This story begins innocently enough: Nathan and I took a guided tour through a spice plantation on the island of Penang...however it ends with me curled up in the fetal position with a bright red mouth tasting of urinal cakes and vomit, praying to Kuan Yin the Indian God of Mercy.
During our tour we learned from our Indian guide of a strange custom involving the betel nut. Indians apparently chew it, in combination with other spices like clove and cinnamon. We explored the island for the rest of the afternoon on a motorcycle, then ended our tour in Georgetown's Little India. We parked the bike and went in search of a shop selling 'betel nut for chewing' per our guide's instructions. It took a few stops, and some miming..but eventually we stumbled into a tiny stall where a woman knew what we were talking about. She pulled two green leaves from a stack, rubbed them with limestone paste and then pulled out a tray with tiny cups of mystery ingredients. She expertly tossed a pinch of this and a pinch of that onto the leaves then pinned the piles together using a whole clove. Proud of our ability to procure this authentic piece of local culture, we celebrated with some delicious Indian cuisine.
After dinner we returned the rental motorcycle before heading back to our hotel to experiment with our loot. Chewing these little packets of betel nut cocktail was like eating urinal cakes dipped in shampoo. Our drooling was uncontrollable. One of the ingredients caused our saliva, teeth and tongues to turn bright red. About one minute after popping these doozeys into our faces, we were both dizzy and nauseated. Neither of us had any desire to see our experiment to it's end. We were dripping blood red drool down our chins and walking around like drunken sailors. At this point the real misery began. We both curled ourselves into balls and begged our bodies not to induce vomiting. My body did not comply, but Nathan managed to keep our spicy dinner down. Lucky man.
I will never chew the betel nut again..never.
You win some. You lose some.
Jenny - 0
Betel nut - 1
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Welcome to Butterworth
We have arrived in our seventh country!
On the 23 hour train ride we met two very nice Thai girls who spoke fluent English. Nathan had ordered a beer from the meal car, thinking to spend his last Baht. When the kitchen collector showed up for her payment we were shocked to learn that the price of a single beer had tripled (train tax). Nathan didn't have enough Baht and our US dollars were given a laughable exchange rate. The younger of the two girls, April, insisted on picking up the tab. We had a great time hearing stories about their travels and studies in China, England, and Australia. The train manager Let us postpone lowering the sleeper bunks until 9pm. Once the bunks were fixed we all crawled into our curtained areas to attempt sleep.
We got off the train at the Malaysian border to get our passports stamped and our fingerprints taken, then boarded the train for another 4 hours to our destination. Ten minutes from our stop we both started to feel a little anxious. For good reason. We realized we had done absolutely no preparation. We knew there was an island off the coast of Butterworth with Unesco status..but didn't know the island's name, how we were going to get there, whether we had to find a boat or a bus to a boat, and we didn't have a map. Nathan told me to go make some friends. So, I introduced myself to an older couple who turned out to be ex-teachers from the University of Maine. The woman was teaching social work while I was studying biochemistry. We chit chatted while Nathan took a quick look at their guidebook.
Thankfully Butterworth is a city with sense. The train station, bus terminal and ferry are all in the same place. We showed up in Georgetown and promptly got ripped off by a taxi claiming hotels were 'quite far' and refused to use a meter. Four dollars and five blocks later Nancy the cabbie stopped at a hotel she likely gets kickbacks from. We took a look at the room but the whole place felt like the set of a horror movie. We were shown to the room by a man with terrible scoliosis and the room looked like a prison cell with less charm. No kickback for Nancy.
We found a guesthouse on our own. After a couple hours in our aircon room we decided to get some dinner. I found a traditional Nyonya restaurant which happened to be the spot that Jimmy Choo likes to grab a bite when he's in town. I appreciate someone who appreciates a good shoe..so I assumed Jimmy had good taste in Nyonya as well.
We had some amazing dishes. I can't say yet whether the food is better than Thai cuisine, but I plan on doing extensive research.
We'll explore Georgetown today, then spend some time planning our last month. It's almost time to buy return tickets..hard to believe.
