Project Runaway

I have been terribly remiss. I have procrastinated, and yes, I have been putting off my writing and I feel I owe an explanation.

By now most of you know that we have returned to Canada. The last few months have consisted of moving into a new home in a new neighbourhood and dragging myself back to an old job. I have tried to figure out what has held me back from writing and I guess, to be honest, I do not know exactly how I feel about being home.

Happy Hour in the new home

Canada is beautiful, clean, quiet, and sparsely populated compared to the countries we have visited. I was ready to come home when we did. It is just that home seems…subdued. Like being in an old movie where the colours have faded. I feel out of sync, and I keep looking to see if there are Langoliers nipping at my heels. I walked off the plane and fell into step with my old life as if I had never left.

But here is the thing, I don’t feel the same. I don’t ’see’ the same. I feel it is so obvious to me how I have changed that is should be discernible to all. I have to resist telling strangers, ‘Hey, I just came back for traveling for almost a year!’ But it is a good thing I don’t because the ‘new’ me doesn’t want to be known as the ‘crazy’ me. The space that closed when I left, opened easily to receive me again when I returned.

I am happy to be home but yet grieve the end of our adventures abroad. Being back with family, friends, and the family dog have made the transition easier. And yet at odd times, a scent, or song, or photo will almost bring me to my knees with longing. I have become a traveler and being a traveler has made me a better person.

Cash

I have been asked what my favorite part of the ‘project’ was. My answer: Experiencing it all with the people I love most and seeing how that experience has reshaped our lives.

I have missed writing the last few months and if you will still have me, I still have plenty to say.

Victoria from Mt Douglas

[Author's Note: Be warned as this post does contain anecdotes and references to Bikini Waxing. This information and the visual/visceral responses invoked may not be for the faint of heart]

I love being pampered. It is one of my guilty pleasures along with really good chocolate. In the last 10 months there have been the good, the bad, and the ugly of spa experiences. Here are just a few…

It all started in Italy. I was due for a bikini wax. I was going to the beach and as it is acceptable to not shave your armpits here, any other sort of concentrated abundance of hair better be on your head. When I arrive there, no one speaks English. With a lot of hand gestures and some basic Italian I get across what I require and even decide to get a pedicure. I am placed in a chair and in comes an old Italian lady. And when I say that I mean old, like, old granny old. She had old granny ’set’ hair and a house-dress on. She spoke no English and constantly went out for a smoke. If Italy had not passed the No Smoking on business premises bylaw she sure as shit would have had a ciggy hanging out of her mouth as she worked on my feet. She never smiled and scowled at my toes a lot like there was something terribly wrong about them. She was very rough and filed on top of my nails, damage which took months to grow out.

This didn’t bode well for the bikini wax. I was led to a curtained off area. This time it was a young 20 something woman, who spoke some English, who was to do the waxing. Thank God, I thought! Now most women, and some men, know that there are different types of bikini waxes. Some get a little off, some get a lot. When I indicated the amount of ‘removal’ I desired, the young woman looked shocked. ‘We not do that in Italy’, she said. Now it was my turn to look shocked. This was 2009 correct? Not 1955? She then proceeded to sprinkle talcum powder on my skin before applying the wax. I didn’t feel a thing but yet I was not that impressed with the quality control, I would give her a 6 out of 10.

There was no bikini wax in Turkey, I wasn’t brave enough after Italy, but a day at the hamam, or Turkish bath,  insured I was soft and squeaky clean. The massage though was merely okay and Nicole’s was downright lame with her masseur getting instructions as he went. This would not be Nic’s worst experience though with a masseur. In the Turkish town of Ovacik, Dwayne got a great Turkish shave and I received a pedicure from a husband-wife team in a small humble shop as their baby boy played nearby. They were young and poor and were very proud of their shop and son. The young wife diligently sloughed off the dead skin on my overused feet and even though her nail polish was of poor quality and limited colour selection, my feet glowed and looked very pretty for some time after. They were so earnest and sincere in their efforts and when we tipped them they thanked us profusely. I still remember their faces.

