A member of the Xao tribe in the hills of Sapa takes a moment to weave a present for the tourist she is spending her day getting to know

Members of the Xao tribe sewing on the streets of Sapa

Tourists go to Sapa to see women from indigenous tribes going about their daily lives in the market, on the streets and in the mountains around the town. We figured we would have to search them out…boy were we wrong! From the minute we got off the bus with our new friends Anke and Bianca, we collected a group of Hmong tribeswomen who spent the rest of the day following us around. After we checked into our hotel, they waited outside for us. When we stopped for lunch to get out of the rain they all huddled under an awning across the street and waited.

The Hmong women continued to follow us into the local market and watched us try to haggle for handicrafts and clothes. Even leaving the market in a monsoon rain strong enough to flood the entire streets and turn stairs into waterfalls could not shake these women. When Carrie got into a fight with a shopkeeper over a broken poncho, the women looked on and supported our cause. The whole time they never asked for anything; just walked with us, talked about life and gave us a little sewn bracelet.

This member of the Hmong tribe followed us around all day through monsoon rains to get us to buy something from her

Finally, after the monsoon and poncho fight, the other shoe dropped. “We have to go home now. You buy something now?” We did our best to dodge the issue, promising them that if we didn’t book a tour that we would visit their village the next day, and it seemed to work. That is, until we walked out of our hotel the next morning and some were waiting for us. We wound up getting some silly musical instrument for way too much money, though I did get the woman to pose for a photo as well.

In reality, we had planned to go with them to visit their village and to buy something, but we wound up booking an organized tour instead. A common saying in Southeast Asia is “same same but different,” and that certainly applies here. Our group was small and we had a private tour guide, but we left at the same time as a dozen other tours. Surrounding each group were a handful of Hmong tribeswomen, different from the ones who found us at the bus the day before.

The women took turns talking to us, but shortly into the trip it became quite apparent which ones had claimed each of us. While they never discussed buying anything from them and they did not spend every minute by our sides, the little hand-woven gifts of leaves, stems and flowers or the fact that they held umbrellas over people’s heads to shade them from the sun during breaks gave it all away. My girl was 18 and very quiet, but she would wait with me every time I stopped to take photos to make sure I caught up with the group. Carrie had about three different women who claimed her.

The rice field filled mountains of Sapa

Sure, the interactions were fake and based on the assumption that we were walking ATMs, just waiting to be guilted into buying their overpriced handicrafts. But it didn’t matter and for half a day we wandered trough the mountains above Sapa, taking in the breathtaking views of hill after hill covered by rice fields and rice terraces. Never in all our Southeast Asia travels have I seen anything as awesome as the views from the trek.

When we finally stopped for lunch, it was time for the tribeswomen to pounce. They did a good job of quickly laying down the guilt and telling us that we had to buy right then because there was another tribe, the Xao, waiting to walk with us for the rest of the way. Great, so we had to do this all over again?! At one point, Carrie was surrounded by more than a dozen women all showing her the same bracelet but at different prices. My girl had a wall hanging that I spent the next two hours haggling with to get a remotely fair price before finally buying it.

Carrie surrounded by more than a dozen Hmong women trying to get her to buy their bracelet

Although I absolutely loved the trek and consider it a highlight of our time in Vietnam, I do have mixed feelings about the roles the tribeswomen play. Are they better off selling off their way of life to the highest Western bidder than they were when living the simple life? Is it wrong that they spend all day being photographed, often without their knowledge, just to keep their customers happy? I’m sure that 10 years ago they still thought a photo would steal their soul…now they pose for them without blinking an eye. Either way, I do feel bad for these women who spend their entire day following around Westerners on the off chance they will spend a buck or two. I just hope they are happy.

Carrie is surrounded by a dozen Xao and Hmong ladies trying to get her to buy things:

Local women and the rice field mountains in the hills above Sa Pa

Monsoon rains rip through the Sa Pa market and streets

A house on stilts outside the flooded forest of Kompong Pluk in Siem Reap

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.

High fives with the local kids in a village outside the flooded forest

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.

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.

The road we had to walk through for a mile to get to our boat to head to the flooded forest of Kompong Pluk in Siem Reap

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.

Buddhist celebration in the streets of Kompong Pluk in Siem Reap

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.