On the 23 hour train ride we met two very nice Thai girls who spoke fluent English. Nathan had ordered a beer from the meal car, thinking to spend his last Baht. When the kitchen collector showed up for her payment we were shocked to learn that the price of a single beer had tripled (train tax). Nathan didn't have enough Baht and our US dollars were given a laughable exchange rate. The younger of the two girls, April, insisted on picking up the tab. We had a great time hearing stories about their travels and studies in China, England, and Australia. The train manager Let us postpone lowering the sleeper bunks until 9pm. Once the bunks were fixed we all crawled into our curtained areas to attempt sleep.
We got off the train at the Malaysian border to get our passports stamped and our fingerprints taken, then boarded the train for another 4 hours to our destination. Ten minutes from our stop we both started to feel a little anxious. For good reason. We realized we had done absolutely no preparation. We knew there was an island off the coast of Butterworth with Unesco status..but didn't know the island's name, how we were going to get there, whether we had to find a boat or a bus to a boat, and we didn't have a map. Nathan told me to go make some friends. So, I introduced myself to an older couple who turned out to be ex-teachers from the University of Maine. The woman was teaching social work while I was studying biochemistry. We chit chatted while Nathan took a quick look at their guidebook.
Thankfully Butterworth is a city with sense. The train station, bus terminal and ferry are all in the same place. We showed up in Georgetown and promptly got ripped off by a taxi claiming hotels were 'quite far' and refused to use a meter. Four dollars and five blocks later Nancy the cabbie stopped at a hotel she likely gets kickbacks from. We took a look at the room but the whole place felt like the set of a horror movie. We were shown to the room by a man with terrible scoliosis and the room looked like a prison cell with less charm. No kickback for Nancy.
We found a guesthouse on our own. After a couple hours in our aircon room we decided to get some dinner. I found a traditional Nyonya restaurant which happened to be the spot that Jimmy Choo likes to grab a bite when he's in town. I appreciate someone who appreciates a good shoe..so I assumed Jimmy had good taste in Nyonya as well.
We had some amazing dishes. I can't say yet whether the food is better than Thai cuisine, but I plan on doing extensive research.
We'll explore Georgetown today, then spend some time planning our last month. It's almost time to buy return tickets..hard to believe.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Ini Meeny Miney Mo
Catch a Tiger by the....what?!
Yesterday Nathan and I finally made it to the Tiger Monastery in Kanchanaburi Thailand. We missed it on our first go around..but made a special trip from Bangkok before catching our train south to Malaysia.
All in all...a great trip to the Temple. There were over 93 tigers living there. As well as deer, water buffalo, wild boars, horses. The temple takes in almost any kind of abandoned animal. Well worth the entrance fee to help support the cost of raising a tiger.
Yesterday Nathan and I finally made it to the Tiger Monastery in Kanchanaburi Thailand. We missed it on our first go around..but made a special trip from Bangkok before catching our train south to Malaysia.
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| This was one sign we took a very close look at before entering the canyon where the tigers were all lounging |
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| A six month old, napping in the sun |
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| A little nervous |
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| This was the largest male. My entire body could easily have fit in his stomach. He weighed almost 600 pounds. |
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| Getting ready to bottle feed this 18 month old male. |
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| The monks at this temple are all a little...harder than other monks. Tattoos, battle wounds..and they all seemed to be chain smokers. |
Thursday, June 23, 2011
The Worst Case Scenario
I have feared it for years. I have cautiously guarded my possessions to avoid facing this horrific event. To no avail. Today I was a victim. I was in the hotel room bathroom, washing our clothes by hand. There were suds everywhere, I must have been excessively enthusiastic.. my thumb ring flew into the air and as I screamed 'NNNOOO' I watched it fly into the airspace directly above the toilet and then drop straight down into the bowl. Nathan heard the scream and came running. He found me sitting on my ankles in front of the toilet moaning in disbelief. He didn't have to ask..my silver ring glimmered beneath five inches of germy liquid. He closed the door with a 'I'll just leave you to it then..'
It could have been worse. My real paranoia kicks in when I get within ten feet of a port-o-potty. I won't carry anything I'm not willing to lose FOREVER into one of those blue stinkers. Anyhow, as we were discussing the incident later Nathan admits to having dropped something into a toilet recently too. He says..'I can't remember exactly what it was..maybe nail clippers..maybe the dental floss.'
