Migrant Monkeys

Sounds Like Farting into a Kazoo

2010-12-29T05:01:00.000-08:00

So that title is really apropos of nothing - just a random remark Francis made yesterday regarding the maniacal music we were subjected to at the Bangalore Airport while we had 7 hours to kill and Francis had zero hours of sleep the night before.

This is our final night in India - closing out a trip that took us to 4 states, 12 cities, and 15 hotels.

Delhi was a shock to the system. Smokey air. Piles of garbage. Brokedy, urine-soaked sidewalks. Intimidating food stalls. And water so hard that the soap doesn't even lather.

Jaipur was magical. Kite runners. Breath taking sunsets over the Pink City. Trodding all over the Man Singh Palace. Stopping over at the scary Monkey Temple.

Agra ~ home to the Taj Mahal & lesser visited monuments. The water is so hard here that not only doesn't it lather but it stripped my hair color. Got a little tipsy on whiskey with Kala.

Bangalore gave us so many trips to the malls and a single taste of dreadful Indian wine. Our first real Indian thali & our first ever (but not last) dosas. So much walking and a little too much tension in the morning.

Mysore had the incredible smells of street food and the "Spicy Market". Pony carts & the Krishna rally.

Ooty gave us cherished memories of startling vistas. Wood fire pizza. Kitschy museums. Cheerfully colored houses, so many goats and tea for days.

Coimbatore holds no memories for me. That's the day I stayed in bed sicky with the cold.

Fort Cochin. Inhale & exhale. Too many dreadlocks & Save Tibet bags. The best food I had on the trip at Dal Roti Restauarnt. An afternoon taking photos of so many doors in Jew Town. And two nights at a hotel so clean it almost met my standards.

Munnar. Meh. When it comes to hill stations Ooty is far superior. But we did see some crazy katakali and ate some tasty dosas.

Thekaddy ~ it's best not to say anything at all.

Alleppey. The Lovely houseboat with the delightful crew. Friendly locals. Tasty on board meals. It was like spending the day inside a picture post card.

Kovalam. Stunning beach with the crashing waves of the Arabian Sea (or was it the Indian Ocean ~ and how is it decided where one body of water begins and another ends?). Squitched our toes in the sand. Fran got knocked down by waves and tickled by jelly fish. Saw so many Griswold-like Christmas light displays - only these had twirly swastikas. We lost one day of the trip to tofu-poisoning but recovered quickly.

We traveled on 1 bus, 2 trains, 3 airplanes, & 4 rented cars. I decided that the best railways soundtracks include The Clash, Citizen Cope & Rufus Wainright. For buses and cars I prefer Ani Difranco, Jawbreaker & Tom Petty. And my airplane selection includes Eartha Kitt, Elvis Costello & PJ Harvey.

We leave India a little lighter. Laughter & love will do that. (Who else could I spend 99.5% of every waking and sleeping moment with for 31 days straight and not strangle - or be strangled by?) Our packs have a shed a few pounds from the books we loved and left along the way. Fran has left some pounds behind ~ after suffering Delhi-belly for two thirds of the trip (so yes, Jhames, he'll look stunning at the cotillion). Alas - I never did pick up that tape worm I was looking forward to.

But I do leave with some wisdom and greater understanding. I think I should not be so quick to take so much for granted - the beauty & quiet of my garden, the clean water that spills from he tap, the electricity that behaves so predictably, the relative order on the roads. And the freedom I've known. Freedom to choose my career path and higher education, freedom to live anywhere and pick the city that captured my imagination, freedom to travel to exotic and somewhat frightening places, freedom to marry my true love & share all of these things with him.

Until the next, dear friends & loved ones. Namaste...

Christmas in Kovalam, Kerala

2010-12-24T23:26:00.000-08:00

Photos include:Road-side sugar cane juice. 6 Rupees & Delicious! ~ Santa-Fran post dip in the pool ~ Kanyakumari ~ Kovalam Beach on Christmas Day ~ The ocean front "view" from our hotel

T'was a bit of a challenge to get into the spirit of merry X-mas with 80-some degree weather and the waves of the Indian Ocean crashing outside. We've spent so too much time in a car this last week and have decided to make a slight change to the itinerary. We simply couldn't bear the thought of spending 8-9 hours in the car back to Kochi to get on a bus for 12 more hours back to Bangalore. So we're bailing on the bus tickets and staying put in Kovalam for 2 more days. Then we'll fly straight to Delhi (with a 7 hour stop at the Bangalore airport) for our final 2 days in India before the long long plane sojourn back to Sea-Town. Thus ends the bus & train portions of the migration. It's all airplanes and taxis from here.

On Christmas Eve we visited Kanyakumari - the southern most tip of India - where the nation begins and ends (depending on your perspective). Here the three seas meet - the Indian Ocean, the Bay of Bengal, & the Arabian Sea. We visited a temple where Swami Vivekananda spent 3 days meditating on a rock off the coast back in 1892. We tried to take a turn at meditating here ourselves. However, these novice meditators couldn't concentrate over the sounds of one small child with a whistle standing 6 feet behind us. What we thought was going to be an afternoon trip to Kanyakumari turned into an all-day journey of driving, driving, standing in line, being herded onto a boat and then more driving, driving through several Christmas Eve traffic jams.

The population of India is 2.3% Christian & pretty much all of them live in this southwestern state of Kerala. The Dutch & Portuguese colonized huge chunks of this part of India - savagely converting the local Hindus to Christianity hundreds of years ago. So on Christmas Eve the lights were up in true Griswold- Christmas style. At least we had something nice to look at while we sat in horrific traffic jams.

Turns out the choice to stay put for 2 days was wise. We took the DeMetros out for a parting dinner on Christmas night only to be poisoned by the tofu at Fusion Restaurant. Francis and I were awakened at 3am with a wretched bout of the sick. We spent the day in bed underneath the AC rumbling like a lawn mower - sleeping for some 17 hours and hoping that Shikha was doing somehow OK with their marathon car - then bus trip.

The new hotel has only one English language station - Russia TV - so that gives me more time to think rather than watch endless episodes of Win it in a Minute or How I Met Your Mother. So many people in India. Such scarcity of resources. This causes one of the biggest frustrations for visiting India - the constant competition and need to fight for everything. Nothing comes easy here - you have to shout, draw attention, sometimes bully your way. And yet it doesn't cause tension for the Indians - just for us Westerners - leaving us sweaty, bewildered, and defeated at times. But it also leaves me grateful - with an awareness of the privilege that comes with my light skin and American passport. I think the thing I most take for granted is the quiet back home. So many people and so much competition makes for lots and lots of noise. If you're lucky enough to find a hotel away from the band saws and Muslims waking for 4am prayers then you probably have a rooster relentlessly crowing just outside your window or an ancient air conditioner shucking and jiving in a labored effort to spit out some cool.

I think we're ready to head home where life is just that much easier. And hopefully I won't forget to put my daily frustrations into perspective. I may do one final post from the (hopefully) posh boutique hotel we've booked in Delhi.

A Different India

2010-12-17T20:54:00.000-08:00

Well, we've def happened upon a different sort of India here in the south. This place is crawling with Europeans and Australians on holiday. We Westerners have two sorts of uniforms. We either dress in our drab, loose earth-tone clothes - cargo pants/shorts/skirts with tank-tops or kitschy t-shirts or else the pyjama/baggy MC-Hammer pant with scruffy beard and Save Tibet cloth bag look. Conservative attire gets tossed out the window. There are washing machines (and dryers!) as well as darling little art bars that serve decent coffee (not beer). Things are much more chill in this part of the country.

We very much enjoyed our brief stay in Fort Cochin, sipping ginger tea and taking in the sights. The photos starting this post were taken in Jew Town. Excellent doors in Jew Town. No Jews though. But there was this random baby doll head nailed to a tree along with some cloth dolls & stuffed animals.

We met up with Joe & Shikha and headed back to the hills - Munnar this time. We caught a local Kathakali performance - traditional Kerala dance and acting. The actors don't speak - but they do scream a lot. I mean A LOT.

We did some local sightseeing including a dam and a nature walk. So we saw lots more tea, many more vistas, and some goats. Best of all Joe and Francis - BFFs to the end - got to spend some quality time together.

We had poor timing for the Tiger Preserve in Thekkady. Not a huge deal - the tigers were scarce. Joe did spy a monkey eating some potato chips.

The real highlight so far was the house boat along the backwaters in Allepey. We took in the sights (including a communist mosaic in the village) , listened to some loud pop music, ate well, drank some beers, and watched Kick Ass. The local folks were super friendly. It seemed like an excellent place to live and I wish we had more time on the boat. What a life - 3 meals served and a boat boy to fetch beer. I think we may have to go back some time.

Then it was back in the car with windy roads behind us and off to the beach. So, here we are in Kovalam - home for the next few days before we wrap up the migration with a hop back to Bangalore and then 2 final days in Delhi. I can't believe we're getting to the end. It's been an amazing journey - full of special treats, unnecessary frustrations, gorgeous sights, confounding views, and yummy food.

Bea-Ooty-ful photos

2010-12-16T23:15:00.001-08:00

Okey dokey. Here we go...HTML be damned! We start with the Thread Garden's haughty claim. Then we move to the decrepit mongoose from the Tribal Museum.

Next we have Fran next to one his fave things about India - the trash bins shaped like animals. Stay tuned for an entire Facebook photo album (on his profile) dedicated to them.

Then we move to the Todda village and Todda temple shots.

The cemetery at the 100 years old (actually 200 years old) church made for an interesting tromp around.

On we move to the tea plantation & tea factory. That machine is the C-T-C machine. It cuts, turns, and curls the tea leaves.

Ah, yes, the Savoy Hotel and my $7 whiskey sour sans egg white (?)