The inside of the monastery in Kompong Pluk in Siem Reap where Buddhist monks are about to enter a three month period of isolation and silence

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.

Coming down the river at the flooded forest of Kompong Pluk in Siem Reap

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

Our treehouse high above the ground at the Gibbon Experience

Located in the Bokeo Nature Preserve in Northern Laos, the Gibbon Experience was one of the highlights of our trip so far. For three days and two nights we alternated between trekking through the jungle and ziplining above it before settling in for the night in a treehouse. It really was one of the coolest things ever…except for the leeches.

Leeches are a sneaky species that, I have determined, have no point in the circle of life except to annoy hikers. The jungle floor of the Preserve was covered in these slithery little guys, all just waiting to climb up your shoe and quickly find some skin to bite on. Sock in the way? No problem for the leech.

Shoe inspections were constant affairs and any time we stopped it was a safe bet that we all had new ones to scrape off. Still, some of them managed to get by and I wound up with got two bites on my ankles, a girl in our group got one on her knee and, the highlight, one gal found a leech on her ass that had nearly quadrupled in size thanks to feeding on her.

Me ziplining

Except for the leeches the trekking part was pretty standard. Along with three other girls and two local guides that spoke very little English, we walked through the lush forest, up and down steep inclines, across rivers and in and out of the blazing sun. However, unlike other treks, when we went up we knew that at some point soon we would have a reward other just a steep walk down. That reward…ziplines!!!

Ziplines are cables that run high above the treetops, often from mountain to mountain or in and out of treehouses. Ziplining is putting on a harness and attaching rollers to the cable in order to dangle and zip your way across the cable with the forest on both sides. Looking down usually revealed a massive valley of some sort with a river, stream or jungle below. We would hike for a while, then zip to the next part of the path, then hike, then zip, and so on until we arrived at our tree house for the night.

Our treehouse at the Gibbon Experience

Basically a giant circle, the treehouses were made of wood and had a shower, running drinkable water, beds for six, mosquito nets and a bathroom that drained onto the canopy floor. Ziplines were the only way to get in or out, and at random times our guides would zip in to say hi, make us tea or deliver the day’s dinner. Once in the tree house, which was usually by 3 or 4pm, we were allowed to use the zipline network by ourselves. Can you imagine that back in the States? I think I went for nearly 20 extra zips on my own. Too fun.

As for the name of the trek, The Gibbon Experience, we did not see a single gibbon the whole time, though we did hear a couple at night. One early morning we went on one walk to see if we could find them, but we left too late and they were already gone. The next morning we opted for sleeping in. We did, however, see thousands of fireflies from our tree house window flying around in the pitch dark as well as dozens of tarantulas looking down on us from their home in the roof. Never have I been more glad to sleep under a canvas sheet.

A 360 view of our Gibbon Experience treehouse followed by a zip out and me crashing

Carrie zip lines into our treehouse

Ziplining into our treehouse

Carrie and I with our packs ready to get going on day two of our trek

It was too cold to trek in India or Nepal. Too out of the way in Sri Lanka. We didn’t have enough time in Malaysia. So, when we arrived in Chang Mai, the home of trekking in Thailand, we decided to splurge and take Mr. Whiskey’s “non-touristic” three day and two night trek through the jungle.

The biggest difference between this and the standard “touristic” trek was that most places send the group to the same local villages that they have been using for nearly 30 years. The locals have adapted and show the trekkers what they want to see, but the actual culture is long gone. Also, as most visitors opt for the touristic trek, much of the three days is spent surrounded by countless other Westerners. No thanks.

Day One:
Our group started out as nine people: a French couple who fought the whole time, three other European guys, us and two local guides: Mr. Ton (the leader) and Jackie Chan (his helper). It didn’t take long to make an impression, as at our first rest stop at a local market I ripped my pants and had to sit on the side of the road in my boxers as Carrie sewed them up. Later on the drive out of town we saw a local woman hand cranked petrol from an oil barrel into a soda bottle while watching lines of Westerners waiting to take an elephant ride. Finally, we left civilization behind and headed into the mountains to the northwest of Chang Mai.