I have no words. Just intense hope that the dental floss bit was a joke.
It could have been worse. My real paranoia kicks in when I get within ten feet of a port-o-potty. I won't carry anything I'm not willing to lose FOREVER into one of those blue stinkers. Anyhow, as we were discussing the incident later Nathan admits to having dropped something into a toilet recently too. He says..'I can't remember exactly what it was..maybe nail clippers..maybe the dental floss.'
I have no words. Just intense hope that the dental floss bit was a joke.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The Pains Of Travel
We made it to Bangkok after an excruciating 10 hour bus ride. The distance should have taken about four hours but the Thai transport company responsible for border crossing has a fool proof system. Every forty minutes or so they would stop at a restaurant or shop owned by one of their families so that tourists would do what tourists do best..spend money. It works in most cases, unfortunately it doubled travel time.
Nathan is feeling a little under the weather after the journey. He spent the morning consulting webMD to come up with a diagnosis, even though I have already determined he has the flu. I returned to the hotel after a morning of perusing shops to learn that he believes himself to be suffering a mean case of lupus. This is a perfect example of why sick people shouldn't be allowed Internet access.
We'll be spending tomorrow in Bangkok then checking out the Tiger Monastery on the Myanmar border. I want to make sure we're both healthy before hanging out with 90 tigers that can smell an easy meal.
Nathan is feeling a little under the weather after the journey. He spent the morning consulting webMD to come up with a diagnosis, even though I have already determined he has the flu. I returned to the hotel after a morning of perusing shops to learn that he believes himself to be suffering a mean case of lupus. This is a perfect example of why sick people shouldn't be allowed Internet access.
We'll be spending tomorrow in Bangkok then checking out the Tiger Monastery on the Myanmar border. I want to make sure we're both healthy before hanging out with 90 tigers that can smell an easy meal.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Quick Note:
Monkeys also hate it when you drink ozonated water in front of them. I survived a near death experience at Angkor Wat...A male monkey angrily chased me, trying to steal my bottled gold.
Dehydrated monkeys are even more fierce than one might imagine. I screamed and backed away as quickly as I could. Everyone around got a good chuckle until I sternly informed them that monkeys can rip your face off.
Dehydrated monkeys are even more fierce than one might imagine. I screamed and backed away as quickly as I could. Everyone around got a good chuckle until I sternly informed them that monkeys can rip your face off.
Little Story About A Billionaire Named Soko - And Pictures!
Once upon a time there was (and still is) a guy named Soko, who owned almost every gas station in the Kingdom of Cambodia. Naturally, this made him very rich. One morning while slurping his noodle soup it hit him. Bam. The best thing to do when you're rich in a poverty stricken, corrupt country...is to use your wealth and influence to get more money. Soko made a few phone calls and worked himself a sweet deal. He promised the government some really classy ticket booths for their natural wonders if the government agreed to a couple of small details. Soko gets to keep 72% of the profits those ticket booths rake in. He also sets the price that tourists pay wherever these booths are constructed. And just one more thing..Soko would like to rent Angkor Wat. For a handsome monthly payoff to big brother the most beautiful and historically significant place in Cambodia is monopolized by a single man. I wonder if the US government would be willing to rent me the Grand Canyon. If not I may have to swing by Egypt and make a pitch for a lease on the pyramids.
Anyway, to his credit Soko constructed a sweet ticket booth just South of the miles and miles of ruins near Siem Reap. He did miss one thing..he forgot to train the people that work there.
It was total chaos. No real lines, teen girls telling us to stand here, then there..and by the way give me 40 dollars. The ticket sales building had very clearly marked spots for lines in front of 8-9 windows but no one wanted you to stand in the lines. We had some faceless person from behind glass thrust a camera on a stick at us, snap a shot and then disappear. No one told us there was a paper ticket, and the woman we paid didn't mention whether we should hang around..but we did out of curiosity. Thankfully so. About ten minutes later a different woman walked up to us, eyed us closely then shuffled through a stack of fifty tickets each with a photo I.D. on it. All we could do was shake our heads in astonishment. This was the 'system' that raked in thousands of dollars a day.
