A twelve hour train ride later we got to Chang Mai. got in a cab, found a hotel and passed out.

Final tally:
3 taxis
2 bus rides
1 boat ride
1 train ride
34 hours of travel

Add the 26 hours to get from Malaysia to the full moon party and you get 60 hours of travel in 6 days. Had we skipped the full moon party and flown from Malaysia to Chang Mai it would have taken 3 hours. Was it worth it? 100%!

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)

“Can you help me? I seem to have gotten lost in southwest Thailand and am trying to find my way back onto the backpacking trail.” These are the types of thoughts that Carrie and I have had lately after our visit to the Andaman coast. It started in Krabi, where we headed to after Bangkok to check out some beaches, the stunning limestone crags that line the sea and to do some diving.

Upon arriving in Krabi, we quickly found that our ideas of finding a cheap local boat to take us around to the crags and beaches would not work. The system in place makes it very difficult to do anything yourself unless you know the right people or have a large group to split the costs. If you are traveling solo, or with one other person, there is little other choice than to go through a tourist agent to book a tour.

For two days we shopped around, comparing tour options and prices while trying to coordinate with our friend Sean that we met in Bangkok. In the end, we found a few we liked but first had to head to Kho Lak to see about scuba diving.

Though only two hours away, everyone we talked to said the only way to get there was an overpriced AC minivan. Even the locals we talked to said that it was the way to go, so we booked it and hopped onto the van that picked us up at our hotel…can’t complain about that. However, a mere five minutes later we pulled into a restaurant parking lot and were told to grab our bags and get off.

We soon learned that tour agencies sell tourists these rides without coordinating with the actual van company. Upon arriving at the restaurant everyone gets off the van and is given a little sticker with the name of their destination. The staff then has to figure out how many people are going where…and how to get them all onto the few vans that they have. For more popular destinations there is no problem, but some people had to go out of their way to drop off others first: no problem in a bus, but they paid for a direct shuttle!

Everyone was also told that they could be dropped off at their hotel if they had one, and if not the company had to book them a hotel or they would be left at the edge of town. This was just a ploy to get hotel commission, as in the end everyone was dropped off at the same place in Kho Lak and the driver refused to take people to their hotels. Thankfully, we knew better…but some in our van did not.

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.

Though it’s only a mile or so from the main road, Sadhana Forest is a bit of a trek to get to and from: especially when the sun is beating down. As such, Carrie and I joined most other volunteers and rented a scooter for under $2 a day during our time there. Whether it’s to get ice cream or some other non-vegan snack, explore nearby towns, relax on the beach, visit Auroville or just cruise for a bit, the scooter afforded us the freedom to do what we wanted without being a slave to overpriced taxis or the schedules of others.

Our first ride was a bit dicey, as neither of us had ever driven a scooter before, let alone on the opposite side of the road before. It took about ten minutes before we had our first little crash while trying to cross traffic and make a sharp turn on dirt. It was not in front of traffic, but of course a handful of locals were there to watch the show.

Early jitters aside, I fell completely in love with our scooter and can see why motorcycles have such a cult following. That said, I also see how dangerous they are and have no need to drive one back home. In Sadhana the joy was half having the freedom to get out when I wanted and half the thrill of the wind in my face. That, and caravaning was a favorite past time of volunteers. One night we had a string of eight scooters driving in a line home all honking and passing each other. Too much fun!

The comical highlight of our scooter experience came after a torrential rain storm that lasted all day. Stir crazy and craving ice cream, a bunch of us decided to brave the muddy mile to the main road. We paired up two to a scooter and set off, slipping, sliding and laughing our way through puddles and inches of mud. At times one person per scooter had to walk while other times it was two to a vehicle.

In the end, six scooters made it out of the mud road without incident and the caravan headed to a bakery for some croissants and cheese. We never did make it to get ice cream as the sky was darkening and we feared mud driving at night. Our accident-free track record continued until the final curve before arriving back at Sadhana, which was a giant mud pool that, despite not having Carrie on the bike, caused me to skid out and fall ass-first into the puddle. After a classic laugh first, ask questions later, experience, Carrie came over and helped get the bike off of me and I proceeded to walk it the final hundred feet home.

Just under two months into our trip we hit Kanyakumari and the southernmost tip of India where the Arabian Sea, Bay of Bengal and Indian Ocean meet. In our one night there we watched the sunset over all three bodies of water, saw the place where Gandhi’s ashes were laid to rest before being swept out to sea and enjoyed the view from our amazing balcony. In fact, the specific room we stayed in was actually recommended, by number, in our guidebook. The next morning I woke up dark and early to watch the sunrise over the same three bodies of water from our rooftop. It was beautiful, but due to a layer of haze I didn’t actually see the sun until it had been above the horizon for nearly 20 minutes.

A few hours later it was time to check out and begin our trip to Kodaikanal. Most towns have countless tourist offices where you can book tours, trains, buses or just get general information. After asking four such offices for the bus schedule and getting four different answers, we headed to where one of them told us the bus station was. Naturally, after a long  walk in the blazing sun with our giant backpacks, we learned that the bus stop was actually right up the street from the tourist office. Uuuugh!

Hot and sweaty we tried to get a rickshaw to take us the 2 kilometers to the bus station but they all were charging obnoxiously high prices so we waited for the local bus into town that would end its trip at the station. Naturally, even the bus found a way to overcharge us, which I realized when I looked at the sign right in front of my face listing distances and fares. Tired and not wanting to deal with making a scene over a few cents, I forced myself to bite my tongue.

Once in the bus terminal we asked the most unhelpful man ever to sit at an information desk for departure times. He told us our only two options were to wait 10 hours for a direct bus to Kodaikanal or to wait three hours, get a bus to Madurai and hope to catch a connecting bus. Not satisfied with that answer or with the man’s attitude, we began asking all the other bus drivers and food vendors in the station and learned that a bus to Madurai was actually leaving any minute

As is often the case, any minute really meant in about two hours. So, after killing time eating a bus station breakfast (fried food, soda and chips) we finally got on the road for our worst bus ride to date. Cramped, bumpy, hot and loud are words that come to mind to describe it.

We spent much of the ride squeezing locals into our row of seats that was barely big enough for the two of us including a few hours with what we guessed was a 6 foot 3, 240lbs man. The bus helper was also sitting right next to us and his job was to blow a loud whistle every time we had to stop to let someone on and off (which happened at least every few minutes as we were on a local bus). Suffice it to say, it was among the longest six hours ever during which I spent lots of time just wishing I was back home.

Our bus from Kodaikanal to Puducherry was billed as an overnight semi-sleeper, which meant that the seats reclined more than usual but it did not have the sleeper compartments above. As Carrie and I both have long legs, we chose to take the two front seats to avoid another seat reclining into our laps. What we could not have known was that our safe seats would be right next to a door that would open and close at least once an hour or that the one actually needed the seat in front to stop your body from sliding off the chair.

For nearly ten hours we tried to sleep: slipping, sliding, being awakened by everyone who had to ask the driver for a pee break. Everyone once in a while the zzz’s came, but there was no doubt that we would be woken up again shortly. In fact, for a large part of the evening I so slumped down in an effort to not slide further that my back was almost on the actual seat. When we finally arrived at 5:30am we were so happy to be off the bus that the fact that we still had to find a hotel for the night didn’t even phase us.