Fran did some roaming in Coimbatore whilst I suffered through the only English language nonsense on TV. The chalk drawings are done outside of homes to bring prosperity.

The final shots are from Fort Cochin. The Chinese fishing nets are used each morning from 8:30-10:30. Seemed like a lot of labor (it takes 4-6 men to maneuver them) for not so many fish.

We close this post with a wistful Fran at Cafe Coffee Day - India's answer to Starbucks.

Bea-Ooty-ful

2010-12-13T04:40:00.000-08:00

So, that thing I said a week ago (was it only a week?) about how India isn't beautiful - well I take it all back. We left Mysore Monday morning (an hour late because nothing is really on time on India - makes me appreciate Kala's timeliness) on a government bus bound for Ooty. It probably never would've crossed our minds to go to Ooty. But we discovered this incredible artist in Bangalore - at the Government Museum & Venkatappa Art Gallery - Mr. Venkatappa himself. He did these amazing paintings of Ooty - a Hill Station about 150km south of Mysore. Gorgeous vistas of rolling hills, serene lakes, and foggy mornings. When we learned that Ooty was so close to Mysore we simply had to make it a stop along the way.

You know it's a bad scene when the bus "porter" makes the rounds handing out barf bags. My gut is made of iron, so no problems here. But half way through the 36 hairpin curves the bus was filled with the sounds of mostly quiet retching. Many things about India are loud, but the Indians sure know how to vomit quietly in public.

I think it's fair to say that Ooty is particularly stunning - tea plantations are nestled in between forest thickets, and the landscape is dotted with the most charming little wildflowers. Cheerfully colored houses of pepto pink, neon green, ocean blue, tangerine, violet, and vibrant yellow punctuate the hillsides. The people come in all shades and shapes - some descending from the hill tribes, some having migrated over from the Andaman Islands. Unfortunately, none were very friendly.

After arriving in Ooty we walked the narrow, windy streets - capturing photos of buildings and goats and disappointing small school children who requested "the currency of [our] mother country". We lucked upon a locals' restaurant and savored our new favorite Indian dish - masala dosa. Crepes got nothing on this pancake delight. We ate it sans utensils - the Indian way. (I don't think they even had forks to give us if we'd asked for them.) The next morning after an early rise due to an especially noisy hotel room and a woefully disappointing breakfast we took another walk & journeyed over to The Thread Garden - a positively kitsch-tastic roadside stop. This sight features local flora made of thread and housed in a dim-lit shed. Each petal, leaf, and blade of grass was constructed by hand by wrapping brightly-colored thread around a stiff bit of cardboard, The garden took upwards of 50 artists and a dozen years to complete. Lonely Planet says "a feat either terribly impressive or quite pathetic". Notice also the pause at Jolly World - where copyright infringement and tetanus reign free.

After that adventure we booked a car and driver for the afternoon - visiting the Tribal Museum, Tree Garden, Todda Temple, Todda Village, tea plantation, 100 years old church (which as actually almost 200 years old), and the tea factory & museum. The Tribal Museum was a curious little building full of dusty baskets, a few agricultural implements and some horribly preserved taxidermy.

The Todda temple and Todda village(s) were the strangest part of the day (and that's saying something after the Thread Garden and Tribal Museum). We are loathe to treat people as if they are some sort of museum piece, trample all over their homes, ogle them, and snap photos as they simply go about living. We commiserated with some cattle and a cute little puppy and left rather quickly.

The tea parts were the true show stoppers of the day. I wish we could share with you the delicious fragrance of the tea factory. It's amazing that tea was discovered since the tea leaf smells and tastes like nothing - but after it goes through this arduous process it becomes a mystical, delicious treasure. We ended our day with a chilly tuk tuk ride to the Savoy Hotel where I enjoyed a rather expensive whiskey sour and convinced the bartender not to put egg white in it. )Since when does a whiskey sour have raw egg white?) After our day-long tour we'd seen the happs in Ooty, and it was time to press on.

I wussed out of the lowest class gov't bus to Coimbatore (no AC gov't buses go that way). You know the Indian buses you see on TV and in the movies - with folks crammed into every inch, riding atop the bus, and hanging out of the windows and doors? It's true. Some buses are like that, and I just couldn't do it. We shelled out $30 for a rented car instead. And since I did that bragging about my super-excellent immune system - of course I came down with a cold. I turned out to have picked the best time for it because there is nothing to see or do in Coimbatore. It's just a launching point. So I drank my Indian cough syrup and lounged in bed watching "So You Think You Can Dance" and then "Mall Cop".

While I was recovering Fran ventured out alone to procure train tickets to Kochi/Fort Cochin. Alas - AC trains were booked for the next day, and the next, and the next, and the next - for the next 3 weeks. So, we had to book the Sleeper Car - a non AC train car just a slight step above the wooden bench second class cars that look frighteningly like the lowest class gov't buses. When I saw the first few sleeper cars pull into the station my stomach began to turn a bit - they looked pretty sketchy and pretty packed. So, I swallowed that xanax I'd been saving, took a few deep breaths, and reminded myself it was only for four and a half hours of my life - plus we've done some pretty rough traveling in SE Asia - albeit in our somewhat younger days. We did have to kick some Indians out of our seats - they'd commandeered them in our absence. But they graciously moved. And with my ipod, xanax, and Faulkner novel - the time passed rather quickly. As I recalled from the 2007 Long Leg to Laos - Citizen Cope makes an excellent soundtrack for train travel. This time I added some of The Clash for good measure.

And so here we are halfway through the migration - in Fort Cochin - the most touristy spot (aside from the Taj Mahal) we've yet seen. The Euros & Aussies are here in full force - with their dreadlocks and Tevas - strolling the streets in their pyjama pants with cloth bags and cameras in tow. We've finally found the Indian heat we anticipated. It's blazing hot here - wilting this migrant monkey whose sweat is indeed sweaty.

We lucked into delightful accommodation at Walden's Home Stay. It is without a doubt the cleanest place we've stayed so far. Mr. Walden is charming and helpful and will no doubt garner my highest accolades on TripAdvisor. We'll be here for two more nights before we meet up with Joe and Shikha. We'll travel with them for 8 days around Kerala. Stay tuned for shenanigans and random musings.

Due to yet another format-fail (Jhames, I need yer help!) I'm going to close this post and post the rest of the photos separately.

Mysore

2010-12-12T02:06:00.000-08:00

We took a relatively brief (2 hour) train from Bangalore to Mysore, and we've hunkered down here for the last 3 days while Francis recovers from the inevitable gastro-ailment of India. Since we're eating same same & I am healthy we can only deduce the draft beer is the culprit. Or it could be that I have some super-immune system by virtue of my profession and daily exposure to all sorts of germs and crud.

We've exhausted the sights of Mysore (alas - nary a monkey to be seen in spite of this warning sign in our hotel room). The cows are prone to hunkering down in the middle of the road or behaving as though they're about to chase me down the sidewalk.

Our first night here we met a lovely couple from Iran and have a long-standing invitation to visit them there. Each conversation about religion seems to go the same way - with acknowledgment that we are all one people with more commonalities than differences.

Yesterday we toured Mysore Palace ("please check camera, no photos permitted"), but the true delight was waiting for us today - The Indira Gandhi something something otherwise known as a branch of the Museum of Mankind. And this is where the rest of the photos in this post were taken. It seems that the thus far the true highlights of this migration have been the free bits.

Mysore has had more touts and beggars than we've seen so far. The tuk tuk drivers are starving for business in a town you can walk end to end in about 20 minutes. One of my favorite sights so far have been the tattoo "artists" who set up shop on the side of the road with a homemade tattoo gun and no sign of sterile equipment. So far we've seen arm, chest, and neck tattoos. Hard core.

The heat has caught up with us - with temps in the low 80s. Today bestowed me with my first Indian sunburn. We leave tomorrow by bus to Ooty - a hill station famous for tea plantations. Since there are no railways where we're headed - the next few days of travelling will all be by bus. I'm not sure what to expect. I'm anticipating something like the VIP buses in Laos and have a xanax saved up just for the occasion.

I Think You Have Too Much Tension in the Morning

2010-12-09T01:06:00.001-08:00

So said a tuk tuk driver to Francis yesterday. He stopped us on the street to warn us that the road was closed for a political rally. "You can not go that way. It's not safe." He turned us around and sent us in another direction - only to pull up alongside us a few minutes later to tell us we were still headed in the wrong direction and the park we were going to was closed. Francis called BS, so the driver said "Get in & I will take you there. I will show you. Then you will believe me. Lucky money. Only 10 rupee. You must relax. I think you have too much tension in the morning." He drove us in a circle, pointed to a gate and said "See, closed." We smartly got out, paid him the 10 rupee and walked away. The park wasn't closed, and the political rally was far from dangerous. There were noise makers and peanuts and face painting and much laughter and happiness. Too bad Mr. Tuk-Tuk driver wanted to prey on the fears of Westerners and make baby Krishna cry. Good on Fran for listening to his BS detector.

The "It's closed" scam is something the travel guides warn about. However, there are many other important things they fail to mention or don't properly explain.

Spitting. There's a lot of spit in India. At least they provided a spit bin at the Botanical Gardens. Notice my sweet action shot.

Mothballs. Almost every bathroom is "freshened" with mothballs in the sink. I'd rather smell urine.

The Beds. Indian beds are hard - I mean really, really, impossibly hard.

Public urination. You're not supposed to smoke in public, but if you're a man you can whip it out pretty much anywhere and whiz on a wall.

Other Ways to Mark Your Territory. Take note of the last picture in this post. People's names, initials, etc. are carved into most every tree, monument, wall, bench, statue, immovable object in India.