SE Asia was where we indulged in the most massages. First it was economical, and second with all the trekking carrying our packs etc., it was a necessity. Our first one in Malaysia was on the island of Pangkor and was for 2 glorious hours. Nicole and I were first, followed by the boys. It was done in our room in the hotel. Nicole and I each lay on the queen bed while the 2 ladies massaged us. The first thing they did was peel our bathing suit bottoms down exposing a lot of, well, our bottoms. This was the moment that Luc decided to come in from the pool. At the sight of his mother and sister’s semi-bare asses hanging out he hightailed it out of there. At one point my masseuse was attempting to loosen my very bad and notoriously tight hips. Part of her technique though was to smack my bottom very hard. Many times. Nicole buried her face into her pillow to muffle her laughter. I lay there red-cheeked, er, red-faced.

Malaysia would be were I received the most high tech bikini wax. On the island of Penang in a shi shi salon called Fluff  http://www.fluff.com.my/TheDamage.html (note the prices are in Ringgit not Canadian!). With a large and amusing menu of bikini and Brazilian waxes, I was able to gleefully select the waxing of my choice without feeling subversive.  The one strange thing was that it took a large amount of time. She was Da Vinci and I was the Mona Lisa of all mons veneris. I almost expected her to sign her work when she was done.

The 10 out of 10 massages occurred in Thailand. That is a unanimous vote between all four of us. They were the cheapest in SE Asia ($6-10 Canadian). They were also the most therapeutic. The Thai women were also the sweetest, funniest, and friendliest people I have ever met. After many massages Nicole and I would sit and have tea and help them practice their English. They would ask about our lives and we would ask about theirs and somehow we overcame the language barrier and communicated.

The worst massage happened in Vietnam in Hue. We went in to a lovely reception with professional staff and we decided to get massages after a long bus ride. It all seemed legit and normal and we paid for the VIP package. We were then each taken to an individual rooms upstairs. Once away from the first floor the place did not look quite as nice. The room I was led to had a massage bed near a wall, but the wall had a long mirror on it. There was also a jacuzzi tub, a bathroom, and a TV, which sounds nice but they were a bit grubby and the room just felt wrong. When the masseuse came in she was a sullen girl wearing a miniskirt and heels. The massage was the worst ever. She had no idea what she was doing and she was even texting on her cell. I should have just said forget it and left but for some unfathomable reason I stayed for the whole miserable experience. Thankfully, my daughter had more brains then I. Her masseuse was a masseur who spent the whole time leering and trying to see her breasts. When he tried to scald her with hot rocks she told him to stop and leave and she got dressed and left. Luc was told to strip down to his birthday suit and after several groin area massages the girl gave up and continued with the same half-hearted massage I received. Dwayne’s experience matched mine. We did not complete our spa package but met in the lobby and realized we were in a massage ‘parlour’ in the truest sense of the word, and got the hell out of Dodge. And the pièce de résistance? They brazenly had the nerve to ask us for a tip!!

When I was in high school I dated a boy who was so enthralled with all things Californian that he bought a surfboard and carried it around school. The catch was we lived in a small hamlet approximately a 16 hour drive from any waves. I am sharing this embarrassing tidbit to demonstrate that young boys and men have always been fascinated with the idea of being a cool pro surfer. Even if they do a dorky thing like a carry a board around a prairie town.

Dwayne,  Luc, and I decided we want  to take some lessons while here in Bali and the best waves for beginners are at Kuta beach. Originally we had planned to stay as far away from Kuta as we could. It is a major tourist destination, especially for Australians. There are plenty of hotels, bar, and Aussie tourists in Bintang tank tops and Bo Derek braids. We had been warned it was going to be busy and not very ‘Bali-ish’. But after months of traveling in busy Asian countries, and coming from Hanoi, we found Kuta to be perfectly manageable.

