Cambrodia

     We bid Christopher adieu over a romantic candlelit dinner in a French restaurant in Vientiane, the capital of Laos. Only two bros of the original four remained. Andrew and Jared were off to Cambrodia.
     We booked a last minute flight to Siem Reap on Lao Airways, the airline that Justin decided not to fly due to its dodgy safety record. Our fears were allayed when our in flight breakfast box was emblazoned with, "You are safe with us!" Our fears were reinstated, however, when we touched down in a city that was most definitely not Siem Reap. Although Lao Airways safety record has improved from the days of what Ting called, "Chinese-made knockoff Soviet turboprops," their aviation practices remain quixotic, such as flying passengers to the border town of Pakse to disembark, go through immigration, and then re-board the plane to points south.

     After we arrived in Siem Reap, we went straight to Ankgor Wat, a stunning temple complex that many Khmers described as the "heart and soul of Cambodia." You may know it, however, from its prominence in Lara Croft: Tomb Raider (2000).
     The temples were engraved with everything from epic battles for the control of empires to macaques engaged in unorthodox, number-based sex positions (see below). The grand scope of the temples was impressive, but the details really amazed us.
     After Siem Reap, our next stop was Battambang, Cambodia's 2nd biggest city. Despite its name, it was nothing like Tony's hangout in The Sopranos.* The best part of our trip to The 'Bang was the journey -- an 8 hour boat ride through Evergladesque swampland and water-swelled rainy season riverbeds. We met two gorgeous German doctors with whom we spent the rest of our day.
     Near the massive lake of Tonle Sap we passed many floating villages. Some houses floated on wooden rafts, and some stood high above the swamp on stilts. Families dined together or rested on hammocks strung under their houses. Tourists are still something of an oddity in this undeveloped region of Cambodia, and we got many friendly smiles and waves as our boat plied the serpentine waterway. We stopped at one of the floating villages for lunch, where the toilets were holes in the floorboards opening into the water directly below. Perfect place for a swim!

     The main tourist attraction in Battambang is the Bamboo Train, which was constructed from--obviously--wood and iron. Its non-eponymous nomenclature intrigued us. The Bamboo Train's design features included a go-kart engine and one rickety track...for both directions. If we were way cooler than mere tourists, we would have been Indiana Jones in the Temple of Doom.
     Because of the single track, whenever we encountered an inbound train, we had to stop, disassemble the cart, and remove it from the track by hand. Quite an inconvenience, but still more efficient than Amtrak. Zing!
     We used this stop-and-go mode of transport to travel a few kilometers to a small nearby village, where we stopped for a while to rest and be bombarded by villagers selling various goods and services. Jared made friends with a rambunctious gang of 8-year olds, who whisked him away to show him the village brick factory, as well as their impressive sports and martial arts skills. The friendship quickly went sour when they demanded U.S. currency for their tutelage and Jared refused.       Once the 8-year olds accepted this, they ignored us and contented themselves with beating each other up on the train tracks.
     That evening we attended a circus we'd heard a lot about. Produced by a local NGO to create opportunities for impoverished kids, this circus featured music and acrobatics that were quite impressive and entertaining and brought us to our feet in applause time and again until the Grand Finale, in which a human tower collapsed, sending an acrobat headfirst into the ground. His compatriots dragged his limp, unconscious body offstage. When they came out for an encore, the fallen one was missing and we clapped awkwardly until the lights came on.
     The German doctors tended to the boy, fighting for jurisdiction over his care with a pushy Parisian nurse. We stood by, ready to render legal services if necessary. Frauline doktors reported that he was OK and smiling.

     Brief interlude: as we write this entry, we are on a bus back to Siem Reap; the onboard entertainment is bull-on-bull fighting. It is one of the most disturbing things we have ever seen. Clarification: it is a video of bull-on-bull fighting. Crowds cheer (on the bus and video) as these massive bovines bash heads at top speed and then brutalize each other with horns.

     Now on to something in fact far more horrible: our first encounter with the history of the Khmer Rouge massacres. Outside Battambang we visited the Killing Cave, where the Khmer Rouge murdered at least 10,000 people in the 1970s. After Pol Pot's regime relocated peasants to this region to disorient and subdue them, it put them to work in unfamiliar fields and villages. The Khmer Rouge identified perceived opponents of the regime and brought them to a converted temple as their final prison. Then, they took prisoners to the top of the Killing Cave, which was an opening high above a cavern that used to be used as an amphitheater for theatrical performances.
     At the mouth of the cave, they shot or macheted the condemned and dumped their bodies into the steep cave. Thousands of skeletons remain there, including skulls with bullet holes. This site was heart wrenching, but even more so when we realized that such locations were common around Cambodia in the 1970s, when more than two million innocent people were killed in a similar manner.