Aside from the chaos..Angkor Wat is beautiful. We rode around the park all day on bicycles we rented in town. Other than occasional ticket checks there is essentially no oversight of these temples. Visitors can climb most everything at their own risk. Words don't do this place justice...
As we pedaled home it started to sprinkle..then rain..then downpour. It was the best ending to a surreal experience. We laughed and raced on gravel and red dirt roads with mud flying and our clothes sticking to us, saturated. Now we get ready to say goodbye to Cambodia. Tomorrow on a bus back to Thailand. We have some unfinished business with some tigers.
Anyway, to his credit Soko constructed a sweet ticket booth just South of the miles and miles of ruins near Siem Reap. He did miss one thing..he forgot to train the people that work there.
It was total chaos. No real lines, teen girls telling us to stand here, then there..and by the way give me 40 dollars. The ticket sales building had very clearly marked spots for lines in front of 8-9 windows but no one wanted you to stand in the lines. We had some faceless person from behind glass thrust a camera on a stick at us, snap a shot and then disappear. No one told us there was a paper ticket, and the woman we paid didn't mention whether we should hang around..but we did out of curiosity. Thankfully so. About ten minutes later a different woman walked up to us, eyed us closely then shuffled through a stack of fifty tickets each with a photo I.D. on it. All we could do was shake our heads in astonishment. This was the 'system' that raked in thousands of dollars a day.
Aside from the chaos..Angkor Wat is beautiful. We rode around the park all day on bicycles we rented in town. Other than occasional ticket checks there is essentially no oversight of these temples. Visitors can climb most everything at their own risk. Words don't do this place justice...
As we pedaled home it started to sprinkle..then rain..then downpour. It was the best ending to a surreal experience. We laughed and raced on gravel and red dirt roads with mud flying and our clothes sticking to us, saturated. Now we get ready to say goodbye to Cambodia. Tomorrow on a bus back to Thailand. We have some unfinished business with some tigers.
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| Angkor Wat Library |
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| Angkor Wat Complex |
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| Nathan exploring the ruins |
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| View from the tallest tower in the Angkor Temple |
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| Taking a break in the courtyard |
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| Angkor from the rear exit |
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| Exploring Bayon ruins |
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| The faces of Bayon |
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| The entrance to Preah Khan |
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| Preah Khan |
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| Preah Khan |
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| Preah Khan |
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| Loved the mossy walls |
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| Nathan being dwarfed |
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| Monks enjoying Bayon |
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| Climb at your own risk |
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| The Grand Palace runway |
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| Wall of sculptures near the Leper's Terrace |
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| Stones everywhere..their original resting places long lost |
Saturday, June 18, 2011
This One's For Pops
Readers, you'll have to bear with me. I'm sentimental, and so am compelled to use my blog once again to share a little something more personal..
At dinner last night Nathan and I told each another stories about our fathers. On the eve of Father's Day it seemed an appropriate dinner topic-a celebration of what we each love and respect about our Pa. (Nathan is the only person I have ever met in my entire life who also calls his father 'Pa') We had each other laughing with childhood memories. The time his father handled a midnight invasion of a bat while wearing a chain saw mask, swinging a tennis racket wildly while a young Nathan followed behind..watching with curiosity and not an ounce of concern for his own unmasked face. The time mine gave a stern lecture about the responsible use of his state of the art PVC potato launcher mere moments before sending a rotten potato at record speed through the greenhouse windows.
On one of our first days in Cambodia, Nathan and I watched from our hotel balcony as a little girl dragged her father from one flowering tree to another. At each she pointed with her tiny fingers to the prettiest blossoms. Her father had endless patience as he picked flower after flower for her inspection. He was clearly bringing just as much joy to her with each delivery as she was to him with her delighted giggles.
I have the feeling that if asked, my own father might say of me that I have too much heart and not enough head. I admit that sometimes that is true. As an adult, my relationship with him isn't quite as simple as that of the Cambodian girl and her father - like it surely used to be. The joy we get from being a part of one another's lives is sometimes tangled with the messy details of living - of making mistakes and changing course. That said, there is no man on the planet that I respect more than my father. He has earned my respect and love in a thousand different ways, with good deeds, compassion, discipline, empathy, intelligence, work ethic, creativity, and his genuine interest in the natural world.
