For Future Reference

In accordance with the title, this blog was intended to last me through the summer I spent in Thailand--and beyond, as things seemed to turned out. However, future travels are in the making and I have grown to like this blogging thing and will thus be continuing to post. You may consider Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained a sort of sequel to this; it will not be dependent on the time (summer) or place (Thailand), but can go with me wherever the wind may blow...

[I would also like to add that although I am not any kind of professional, I have in the past sold photographs and would like to continue to do so. Because of size restrictions on the blog, I have had to limit the size of all photographs to one-third of their actual resolution, and when selling would be able to do so at full size. If you are interested in anything that you have seen on the site, please contact me.]

All my best and I hope to see you at Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained.

India: Calcutta to Delhi

Before I left for India, I received an e-mail from Amy and Chelsea warning me not to bring my laptop with me as it would be difficult—not to mention dangerous—to travel with, particularly in a country like India. While many people may not think twice about a separation such as this, I am sorry to say that I don’t think I’ve spent more than a day apart from my computer since I bought it over a year ago. It’s pretty incredible that something—anything, really—can become so consuming that the thought of being separated from it for just 10 days can seem bewildering…sad, really.

What I’m getting at is that without the computer (which is how I write entries before I get online to post on the blog—these suckers do take some time to create, after all) I was also without my familiar mode of writing and editing. Fortunately for you, dear readers, I was clever enough to keep a journal of the time I spent in India; yes, old-fashioned pen and paper, who’d have thought the day would come! Obviously, I still had to invest the time to transcribe, edit, and because I care, break up the text into chapters to make it easier for those of you who don't have the endurance to sit through the whole post. It’s okay, I don’t blame you, it's a long one. 

You will have to forgive the delay, as it has been difficult to find time to put it all together. It turned out that being home isn't quite as fancy-free as I imagined it. I have had to catch up on everything I neglected by leaving for the summer, which turned out to be a lot. 

I hope it's been worth the wait...

The Beginning of It All
I awake this morning to a man walking up and down the halls of the train chanting:
“Chai? Coffee? Chai? Coffee?”
No, I don’t want chai or coffee. I was asleep, thank you.

Last night we boarded a 10:00 sleeper train from the Howrah Station in Calcutta, destination: Muzaffapur. What is in Muzaffapur, you ask? Nothing as far as we’re concerned, besides of course, our connection to the Nepali border. Yes, much to our surprise, we’re going to Nepal. It wasn’t easy, but with Amy and Chelsea’s India-know-how (they’ve been living in Calcutta the last three weeks—which is why it was so important that we leave as soon as possible) and my enthusiasm for this trip—we managed to weasel our way onto the train, barely.

I’m getting ahead of myself. On Thursday (the 24th), I packed my bags to leave Thailand, only returning once more to pick up my luggage and fly back to the states. However, that afternoon, in the midst of packing my rucksack, I became very ill; I couldn’t stay hydrated, which in turn gave way to dizzy spells and even more nausea. I had been planning this trip for over a month, but at about 2:00 that afternoon, I felt so awful that I was convinced there was no way I could get on the bus to Bangkok that night.

Fortunately, I took a packet of powder, diluted in water, intended to rehydrate. Shortly thereafter, I started to feel a bit better (although not quite back to normal), and I boarded the bus to Bangkok, arriving as scheduled at 6:30 am. From there I took a cab to the new airport, checked my bag and proceeded to the bathroom where I was able to throw up the last of what had gotten to my poor, sick stomach so badly the day before. Afterwards, I felt surprisingly well and found my way to the gate, past Gucci, Dior, and Channel.

The Calcutta Airport…there isn’t much to say about the Calcutta Airport, particularly passing through the new Bangkok airport; But after all the ups and downs of the last day, meeting up with friends has never felt so good: Chelsea and Amy were waiting for me at Arrivals, just as promised. From the airport, we took a cab to town and for the next few overwhelming hours attempted to nail down an itinerary for the next week. We decided to go to Nepal, which before had only been something we’d discussed without really thinking it would actually happen. The next hurdle, however, was to get there.