     On that unavoidably depressing note, we are approaching Siem Reap. Jared is about to leave for Boston, and Andrew will continue the journey in Phnom Penh and then Myanmar for two weeks. Maybe he'll even blog for you if you check back...
     Thanks for sharing our trip with us by reading our blog, especially to the one person who is actually reading this (hi mom!).

Ladyboys out.


*Bada-Bing, obvi.

River Monsters of the Mekong

     Vang Vieng is a recently cropped-up tourist haven in central Laos, a few hours outside the capital city of Vientiane. We'd heard many horrible things about this place before we went-- tales of rampant drug use (tsk tsk!) and wildly unsafe river adventures, such as rope swings and cliff jumping with rocky landing sites. Vang Vieng's most popular attraction was known simply as "The Slide of Death."          
     We read some recent articles that documented frequent tourist fatalities: 2011 experienced a height of 26 deaths. Even worse, we'd heard that the only form of culture found in Vang Vieng was reruns of "Friends" from the 1990s, which were played in all the bars and restaurants.
     Obviously, we had to go.

     We found the reality of Vang Vieng somewhat more...survivable. Some of the bars played Family Guy too! But seriously, the river activities were quite navigable with a little old fashioned good judgment (but not too much...), and they were incredibly fun. The Slide of Death is no more. We did lose Justin in Vang Vieng...but it was to a busride to catch his plane, not to a drug-addled death jump into the river.
     Tubing in Vang Vieng is similar to tubing in a lazy river found in Harper's Ferry, West Virginia or Wayne's World in Louisiana, but there is nothing lazy about it is 1000 time better than tubing in the USA. The rushing current flows over submerged rocks and not-so-submereged trees; when passing each bar, tubers are bombarded with a bevy of bottle-and-rope grappling hooks, with eager employees waiting to reel them in. This was incredibly annoying for most bars, until it became absolutely essential when we actually wanted to stop in for a tipple.
     We found a bar that had almost everything we were looking for: a safeish looking rope swing, buckets of mixed drinks (literal plastic beach buckets), spraypaint and stencils for body decoration, and a ragged homemade basketball hoop. The one thing this bar lacked was a single other paying customer. But we had faith. We hoped that our worst fear would not materialize: flotillas of cool, sexy people taking one look at the three losers on the wood platform and then deciding to pass us by in favor of a more popular bar down the river.
     We served as freelance consultants to the bar's marketing department by throwing our own bottle/rope grappling hooks and yelling, "This bar is cool! They have a rope swing!" Somehow, our efforts paid dividends and within a few minutes, the bar was packed with attractive, happy travelers.                  
     We made friends with a tour group and continued down the river with them as the sun began to set. When we eventually parted ways after a great day's fun on the river, we made plans to meet up later that evening at the local hot spot, the aptly named Bucket Bar, where we were eager to nourish the friendships we'd made that day.

     As night fell, however, the demonic party atmosphere of this little town began to overwhelm us, and we descended into madness faster than a drunken Brit going under the fire limbo pole. The river monsters had emerged from the deep, and we managed to repulse our newfound friends. We offened them in the following manners: defending use of American nuclear power in World War Two, executing a "Rumanian Leglock" on one of our new travelmates, and using our typical foul and insensitive American language. That's what you get from hanging out with your high school friends when you're 26.
     The once jaunty tour group abandonned us, averting their eyes. We devoured cheese steaks and banana-Nutella crepes and skulked off into the night.

You down with LPB? Yeah, you know me!

Luang Prabang is a charming town that we loved in north central Laos. Situated at the confluence of the mighty Mekong and Khan rivers, it was the seat of power for ancient Lao empires.

Our first day in Luang Prabang, the first of two guides named Ai (prounounced "eye") ferried us across the mighty Mekong to an abandoned hilltop Buddhist temple that was littered with gigantic decomposing scorpion carcasses.