We found a reputable surf shop for lessons, girded our loins, and signed up for some classes. The lessons involved some class time where we learned about onshore wind, offshore wind, tides, swells, breaks, reefs, types of boards, stances, and turns. Then we were off to the ocean. The waves comes fairly regular here and there is no reef but a sandy bottom. You can start waist to mid chest high and catch decent waves. By the end of the first lesson we were all standing and cruising to shore. The youngest of our group did this almost immediately and the eldest, well, he took a bit a longer. Not mentioning any names. No matter if we were getting up every time, we were having a blast trying. We could have stayed out there all day. I wished I could hire someone to just paddle out drinks and more sunscreen to me. Maybe a foot-long sub sandwich too.

By the 2nd lesson we were catching waves more regularly, especially Luc. He was also starting to turn on purpose, whereas I was turning but really was trying to go straight. The next set of lessons the old farts bowed out as the young man moved on to intermediate levels along with our new Swiss friends, Xavier and Daniela. Watching Luc learning and improving and seeing his board go from large foam to smaller fibreglass made me a proud mama on the sidelines. Is surfing something Luc could become passionate about, I wondered?

Luc catching the surf

Over the last 286 days, we have hiked, biked, canyoned, rode horses, snorkeled, dived, and now we can add surfed. We are officially cool. We could carry surf boards around town and be legit, because a) we can surf!, b) we have awesome surfer tans and shaggy beach hair , and c) we actually live near the ocean not a 7-11, dude.

My permanent home is on Vancouver Island. To get to the mainland, one hops on a B.C. ferry for the 1 hour and 35 minute trip across the Strait of Georgia. I have been asked how often I make this trip and the truth is not often. This usually leads to a puzzled look on the face of the person who posed this question. Which then leads them to ask me if I ever get ’stir crazy’ living on an island. This is where I patiently explain that I don’t live on ‘Gilligan’s Island, with 1 palm tree and a 360 view of the ocean. My island  is over 30,000 sq km. It is bigger than Timor and Sicily, and just smaller than Taiwan. If you flew in blindfolded not knowing where you were, you would not know you were on an island.

That is not the case on the tiny Gili Islands off the coast of Lombok, in Indonesia. We are on the ‘biggest’, Gili Trawangan. At 3.5 sq km, you know you are on an island, there is no denying it. White sand and the most mind-blowing turquoise waters left us gaping when we first arrived. If hanging out on a small island may lead to going sitr-crazy, then this place is a really really good spot to test it out.

There is not much to do here but snorkel, dive, and relax. You do not need to charter a boat or pay for a snorkel trip, just walk out your door to the beach. To say it was fantastic is an understatement. I love to snorkel, I could go everyday for hours, so I do. Luc, as much a fish as myself, also spends the days with me in the deep blue, and when not tanning her bottom, Nic joins us also. I have snorkeled off the coasts of the Hawaiian Islands, Turkey, and Thailand, and for me, snorkeling here has been the best. The diversity of the sea life along the reef  is rich and abundant. There are turtles, squid, red snapper, and about a zillion different kinds of fish. How could someone get bored with such an aquarium at our fingertips?

There is one main street on Gili T, there are no motorized vehicles here and the taxis are sketchy (in my opinion) horse-drawn carts. You can rent bikes and bike around the island so we give it a shot. It takes a whole entire hour, and that included having to push the bikes where the road was soft and sandy and a pit stop to cool off in the water. Hmm…okay, so you really wouldn’t want to do that every day, but there were still no signs of stir craziness.

I decided to take a closer look at the locals. Most are young males who seem to be trying to be Bob Marley. Is that because island life and reggae just naturally fit or is it because they think we think it goes hand and hand? After a few days, O.K. it was more like a few minutes, you realize that almost all of these guys are stoned. Then when you take the time to actually read the restaurant signboards, you see that some advertise super-duper-mega-radical-maximum-f#*kin-bloody-fresh-magic-mushrooms. I guess you need to test, test, test the merchandise in order to ensure quality control?