Pollution. Not sure why I bothered to quit smoking when I'm inhaling just as much carbon monoxide simply by breathing the air. The pollution turns your skin a lovely shade of grey. I almost puked when I washed my clothes. Which brings me to...

The Laundry Situation. I have yet to see a washing machine or hear of one being used in India- anywhere. Laundry is hand-done and relatively expensive (25-75 cents or up to $1 per piece). I suppose the high cost is due to the labor intensiveness. And it's rather humid in India, so it takes at least 2 days and sometimes 4 to dry anything. A bit of a predicament for the migrant monkeys who must now plan the migrations around laundry and clothes drying.

Proper Attire. No joke. No one wears shorts or tank tops or skirts above the ankle. The guide books claim the same about SE Asia, but it's just not true. And man oh man the sweater vest is alive and well in India.

Gender Issues. I'm not sure where they're hiding the women. There seems to be 20 men for every woman you see on the street. And although I seemed to draw some attention the first few days of the trip - now I'm mostly ignored. No one really speaks to me. Questions and comments go straight to Francis. This means he has to work a little harder than I do.

These are some of the things about India that give me tension. And then I sit down with a cup of chai or pass a monkey on the street or exchange a head waggle with an Indian woman or catch a whiff of nag champa or experience some yummy food like dosa - and the tension melts away.

Randomnettes

2010-12-07T04:33:00.000-08:00

We've heard from a handful of folks wondering about the food in India. We're only just now getting to the good stuff. During our travels with Kala he took us mostly to dingy, overpriced tourist stops where the ambiance was bleak (dead flies all over the floor, ancient cobwebs, and greasy hand prints on the walls illuminated by angry fluorescent light bulbs) and the food mostly mediocre.

We've had a few pretty great meals. The first was in Jaipur - room service at the hotel - a pretty tasty dal made of tiny dark lentils and some malai kofta. The second great meal came from a roadside stop where Kala ordered for us and I chanted under my breath "I won't get Hep A. I won't get Hep A." He ordered some dish that wasn't on the menu - made of mustard greens and chillies with lots of nan and another bread made from corn to stifle the heat. We've also enjoyed thali - a bottomless pit of vegetarian awesomeness. Two days ago the wait staff patiently explained that you eat thali from a banana leaf that then gets thrown out -whereas when you eat northern Indian food you eat it from a plate that gets washed and reused. Thank goodness they clarified that. Thali generally includes a dal, an okra dish, a fried veggie dish, a potato dish, rice, and more dal. You're supposed to eat thali with your fingers. But we're from the West, so forks and spoons are acceptable. Here you see me somewhat nervously enjoying my first Indian thali as the wait staff stood around and watched us eat -quick to add more rice and dal to our leaves the moment it looked like we might run out. (Pretty much every business in India is frightfully overstaffed with minimum 4-6 employees for every customer).

Today we went out to visit Joe & Shikha about 25 km from the heart of Bangalore - a trip that took over an hour by car. (Indian traffic makes I5 at rush hour seem like mere child's play.) Shikha treated us to our second Indian thali - more lavish than the first. Then for dinner we had masala dosa - a pancake filled with potato heaven. All in all a marvelous eat-so-too-much kind of day.

We've been to three malls so far (that's where Fran spied the Santa) because I didn't quite pack right. This trip was initially planned for August when the temperature is in the 80s-90s. I assumed that like SE Asia India would be only slightly cooler this time of year. Wrong. The temperature feels like Seattle in May/June with highs in the upper 60s and lows in the 50s. I needed one more pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt to get me through the next 3 weeks.

Fran, on the other hand, plans ahead. He made sure to buy a laptop bag even before we bought the laptop. I kept pretty quiet about the bag at first. Eventually I had to tell him that frankly the bag is a little douchey. Enit? I mean even douchey IT guys carry laptop bags less douchey than this douche bag.

Anyway - there are prettier things to consider. I'm amazed by the lotus flowers and their incredible will to bloom in even in the most polluted of waters. Truly inspirational. We're finding the south to be a little cleaner and more organized than the north. And we give mad props to Shikha who is the least insane Indian driver we've encountered thus far. We'll be traveling with them in about 10 days when Joe gets some well deserved time off of work for the holidays.

We have a day and a half left in Bangalore - then we head to Mysore by train. From Mysore we'll dip down to Ooty for some super-chill tea-in-the-hills time. More thoughts and pictures soon to come.

The Meanings of Om

2010-12-05T23:52:00.000-08:00

We've been on the move the last three days - a whirlwind tour of India's Golden Triangle - Delhi, Jaipur & Agra. We left Delhi early Friday morning - putting ourselves in Kala's capable hands for the long, long drive to Jaipur.

Along the way we saw some monkeys, lots of lorries, and dozens of small villages. At one point we drove behind a "mosquito-control" truck for a few minutes, and I'm pretty sure I inhaled a good bit of DDT. After hours of staring out the window I'd concluded that India isn't beautiful - that in fact India looks like God scooped it up in handfuls, shook it around, and then let it fall back through his fingers down to Earth - leaving dusty little clumps of trees, dirty bundles of firewood, mangy bunches of monkeys/pigs/dogs/camels, piles of rubble & dung, and a kaleidoscope of garbage - plastic heaps of every imaginable color.
It made me want to take a giant bucket and some soap and give India a good bath. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and isn't that om?

As soon as I resigned myself to the ugly dirtiness of India we came to Jaipur - a little gem in the hills with the most magical moments waiting for us. And here India transcended the ugly, dirty, stinky of it all. Transcendence is om.

We took a tour of the Man Singh Palace - crawling through the centuries-old nooks and crannies, towers, and rooms. The photos on the right show the view from inside and from atop the palace. Notice also that little graffiti pearl of wisdom - "F" the fear, drink the bear". Uh, OK. And sort of om?

From the roof of our guest house we watched the sun set over Jaipur as the evening call to prayer sang out over the hills and small boys throughout the city stood on their roof tops flying kites. Imagine - dozens of kites dancing across the sky - a backdrop for laughter and prayer. Laughter and prayer belong to the many meanings of om.

The next day was early to rise again with a few more sights in Jaipur. First stop the observatory - where a couple hundred years ago some guy measured the crap out of the stars and left behind some crazy park more reminiscent of a modern sculpture park.

It was very quiet and peaceful there. The right kind of setting for om.

And here we pay homage to Taurus & Scorpio.

Then the City Palace in the Pink City before another stop at the Monkey Temple. So many monkeys. Many, many mangy monkeys. And the monkeys had one of the best views in Jaipur.
Lucky monkeys.

Agra almost turned out to be little more than an aggravation. We weren't able to make it to the hotel we'd booked. The road was closed about a kilometer away due to a fatal auto accident and not likely to reopen for several hours. So, we never did get to see the sun set on the Taj from the roof of the Taj Heritage. Kala found us another hotel and finagled some sort of upgrade. Mind you - I use the term upgrade loosely.

So we missed our chance to gaze upon the Taj and sip gin and tonics. But we did share a bottle of whiskey with Kala under a torturous fluorescent light bulb in a hotel restaurant. And that is how we spent our last evening together- discussing family, life, religion, and the meaning of om.

The next morning came early and with a bit of a hurty head and enough stomach for some toast (which was good because that's all the hotel was serving for complimentary breakfast). We rushed off by 7 am hoping to see enough of the Taj before it closed at 9am for a private tour for President Sarkozy. We waited impatiently in a kilometer-long queue just to get through security. TSA's got nothing on the Taj security. I dare say I was molested, but it was worth the humiliation of public groping. The Taj Mahal is om to the enth power - a remarkable spectacle, but about an hour and a half visit will do.

It was a sleepy but restless drive back to Delhi. We made one final tourist stop at Akbar's Tomb (those are the final 2 of 3 photos in this post). We arrived back at the Delhi airport with lots of time to spare, and so I did some more thinking, but I will save those thoughts for another day and another post. Namaste, dear friends & loved ones.

Delhi Doesn't Disappoint

2010-12-02T03:39:00.001-08:00

This post is some hot mess of formatting. I promise it will get better. I'm just out of practice and slightly delirious with jet lag.

The photos are our day in reverse - starting with Qutub Minar.

Below and right is the Lotus Temple - a

Sanctuary for the Bahai Faith.

And now we're back to Humayan's tomb.

The Migrant Monkeys landed softly in Delhi just before midnight on Wednesday. We were nestled in our twin beds at Apartment 52 Hotel by 2:00 am. Despite less than five hours of sleep we sprung into action by 7:00, hitting the dusty streets of Connaught Place. Today's mission was procuring train tickets to Agra - to visit the Taj Mahal.

We got a little more than we bargained for - and after some shrewd negotiations at the Department of Tourism we found ourselves the proud renters of one car & driver for four days. It's a good bit more bougie than we've ever traveled before, but the trains are booked until 9th December. Having Kalla and his car around is saving us immeasurable time and aggravation. Today he drove us to Delhi's beautiful tourist destinations. He assured us he had the three essential ingredients for any good Indian driver - a sound mind, good brakes, and a working horn. He also amused us with little quips like "No hurry, no worry - chicken curry."

We started our tour at India Gate, India's National Monument. Then it was off to Humayan's Tomb, Delhi's first Mughal Mausoleum. If the photos look fuzzy- that's not our camera. True to wunderground.com the weather in Delhi is indeed "smoky". I'm pretty sure they're burning garbage, and our clothes are going to smell like campfire before we get to Bangalore.

At Humayan's Tomb a crowd of school girls shoved each other mosh-pit style so that I would "Take a photo, please." And in turn I found myself yet again the subject of curiosity in a foreign land - having my picture snapped time and again by the natives. (It's the hair.),

Tomorrow Kalla will drive us to Jaipur where we'll spend one night before heading on to Agra. Then it's back to Delhi to catch our Sunday flight to Bangalore.