My father is the man who can fix any problem. Plumbing, farm equipment, woodwork, cars, conflicts requiring diplomacy (big and small). He can deliver babies from the belly of a dying sow, run a bean farm while working full time and build a 36 foot sail boat from scratch. My father is the man that made 6 foot tall stilts for his own amusement..and then needed his own tractor bucket to lift himself into them. He got up at 430 to work in the fields and expected the family to pitch in. He taught my brothers and I about work ethic through his relentless efforts on the farm and his limitless energy and excitement to learn new things. His expectations were always high, but never impossible. He believes in doing things right the first time, but not being afraid to learn from mistakes. His confidence in me, his only daughter, always inspired me to push myself harder than I otherwise might have.
I am proud to have the father that I do. I think often of the things I have learned from him and am thankful for the many ways I am better for having listened to his council.
As Nathan and I reminisced, it surprised me to think of all the things I don't know about my father. Much of his life before marrying my mother, and before I was born is a mystery to me. I hope to get answers to some of my questions..to understand exactly how my father became who he has always been to me. But the truth is: I know and have always known the most important things about him. He is a good man with a good heart, he loves and sacrifices for his family and he is exactly the type of father that deserves a day to be celebrated.
So...Happy Father's Day Pa. Hope you can figure out how to use the Vietnamese mouth harp I sent your way. It sounded like a suffering animal when I tried it.
At dinner last night Nathan and I told each another stories about our fathers. On the eve of Father's Day it seemed an appropriate dinner topic-a celebration of what we each love and respect about our Pa. (Nathan is the only person I have ever met in my entire life who also calls his father 'Pa') We had each other laughing with childhood memories. The time his father handled a midnight invasion of a bat while wearing a chain saw mask, swinging a tennis racket wildly while a young Nathan followed behind..watching with curiosity and not an ounce of concern for his own unmasked face. The time mine gave a stern lecture about the responsible use of his state of the art PVC potato launcher mere moments before sending a rotten potato at record speed through the greenhouse windows.
On one of our first days in Cambodia, Nathan and I watched from our hotel balcony as a little girl dragged her father from one flowering tree to another. At each she pointed with her tiny fingers to the prettiest blossoms. Her father had endless patience as he picked flower after flower for her inspection. He was clearly bringing just as much joy to her with each delivery as she was to him with her delighted giggles.
I have the feeling that if asked, my own father might say of me that I have too much heart and not enough head. I admit that sometimes that is true. As an adult, my relationship with him isn't quite as simple as that of the Cambodian girl and her father - like it surely used to be. The joy we get from being a part of one another's lives is sometimes tangled with the messy details of living - of making mistakes and changing course. That said, there is no man on the planet that I respect more than my father. He has earned my respect and love in a thousand different ways, with good deeds, compassion, discipline, empathy, intelligence, work ethic, creativity, and his genuine interest in the natural world.
My father is the man who can fix any problem. Plumbing, farm equipment, woodwork, cars, conflicts requiring diplomacy (big and small). He can deliver babies from the belly of a dying sow, run a bean farm while working full time and build a 36 foot sail boat from scratch. My father is the man that made 6 foot tall stilts for his own amusement..and then needed his own tractor bucket to lift himself into them. He got up at 430 to work in the fields and expected the family to pitch in. He taught my brothers and I about work ethic through his relentless efforts on the farm and his limitless energy and excitement to learn new things. His expectations were always high, but never impossible. He believes in doing things right the first time, but not being afraid to learn from mistakes. His confidence in me, his only daughter, always inspired me to push myself harder than I otherwise might have.
I am proud to have the father that I do. I think often of the things I have learned from him and am thankful for the many ways I am better for having listened to his council.
As Nathan and I reminisced, it surprised me to think of all the things I don't know about my father. Much of his life before marrying my mother, and before I was born is a mystery to me. I hope to get answers to some of my questions..to understand exactly how my father became who he has always been to me. But the truth is: I know and have always known the most important things about him. He is a good man with a good heart, he loves and sacrifices for his family and he is exactly the type of father that deserves a day to be celebrated.
So...Happy Father's Day Pa. Hope you can figure out how to use the Vietnamese mouth harp I sent your way. It sounded like a suffering animal when I tried it.