After countless inquiries as to buses, trains, and planes at numerous travel agencies and train stations, we booked our tickets, excited and relieved.

The Big Mistake
Upon arrival in Muzaffapur, we immediately drew a mob of Indians around us, just staring and smiling—which would have been rather stressful if it were not for one of the kind men we rode the train with. All four of us clambered off the train with our luggage and since we had told him our plans during the train ride, he offered to help us find a means of doing it. Unfortunately for us, he was running late for a meeting in town (the train suffered two ours of electrical troubes during the night, inevitably putting us behind schedule), and had to leave too soon. Long story short, we ended up getting ripped off by some guy who seemed like he owned all the jeeps in town and hired out drivers for an unfair price (without waivering).

We drove through the northern country-sides of India, from Muzaffapur to Raxuale. The fields were the greenest I’ve ever seen, and were made even more beautiful by the flashes of color sprinkled throughout—women’s saris who were working in the fields.


Along the side of the road, we saw hundreds of what we later learned are called, “babas”: men dressed (not in uniform) but monochrome orange. These men are the Hindu equivalent of monks. They walk barefoot to and from the Ganges River in order to collect water to bring back to be holy water at the temples in their hometown; sometimes the distance is hundreds of miles.

By the time we arrived at the border, it was about 6:45, the sun had set and our excitement had quickly turned to anxiety. Not only did the border close at 7:00, but we didn’t know where were going, our driver still didn’t understand us, and we couldn’t see anything through the darkness besides the dust in the headlights. Curious locals were continuously approaching our car, few of whom spoke English, but no less attempting to help. We found our way to the Immigration Office—like none we’d ever been to before. It was a small, dark porch, illuminated by a single bulb they screwed in upon our arrival, tucked away in a row of internet café’s and dreadful-looking hostels.

It was only a few moments later that even the legitimacy of this Immigration Office did not seem to matter. We had greater problems than that: it was brought to our attention that my India visa was a single entry, not multiple. As we had not discussed it very seriously until my arrival in India, it did not occur to me that the re-entry status would be of any importance and I had not even glanced at it since I received it at the Indian Consulate in Chiang Mai. This meant that once I entered Nepal, I would not be granted re-entry to India, unless of course, I were to re-apply for a second visa at the Indian Consulate in Kathmandu—and have it expedited ($$$) in order to make it to India in time to complete the intended itinerary, if at all.

What a nightmare, all due to a simple oversight by yours truly. But I learned my lesson and from now on will make sure to always check the re-entry status of my visas—never thought I’d say that! At this point, however, we had to make some decisions—quickly.

Worst. Night. Ever.

It was a rather hairy situation, as you can imagine. This was a small, poor town where no one really spoke English and there didn’t seem to be any kind of rules at all. It was even further daunting to read in our Lonely Planet that this town was not a safe place to spend much time in—especially to spend the night. We decided we needed to get out of Raxuale as soon as possible, but by what means we had no idea. We didn’t have very many options, but as we’d all learned at this point, anything goes—for the right price, that is. At this point, we’d paid the jeep driver from Muzaffapur and he’d left; so we had a couple rickshaw drivers take us and our rucksacks to the nearest travel agency. We contracted a jeep to take us to Varanasi, where we would resume the itinerary we’d planned a couple days earlier.

I will spare you the most gruesome details of this evening and proceed to tell you about the ride: Never in my life have I imagined there would be so many potholes of such magnitude anywhere in the world. Words can absolutely not do justice to these craters.

The idea of hiring a driver from Raxuale to Varanasi through the night was to maximize our time—sleep as we traveled. We had found this to be the most efficient way to see and do as much as possible (and cheapest, as we wouldn’t have to pay for a hostel on the nights we were in transit). At this point in the trip, we were exhausted and somehow consumed by sleep—or should I say, the desire to sleep. You may recall that the two nights prior to this had both been spent in transit (the first on a bus from Chiang Mai to Bangkok and the second on a train from Calcutta to Muzaffapur). But we weren’t the only ones in need of sleep: our driver had been called on late notice and he too was very tired. In response to this, we decided to take turns sitting in the front seat keeping an eye on him.

That was the idea, anyway.