As Indonesia has a shortage of power, the electricity on the Gilis goes out every day, often in the evening. Some businesses have generators but many do not, and it is not uncommon for us to be sitting in a restaurant in the dark. We learned to order BBQ a lot.  Every night as we walk back to our bungalows, in the dark with our flashlights, trying to navigate the huge puddles of water on the sandy uneven road, we pass by many many places with no generator, thus no power. The only evidence of life is the glow of cigarettes and the murmur of voices as they sit in the dark. Sometimes these voices offer the above mentioned super-duper-mega-radical-maximum-f#*kin-bloody-fresh-magic-mushrooms. That might make sitting around in the dark more interesting. Not surprisingly we still opt out. There is not enough boredom in the world to convince me to try some sketchy fungus on this tiny island.

Apparently, the phrase “stir crazy” is a prison term, “stir” being slang for prison. A prison with turquoise waters and white sand beaches? Hardly, but eventually we decide it is time to leave the island. Perhaps instead of the restlessness from being stuck in one place too long, it is visions of heading home dancing in our heads that causes us to decide to move on.

When I worked at the Foothills Hospital in Calgary, I used to take my evening break in a quiet area where there were several comfy chairs and the only traffic was the rare person going into the chapel nearby. As I sat there and read an older lady from housekeeping would clean the area. She would polish the stainless steel drinking fountain until it shone. She would rearrange the chairs, straighten the magazines, dust the tables, and wipe down the railing by the gymnasium window. She was thorough and efficient and hummed as she worked. I would watch her while trying to appear that I was not. When she was around I felt relaxed. But it was more than that, I would get goosebumps and a shiver of pleasure down my spine. I do not know why this affected me in such a way. It seems almost like there is a spiritualness to watching someone perform these humble tasks when there is pride and grace attached to it.

I remember that cleaning lady as I sit by the pool at our rented bungalow in Ubud, Bali. I am watching Jerni while trying to appear that I am not. Jerni is part of the extended family that owns this bungalow as their livelihood. She is walking gracefully around the property with a tray that contains a bowl of water, several small palm-leaf trays with offerings of rice and flowers, and a stack of burning incense sticks. As I surreptitiously watch she places the trays by the family temple, and by the statues of the gods and demons scattered around the yard. She places trays by the stairs to the house and the pool, in the gazebo, outside the front gate. Each time she sprinkles some water and makes a motion with her hand in the air. Just like watching the cleaning lady all those years ago, watching Jerni as she blesses their home fills me with peace and a shivery joy.

Me, not watching you

Everywhere we go in Ubud the tiny hand made trays with their offerings and incense are found. At the start of a path, near a rice paddy, in the doorway of the supermarket, everywhere you see Bali women going about this daily task. They place offerings to the demons on the ground and to the gods on higher ground. Their Hindu beliefs permeate every aspect of their culture here.

When I had booked the bungalow I had wrote that it seemed like a good place to rest our road weary heads. The house is at the end of a narrow path that runs along an irrigation canal. It is built in Bali style with a thatch roof and an open concept with many windows and glass doors to open and let the breeze flow through. From the upstairs balcony you can see the rice paddy. The bungalow comes complete with a large Bali family. Besides quiet Jerni, there is Made, who cooks delicious traditional Bali meals like smoked duck and banana pancakes. Wayan, her brother, who helps with the maintenance and is an incredible artist. And Jess, who drives us around and teaches us about Bali culture. Last, but not least, is Jacky, an adorable puppy who has stolen our hearts and keeps us highly entertained.

I think it is easy to fall under Ubud’s spell with it’s art, culture, people, lush jungle ravines and rivers, and terraces of electric green rice paddies. The Balinese love to ask, “Where are you going?”, or “Where are you coming from?”, and you soon realize that their inquisitiveness is another part of their culture. There is no ‘angle’ to their questions , it is their way of starting a conversation, of starting a friendship. So, where are we going? Right now, no farther than poolside with my cold Bintang beer, quietly watching the daily pattern of Bali.

Research shows that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.  Experience shows that eating the free breakfast included in most establishments saves you money.  As I like to be healthy and cheap this arrangement works well for me.