A local Thai woman sews at the first village on our trek

The ride was long and muddy and I spent most of it crushed between three people leaning and the metal guards at the back of the truck. With 4WD in gear we sloshed and skidded our way up, past a fogged in lookout point to a local village for lunch and a tour of tour of the town. Primarily a weaving village, we saw local huts, outhouses, farm life, kitchens, a quick sewing demonstration and a giant satellite dish on everyone’s roof. Carrie and I joked that it was as if someone was giving us a tour of Murra (the village Carrie volunteered in in Nicaragua). The people seemed immune to our presence and really seemed to keep up a traditional life mixed with just a few modern comforts.

“Aren’t we supposed to have Sherpas to carrying our stuff,” I wondered as I piled six liters of water into my already stuffed pack to begin our walk. I guess that only comes in Nepal. So, with at least 10kg on our backs we trekked across grassy flatlands and up steep and never-ending hills. I’m pretty sure some of them were actual at a 90 degree angle. At one point the steepness got to the Danish guy who had to lay down for a bit then have Jackie Chan carry his bag for him.

Nearly three hours later, after lots of awesome viewpoints and fascinating lessons on the indigenous plant species, we turned a bend and saw two massive elephants standing around waiting for us. Carrie and I were the first to get on back of one of these giant beautiful animals and begin our ride, complete with a bag of small sugar cane cubes that the guides called elephant chocolate.

Carrie and I atop an elephant

Every few steps the elephant would stop, put its trunk up above it’s head and beg for a chocolate. When we gave it one he would lower the trunk, eat it and show his joy by flapping his ears. Then, the trunk would raise again for more chocolate. We used these times to actually pet the elephant, whose skin felt like leather sandpaper with very course hairs sticking out of it.

The ride itself was about 45 minutes long, though the elephant only walked for a minute or two in between breaks and only when its master made some grunting sound that meant forward. We stayed on a well trodden path and had no control over the elephant’s pace or movements…which I’m surprisingly OK with.

What was surprisingly not OK was just how unpleasant the actual ride was. We imagined something out of Aladdin with plush seats fit for a king. In reality, the seat is a plank of wood on the elephant’s back and the safety rails that come up to keep riders in are just square metal poles that are always digging into the spine. We spent much of the time being jostled into the poles, hanging on for dear life as the elephant went downhill or enjoying the feeling of our butt bones becoming one with the wood planks. Still, we rode on an elephant and it was awesome!

Our hut on night one of the Chang Mai Jungle Trek

One rain-induced sprint through a muddy and slippery rice terrace later we arrived at our home for the evening: wooden cabins on stilts sitting on the edge of a valley facing the sunset. As the rain continued to pour we sat around, drying off, playing with the two local kids who also lived there, watching our elephant hosts sniff around our porch and waiting for dinner. When it came we feasted like kings, as Mr. Ton had prepared us a five course meal that I rank as one of the most delicious I’ve had in Thailand.

Dinner was supposed to be complimented by rats that we caught in the field and roasted over a campfire, but the rain put the kibosh on that plan. Instead, we sat around listening to Mr. Ton and Jackie Chan playing local instruments as well as a guitar. Some songs were in Thai, others were classic Western ditties and others still were them singing about the day and tomorrow’s plans. A fun night, but after a long day I quickly retreated to sleep in our shared room with six mattresses lined up on the floor. The toilet was up the hill behind our shack.

Jackie Chan toasts bread over an open fire for breakfast on our second day of trekking

Day Two:
Day two began at 7am, as we awoke to find Mr. Ton toasting bread on a stick over an open fire and boiling eggs for breakfast. To spread the butter and jam he had carved us all engraved knives out of wood; ours remain unused and in my pack. In addition to knives, Mr. Ton also whittled slingshots and we spent much of the next hour shooting away at beer cans and stuffed animals. The best shooters, we found, were the two local kids who probably get to practice daily.

All out of rock slingshot ammo, we headed off into the jungle again for a full day of walking. Our first real break was lunch after nearly three hours of trekking and consisted of a heaping portion of veggie noodles that we had been carrying in our packs all morning. Wrapped in bamboo leaves and eaten with chop sticks whittled out of bamboo by Mr. Ton, our meal left no eco-footprint in the forest.

The whittling continued later in the day when we stopped for a while and Mr. Ton chopped down a bamboo tree to make us all cups and again that night when we used hand-carved forks for dinner. The whole idea of the trek was to teach methods to survive in the jungle alone. I guess if surviving involves making a full set of utensils then I should be golden.