Amy and I pretty much spent the entire night in the backseat and Chelsea was in the front, hitting our driver every time his blinks lasted a little longer than she was comfortable with. Thank goodness for Chelsea, because we may not have made it to Varanasi without her. As for Amy and I, we somehow managed to find sleep in the torture that was that evening. It was as if we had been put into a matchbox and were being shaken just absolutely silly. The whole damn night. Every time I woke up I found that I was being bounced around as if I weighed absolutely nothing, rarely even touching the car seat. Then I would look over at Amy and the same thing was happening to her, but she was asleep, and it was just the most ridiculous sight. How could someone possibly be asleep when being rattled about so much? 

Later we discussed it and came to two conclusions. The first was something that one of us had heard: when a human is going through something so terrible, the body makes itself fall asleep in order to escape from it. The second is that we unknowingly hit our heads on something and consequently passed out. Which in my opinion, is the liklihood.

The morning after: one of many moments of the trip that I was glad to be the one behind the lens.

Veranassi and the Ganges

Somehow, against the odds, we arrived safely in Varanasi at about 9:30 the next morning. Despite the sleep deprivation, I have to admit that my expectations for that trip were rather exceeded. Because our driver didn’t know the city (or English), we paid him at the city limits and sent him on his way, which hopefully was to a hotel (we tipped enough with the thought in mind that he really needed to sleep before making the 12-hour drive back). From there, we took a rickshaw to the intended hostel. It wasn’t until later that afternoon that we made the discovery that we had accidentally paid the driver twice: Amy had paid him once out on the road, and I paid him a second time when he helped me in with my bags, not realizing that Amy already had. Not only did he not mention the fact that he’d already been paid, but he had the nerve to ask for a larger tip! 

We freshened up and I went out to explore the town and our sight-seeing options while Amy and Chelsea took a nap, trying to catch up from the previous night’s deficit. No sooner did I step out of the hostel was I confronted by a small Indian boy whose English was impeccable. He introduced himself as Bablo and asked if he could help me find anything. I told him I was more or less just wandering around, but was eventually hoping to find a travel agency. He offered to show me to one (I knew this trick pretty well by now: he would receive commission at said agency for bringing a foreigner), but he was nice and I didn’t mind him helping, so I said, “lead the way.”

Along the way, he pointed out different temples, explaining their history and modern significance in Varanasi. By the time I had to meet the girls, we hadn’t made it to the travel agency, but I had found something even better: a personal tour guide.

He waited for us to have lunch and then showed us down to the first ghat. The ghats are the steps lining the town of Varanasi, leading down to the Ganges River. The town is set high above the river and these steps are the way of accessing it. Different ghats, each with its own name, are formed between buildings, what would otherwise be streets or alleys.

That evening, Bablo took us around the town…we saw so much in just a few hours it all seemed like a dream afterwards. First we went to a Hindu temple, which was quite different from the Buddhist temples we had all grown to be so familiar with. We ended up being asked to leave seeing as we are clearly not Hindu and it was considered disrespectful for tourists to have access to such a holy place. Thus, I have no photos.

Bablo apologized and we continued onto a terrace overlooking the Ganges and the Crematory. It was explained to us that the wealthier families who could afford it would have their loved ones cremated electrically within the building in the left of the photo below. Those who could not afford it would have their loved ones cremated in fires at the riverside. From the terrace, we could see the bodies being undressed and burned at the riverside, and may I add, at an unnerving proximity.

These photos were taken from an adjacent ghat, but we were on a terrace behind the Crematorium (about where the smoke is blowing).

The Ganges River is thought of as the Mother of Hinduism and is considered extremely sacred. Hindus from all reaches will come to Varanasi to be blessed by the river water, either by splashing it on themselves from the steps of the ghats, or simply bathing in this water.

It is thought to bring life into the world and in turn, take it (hence, the appropriate locations for blessed cremations). It is worshiped by Hindus and personified as a Devi goddess, who holds an important place in the Hindu religion. Hindu belief holds that bathing in the river (especially on certain occasions) causes the forgiveness of sins and helps attain salvation. Many people believe that this will come from bathing in the Ganga at any time. It is believed that drinking water from the Ganga with one's last breath will take the soul to heaven.