From Europe to Asia the breakfasts have been diverse. In Italy: a cappuccino and a cornetto; Turkey: cay tea, a boiled egg, feta cheese, and cucumber; London: eggs, beans, and bangers; Malaysia: nasi lemak (rice cooked in coconut milk served with tiny fried anchovies in hot chili paste); Laos: melt in your mouth French bread and good good coffee; and Vietnam, home to phở (pronounced “fur”).

Pho Ga

Phở is a noodle soup that is clear chicken or beef broth flavoured with ginger and coriander, which has rice noodles, fresh cilantro, green onions and slivers of chicken, pork, or beef. I never feel too full or not full enough. It is not too rich nor too bland. It is the perfect blend of carbs and protein. Without a doubt it is the perfect breakfast.

Vietnamese food has always been among my favorites. I thought, naively, that I knew what Vietnamese food covered. I mean, I have had Bún thịt nướng (#18 at Saigon Nights) and Gỏi cuốn (salad rolls) more times than I can remember.

But the food here is much more diverse and there are dishes that are specific to regions and even cities. Our start to the culinary goodies of Vietnam was in the city of Hoi An. This is a charming city near the infamous China Beach, where the United States had a large base during the Vietnam War. It consists of old French-influenced buildings and is known for the many tailor shops. It is also known for 2 dishes, white rose and cao lau. White rose is a translucent shrimp dumpling, and cao lau is a ‘dry’ dish of noodles topped with pork and fresh greens and a crunchy crouton/wonton thingy. Like all Vietnamese cuisine these dishes consist of fresh fresh ingredients and amazing flavour.

White Rose

Cao Lau, Yummy!

Hue a few hours north of Hoi An was home to the Nguyen Emperors. It has the walled Citadel area and within in it the walled Imperial Palace. Here we had banh khoai. I really liked this simple but savory dish. It is a crunchy crepe or cake made from grated cassava or taro and it is folded in half and filled with shrimp and bean sprouts. Chased down by a nice cold Huda beer there is nothing better. It was really hard to just eat one of these in a sitting as they were so good.

Hanoi is our last stop in Vietnam. It is home to over 3 million people and is my favorite SE Asia city. The Old Quarter and the French Quarter have lovely buildings and scenic green spaces. You can stroll around Hoan Kiem Lake then stop for a cafe and a sandwich on a soft fresh baquette, or you can try bun cha. Bun cha is basically a combination vermicelli plate with grilled pork meatballs (usually) and vermicelli noodles are served over a bed of greens (salad and sliced cucumber), herbs and bean sprouts. It is fairly close to my #18 in Canada. I even had it served with the pork in a broth type liquid in which you added the noodles and herbs to it.

Bun Cha and Beer

My memories of Vietnam will consist more than just great food. It will be of insane traffic, drivers with nerves of steel, incessant horns squawking, communist pep talks blaring over loud speakers at the crack of dawn, sleeper buses, beautiful beaches without a soul on them, charming cities and towns, and many warm and friendly people. If you weigh the good and bad of this chaotic country of 84 million, I would say that there are far more reasons to come here than stay away. You should at least come for breakfast and try one of them.

When we left on our travels, time seemed to stretch far ahead of us. Now it is 2010 and we are already nearly 8 months into our 10 month trip. SE Asia has been exhilarating and exhausting, and I have just not had time to keep up with my blog as well. So this is an update on the last few weeks.

After sunning ourselves on Koh Lanta, we headed to Bangkok for a few days where we were able to meet up with Gillian and Jason (www.one-giant-step.com) for more beers and general light-hearted debauchery. Then it was our first overnight train to Northern Thailand  and Chiang Mai. This ended up being the train ride from hell for Dwayne as he spent most of it getting sick in a bathroom you would not want to answer Nature’s call in.

Christmas in Chiang Mai

We spent Christmas week in Chiang Mai, where Luc and I also succumbed to the mystery illness. But with all this projectile vomiting we did manage to get in a cooking class, ziplining in the jungle, and the boys even went  mountain biking.