Back on the mainland, we encountered a group of tipsy Lao gentlemen drinking láo láo whiskey, which is, as far as we can tell, a potent home-brewed rice liquor. The men gestured to us to join them, which at first seemed like a trick, but before long we were all teaching each other words for barnyard animals, dancing to (awful) local pop music, and drinking tiny shots of the Laotian moonshine out of a plastic water bottle, which made the encounter reminiscent of a high school dance. After cocktails and hors d'ouveres--peanuts with lemongrass, bits of pork, and pickled tree bark--our merry band got Lao massages. Andrew's masseuse called him "kopkai" which means gecko. He is still not sure if that was a compliment or not.

From Luang Prabang, we embarked on a two-day trek. The trek began with a boat ride up the Nam Khan, followed by a strenuous hike inland and up a mountain, across rice paddies and thick jungle to a Hmong village. We met many Hmong Hill People, including two boys who had a frog on a string that they had just caught and proudly displayed to us. At first, the frog futilely tried to hop away, but was later subjected to such egregious slapping, dangling, and ground-thumping that its chances for survival were quickly erased.

Our trek guide was also named Ai. Clearly this lead to many hilarious jokes and confusions--
"Who made this lovely fried rice?"
"Ai did."
"No you didn't. Ai made it."
"Exactly."

Ai was the man and we grew quite attached to him. He told us several jokes, giving us an introduction to the weird world of Laotian humour. One classic example:

Ai: "What kind of fruit says, 'I'm a papaya'"???
Us: "We don't know."
Ai: "A crazy apple!"

Trekking during the rainy season is perilous; mud sloshed up to our knees as we slipped and slid up and down the mountains. To mitigate slippage, we stepped in elephant footprints, where our pachyderm pals had packed down the slimy red clay. We spent the night in a remote Khmou village that occasionally hosts intrepid Western trekkers such as ourselves. The evening's entertainment was Rattanball, which is a game like 3 v. 3 volleyball but played with every part of the body except for the hands; the melon-sized ball is made out of hardened palm fronds. Given our complete lack of experience and coordination, Team USA (Avorn, Cohen, Ting) performed remarkably well against the Khmou masters.

We awoke before dawn the next day to the lovely racket of ca-crawing roosters and ca-rying babies, and began our journey back toward the more developed villages. We hiked all morning until we arrived at a glorious series of waterfalls, where we bathed and frolicked, scrubbing off 24 hours of collected mud. Then we rode in longtail boats for a few miles, until we reached Ai's village where he had stored kayaks for the last leg of our journey back down the river to Luang Prabang. Some of this leg was through rapids threatening to dump us overboard, but we impressively (and somewhat disappointingly) managed to stay dry and afloat.

Back in LPB, we girded our loins for the mystical, magical journey ahead: tubing in Vang Vieng.

Chang Mai, Oh Mai!

From the southern islands, we flew to the north of Thailand to the quaint university town of Chang Mai. We dutifully feigned appreciation for the spicy, peppery northern Thai cuisine while secretly pining for take out from Thai Chef and Seamless.

Our first stop was to Tiger Kingdom. We asked our guide if the tigers were sedated. He said no. We asked if they had ever injured anyone. He said, "Yes, my friend." We asked if there was a tranquilizer gun nearby, in case the tigers got out of hand. The guide said, "No, but I have this," and held up a wooden drum stick. Into the tigers' den we went.

The guides encouraged us to approach the tigers from behind, lest they think we want to play with them and swipe us with their massive paws. For our photos, they directed us to spoon the tigers, cup their testicles with our hands, and put their tails between our legs for comedic effect. We trusted Tiger Kingdom's employees completely, until one got too close while taking a photo and a tiger slashed Justin's new camera, leaving a permanent scar.

At the elephant camp, J and Ting demanded to ride the same elephant so that they could reenact the Battle of Hydaspes River (326 B.C.). While the reenactment was relatively authentic, unlike Alexander, neither J nor Ting suffered a sucking chest wound, though both indeed suffered (for no particular reason) the melancholy that Alexander did upon the loss of his trusted steed and companion, Bucephalus.

There are three types of people in touristed areas of Thailand: tourists, sex workers, and the ever elusive authentic Thai person. That night, we managed to socialize with actual non-prostitute Thai people who attended the local university. Justin found "the best wifi in all of Thailand" in a lounge that he assumed was a charming nightspot haunted by friendly female patrons; he successfully called his girlfriend for the 40th time of the trip.

We were all blessed with good luck by a monk at the hilltop Wat of Doy Suthep, and now we have cute little white bracelets to remind evil spirits not to fuck with us.