We stayed at the ghats for some time, getting to know the locals.




As dusk began to pass over Varanasi, Bablo led us to another larger temple complex where they were holding a night festival, overwhelming to all the senses. He thought it was best that we put our cameras away since we were in such a tight crowd, but I couldn't help myself when I saw this quaint little carousel.

Unfortunately for me, I fell sick again in the middle of the night. Unable to see any more sights, I tried to rehydrate as best I could in order to leave for Agra that evening. With enough salt, soda and water, I managed to do so and we were off.

Much to our dismay, the train was full and we had the option to buy tickets for the next train (the next night) or buy general tickets. Well, of course we bought the general tickets! As we saw it, there was no time to spend another day, especially as we had to make it to Delhi by the 1st (Chelsea and Amy had scheduled a red-eye flight to Kathmandu that morning). So, we found our platform and boarded. Among ourselves, we decided that ‘general ticket’ meant that you chose your seat as you got on the train, instead of being assigned a number.

We chose our seats and were enjoying the countryside sunset until (about an hour and a half outside of Varanasi), the man in charge of seating in the car we happened to choose, happened to come around checking tickets.

Well. What happened next took a lot of time and a lot of translating. As it turned out, our assumptions as to the meaning of ‘general ticket’ were incorrect. Go figure. We were told that a general ticket is the first thing you buy before speaking with the seating manager, who will try to find you a seat, but with no guarantee. Basically, if the seating manager didn’t find you a seat, you were out the $4 spent for the ‘general ticket.’ Don’t worry if this doesn’t make sense to you, it didn’t make sense to us either—particularly in Hindi.

Inadvertently , there were no seats available.

So we just stayed on the train, and oh, what do you know, a few seats opened up. In other words, we had just been given a really hard time for not knowing what we were doing, without any good reason behind it, other than to give foreigners hell. We realized afterwards that while we had weaseled our way on to the train without proper tickets, it was for the best because if we hadn’t, we wouldn’t have been on that train at all!

We paid the difference in our tickets and woke up the next morning to find ourselves in Agra.

Here is a video I found on YouTube that captures Varanasi almost to a T: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zFPzyMNiHc0

Agra, the Taj and Other Such Things

No sooner did we get off the train that we found our driver, Saleem.

Today was Chelsea’s birthday and we had previously discussed staying in a nice place for the special occasion. At the time, however, we didn’t realize that we would be in Agra. The only problem with being in Agra and staying in a higher end hotel (instead of the lower-end to mid-range hostels we tend to preference) is that Agra is a city for two types of travelers. Only two: the elite, and backpackers. Which makes sense…these are the only two kinds of people who would travel to such reaches of the globe to see such a spectacle.

That meant that we were either stuck in a hostel, paying what we’re accustomed to, or staying in a really nice place, but completely splurging.

We splurged. And it was worth it.

We did get him to go down on the price, however. In fact, the price was almost cut in half, and it ended up being about $30 each, which, coincidentally is what you’ll pay for a hostel in the U.S. (if not more).

We stopped at a coffee shop and just having gained a sense of humor about Jeep Night (as we dubbed it), we regaled each other with our own perspectives and experiences of that night. We hadn’t discussed it until then. I think we were all still in shock that that had actually happened to us. Comforted by something familiar (in the form of a Western coffee shop), we were ready to begin our day…starting with a birthday cake for Chelsea…and beer.

Afterwards, Saleem drove us around town showing us all kinds of things like marble inlay factories where we learned how they inlayed the stonework details into the marble of the Taj Mahal. Then at the end of the day, we went to see the sunset across the river from the Taj.

There was a Pizza Hut near our hotel, so we decided to get dinner there, and boy, do they care about birthdays! Towards the end of our meal, a German fellow came over to us and asked Chelsea what all the fuss was about, and she explained it was her birthday.

When he left, Chelsea whispers over her salad, “I think he thought I was famous.” And truth be told, he probably did. That’s not exactly where I imagine a famous person having dinner, but hey, it’s India.