Shake Off the Dust and Exhale

2010-11-28T16:47:00.000-08:00

It's time to shake the dust off our inflatable pillows, back packs, sleep-sacks, that box of Imodium, and our beloved blog. In less than 48 hours the Migrant Monkeys are bound for India.

Friends and family keep asking "So, what are you going to do in India??" We've mapped out only a loose itinerary - letting the trip take us where it may. Mostly we're going to read the novels we've miserly collected for the trip, ride planes/trains/buses (maybe boats), visit ruined things, eat amazing veg food, meet people, and absorb as much Vitamin D as we can.

The other thing - the most important thing is - re-learning how to breathe. Last week a wise woman said to me, "Amy, I hope you get on that plane and exhale. I think you're one of those people who goes through life always holding her breath." So, I'm counting on India to challenge me, to teach me, and inspire me. I suspect she'll rise to the occasion.

Home Sweet Home

2007-11-07T10:30:00.001-08:00

One last trip post... coming from the homestead. We wanted to share a shot of Ko Phangan (first shot) as it looked there our last two days and a shot of our lovely friend, Uli.

As you can see, our last days of the trip involved some shenanigans.

We treated ourselves to a boutique hotel in Bangkok, The Dream, where we powerwashed three months of sweat from our grimy bodies, watched countless (terrible) horror films, and slept in 1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.

Home never looked, smelled, or felt so good as it did when we crossed the threshold yesterday morning. Erica took incredible care of our house and beloved Pig. We spent a jet-lagged day of delirium dealing with little chores and reminding ourselves of the myriad things there are to be grateful for as an American and a Seattle-ite.

As our parting words Francis would say... "The best thing about Thailand is the people. The worst thing about Thailand is the people." The paradox is difficult to translate into words, but this seems to sum it up. I would say that I did not find my zen. No matter how much peace and beauty I am surrounded by - it will never be quite enough to quell my inner bitch. And I'm okay with that.

A vacation from the vacation

2007-10-28T00:42:00.000-07:00

We're bracing ourselves for yet another countdown. In one sense it seems not that long ago that we were counting months, weeks, and days before this trip. Now we have but 10 mere days left to enjoy this trip. We've spent most of our time of late remembering the adventures, the friends who have come into our lives for a day or two, late nights waxing philosophical, the victories and defeats of our culinary quests.

We tried and failed to embrace the bohemian lifestyle in the south of Thailand. Our stormy outlook on the scene may have served to pave the way for the real storm that was to come. Our last three days in Ko Phangan were lit up with lightning, thunder, and a deluge of rain. The rain left the streets passable only if you were willing to wade through the eight inches of murky water. We snickered a bit to think how the rain must be spoiling things for the loud and lewd Israeli kids who filled the island. Perhaps such judgments were too rash as I think most of them were enjoying some brief reprieve before or after their compulsory military service.

The best part of Ko Phangan was Uli, the lovely Thai woman we met who offered us nothing short of kindness and generosity. We felt that it was the first time in all of our travels that we had a genuine encounter with a Thai person. She showed the patience of a saint in teaching me to count to 100 in Thai and learning a few other helpful phrases. When we parted she gave me a book to help me study my Thai.

One minivan ride, one ferry ride, one all night bus ride, and one short plane ride delivered us back to Chiang Mai in the north of Thailand. This is the place we love best. It's familiar sights, sounds, smells, and plethora of vegetarian restaurants have given us a vacation from the vacation. Here we met another Thai and had another wonderful encounter - a man named Ed who runs a divine little pizzeria. Turns out Ed is a University of Washington alum (Go Huskies!) and we had a nice evening talking over pizza, local politics and places.

This may be the last post from abroad. Our days are spent sleeping and eating and walking and talking. Nothing really remarkable or photo worthy for the folks at home. We land back in beloved Sea-Town early the morning of November 6th. We are eager to sleep in our tempurpedic bed and nuzzle our little orange Piggy cat

Photos - Last installment for now...

2007-10-16T23:21:00.001-07:00

More scenes of George Town, Panang. We already miss the great Indian and Chinese veg food. We do not miss the $5 beer.

And here we have Mr. Morgan tucked safely into his mosquito net for his sleepless night in the jungle.

We are now cozy in our sea-side 4-plex - a place we can both be happy. I have aircon, and Francis is away from the crystal healings and the chi-work. And since we've relocated the the less popular Sunrise Beach we're not exposed to the boom boom thud of the dance music. Yep, it was much too loud. I guess we're officially old.

Georgetown, Malaysia

2007-10-16T23:10:00.000-07:00

From KL we sojourned north to the island of Panang. Here we settled for a few days in the colonial town of George Town. First photo on the left is an abandoned colonial building. It was the first 4-storey house on the island. Over the years it housed a school and a hotel. Now the roof is caved in and the jungle is beginning to take it back. UNESCO better got to work!

Of course no pictorial representation of SE Asia is complete without a shot of a squat. That hose - yeah, that would be a bidet.

When we travel we have a penchant for going to certain type of establishment we NEVER visit at home - the shopping mall. Here I am next to a most curious display.

The remaining two shots are scenes of George Town, Panang. Hands down - this is the friendliest place we traveled. Everyone on the street said hello as they passed. Not because they wanted to sell us anything - they just wanted to say hello. So sweet! We also watched the launch of the first Malaysian astronaut. We thought it was quite a big deal, but Soma said it was really just a waste of tax dollars. The "astronaut" was nothing more than a state-sponsored space-tourist.

PHOTOS... Religion In Vietnam & Malaysia

2007-10-16T22:52:00.000-07:00

To the left is a likeness of Confucius himself.

Next up - the Charity box at he Hanoi airport. How could I not give a few dong to the cause of "Especially Difficult Children?" After all - that has been my professional specialty.

Now we must give some semblance of equal airtime to the world's major religions. We've covered Buddhism & Confucianism. So it was necessary to visit the Museum of Islamic Arts in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. We were truly blown away by one of the most impressive permanent collections in any museum we've ever visited. It's the only one of its kind in the world and includes Qua ran from 9-10th Century North Africa, pottery from 12-18th Century China, textiles from 18th-20th Century Malaysia and Indonesia, and war regalia from 16th-19th Century Iran. My favorite collection included the stunningly hand-calligraphic Qua ran.

There I am in front of the National Mosque. You're very aware that you're not in Kansas (or Seattle for that matter) any more when every hotel room ceiling has an arrow pointing to Mecca.

And last but never least we spied a few Hindu temples. Our hotel in KL was across the street from the oldest Hindu temple in the city. A few nights ago we met a wonderful and brilliant man named Soma who was able to explain the rationale behind the constant cracking of coconuts outside the temple. The coconut is a symbol of (wo)man. The outer shell - our physical selves and the inner milky goodness - our souls. The coconuts are cracked at this particular temple as an offering to a deity (whose name eludes me after a night of much wine at the Sanctuary) before embarking on an important task - (opening a business, traveling, marriage, etc.).

PHOTOS!!! Vietnam Part 1

2007-10-16T22:46:00.000-07:00

To the left we have the Catholic Cathedral in Hanoi, Vietnam. No, we did not go to mass.

Next up - Francis with a US Navy plane downed in Vietnam in 1972.

The carnage includes various downed aircraft at the Vietnamese Military Museum. Planes and helicopters represent the Vietnamese struggle against the French, British, and US forces over the last 50 years.

Here we have ancient sculpture at the Temple of Literature in Hanoi.

Migrant Monkeys go Bohemian

2007-10-15T23:42:00.000-07:00

Empty promises abut the photos, folks. There appears to be some breakdown in my technological skills. I'll keep trying, though... I am nothing if I am not persistent.

This latest installment finds us in Ko Phangan, a little island off the east coast of Southern
Thailand. We slowly worked our way up from Malaysia, through a handful of po-dunk towns where nothing remarkable occurred.

Yesterday we took a bus and a ferry to the island with the intention of spending a week or two at a secluded beach resort called the Sanctuary. We had to take a long tail boat from Hat Rin (the infamous full moon party beach) to Hat Tien. There are no roads into Hat Tien. You either hike 8 kilometers through the jungle or pay $3.50 per person to cruise the sea in a long tail. When we arrived at The Sanctuary we were dismayed to learn that the bungalows were booked up. A few houses were available. Rather than schlep back to Hat Rin we splurged on a $45 jungle house.

Our accommodation was nestled at the top of a windy path, built right into the rocks. We had a kitchen, with a gas cook top, some Nescafe packs and tea bags - but no implements for boiling water. We also had a hammock and a pampason chair that a family of spiders decided to nest in. The house did not have walls but looked right out into the jungle. Fortunately the Sanctuary did provide a mosquito net. (This area is not malarial but dengue fever is a risk.)

At least one migrant monkey could not handle going bohemian and did not dig on sharing space with critters. Various exotic bugs strolled our floor, we had to watch out for scorpions and centipedes (they bite), and the mosquitoes loved the bathroom facilities (complete with squat toilet). Guess which migrant monkey didn't get a wink of sleep for fretting about the critters? You may be surprised... (He would claim it was just a general insomnia.)

The other monkey was kept awake well into the night from the boom boom thud of the dance party on the beach. The music filled the valley and was swept up into our jungle paradise. Silly us to assume the jungle would provide a quiet respite. I took solace in an 11 AM check out time and planned on sleeping in. However, I learned that it's impossible to sleep in when you're in the jungle and the sun streams into your hut through the non-wall at 6 AM.