Next was a bus trip to the Thailand border where we crossed into Laos and took a slow boat down the Mekong River for  2 days to Luang Prabang. The slow boat is a long wooden boat with teeny tiny wooden benches that looked like they were constructed in a junior high shop class. Apparently the boats hold 70 but to make it interesting over 100 travelers are packed on board. This means every teeny tiny bench has two, sometimes not so small, derrieres trying to find the elusive comfortable position. And imagine doing this for ~ 6 hr on day 1 and 9 hr on day 2! To be honest I was very nervous about this stage of our travels as I could not find any good information regarding crossing the border here, nor the process and cost of booking the slow boat. We managed to bungle through and while I do not think I would do it again, I think it was definitely worth the hassle. There was a camaraderie that grew between fellow passengers over the 2 days and we met some interesting people, many whom we continued to meet up with over the following weeks.

Slow Boat on the Mekong

Laos is a poor country and we saw people living in the most humblest of circumstances. It seems every minute we are in Asia we learn to value what we take for granted back home. Simple things like clean running water, a soft bed, a good pair of shoes, an education. But yet Laos is stunningly beautiful and so are its people.

Luang Prabang is a UNESCO World Heritage city and so far one of my favorite places to visit. It is charming and scenic and there is just the right combination of things to do versus just chilling at a cafe. From there it was down to Vang Vieng for tubing the river  for Luc’s 16 birthday, then to Vientiane to catch a flight to Cambodia.

Cambodia was not on the original plan as we thought there would not be enough time, but when we decided to fly instead of bus to Vietnam, we saved enough travel days to squeeze it in. For me Cambodia was perhaps the most complicated country to understand. It is a country struggling to find an identity and gain an economic footing. It has a rich past and yet one of the darkest pasts in history also.

To see both sides we first went to Siem Reap to visit the temples of Angkor. The temples were beyond words. You think of Tomb Raider and Indiana Jones and ancient treasure and lost civilizations. You wonder which came first the jungle or the temples. Seeing the temples gives Cambodia and even SE Asia more perspective. Put it on your Bucket List!!

Sunrise over Angkor Wat

We rounded out Cambodia in Phnom Penh were we went to the Killing Fields and the infamous S21 prison. If this trip has been a life education for our children, the day we spent at these 2 horrible places was a shocking revelation and an in-your-face education for all of us. The horror and extent of what we saw and felt seems like it would be trivialized by my writing about it, Suffice to say that it was a hard and haunting day and the suffering of the Cambodian people will never be forgotten by us.

So where are we now? Vietnam, baby! So now we are all on the same page.

Our dear friends and fellow travelers, one-giant-step.com, tagged us in a blog challenge to reveal our Three Travel Secrets. After 7 months and 2 weeks these are the tips that I would like to share.

Rent Serviced apartments when staying for longer periods in a location. This is the one tip that I can’t stress enough. Traveling is hard work and there are times when sleeping in one more dorm or mediocre guesthouse may cause you to attempt to chew your arm off.There is something comforting and grounding about having an apartment in a strange city. You get to know the neighbourhood and markets. Eating at restaurants and hawker stalls can get old so to be able to cook a home cooked meal with fabulous local ingredients is like chicken soup to the soul. We rented apartments in Italy, Turkey, and Spain. All were stylish and comfortable and fully stocked. They all had a washing machine (Hallelujah!!) and *gasp* one even had a dryer! And the best part, if you take for a week or more you can negotiate for a price and we have had some amazing deals.

These are some sites we used to find apartments:

http://www.homeaway.com/

http://www.homelidays.com/

Don’t be afraid to rent a car even if it is in Italy. The process is easy and believe it or not most countries are better drivers than North Americans. Yes, they do drive fast but as it was pointed out to me drivers in many countries drive cooperatively where in North America it appears to be competitively. Often the usual train, taxi, bus, mini-bus, or tuk tuk is just not an option for some areas you may want to explore. We have driven in Italy and Asia, and what I learned was to keep a steady pace and not to panic. Italy has many roundabouts which I am comfortable with and I had no problems driving from Lucca to the beach one day and another day up into the mountains.