We woke up the next morning at about 5:15 so we could meet Saleem at 5:45 outside our hotel. Why so early? We went to see sunrise at the Taj. Security at this place is ridiculous, much more ridiculous than at any airport I’ve ever had to pass through. I wanted to do a time lapse, but alas, no tripods. When going through our bags, the woman pulled out a novel that Amy had been carrying around, and told her, among other things she wasn’t allowed to do inside the premises, was that she was “not allowed to read in there.”

Once we were all Taj’d out, we went back to take a cat nap and get ready for the day properly. Saleem met us to take us to different historical sites around town, like the Red Fort, named such for its extensive use of red sandstone (as well as white marble--this is the home of the Taj Mahal, afterall).

And what is called the Baby Taj, mirroring the Taj Mahal from across the river:

The Yamuna River (and it's floaters):

And an old mausoleum in the old city of Agra:

After a full day of sight-seeing, we were beat, but I found it in me to go out once more; I wanted to take a time-lapse of the Taj at sunset. Unfortunately, I don't know how to post it, so you'll just have to ask if you want to see it.

We went to gather our things and took an 8 o'clock train to Delhi. 

A Few Days in Delhi

Upon arrival in Delhi, we found a rickshaw to drive us to our humble abode for the evening: Rak International. As it turned out, the rickshaws not only had meters (which, anywhere else we were lucky to find in taxis), but they had an extra charge for driving at night. (Even after three days I never understood this—I think it was just a ploy.) Regardless, we were happy to find one for 90 rupees and soon thereafter arrived at the hostel—and bed for the night.

The next morning, we went shopping. It turned out that I hadn't lost the skill I was once so inclined towards; I made quite the comeback. Among my purchases, the largest (and most precious) were the blankets I bought, three of them. I neglected to mention one that I bought in Agra, so here are all three:

Chelsea and Amy left early the next morning for Kathmandu. I hired a driver to take me to all the sites I had previously highlighted throughout the Delhi section of the Lonely Planet that Chelsea and Amy had left for me. It was all a whirlwind, and unfortunately I had forgotten to charge my camera before the girls left, because with them, they took their adapter; all that means I only have photos of the Lotus Temple. 

Before taking me to the airport on the second day, we dropped by the movies so I could see a Bollywood film, as I'd heard so much about them. It was all in Hindi, but the plot was so simple that I could follow without needing to understand the language. Although, they did slip in English phrases every once in a while, which added quite the comic element for me. I had to leave at intermission (Bollywood films are often 3-3.5 hrs long) in order to go pick up my rucksack and head to the airport. 

And just as quickly as it began, the trip was over. This trip to India was probably one of my favorite parts of this summer. There were more ups and downs than I could count on both hands, and it was--by a longshot--the most challenging of all the trips I took this summer, but it was worth every moment of it. It was a good introduction to the country, and I look forward to next time, whenever that may be.

India, Safe and Sound

Well, I've made it to India, and what an experience it's been.
This quick post is just to let my readers know I'm still alive and that a new, LONG post will be coming to you soon, straight from the Seoul Airport. It's going to be a long one (so I'll write it in chapters), be prepared.

Life of an Island-Hopper

I am writing you from a small café in the heart of Bangkok—Khao San Road, the Thai hub of everything farang—vendors selling everything from t-shirts and hammocks to pad thai and bus tickets. It wasn’t easy, but in the midst of this Bangkok madness, we finally booked our tickets back up to Chiang Mai for this evening. Our recent trip to the islands has certainly put us at ease and life has moved much slower and we thus would not be in any hurry to get anywhere, but Amy has school tomorrow and even catching a bus this evening gets us home at 6AM at the very earliest. As relaxed as we have been, it has been an absolute whirlwind of planes, trains and automobiles that is all but over. I have never taken so many different forms of transportation in such a short period of time. But I’m getting ahead of myself, as this post is about the islands not the journeys spent to get there and back. However, this is proof that if you really want to see some of the most remote reaches of this earth, it’s going to cost you—if not financially, then certainly in comfort.