I tried to warn Francis that the Sanctuary was a little granola - a skosh hippie-dippy. I'm not sure what he envisioned from my cautions, but he was not prepared to stay in a place that offers classes on crystal healings. (The yoga and meditation courses were a stretch.) "What sort of wounds are these freaks nursing that they need so much healing?" We're back in Had Rin, scurrying about to find a quiet resting place as our hard-partying days have been over for at least a decade now. I suppose the lesson we have learned is that we like the beach life in theory. In reality the sun and sand and boom boom thud is not quite our thing. We're going to give it a go and see if Phangan has anything to offer a couple of 30-somethings who hail from the land of coffee and rain.

Migrant Monkeys in Malaysia

2007-10-08T23:36:00.002-07:00

I see that we've spoiled you all terribly with our (my) frequent posts and beautiful photos. Sorry no photos in this posting. As soon as I'm able - I'll do an all photos posting with annotations. In the interim (as I hunt out an internet cafe that will read my camera card) I wanted to let everyone know that we're fine. Alive. And well-fed.

As I am terrifically fond of counting things (it brings order to an otherwise chaotic existence)- here are my latest calculations. We've slept in 23 beds and eaten in 100 restaurants. We've read 24 books. We've handled five different currencies and stumbled through six languages. We've ridden on 2 dozen buses, three trains, and two airplanes.

Our final days in Hanoi were spent wrapping up the museum circuit. A visit to the Vietnamese Military Museum left us feeling a sort of admiration for the Vietnamese who fought against one oppressor or another for seven plus decades. Their independence was secured only after the entire nation stood together - old and young, wealthy and poor, men and women - to defeat a great giant. And victory came only after Uncle Ho passed away in 1969. It was humbling.

Last stop in Hanoi was the Temple of Literature - a Confucian University with buildings dating from the 11th century. (Await the photos with bated breath.)

Our flight to Kuala Lumpur (KL), Malaysia was less momentous for us than it was for our fellow passengers. 95% of those on board were Vietnamese laborers being sent to KL for work. It was quickly apparent that most of them had never before been on an airplane. They were clearly inexperienced in fastening seatbelts or remaining seated during take off and landing.

KL was refreshingly clean, generally free of honking horns, with passable sidewalks, and enforced traffic laws. And I've found the Malays to be some of the sweetest and kindest people we've encountered in SE Asia. Rather than scowling at me and barking orders - the immigration officer actually smiled and wished me a pleasant stay in the country. When we've been clueless on buses or on the streets - inevitably some lovely Malay comes forward to help us out.

We've been thrilled with the cuisine options. Our hotel in KL was tucked in between China Town and Little India. Chance and good fortune led us straight to the doors of an all veg Indian restaurant. The staff were exceedingly patient and helpful. We ordered blindly - unfamiliar with everything on the menu. Our super-friendly server walked us through the proper procedures. Food arrived on a tin plate with a banana leaf and 10 tin cups of various delectable items (none of which I could describe to you now). After eating up the flat bread, our banana leaf was piled high with steamed rice and dal. Traditionally this meal is eaten with the fingers. You use your fingers to scoop out the food, put it on the leaf, mix it up with the rice, and pop it in your mouth (right hand only - left hand is for unclean things). However, as the only foreigners there- we got a wink and a spoon. Francis described the meal as like Ethiopian food - only good. We were good-naturedly teased throughout the meal and sent off with a head waggle - an Indian gesture I once spent time perfecting with an old office mate (shout out to Sher-Bair).

Cleanliness and order do not come without a price, and we've over-extended our budget a bit in Malaysia. This predominately Muslim nation is no place for sinners - cigarettes and beer are enough to break the bank. Beer in (unbelievably - gasp) twice what it costs us at home, and white wine is nowhere to be found. So, with our love of sin and limited funds - I expect we'll be on our way back to Thailand shortly - blowing through here like the rains that have been following our SE Asian tour for the last two weeks.

The Mean Streets of Hanoi

2007-09-30T01:03:00.000-07:00

Hanoi has been a shock to the system after Laos. The entire population of Laos is only half the population of this city.

Thank goddess we're of the Atari-generation. Our Frogger skills have come in handy for crossing the streets. Below is a typical street scene. I've had to adopt the mindset of stepping off the curb blindly and trusting the cycles not to run me over.

And sidewalks are not just for hoofing it. They serve many purposes - vending cigarettes, beetles, fruit, handicrafts, parking motorbikes, and urinating. All of this renders walking on the sidewalks impossible. And it doesn't stop the cars and motorcycles for laying on the horns when everyone is walking in the street.

Day four has led us to our first proper veg meal. Someone needs to write a restaurant guide just for vegetarian tourists. The Rough Guide has let us down time and again. They only list one veg place, and it was a bit of a let-down. It's challenging to find a place even when you have the address. The streets change names every couple of blocks and buildings are stacked on and tucked behind each other.

We did happen upon a great little bar - the Half Man, Half Noodle. We were drawn in by the sounds of our hometown boy, Kurt Cobain. Oh Nirvana! Music to our ears after countless evenings of being subjected to The Eagles, Clapton, and Nora Jones. Francis was also a fan of the bar's art (see top right photo), and I was bemused by the menu (black puppy for only 70,000 dong or roughly $5) .

We attempted to pay homage to Ho Chi Minh today. I even roused myself at 6:30 AM and donned my Sunday best. Unfortunately, the lines were far too long - wrapping around several city blocks. Today was the last day to see Uncle Ho before he's shipped off to Russia for his annual maintenance. I was unable to bear the heat (a balmy 97 degrees) and wait in line, so we settled for a quick visit to Lenin's statue.

We're finding Hanoi to be very different from the other places we've haunted in SE Asia. They're a cuddly lot - lots of groping and necking in the park along the lake - sights you'd NEVER see in Thailand, Laos, or Cambodia. We've encountered more Americans here than any other SE Asian nation. You can spot them a mile away. We've only seen 3 Buddhist monks, no spirit houses, and no wats (Buddhist temples). The people in Hanoi are also a loud lot. Maybe you get used to shouting to be heard over the sounds of the car and motorcycle horns and dance clubs. And apparently the Vietnamese don't sweat or shave. Francis and I have scoured the city looking for those necessary health and beauty aids. If we're unsuccessful within the next 2 days, Francis will be wearing my deodorant, and I will be using his shaving cream. Dogs do not roam the streets here. Perhaps that's because they're farmed for food and not seen so much as pets...

Here in Hanoi

2007-09-27T21:42:00.000-07:00

So, the plane was bigger than I thought. Still a propeller but a 50-seater. Faultless take off and landing. We arrived in the evening, and the taxi driver accidentally/on purpose took us to the wrong hotel. He then of course refused to take us to the correct hotel. With the help of a Rough Guide map we found The Hotel Ritz. Along the way, schlepping our packs and fearing that the hotel may be all booked up - we inquired about rooms at some snazzy looking hotels. "No vacancy." Translation - no room at the inn for back packers. The packs work both for and against us.

The Ritz is a brand new hotel in the Old Quarter owned by a delightful couple named River and Spring. Obviously their parents must've been hippies. However, River explained that's simply how their names translate into English. (He didn't get the joke at all.) We're directly across the street (and through a winding alley) from the lake (Hoan Kiem) - the soul of Hanoi.

We have the penthouse room - a climb of six narrow flights of windy marble stairs. This completely eliminates the need for a work-out on the thigh-master. We also have a "view of the lake." If you peek our window over the tin roof of the dance club in front of us, through the heavily leaved trees, you can spy a bit of water. And aren't the faux poppies lovely?

I wish I could put sound recordings on the blog. You could share in the tsk tsk boom of the dance club (bumping right now at noon on a Friday) and the incessant beep beep beep of the car and motorcycle horns. This city is never silent.

Yesterday we toured the Museum of Vietnamese Women. It offers an interesting perspective on the war with America and communism. Say what you will about the VC and Uncle Ho and communism in general - the system is far more feminist and equal than what we know and have known in the States.

We're hunkering for some veg Vietnamese food but have yet to find any. The only veg fare we've been able to hunt down (and it requires a fair amount of hunting) is Western food with a Vietnamese twist. Last night we ate at a little place called Pinky Moon. Francis had the aglio olio, in a similar fashion to what he'd make it home. I bravely ordered gnocchi with gorgonzola. My meal translated into balls of instant mashed potatoes slathered in mozzarella. No complaints. It was in fact similar in fashion to something I'd cook for myself at home. As a special treat I've attached a photo of one of the pages of the menu. Considering the Pinky Moon serves up dog breast cooked in cognac, we were lucky with our meals.

As per the request of a certain TF I will try to include more photos of Frantastic, Frantastic and I together, and a better explanation of the photos.

Farewell to Laos

2007-09-25T22:24:00.000-07:00

So, we decided that we really ought to engage ourselves in some of the tourist attractions around about Luang Prabang before heading out of Laos. We booked a half day tour to the waterfall . What a strange adventure in turned out to be! We decided to hike to the top of the falls. Bless my Chaco sandals and the hiking training afforded to us in the Pacific Northwest. It was slippery, a skosh treacherous, and super-duper wet. It was impossible to take photos during the hike as the rain and spray from the falls lapped at us. But here we are after making it safe and sound back to the bottom. I'm glad we opted out of the swimming portion of the day as the river was full of leeches.

Apparently our half-day waterfall adventure also included a "tour of a local village." Said tour involved pulling over at the side of the road and stopping in front of 15 little girls all lined up and selling bracelets while calling "Buy! Buy! Buy! 5,000 buy!" As the girls chirped their "Buy! Buy!" song (sums up their view of Westerners) the boys went ahead and staged a cock-fighting show for us. Can you think of anything a social worker and 2 vegetarians care to see less?

The remaining shots in this post include (completely out of order as I still can't properly format this blog):

1) a street view of a restored French colonial mansion in Luang Prabang, Laos.