The Karen Shan village we stopped at on our second day of trekking

Two more hours of walking later we finally arrived at the indigenous village located in a valley of a remote mountain. Inhabited by only seven families and 53 people, the town had only a handful of buildings and more farm animals than anything else. Immediately upon our arrival we were greeted by a villager plopping down a bucket of Coke, beer and water for sale. She then proceeded to return up the hill to join her friends and family in sitting there and staring at the new group of foreigners invading their village.

Solar power panels donated by the Thai government were attached to a couple of the houses, but there was no need for it as none of the locals seemed to have any electronics except for a radio. There was a pig pen, water buffalo roaming freely, cows, roosters, chickens and animal poo everywhere. One highlight was watching a local woman gather all the chickens and put them in their baskets for the night. Her job was pretty easy, as she just tossed seeds into the baskets and the chickens jumped in after them.

Dinner was another amazing feast prepared by Mr. Ton but was eaten alone. Other than continued staring and the occasional smile, interactions with the villagers were non existent. Carrie and I were a bit annoyed by this, as one of the reasons we splurged was to have a more of a real experience. I guess it’s tough when there is a massive language barrier and the only person who can bridge it (Mr. Ton) did not even try.

Setting off a home made hot air balloon

The awkwardness was put on hold briefly when Mr. Ton began to make a hot air balloon out of paper, bamboo sticks, toilet paper soaked in wax, metal ties (like twisties without the paper covering) and fireworks. We all signed our names, he assembled it and the whole town watched as he set it off into the night sky. The thing must have gone up for 10 minutes, setting off the noisy fireworks at lengthy intervals, before poofing out and returning to earth miles away.

No sooner than the balloon show ended did the villagers head off in their own directions again. The rest of the night was spent sitting around a small campfire listening to Mr. Ton play more instruments. Looking in the sky was another treat, as the stars were out in force with no city lights around to dull them and were awe inspiring.

Carrie demonstrates how to use the clay set we bought the kids at a 7-11

Day 3:
My third day began by sleeping through hours of rooster crowing and pig squealing from the pen below our shared room on stilts. After waking up and having breakfast, Carrie gave the local kids the gift we had bought them at 7-11: a toy clay set with fun shaped cutters. For the first time, all the parents and kids came around and got involved as Carrie demonstrated how to use the cut outs. It was a very cool sight to watch.

Our hike for the day was pretty straightforward. Two and a half hours in the jungle, avoiding leeches, crossing streams on logs and rocks, sweating like crazy, watching butterflies frolick in poo. Pretty standard really, though we could have done without the French couple fighting for hours on end, crying and making us all wait for them to air their business.

Finally back in town we headed down from the mountains onto bamboo rafts for a journey downstream. These rafts are literally ten or so bamboo trees tied together Huck Finn style with string. We had two rafts total: each with three trekkers and one guide. Steering and propulsion were accomplished by taking 10 foot bamboo poles and sticking them into the water to push against the river bed.

A local Karen tribe woman at our village stop after the second day of trekking

In reality, although we were given two poles per raft, the guide did all the work. We used our sticks more to try and capsize the other raft…a game which our guides seemed to have more fun playing than us. An hour later we got off the rafts and watched as the staff disassembled each one and brought the individual logs uphill for transport back to the start.

Our final stop on the trek was a waterfall that was by far the largest I’ve seen in more than six months of travel. Two-tiered, we arrived at the bottom for a quick swim. The water was bone-chillingly cold and I actually lost my breath when I first jumped in. That didn’t stop me, however, from jumping off a rock and cannonballing into the water a few times before we left.

All in all I really liked the trek. Sure, there were a few niggles along the way, but we got to do tons of hiking, saw amazing views, were surrounded by nature and visited multiple local villages. Well worth it and a wonderful experience.

Walking through the thick

Sounds of the jungle at sunset

Putting the chickens away at the local village we visited on the second night

Playing and singing by Mr Ton and Jackie Chan our first night Jackie is playing a plastic oil bottle with spoons

Hot air balloon liftoff

Chang Mai Jungle Trek Elephant ride

Carrie does a Tarzan

The tarantula in our room at the Karen Shan village after our second day of trekking

One of the many things that kept us awake and laughing during our night at the local village on our jungle trek was a cat in heat who meow’ed loud and often…especially when it thought the two-stringed instrument Mr. Ton was playing was another cat and would reply to every chord played.