Often the cost is much cheaper than public transportation. For example, for 4 us to take the train from Lucca to Rome, then from Rome–>Naples–>Sorrento, then Sorrento–>Naples–>Bari worked out to over $900 cdn. The car rental, with one way drop off and unlimited mileage was under $600 cdn. It was a no-brainer.

Here is the company I used exclusively in Europe:

http://www.vroomvroomvroom.com/

The Boy Scout motto is Be Prepared. For the Scouts this means in body and in mind. In body means to make yourself strong and active and for traveling, healthy.  In mind means having thought out potential situations and and being prepared for it. When you are traveling for a great length of time you are bound to get sick or hurt, the law of averages is just there. As there are 4 of us and we tend to like adventure and adventurous food. This is the contents of our emergency supply kit:

• Charcoal tablets – charcoal tablets can relieve flatulence, gassy bloating, heartburn and upset stomachs
• Buscopan – relaxes the cramped muscles of the digestive tract, and therefore relieves the spasms that cause abdominal pain.
• Dramamine- used to prevent nausea and motion sickness
• Claritin – allergies
• Electrolyte  drink powder
• Penicillin
• Throat Lozenges
• Ibuprofen
• Baby Wipes – bathrooms in Asia can be shocking always handy to have
• Toilet Paper – see above!
• Hand Sanitizer – also part of above!
• Most importantly – a bottle of spirits ‘XXX’, research shows that it helps fight food poisoning and boredom

It is December, but as there has been no change of seasons to mark time, I feel as if it is July. Malaysia is a long ways back now. We had worked our way up the coast and then crossed into Thailand. I am hungover and on an overnight train to Bangkok. We decide to order beer, hair of the dog and all that, and the attendant slyly convinces us to buy her one also.

We have just left the island of Koh Lanta where our 1 week stretched into a little over 2. We stayed in little beach bungalows with thatched roofs and hammocks swing out front. Fisherman’s Cottage is run by Kun and his Merry band of men. There is ‘O’ the gentle charmer, and Lab, laid back and good-humoured.  They all have pet birds that are scattered around the property in pretty wooden cages. The birds are Red Whisker Bulbuls and they are the guy’s babies. The birds compete in singing contests,  and Luc was able to with Lab to a local one where Lab’s bird came in 4th. He won a case of Fanta and bananas. First place won a rice cooker, fan, and chinese noodles.

Home Sweet Home

Nicole left her teens and became twenty while we there. She happens to share her birthday with the King of Thailand, so it was a public holiday. The crew threw her a great party. They had someone bake a cake, and the baker seemed to use everything in her pantry, from chocolate chips, oreo cookies, and jellied candy. Nicole got to put a wish on a large white paper lantern that was lit and floated away over the ocean as we watched from the beach.  The boys had even got her gifts, sparklers, and fireworks. I wondered if the King was having as much fun.

Birthday Girl

It was so easy to settle on Koh Lanta and we met so many wonderful people. We spent our days swimming, snorkeling, and scootering to other beautiful beaches. There was usually a football match between staff and guests (some from other resorts) and it was fun to watch the good-natured rivalry. In the evenings there would be parties at the bar and sometimes ‘O’ would do the traditional Thai fire dance down on the beach.

Then there were the Thai massages. I can’t forget to mention the massages, the ones you get on a raised platform on the beach for less than $8 CDN. The ones we were getting every few days. No, must rub in, er, mention those.

The Beach

So that brings us back to why I am on a train horribly hungover. I know better to do this before a ‘travel’ day, but the guys threw a party and it just sort of rolled from there. It was a helluva party though. Earlier in the day, Dwayne, Luc, and a chap named Ron, had hung out on Long Beach where apparently 2 young hot Italian girls were hanging out (I think literally). The story goes that Luc came out of the water, probably in slow motion, shook the water out of his hair, still in slow mo, as the Italian girls watched his every move. After careful coaching/egging on, by Dwayne and Ron, he approached them. Things went well. He came away with a date to meet them at a bar near where they were staying. They are 20 and 22. Apparently he is 19.