2) Francis' garnish from dinner at the Blue Moon cafe (where I was convinced it was my stunning beauty making the servers nervous. Their hands shook with each thing they laid in front of us. Eventually I realized the nerves had nothing to with me or my stunning good looks. The restaurant had just re-opened after a month off, and the Swiss owner was supervising their every move.)

3) View from the top of Phou Si, most sacred hill in Luang Prabang - a good climb at 300-plus stairs.

4) Francis and I (separately) descending from Phou Si. That pensive look on my face is masking a grimace of heat and fatigue. Even my sweat was sweaty.

Next stop for the Migrant Monkeys is Vietnam. We land in Hanoi early this evening. Flight 313. Laos Airlines. (Best not make the news.) I'm not nervous about flying in a 12-seater prop plane or anything...

We brake for kitties and Buddha

2007-09-22T02:29:00.001-07:00

This migrant monkey is finding the climate in Luang Prabang much more suitable. Mornings are "relatively" cool and overcast until about 10:00 AM. The sun begins its descent around 16:30. Of course the town shuts down by 22:00 - which is fine because I need to get my sleep on before the bandsaws return to work in the morning.

We're mostly walking around the city. Francis is armed with the camera, and I'm armed with my brelly - a true life saver for this delicate little flower.

Francis would tell you (if he was participating in this blog...) he preferred the food in Vientiane. However, we've discovered a lovely little restaurant just around the corner from our hotel called the Morning Glory. She's a divine cook and serves fresh pesto and delicious fresh Laos coffee and fruit shakes all day long. The main food issue appears to be the Laotian fondness for onions. We all know how Francis feels about onions, and they're in everything everywhere- including the scrambled eggs.

We've done the museum circuit in town - "sorry, no photos, please" - ending the day with the former Royal Palace. How interesting to see the gifts given to the King by the various nations. USA contributed a piece of the moon. Australia contributed a boomerang. The most impressive gifts appear to have come from Thailand, India, and China.

The children seem to either fear or love me. I must appear such an odd creature with my platinum hair and tattoos. At least one child has attempted to rub off my tattoos - insisting that it must be pen.

Expect more kittens and Buddhas in your next installment. And trust that we are well (and in spite of some of my previous postings) truly having a fabulous time!

Yin and Yang in Luang Prabang

2007-09-20T00:28:00.001-07:00

Francis and I appear to be alternating sick days. He's laid up today with the stomach bug that seems to plague Westerners in SE Asia. So, it was my turn to troll the streets with the camera. I'm adjusting to the heat - with the aid of my brelly and an ice coffee from time to time. I also found my first aircon internet cafe, so I expect to be parked here for a bit.

Today I strolled along the Mekong. Too shy to take any photos of the curiosities - several games of boccie ball, vegetable vendors dressed in traditional garb, and children playing games with tin cans and old shoes. It seems to be rude to take photos of the locals. However, Francis and I have found ourselves to be the subjects of many a photo op for the locals. (They try to be sneaky, but there's no question about what they're doing with their camera phones pointed directly at us and the giggling) The Thai tourists seem especially fond of having their picture taken with pasty Westerners. They always ask first. However, we've decided to start charging 10,000 kip per shot (about a dollar). Hey, it's what the lady-boys do in Thailand. I learned that the hard way.

It's so different here and yet so much the same. The Laos love TV, and it's incessantly on in every restaurant and hotel lobby. Their favorite shows appear to be Thai soap operas or morality plays based on traditional tales. The morality plays are my favorite. The actors are dressed in 15th Century garb, but you can always see their jeans and faux rolex watches peeking out from under their costumes.

Luang Prabang is an early to be early to rise town, so we've had to roll with that. The bandsaws kick in about 8 am with a lunch break around noon, so we're learning to plan sleep times around the construction schedules. Although we've bee told repeatedly that the Laos find it foolish to work too hard, those construction guys sure put in a good long day.

The kids continue to come out at night - all with the same tchotchkes and the same lines. "Madame, you are so beautiful. I love your hair." After about the third rejection they'll lean in and whisper "Coca cola." My response is that it is far too late at night for that much sugar and caffeine. However, I'd be happy to buy them a container of milk. For some reason they never want it. I am hoping to run into a little lad named "I" again. He had the best game. Fake tears and all. He'll certainly break me down before the week is out.

I've gotta harden my heart, swallow my tears

2007-09-18T21:55:00.000-07:00

We've been off the map for a few days.

Got our Buddha on before leaving Vientiane.

Then we headed north to a little town called Vang Viang. A backpackers haven. But Francis and I are not back packers (in spite of the packs we lug). The town was just full of dirty hippies looking for a cheap high. If I never see another facial piercing or dreadlock again it'll be too soon. The bus dumped us at a bungalow a good half mile from town. Being the weenie that I am in the sun (it's been in the mid-90s), we simply stayed there. Held hostage. Although from the photos (the view from our bungalow) you can see there are worse places to be captive.

I did manage to venture into town on two occasion for dinner. Poor Fran, it was a town that was much more about the 80 cent beer than the cuisine. And even though we've managed to press through the entirety of our adult lives without seeing a single episode of Friends - it was utterly inescapable in Vang Vieng. I kid you not - episodes blared from every single restaurant in town. The theme song still haunts my dreams.

After two days, we paid for a VIP bus to Luang Prabang. I'd hate to see how the non-VIPs travel here. "It made the Long Leg to Laos" feel like a luxury cruise. When we arrived at the station (9:30 AM), our driver was enjoying some breakfast complete with a couple of cans of Beer Laos. The bus left a half hour late (and we were a half hour early), so he had some time to sober up. Brown schmeg from the aircon that wasn't even turned on dripped onto the heads of the Aussies in front of us for 7 hours. Rest stops included pee breaks by the side of the road. (I could always spot the novice SE Asian traveler. She'd be the one who was not armed with tp in her bag.) We also picked up and delivered various chickens and produce. Highway 13 is the most treacherous road I've ever seen. Not much more than a single lane winding up into the mountains. No guard rails. Little villages with paper-thin houses clinging to the sides of cliffs. And our driver was fond of passing the 18 wheelers around the curves.

I've decided that's what this trip needs to be about - remembering what it's like to feel vulnerable and then confronting your fears - occasionally with the help of a little valium.

Luang Prabang is not the bargain we'd hoped for. Francis likes to tease me because I treat the Lonely Planet like the Bible and each accommodation I select based on the book's recommendations is not much more than a crap-hole. We're sucking it up and paying $25/night to stay in a beautifully restored French provincial mansion. The only downside is the construction that is everywhere. In spite of the spotless and tasteful room we can't seem to escape the bandsaws. It makes a good night's sleep or a nap virtually impossible.

I've also had to hone my ignoring skills - a task made easier by 10 years of working with kids who have behavioral difficulties. There are a dozen adorable children on every corner selling cheap beads and begging, "Please, Madame, I need the money for school." Although they speak impeccable English and can charm you to tears. But as I learned in Cambodia - if you do for one you become a mark for all. And so I've had to harden my heart.

It gives me pause about this country where cigarettes are cheaper than water and children are used as begging pawns to secure money for their parents' opium addictions. Where valium in a few cents per pill but 10 ibuprofen cost me $5.

I don't mean to sound bleak. We really are having a lovely time, seeing sights that we'll remember for a lifetime and meeting the strangest blokes.

Vientiane - a WHole New World

2007-09-10T23:17:00.000-07:00

Let me begin be impressing on all of you the absolute glorious beauty of my new tattoo. It was well worth the brief the fainting spell and the constant application of a creme known here as "nappy baby bottom cream."

The next few shots are of Patouxia, the Arc de Triumph in Vientiane. This monument was constructed in the 1960s with concrete donated by the US for an airstrip. I'm not what the story is, but the plaque outside of the monument refers to it as a "monstrosity."

Francis and I made it over to the National Museum yesterday. There's an extremely impressive prehistoric exhibit. The Dutch trading exhibit was also well done. Then things got a little more bizarre as the tales of history became more recent. Although the US bombing raid on Laos (in the mid 60s to and 70s) was secret to the Americans for nearly 15 years, the Laos people were well aware of the presence of the "American Imperialist puppets" and the carpet bombs that destroyed much of their cultural sights including the ancient Plain of Jars and temples.

Here we have various shots of the city. How'd you like to be an electrician in Vientiane?I'll include more later, but technology is not my friend today.

We continue to encounter the strangest expats. I'll refer to our new friend as "S" because I'm pretty sure here's over here avoiding a tax evasion scandal as well as some potential other legal matters. He's been very friendly and generous with the strangest tales to be told. He claims to have served 7 years in prison for bank robbing (only got nabbed for 4 out of the 13 jobs), lost 2 million on technology stocks in the 90s, started up a balcony franchising venture in Britain. Who knows how much truth is any of it. But we've heard the same stories three times in pretty consistent detail (he repeats himself a good bit when he's drinky). So, he's either an honest fellow or a brilliant liar (likely a bit of both).

Vientiane has a bit of a wild west feel. It hasn't come along so far as Thailand, although I will argue that the plumbing seems to be better. It seems to be safe, but then we're usually sequestered in the hotel by 9 PM watching wretched America movies we'd never dream of seeing in the States.

We expect to be here for a few more days, then perhaps go 3 hours north no Viang Vang. There seem to be some impressive caves, and we're really for a bit more chilling out.

The Long Leg to Laos

2007-09-08T22:16:00.000-07:00

The last five days of travel have been brutal! We took a 12-hour 1st class aircon overnight bus from Chiang Mai to Khon Kaen. I know that "first class" bit really sounds impressive. However, what it means is that we spent 12 hours in a fah-reezing germ factory, with Francis almost losing his cool because the overhead lights on the bus didn't work. Poor thing just wanted to read one of his 19th century novels to lull himself to sleep. For a land with 97% literacy, the Thais don't seem to care so much for reading.