The British guy in our group was trying to light a campfire unsuccessfully when a local woman came over and got it pumping in less than two minutes.

The French people on our trip kept getting leeches all over them. I got lucky and only had to flick a few off of my shoes.

There were ant highways all over the place. Literally, thousands of them walking across the path, up trees, everywhere…and always in line.

After schlepping them around for six months, I’m finally glad I bought GoreTex shoes for this trip.

I asked Mr. Ton, our guide who has been guiding for more than 20 years, if he had ever had a couple fighting like that. He said no, he often has to wait for them to kiss but never to fight.

Leaving the waterfall provided one final adventure, as my flip flop broke and I had no choice but to take a plastic bag and tie it around my foot so that I could walk the 15 minutes back to the truck through the jungle..

Bottled and treated rainwater is the cheapest drinkable water for sale in Thailand, though it all too often has the taste of the cheap plastic it is bottled in.

Chang Mai sunset

For some reason when you enter Thailand by land they only issue a 15 day visa. We rushed back from the trek to get to Laos, but were very happy to see that I had counted days wrong. This extra two days allowed us to bike around Chang Mai and do our meditation retreat.

The national anthem seems to be played every day at 8am, as we had to stop in our tracks at the Chang Mai bus terminal when it came over the loudspeaker. The same thing happened waiting in the Bangkok train station a week earlier.

After being buying the last two tickets for our bus ride to Chang Kong, Carrie and my seats were not together. We asked our respective seat mates very politely if they would mind trading and they both refused.

After contemplating the pros and cons of urinating in a plastic bottle in a room in the back of the bus as I reached mission critical, I was happy to find that the room I was considering using for cover also housed a real toilet. Crisis averted. File that one under too much information.

One the bus ride to Chang Kong I managed to get the seat that squeaked non-stop when I leaned back. It didn’t help that the bus had no shocks.

One of the most controversial Buddhas, note the starving look with full ribs and veins showing. This is at Wat Umong, the Forest Monestary

It wouldn’t be a hotel in the third world if it didn’t at least have a few ants running up the walls.

People just don’t understand the concept of vegetarian. Carrie asked for something with no meat at the monastery and the woman replied, “no meat. Only egg and pork.”

Apparently the world of used book selling in Chang Mai is cut throat, as the American owner of the biggest one in town told us a story about how he had death threats and is constantly at war with a local shop owner. He had to get the corrupt police on his side to keep in business.

I must say that I really am going to miss riding two wheelers when we get home.

We were woken up at 7am every morning in Chang Mai by the staff knocking at neighbors’ doors to get them ready to go trekking.

What I can only assume was an army of birds all pooped on me while walking out of our hotel in Chang Mai. There was enough poo to get my arms, shoulders and head while still leaving some to splatter the ground. Gross!

I saw a foreigner walking around with a Yankees hat that had a British flag sewn onto it. Is he embarrassed to be an American or proud to be a Brit?

An ATM security guard was passing the night away by weaving a fishing net that hung down from the light post.

The only reason we even checked out Wat Umong was due to a recommendation of a girl I was on the same college dorm floor as. We got back in touch after she found my blog while researching Sadhana Forest, where she will be volunteering at this September.

Men walking around the golden Dagoba completing a puja at Wat Doi Suthep

I saw a monk with two giant and not particularly peaceful tattoos at the Wat Umong monastery.

If a Vietnamese monk quits being a monk he is shamed by his family and community and can never return home.

I was going to shave my head completely the night before our meditation retreat, but thought against it lest I be mistaken for a poser monk.

I can’t believe that there are less than two months left in the trip. It seems like just yesterday we were freezing in London.

Finally, another shoutout to my Mom, whose generous gift towards Carrie and my trip helped fund the jungle trek, cooking class and a zip lining trek above the jungles in northern Laos that I will go into next time.

Carrie and I at the BOH Tea Plantation in Tana Rata, Cameron Highlands

After escaping bed bugs, we finally finished our journey to the Cameron Highlands, which feature rainforests and mountains to hike through. The town is basically one long street filled with restaurants, convenience stores, guest houses and tour operators. Best of all, the climate was coooool! We checked into a hostel with the springiest bed I have ever slept on and proceeded to spend the next four days enjoying the temperature, relaxing and trekking.