We set out last Thursday, spent the night on the bus and arrived in Bangkok at 5:30AM—in plenty of time to catch the plane to Phuket Island. We hurried to the airport (better safe than sorry) and went to check our bags, only to discover that our flight had been canceled and the reason that we were not alerted to this was because we booked our flights through a travel agency in Chiang Mai that failed to obtain our contact information (lesson learned). They were able to put us on the next flight, however—6 hours later.

Once we arrived on Phuket Island that evening, we took a bus down to Kata Beach where we stayed for 3 nights. The first day was sunny and clear, only raining for 5 or 10 minutes at a time, during which time we hid our belongings from the rain and ran into the bay to keep warm.


We were the only two people on this beach that were not Japanese.
How do I know they were all Japanese, you ask? Trust me, you can tell.



The second day’s weather, however, was not nearly as fortunate. We woke up to rain that refused to stop (this is monsoon season, after all…at least we knew what we were getting ourselves into at the beginning), so we had lunch at a local pizzeria and went to the beach—thinking we could get away with the same strategy as the day before—swimming when in rained and sun-bathing when it cleared. But luck was not on our side and we ended up huddling under our umbrella, shivering in our towels, waiting and hoping that the clouds would clear. Even the man who took our 100BHT($3US) admission fee felt so bad for us that he gave us a refund in full, which was actually pretty cool.


The next morning we got up at the break of dawn to taxi our way over to Phuket Town where we caught an 8:30 boat to Ko Phi Phi (Phi Phi Island). The boat-ride made nearly everyone sick as the bad weather had made for some sizable waves. Needless to say, we were happy to arrive—even if it was raining. Ko Phi Phi is a very small island; there are no vehicles, and thus, no proper streets—only cobblestone walking paths lined with more restaurants, travel agencies and vendors than you can shake a stick at. We found a bungalow and by the time we’d checked in, changed into our suits and had a very late breakfast, the skies had cleared and the beaches were as lovely as a postcard.



The next day we found our way onto a day-long boat tour which took us around both Ko Phi Phi Yai and Ko Phi Phi Nao, stopping at the best coral reefs for snorkeling. In preparation for this trip, we searched the island for a reasonably-priced underwater camera, and came up with nothing. As we discovered quite quickly, the thing about small islands that cater to “wealthy” tourists is that they have formed some kind of union where no one sells anything for less than someone else. This way, there is no competition and everyone wins—everyone except for us, that is.

Because I just can’t resist any kind of photo-op and Amy is very agreeable, we broke down and split the cost of a whopping $12 disposable camera. This may not sound so ridiculous, but when you haven’t been paying more than 60 cents a meal all summer, seeing a price like that can be rather stupefying. Just to illustrate, the 8-hour tour cost less than the 40 exp. camera.

While the photos are certainly not of amazing quality, they do begin to paint a picture.

It is a disposable, after all. 

When it began raining at the first coral reef we stopped at, we thought that it was all over, but as it turned out, the clouds cleared and that was the only drop of rain we saw all day. The tour was perfect. We stopped at three different coral reefs to snorkel and then stopped at an uninhabited island for lunch.



After sun-bathing a bit there, we moved on to a few more reefs and Monkey Bay.



Monkey Bay was actually a little scary, and I'll tell you why:

Our boat driver had saved watermelon rinds from lunch and broke bits off for all of us to feed the monkeys. The monkeys all seemed well-mannered and more or less behaved as they politely took the rinds from our hands and ate away. After a while another boat pulled up and a couple girls sat on the beach with their backs turned to the monkeys. 

Soon, we all turned at the sound of screeching monkeys and saw that one was running to attack one of the girls. She made it away with two bites, one on her upper thigh and another on her hip. After seeing this, we hurried to our boat, afraid that the same might happen to us if we overstayed our welcome. The boat that the girl was on tagged along ours for a bit longer, until it became clear to everyone that she really needed to see a doctor.

Just to clarify, this photo was taken before the monkey attack. 

Also saved from lunch were bread crumbs and pineapple hearts, which our boat driver threw into the water as we were all swimming up at one of the reefs. The best part about this was not caught in the photo: two Danes were caught in the midst of this as they swam up to the boat. I don't know if they were being tickled or just loved it so much, but you could hear their muffled, jolly chuckles underwater through their snorkle tubes. It was fantastic.