After arriving in Khon Kaen we understood why everyone seemed so perplexed that we chose that route to approach Laos - not a town so warm to farang. And I am the antithesis of incognito with my platinum hair and tattoos. If there was veg food to be had in that town, we never found it. We've discovered that eating is the hardest bit about traveling in SE Asia, and Thailand is not always the Land of Smiles.

Next destination was Nong Kai - where there was one veg restaurant, a few smiles, a lovely board walk, and an impressive wat. I also participated in a little Thai wine tasting. Fran bowed out after taste number two. Truth be told Thai wine tastes like something that would be produced in a jail house.

We did meet a cute little couple from San Diego who decided to stay in Nong Kai and work there for two months at the restaurant/bar/guest house. They were terribly helpful in explaining the nuts and bolts of what to expect at the border crossing to Laos.

Unfortunately, we were not prepared for the totality of the experience. I had to bust out some of my old school mosh pit skills as we waited in the immigration line to exit Thailand. Lines do not exist in Thailand, and the Thais have no qualms about squeezing themselves in front of you. I battled it out for a good half hour with one little Thai lady. In the end - in spite of my elbows, weight advantage, and incessant hip-checking, that little gal got her way.

Immigration on the Laos side of the Friendship Bridge was anything but friendly. An unfortunate introduction into the country. We chose a taxi instead of a tuk tuk (open air vehicle) for the 24 km drive into Vientiane. Silly Americans assumed taxi meant aircon. We'd have done just as well to tuk tuk it bumping along the dusty road to the city.

By this time my cold (from the 1st class air con bus) had gotten the best of me. I'm filthy, soaked wet with sweat, and ready to pass out. Fran checks out our selected guest house and decides (wisely at the time) that it'll do for a night - just until I can regain my constitution.

The place was perfectly nasty, but I couldn't bear the thought of moving on without a shower and a nap. Thank goodness for sleep sacks because the Donald Duck sheets on this bed hadn't been changed in eons, we covered with cigarette hole burns, and bed bugs. Fran left me huddled up in my sleep sack while he went on a reconnaissance mission for a more acceptable place to bed down.

We ended up around the corner - for only $4 more per night we a clean bed, friendly staff, and breakfast included.

Can't wait to write more about Vientiane. I know that we're going to love this town with its French aura, $2 chardonnay, and REAL coffee.

Bye Bye Chiang Mai (for now)

2007-09-04T00:43:00.000-07:00

Alas, we begin our final hours in Chiang Mai before a 12 hour bus ride to Khon Kaen. That begins the next leg of the journey into Laos. I wonder if the orchids will continue to be so spectacular. I've never had much luck with them at home. I agree with Francis - they make me mad and shouldn't get any special treatment. Nope, they should be treated exactly the same way as the rest of the plants. (Perhaps that's why mine always die.)

Francis has greatly enjoyed strolling about, taking photos. (Again his skills are far superior to mine.) The tree photo is a banyon tree. The Thais place their old spirit houses here when they upgrade. We've been told it's alright to take them once abandoned. But that advice came from a farang, and it feels a little sacrilege to me.

My best purchase of the trip has been my little brelly. My little pixie friend was absolutely right when she insisted it's best to make one's own shade. The Thais get a kick out out of it too. They think we all want to be tan. Tan is alright. I just simply don't do it. Just various shades of pink for me. My ancestors are from cold, dark places.

We hope you enjoy the random photos. There's not much I can tell you about all of them. I think Francis loves those the best. And to be perfectly honest blogging feels too much like work for him to be too interested right now. Perhaps we can coerce him later.

We also had a darling chat with some schoolboys who interviewed Francis to practice their English. Just when I think we may be on the "take" again, some random act of kindness takes place, and I fall in Love with Thailand all over again.

Of course I also wanted include a shot of me with Pom. He completed my tattoo yesterday. (This time I did not pass out.) I did choke back a few tears at the end. He was so terribly kind and gentle, and took great care to maintain the integrity of Nate's cherry blossoms since the pieces are now all entwined. I'm going to make you all wait until the healing process is further along before I post shots of the finished product. It's simply spectacular.

Judgments, observations, and descriptions

2007-08-30T22:00:00.000-07:00

Still in Chiang Mai. We have visited the best museum we've seen so far. The house to the left is Lana Style. The Buddha is pretty self explanatory. I felt much more comfortable taking photos of the exhibits in the museum. I find it unsettling to treat the locals as though they are some sort of curiousity.

The scenic gem to the right is the view from the baronesses back yard. I'd run off the mafia with my foul mouth too if I were responsible for caring for this. (My apologies that little of this blog this seems to be following much of a chronological order. I keep finding more wowee photos on the camera.

And here we have the creme de le creme. This is the initial installment of my Thai tattoo. I return for the color on Monday - and potentially some negotiations with Pom's business manager who is a shrewd business partner. I also have yet to determine if my negotiation skills will be any sort of match with hers. But isn't this koi lovely? (Mother, I know you have different thoughts.)

When we left for this journey I had in mind to work on my judgmentalism, a trait so blatantly pointed out by my former employer. So, I am "observing my judgments" (how very DBT for those of you in the know). But then I wonder what exactly is the difference between a judgment and an observation and a description. If I describe the Americans in Starbucks as loud (and they were). That is an description, an observation, and a judgment. If I describe the weather as warm and observe the fact that I am sweating profusely - then I am judging this country as pretty damn hot. How then am I to free myself from judgements?

As I try to be more Buddhist in my living I will say that I am doing a good bit better at embracing suffering. About 3o minutes into my tattoo I fainted (the pain and heat did me in). Pom was lovely and patient and gracious about my exceeding embarrassment. I'm certainly no virgin to tattoos.

I heart Pom

2007-08-28T22:31:00.000-07:00

This is indicative of infrastructure in Thailand. The Seattle folks should thank their lucky stars they don't have this for a viaduct.

Of course it is also necessary to capture Franimal in his true element - a beer garden. I am developing a taste for the Singha but still find that Francis generally gets to finish my beer after I've had a few sips. Singha ain't no Chardonnay.

I included the ele-sculpture for our dear Erica. She is taking care of our ramshackle house, my beloved garden, and our loony-tunes cat.

We were feeling sheepish about continuing to take McFran on tour. Of course we want to be respectful of the culture and religion. But then you encounter a Donald Duck eating a plate of rice at a wat and it leaves you to wonder if McFran could possibly be offensive.

This little fellow to the left I have dubbed ponder monkey. He's from Lop Buri. Fran is a much better photog than I am. And he looks so sweet. Rest assured, though, he'd have zero qualms about snatching your purse in search of some goodies.

Your guess is a as good as mine. We encountered this art at a wat in Chiang Mai.

Now to explain Pom. We have found a divine Italian restaurant in Chiang Mai, Pom Pui. Homemade pasta, pizza margarita for $3, REAL napkins (mostly you get a roll of tp on the table) and the wine is aight.

Then Fran went looking for the other Pom. Pom tattooed Francis with the Monkey King about 7 years ago. We were heart broken when we came back this way in 2004 and could not find him anywhere. But as Fran loves to walk the streets in the heat of the day we found him again!

We'll be spending almost a week here - putting the Laos trip on hold a bit more. I'm having some tattoo work done, a traditional style koi to tie in the flowers on my back. Stay tuned for those pix!

Random shots

2007-08-28T22:23:00.000-07:00

Cuteness all the way around... The first shot is of me and Margaret at the alleged biggest gong in Thailand (or the world - I'm not sure which she claimed).

The second shot is of the monkeys in LopBuri being being cute - before they attacked Sheri.

The Buddha is a promise I made to E & P for a blessing.

Lastly we have the tea workers in Mae Sa Long - north of Chiang Rai. A mostly Chinese town. We were able to see the tea being harvested and processed before enjoying a delicious cup ourselves.

Random Musings by AC

2007-08-27T01:40:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: the following thoughts are strictly those of Amy. I imagine Francis would disagree with me on the finer points of some of what I'm about to say and the greater points of others. Just need to make that clear.

I am a truly lousy photographer and have yet to manage the finer points of blogging layout, so this posting is strictly words. However, I know that my beloved friends and fam are all literate. I also like to fancy that the things I have to say are just as interesting as the pictoral documentation.

Capitalism. As a social worker I've maintained strong feelings about capitalism and a firm disbelief in the "invisible hand of the market." However, I've recently begun to recognize how bizarre it is to travel in a land devoid (in many but not all ways) of the capitalist ways. The Thais appear to live for today. For this moment. There seems to be such little concern for stocking away bits for a nest neg or worrying about tomorrow. They make enough money to live for the day or the moment -then it's all about resting, relaxing, enjoying food, life and family. Work day is done. Sound lovely until you're an American who is hungry for lunch at 2:00, and every restaurant is closed from 2-5 PM. Or you want to return to a store and buy something you saw yesterday and the store is closed because the lucky money has already been accumulated for the day.

On a lighter note, let me extole the virtues of tiger balm. It works wonders on itchy mosquito bites and when placed under the nose can divert the smell of urine when you've been unfortunate enough to be assigned the backseat of an aircon bus with a toilet. I guess it's sort of what medical professionals do when performing autopsies.

And then there are the toilets. Americans are spoiled. Okay - maybe not spoiled. I like to think of it is simply hygenic. If you find a toilet with tp - you're in in great luck. (I carry my own - just in casey.) If there's soap, I do a happy dance. But I NEVER dry my hands on the towels. They're not paper towels, but hand towels stiff with days of use. Air drying is fine by me. European toilets seem to be in greater abundance than when we've traveled here before. But I am quite pleased with myself because I have mastered the squat toilet without peeing on my feet. (Sheri will understand that one.) A true sign of a seasoned SE Asian traveler!