As is the case with most places Westerners go, the tour operators make it seem like it’s impossible to go trekking without a guide. Good thing we don’t believe anyone trying to sell us anything, as we spent two days hiking alone in the rainforest. We just followed well trodden paths up and down mountains while holding onto roots for support, swatting away giant mosquitoes and getting a great workout.

A chrysantum plantation in the Cameron Highlands...just one of the areas we had to walk to to find a hiking trail

The trails were especially unique as their start and end points were usually on someone’s private property. One started in a berry jam farm and ended in a tea plantation. Another started in a strawberry field and ended in the back of a hotel in private farmland. There were pretty much no signs for the trails either, so it was a bit of an adventure finding them.

Our other field trip in the Highlands was a day trip to see the rafflesia arnoldii, which is the world’s  largest flower…though there is some argument as to whether it is a fungus. The hike up was beyond muddy but our guide had fisherman boots that he lent us. Mine were about two sizes too small so I spent the whole four hours of intense hiking with my toes bunched up. Anyway, after hiking up the muddy trail and through the forest we came to the flower.

Carrie and I in front of the Rafflesia arnoldii (the world's largest flower)

At nearly three feet wide, the rafflesia arnoldii really is a thing of beauty. They only bloom for five days a year, so seeing one is a real treat for hundreds of visitors daily. The first one we saw was nestled in the middle of a dense patch of trees, bushes and mud and stood out brilliantly with its bright red color.

We took a few photos and after the last one I snapped of Carrie with the flower I lost my footing on the mud. Up in the air I went and down I came. Hands first. On the flower. Breaking off one of the six inch petals. I was both mortified and unable to stop laughing as our guide picked up the broken petal and tried to lay it back where it belonged to fool other visitors. I can only imagine what the next folks to come through there thought. Oops!

The rest of the tour was pretty uneventful in comparison. We saw a few more flowers and their buds, drank rain water out of a bamboo branch, shot blow darts (without the poison) at a target in an indigenous village, saw a tea plantation, visited a honey bee farm and had fresh strawberries right off the vine.

Carrie and I in front of Mt Batur.

After scuba diving, we spent the night in Tulumben trying to find a cheap local way to get to Mt. Batur: an active volcano that we wanted to hike for the sunrise. Despite our best efforts, we had no choice but to pay top dollar for a driver to take us there, as the buses were indirect and would take a day of haggling, lots of effort and offer no guarantee that we would even get there. So, two hours and one comfortable drive later we checked into a dingy moldy smelling room at the base of the volcano with two Christmas lights as the only bulbs in the room and booked our guide for the 4am hike up.

Our guide up the volcano was Guday (pronounced like Crocodile Dundee says g’day mate), a 19 year old kid with dreams of working on a cruise ship to save money to start his own business in Bali. He was very kind and patient, as I had a splitting headache and Carrie was having some problems of her own on the walk up. However, after an hour and a half, we reached the top and sat down with all the other hikers from other groups in a covered wood shack for tea, a small breakfast and the sunrise.

Our Mt Batur sunrise

Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other ideas about our plans. The fog had started about halfway through our hike up and only got denser as the hours passed. Shortly before sunrise the downpour began and we just sat there watching as the sky went from dark to light. No ball of fire, no color changing, just light behind the wall of white.

I slept sitting up for a bit while Carrie talked to some other travelers and finally, after about two hours of shivering, the rain seemed to stop. We almost called it a day and went down, but decided to keep going on anyway and take a chance. Man are we glad we did!

The view from atop Mt Batur

The rest of our hike, another three hours, was spent without rain watching as the fog came and went providing spectacular views over Lake Batur and the surrounding mountains. It never got hot out, we took lots of breaks and I took about a million photos. We saw smoldering craters, a temple inside a cave, the Lucky Temple at the foot of the volcano that managed to avoid any damage from constant eruptions, lava ash fields and more. On the way down we literally skied with our shoes on through a beach of ash. In total, our hike lasted eight hours (it should have been five but we had the rain delay) and we traveled a bit over 8km. Good times.

Verdict: Bali Hai