Back at the ranch, this story created a buzz of activity. Everyone got involved in what he should wear, people searched their huts for, yes, condoms. Multiple offers flooded in to take him over there, no doubt to check out the perfect creatures themselves. He was the conquering hero, he left in a hail of confetti with a marching band playing ‘Long Live the King’, o.k., not really, but practically.

Long story short? He was late. They waited 45 minutes, then left. He raced to their hotel but the office would not give out their room number.

When he returned too quickly, the entire restaurant and bar let out a collective groan of disappointment. The star player had missed the goal on a crucial shot. But then they reminded Luc of a key piece of the story, something to cheer him up. They were there. And they waited 45 minutes. For him.

Merry Christmas to our family and all our friends, those at home and all the new ones we have met from around the world.

British novelist Anthony Burgess writes that eating durian is “like eating sweet raspberry blancmange in the lavatory.”

definition of blancmange: sweet almond-flavored milk pudding thickened with gelatin or cornstarch; usually molded

Chef Andrew Zimmern compares the taste to “completely rotten, mushy onions.”

Anthony Bourdain, while a lover of durian, relates his encounter with the fruit as thus: “Its taste can only be described as…indescribable, something you will either love or despise. …Your breath will smell as if you’d been French-kissing your dead grandmother.”

(All these quotes blatantly cut and pasted from Wikipedia)

Durian

So why the hell would we ever taste it you may ask yourselves? I myself had hoped to stay one step ahead of it and never have to prove my mettle by trying it. Trial by stink and all that. But here we were on the island of Pangkor and our Malay hosts had set themselves upon the task of ensuring we were culturally enriched by feeding us every Malay dish out there.

We were called out to the pool the second day we were there to see the owner’s wife at the picnic table cutting open what appeared to be big prickly fruit. Christ, pardon my French, it was Durian. There was no where to run and hide. The boys were immediately gung-ho. The stuff those two are willing to eat always boggles my mind.

The Initiation

I may be squeamish, and you all know what my sense of smell is like, but my sense of honour and not wanting to insult the hosts prevailed. We all tried it and we all experienced something different so here are all our perspectives:

Luc  – On the smell: “sweet and garlicky, doesn’t smell that bad it is just a weird smell” On the taste: ” rotten garlic mixed with a pound of sugar”

Nicole – On the smell: “like a dead animal”  On the taste: “sweet and garlicky, nasty, taste worse than it smells, can taste it all day, disgusting”

Dwayne -On the smell: “Smells like roadkill” On the taste: “Creamy caramel custard with garlic”

Me – On the smell: “sickeningly sweet and putrid at the same time, like something slowly decomposing, takes your breath away” On the taste: “it was creamy and gooey like over moist bread dough, the taste to me much like its smell, sort of rancid with a hint of almond extract, truly disgusting”

Sick Puppy

And yes, you do taste it all day as even the smallest amount causes lovely durian belches. Oh so pleasant.

But you think the tale ends there, don’t you? Well, on our last day the owner, Captain Shari, volunteers to drive me into the village to the ATM. He says to bring the whole gang as he is going to take us to the Chinese Temple to see the huge Dragonfish they have in the pond.

What he doesn’t tell us is that he has a surprise. You see, Dwayne was a bit too willing and enthusiastic about the Durian and next to the temple is a, you guessed it, durian plantation. We stroll to 2 men in deck chairs sleepily eating durian. There is a huge mound of empty shells next to them. They seemed drugged on it, and for a moment I had to check myself that we were not at an opium den. The Captain says this is where the best durian is and buys Dwayne his own entire durian. As Luc, Nicole, and I were not so enthusiastic we were able to gratefully be exempt.

That's what you get for being a keener

I look into Dwayne’s eyes and see he is resigned to his fate. There is no graceful way to escape the durian sitting in front of him. As his faithful and loyal wife, I can’t help but giggle and smirk and take pictures a safe distance away.