We've parted ways with Margaret. She was lovely, and we had a lovely time and met some remarkable Dutch expats - doing the good work - involved in political actions to free Tibet and in helping the hilltribe cultures to learn English and preserve their heritage. The straw for me with Margaret was a lively debate on race relations in the US. I cringe any time any conversation is punctuated by statements like "I'm not racist, but they're just so lazy." "Slavery was 200 years ago. They should just get over it." I will not step on my soap box here. But I find it curious that a woman who has limited experience with African Americans and poverty has such strong views. OK. it's not curious. It's typical. And it breaks my heart that when I am so impassioned that I have difficulty articulating what I have witnessed - the failure of public education, the ongoing segregation of neighborhoods, and the fact that schools are funded by public tax dollars. So, if you're poor - your options are limited, and your education is crap. Anyone ignorant enough to argue that racism is dead in America isn't paying attention.

OK. So this blog is supposed to be about our SE Asian adventures. I'll return to that. Francis has been increasingly pleased with the food choices. We found a lovely Italian restaurant in Chaing Rai - Il Pirata (where we met Margaret). Homemade gnocchi and pesto that he grows himself. And wine. Sweet wine. Our terrible Indian food experience was erased by Arabia Restaurant where the curry burned my lips for 3o minutes after the meal. Tonight we'll dine at Aum - a veggie place with Khao Soi that I've been dreaming about for days.

I'll try to get more photos posted soon. We have some curious shots of bizarre art, and an elephant fountain for my dearest Aery Fairy. Lots of love to all of you!

Tea with Royalty

2007-08-25T01:00:00.000-07:00

The hills of Chiang Rai province almost put Seattle to shame. It was a rainy, foggy day, so the photos are not as brilliant as I would like for them to be.

The house on the left is Ben Guest House in Chiang Rai. We loved it at first. Until Patrick, the proprietor, turned a bit surly. We suspect he was mad that we obtained "free" trekking with Margaret and did not have to shell out 3,ooo baht for one of his packages. Margaret was kind enough to make some calls and find us a new place to stay.

The house on the right is the guest house on the estate where we had dinner with Margaret and the baroness last night. The baronesses lives 40 minutes north of Chiang Rai, on a lush estate. She's caring for the property as the former owner's son works out the legal details of his father's will. Crazy tale I'll save for some other time. The baroness does indeed have major cajones as she single handedly chased off the mafia who were there to steal the old man's jeep. No worries. This event did not take place while we were enjoying dinner.

Tonight we've been invited to an violin concert put on by the Akha children.

BTW, Sheri, if you had seen the side of Thailand we've seen the last few days I'd just bet you'd change your mind about Thailand being a place where you could live!

Chiang Rai, Margaret, and the Baroness

2007-08-25T00:40:00.001-07:00

Since We've deprived you all of photos on the last posting, I'm backtracking a bit here. The top two shots are from the POW cemetery in Kanchanaburi (workers who died building the Bridge on the River Kwai). I was most intrigued by Phoebe's marker. She seemed to be the only female in the cemetery, and I wanted to pay special homage to her. We learned that the workers were originally buried right where they died, but with identifying items. So that when the bodies were removed to this proper cemetery, the remains could be identified.

The following photos were taken after we met Margaret, a fellow American and expat from LA. Margaret has been a doll and has scads of stories to tell. We fell in love with her immediately when we learned that she is a founding mother of the Millennium Restaurant in San Francisco.

She took us across to Burma. No worries. We stayed for only about 2 hours - long enough to get our passports stamped and get the heck out. It was all rather reminiscent of Nogales, Mexico.

Margaret then drove us up into the mountains. We saw some of the most incredible things. There's Francis and I posing in front of the world's largest gong. We expect it would take 5-6 strong people just to lift the gong and ring the bell.

The children are Akhi children. Not so keen on being on film, but they agreed nonetheless. I was not so keen to see them not in school.

I'll get to the baroness in a minute.

The folks along the way

2007-08-17T23:52:00.000-07:00

Sorry, peeps, no photos on this posting. I've yet to find an internet cafe in Chiang Mai that will permit me to borrow their card reader. The other Westerners around are also being stingy and not terribly helpful. Fortunately the stingy and unhelpful behavior is by far the exception to the norm.

We've actually met some incredibly nice folks along the way. We bussed it back to Ayutthaya from Kanchanaburi, meeting a lovely Frenchman who was grateful for our assistance in navigating the public bus system. He's had an unfortunate time on his holiday. His laptop was stolen in Cambodia, money also taken from his room. He fell on the sidewalk in Kanchanaburi, banging up his hands and face. Fortunately he didn't suffer any broken bones. He was a comfort to us after Francis fell disembarking from the bus. No worries. Francis is quite alright. He suffered some gnarly bruises and a wounded ego, but other than that he's just fine as evidenced by his raging appetite and penchant for strolling the city for hours in the blazing sun of the afternoons.

My love is such an even tempered guy. Up until now I could only count two things that ever bent him out of shape - moving insanely heavy furniture and when food sticks to the pan. Now I have one more thing to add - bad meals in SE Asia. We ventured out for some Indian food last night. It was tasteless and uninspired, and I suspect it may have originated from a can. The palak paneer was nothing more than strained spinach, and the aloo mateer was nothing more than strained potatoes with a few errant peas. The veggie pakoras were hush puppies masquerading as pakoras. Francis has no tolerance for bad food in Thailand. There is simply no excuse when the ingredients are so fresh and inexpensive. Next time we'll heed the wisdom of the Lonely Planet.

We spent 11 hours on a train to get to Chaing Mai. It was by far one of the best experiences we've had so far. The scenery was unbelievable - lush jungle breaking away in the valleys to reveal small towns that time forgot. The conductor was exceptionally kind. An elderly man had commandeered our assigned seats. Rather than ask him to move, the conductor merely showed us to different seats. The Thais have a such a profound respect for their aging. At one point the conductor came out, sat across from the elderly man and massaged his legs with tiger balm. It was the sweetest of gestures and unlike anything I could imagine seeing in the States.

The conductor was also lovely and kind to me. He allowed me to smoke in the rear of the train in his little conductor's room. At night, the train porter turned on the lights for me so that I could see inside the deep cave-tunnels as we rushed through. My awe and gratitude seemed to inspire in him a certain gratitude.

We'll stay in Chiang Mai through Tuesday morning. Then we head north to Chiang Rai.

Tigers, Monkeys, and McFran

2007-08-14T00:21:00.000-07:00

The Monkey Temple sounded like such a good idea. As you can see from the photo, they're actually rather evil little creatures (reminiscent of the gremlins). We took a train to Lop Buri (Monkey Town) for the whopping sum of 39 cents. We didn't stay long at the Monkey Temple as it became very clear very early that the monkeys were in charge and we weren't much more than reluctant guests being tolerated at best. After the second monkey jumped onto our friend, Sheri's, back - we'd all had quite enough.

So, we decided that we needed a little McFran to cheer us up! The Thais were perfectly nonplussed and barely raised an eyebrow. Only the other farangs stared - startled and unsettled.

Unable to leave well enough alone - we took a tour of Tiger Temple. Sounds brilliant, right! I found the whole experience rather frightening - especially after being forced to sign a release of liability waiver. The monks would not accept any responsibility if we were mauled. Fran was brave enough to pet the filthy creatures. I, however, adamantly shook my head no each time I was encouraged to sit a little closer. The trace of a smile on my face is nothing more than a fearful grimace.

We have one final night in Kanchanburi, home to the Bridge on the River Kwai. Tomorrow it's back to Ayutthaya so that we can get the third class train to Chang Mai. We've truly enjoyed our time in this little town. The veg food has been out of this world, and Francis has been able to stick to only 3 meal intervals as he generally gets to finish my meals as well.

Bye Bye Bangkok

2007-08-08T04:14:00.000-07:00

For our last day in Bangkok we visited the Jim Thompson House. Francis fell in love with the decor and is musing about divesting of our current possessions to redo the Y-2 crib Jim Thompson-Thai style.

After some mango and sticky rice and street pad thai we waddled over to see a lady-boy show at the Mambo. The Mambo retains 2 gorgeous lady-boys, a dozen mediocre ones, and a handful of simple queens to play the "boy" parts. The show was geared primarily for a Japanese audience. However, we did get a little taste of Destiny's Child. (I was not ready for that jelly.)

We're thrilled to be in Ayuthaya. The lodging is just $9/night and meals are running about $6 for the two of us. The rain is keeping us in, but I can't complain about having the time to read and write and surf the nets to check out what my li'l LiLo is up to lately.

One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble

2007-08-06T20:05:00.000-07:00

We apologize for the lack of photos on this post. This silly monkey forgot the USB cord and the memory card for the digi-cam. We'll be up and running with the pictures soon enough.

We've found Bangkok a good bit more spendy than our last two trips, so we're heading out of town tomorrow. We did splurge on a meal at Cabbages & Condoms, one of our fave Thai restaurants in town. I treated myself to a little Chardonnay - to the tune of $7USD for a 4 oz. pour. (I suppose Ames best develop a taste for Singha beer.)

We've spent the last two days exploring the city with the lovely Sheri Bair. Thank goddess she was here to school us on the use of the Sky Train.

We'll have more tales to tell as we head north. Hugs and kisses all the way around!

Welcome

2007-07-30T09:13:00.000-07:00

Hi and welcome to the travel blog of Francis Morgan and Amy Crawford. We hope to document our impending trip to Thailand, Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia on this spot for all who are interested. Hopefully the site will be updated frequently as internet cafes tend to be air-conditioned and have coffee. If we can figure out the technology, we will also be uploading pictures from the journey. Til' the next....fm.