And then there was the grand finale: Maya Bay. It took quite a bit of work (and consequently, a fair share of scrapes and bruises), but I think we all agreed that it was well worth it. Maya Bay is where the movie The Beach was filmed, and while we were disappointed to discover that it was not a lagoon surrounded on all sides by rock (it was photoshopped in the movie), it was no less strikingly beautiful, true perfection. 

In an effort to keep the beach from being littered by unseenly boats, we were dropped off in an adjacent bay on the same island. We swam up to a coral shore, brutally thrown against the rocks with each passing wave. The only hope of making it in to the opening in the rocks was a taught rope intended to help us keep our balance against the waves.

Without it, we didn’t have a chance in hell, and with it we were only mildly injured. Once through the opening, we hiked to the other side of the island, accompanied—and amused—by a Florentine and his failing attempts at English (ie. “frog” instead of “rock” and “hello” instead of “goodbye”). At last we arrived and more beautiful than in the film, it was certainly a sight for sore eyes (and feet)!

Unfortunately, because we had to swim our way, the only means of taking a photo here was with the dinky disposable. Drat.


The next morning we caught the same nauseating boat back to Phuket and spent the afternoon and evening at a ritzy--and yet somehow cheap--hotel. We almost didn’t stay, but as we stood at the reception desk, over Amy’s shoulder I caught sight of a framed photo of the hotel owners (making the ever-popular two-finger peace sign—you know what I’m talking about) posing with none other than Ricky Martin.

How could I say no?

The next morning we hailed a cab to the Phuket airport where we caught a morning flight to Bangkok, were I sit writing to you now. A marvelous trip, we could only have wished that the weather had held out longer; but, with a little imagination we knew exactly how beautiful all the beaches really were.



Besides, once you’ve seen one white-sand-crystal-clear-water-beach-surrounded-by-astounding-vegetated-cliffs, you’ve seen them all, right?

So long for now, friends.
More news from India next week!

Lots of Lasts

Last Sunday Market.
Last day of school.
Last day in Chiang Mai for a while.

While I still have a few more weeks in Asia, yesterday was the last Sunday that I'll be spending in Chiang Mai. There isn't really anything too thrilling about Sundays (as we usually spend them lounging around the pool) , except for the Sunday Market.
The Sunday Market is a weekly tradition that has gone on for who knows how many years. Photographers, artisans, sculptors, jewelery-makers, musicians, and clothing and food vendors line the sidewalks of the Old City for eight blocks in each direction. Every week that we have been in town we have gone, with the intention to buy, or just look. All the vendors have wonderful (or delicious) items and all are willing to bargain on the price; the best part is that it's mostly Thais who attend (not farang). I will miss this little tradition as it's been one of my favorite things to do in Chiang Mai.

Somehow it has worked out that today is my last day of school. It was supposed to be the 24th, but the rest of this week is holiday because it is the Buddhist Lent and next week is testing, so they don't need me to come in for classes. I just spoke with the headmaster and one else realized it was my last, either. Since it wasn't brought to anyone's attention until this afternoon, they've scheduled a farewell ceremony for me on the 23th (more on that later).

Amy Rose and I are headed for the islands. As I've said, this week is Buddhist Lent, and we've taken that as an excuse to take a vacation (which isn't to say I'm not currently on vacation!) and have decided to fly down to Phuket, the largest island in the south. We're not sure where we'll go, but I think it's safe to say we're going to have ourselves a good time!
We leave for Bangkok tonight--and much like the trip to Siem Reap--will arrive in the morning, (hopefully) just in time for our flight to Phuket. From Phuket we'll either find a place to stay or catch a boat to another island. Currently, however, we are preparing for the night-long bus ride--we've found that a sleeping pill or two makes this journey much more enjoyable. What isn't enjoyable, though, is the fact that I left my travel pillow somewhere in Cambodia (I don't even know where!) so I guess Amy's shoulder will just have to do.

I'll be taking my laptop with me so I'll update (with photos) from the islands.
Loh-gorn (good-bye) for now!