Koh Me Maybe

     Jared, Justin and Andrew embarked on a grueling 12 hour bus-bus-boat-taxi journey to the Gulf Island of Koh Samui. Christopher was "tending to his affairs" in Geneva, but met us at the hotel after a refreshing business class journey aboard Qatar Airways. We were surprised to see that Mr. Ting had traded his usual business roll-aboard suitcase for a green rucksack that Jared forced him to buy (and for which his father ridiculed him for demeaning himself "as some shitty backpacker").
     Within a few minutes of arriving on Koh Samui, we immediately donned obnoxious fluorescent tank tops and went to the Half Moon Party. Which is like the famous Full Moon Party, but half of the guests are shrouded in darkness.
     In lieu of a traditional pregame, we collected the outrageously cheap Thai whiskey from our hotel room and brought it on a flatbed truck ride to the pier. Think rebels in an African civil war. At the pier, we joined a dozen Euro(trash)pean partygoers. United only by our obnoxious fluorescent tank tops, we boarded a speed boat for the 40 minute trip to neighboring Koh Phagnan. Think Caribbean drug runners.
     The party on Koh Phagnan took place in a clearing in the jungle, with black lights aplenty and fluorescent paint covering every surface, including bare skin. One of us disappeared into the night with a mysterious Italian lover, one of us got fweaky on an ancient Buddhist monument, one formally introduced himself to every woman at the party, and one sang, "Call Me Maybe" on stage with a bunch of British women. Also, one of us "fell asleep" on the island and was left behind, to find his own way back in the morning, despite the valiant rescue attempts of his compadres.
     Koh Samui wasn't all body paint and desecration, however. We also took full advantage of the island's natural and cultural attractions. We mopeded around the island and didn't die; we spent a full day at Angthong National Park, a collection of 42 uninhabited islands in the Gulf. One of these islands, like everything else in Thailand, claimed to have inspired "The Beach." We spent our day snorkeling, kayaking, and bagging craggy peaks with staggering views of the Gulf.
     A highlight of this day occurred after kayaking, when Jared and Andrew were having difficulty hauling their water-logged kayak up the beach. Chris had already singlehandedly dragged his kayak to its resting place, and he predictably, cockily, demanded to take over and finish what we had started. He grabbed ahold of the bowline and pulled with all the might of a BB&N offensive lineman. The rope snapped, propelling Mr. Ting face first into the sand at the feet of an attractive Dutch damsel of approximately 15 years.

These guys love the 'Kok!

Here we are: Jared, Andrew, Chris, and Justin -- just 4 guys enjoying their post-bar (or pre-3L...) time off.

Hello Reader,

Right now, we are on a 22 hour bus ride from Chiangmai, Thailand to Luang Prabang (more like LONG Prabang!) Laos. We figured now would be a good time to give you an update on our travels. Because we know you care. (About us, not our shitty blog).

We started out in Bangkok, a bustling Asian megacity, teeming with tuk tuks, streetside noodleshops, "massage parlours," rabbit sized cockroaches, and, of course, ladyboys. Hence the name of our blog.

Before our trip, our experience with Bangkok was limited to asking people, "What's the capitol of Thailand?" and then punching them in the nuts when they answered. But now we know so much more:

1. Wat is the word for temple. Wat? I just told you. It's Wat. Yes but wat's the word? Exactly.
2. Jared and Justin wear the same sized shorts. We know this because FinnAir lost Jared's bag and could not locate it for 5 days.
3. Every price is negotiable. Each of us have our own effective negotiating technique with Bangkokian vendors, from Andrew's shouting "No! No!" in the face of the vendors, to Justin's feeling bad for them and then paying 20 baht more than the asking price. Chris prefers automatically laughing at the seller's opening bid and then walking away. Jared's signature move is snatching the calculator from the seller, pressing clear, and replacing it with his own bid--often 0.
4. At a Muay Thai fight, the cheap seats are the best seats because we got to sit with men betting their life savings on the fate of a man who dances and peacocks around to a cymbal and gong orchestra before each viciously entertaining fight.
5. At a cabaret, we learned that the ladies of Thailand are not very good at Ping Pong due to their unorthodox playing style.

We were also also honoured to spend two days in Bangkok during preparations for the Queen's birthday. In a country that venerates its royal family as much as the Thais, this meant much giddy anticipation among the populace, and construction of various party-ish decorations and infrastructure, including an elevator for the elderly, hospitalized King's triumphal return to the royal palace. And although we love him and may end up going to a Thai jail for saying this, we must admit that he is NOT the world's most phyically attractive monarch.

Check back tomorrow for a post about the exciting island portion of our trip!