Yogyakarta, Borobudur, and Prambanan 06/17/08-06/19/08

I left Jakarta and headed east across the island of Java. I had to meet a friend in Bali on the weekend, so my time on Java was limited. My first stop after Jakarta was Yogyakarta.

Yogyakarta is a sizable city and is well liked among Indonesians and travelers. I was only there for two nights, and most of the intervening day was spent outside of town, but from what I saw of the city, it did seem like a pleasant place.

Some of the attractions of Yogyakarta are its batik, leather goods, silversmiths, shadow puppet theater, and the walled royal enclave (the kraton). I saw none of these things (well, you cannot avoid the batik) because my days were spent outside of town.

Within an hour of Yogyakarta are several temple ruins. The very famous Buddhist temple Borobudur and the Hindu temple complex Prambanan are the most well-known. There is also the very active volcano Gunung Merapi.

The train from Jakarta to Yogyakarta was quite pleasant. Views of rice fields and distant volcanoes.

While waiting on the train platform in Jakarta, I met a Dutch girl who was waiting for the same train. We talked a little and then ran into each other again when we arrived in Yogyakarta. We decided to look for hotels together. That rarest of beasts, a helpful tout, actually helped us find rooms (since our first choice was full.) We had a hard time explaining to desk clerks that although we walked in together, we wanted separate rooms and might not even stay in the same hotel.

She and I ended up in the same hotel right across the hall from each other--the Merapi Hotel in the backpacker ghetto near the train station and the main shopping area. I liked the hotel, but alas, there was just no escaping the pre-dawn blasts from the loudspeakers on the nearby mosque.

After settling in, she and I decided to go take a little walk around the area. It was around dusk. We walked through the markets and ended up doing a little shopping. Once again, everyone thought we were a couple. In the end, we just stopped fighting it. She would walk up to me with something she was thinking of buying and say something like, "Honey, what do you think of this?" With my woefully bad haggling skills, I bought a couple of pairs of earrings. I didn't feel too bad--the more expensive pair was only about a buck and a half US. We both ended up buying some really tasty fruit. Neither of us knew what it was. After stopping at the tourist information booth, I walked her back to the hotel. That was the last I saw of her in Jogjakarta.

After that, I went to meet someone that I had chatted with online. He and I ate at a nice, open-air Thai restaurant a motorbike ride away and then ended up at a mall having coffee because, well, a mall was the only place where we knew to go. Being a good muslim, he doesn't do bars. Like I said before, life seems very mall-centric in Indonesia.

The next day, I took a tour (not really a tour--just transport) to Borobudur, Gunung Merapi, and Prambanan. Aside from me, there were 3 young Indonesians and a bunch of French people.

Borobudur is an impressively restored--and just impressive--old Buddhist temple. It is just one large building with a few little museums around it. There were tons of people there. Nonetheless, it was easy to find places to be alone, since they all seemed to just run up the main stairways and hang out at the top instead of exploring the walkways on the sides at the different levels.

It was cool and all, but I was done after about 45 minutes. The bus was scheduled to stop there for 2 hours. I guess if you went around and studied all of the intricate bas reliefs you could fill up 2 hours.

While on Borobudur, people kept coming up to me and asking if they could take a picture with me. The guidebook told me that this might happen. Whenever anyone wanted a picture, I obliged. First, it was this trio of giggly teenage girls. Then a school teacher. And his co-worker. And the entire primary-school class. This continued at Pramabanan with a middle-aged woman, another middle-aged woman, her husband, and my two tour guides. It was bizarre. I cannot imaging that white people are that rare there. I asked someone else from the bus if they got the same treatment and he said yes.

As I was walking around, three boys dressed in slacks and dress shirts, probably between 12 and 14, came up to me and asked if they could practice English with me. In many countries, this is often a ploy in the hopes that money will eventually change hands. As such, I declined and went on around the structure. A while later, they came back up to me and started talking to me. They showed me their badges which was supposed to convince me that they were legit. I had nothing else to do to kill the next hour, so I kept talking to them.

While talking to them, I discovered that they really were just wanting to practice English. Apparently, their teacher brings the kids on field trips to tourist places like this and sends them out to have conversations with English speakers. I later found out that their teacher was occassionally wandering by to make sure that they were doing their assignment.

I had fun talking with these kids. The conversation ran the gamut. It started with the usual, "Where are you from?", "What do you do?", etc. Then it was questions about school and life in America. They told me about their schooling--I was amazed to learn that they had only been studying English for a year and a half. They told me that they hoped to someday go to college in America. Some of the questions were very broad, like "What is life like in America?" I laughed out loud when one of them asked "What about sex in America?" He insisted that if he was ever going to live in America that he would need to know these things. "Is it true that people can have sex before they get married in America?" What a conundrum.

The kids asked if I wanted to see any of the museums. I had heard that they weren't very interesting. They seemed to like one museum in particular, so we went there. They referred to it as something like the "unique" museum. When I went to pay for my ticket, the woman at the booth saw that I was with students and just waved me in. The museum was devoted to items in the category of "the something-est something". It had (supposedly) the world's largest dress and the biggest book in Indonesia, but mostly it consisted of panels that looked like photos out of the Guiness Book of World Records. No wonder it was popular with the kids.

We walked through a couple of other buildings that had chunks from Borobudur and photos of the reconstruction. Then, it was time for me to get back to my bus, so we bid each other farewell and parted company. It was an interesting way to kill an hour.

I hopped back on the bus and we were on our way to Gunung Merapi. Bascially, that stop was just a photo op at the base of Merapi. That was fine--I just got the tour for transport to the temples.

From there we had lunch and went to Prambanan. I don't usually like guided tours. I prefer, instead, to wander around on my own. Yes, I don't get all of the history and information, I overlook details, but I also don't get bored and antsy about keeping with the herd.

After a few minutes in Prambanan, a pair of young ladies in head scarves with badges around their necks came up to me. They said that they were tour guides in training and asked if I would mind allowing them to give me a free tour as practice. I really didn't want a guide, but I agreed anyway. They later told me that they have to do this for 3 weeks before they can start getting paid for giving tours. Their presentation had some definite flaws and I had to review them after the tour was done.

Prambanan is a complex of several temples. They are pretty impressive, but unfortunately, they were damaged in an earthquake a few years ago and now visitors cannot walk up to the main buildings due to fear of injury.

After a hot sweaty day of temples, I went home and booked a bus out of Yogyakarta for the next day, rested a bit, and had dinner with a friend. I would have liked to have stayed in Yogyakarta another day or two, but I still had to get to Bali by the weekend.

Jakarta, Indonesia--06/12/08-06/15/08

For a while, I had been wondering if my travel bug had died. In Central America, I just wasn't feeling the love of travel. In Thailand, I wasn't having a good time, and there was a moment when I just wanted to hop back on the plane and head home. But then I went to Indonesia. Once I got there, I discovered that my travel bug was alive and well. I was psyched about going places and seeing things. It was a good feeling.

People struck me as being very friendly in Indonesia. I certainly made several acquaintances who wanted to spend time together. In the street and at tourist sites, people would actually talk to me just to talk or to be helpful. This was disconcerting because I am so used to no one talking to me unprovoked unless they want something. It makes things harder when you are in a place where people will talk to you for other reasons. You have to decide which kind of person they are, which can be really hard.

Not only did people want to talk, but in a few places, strangers would come up to me wanting to have their picture taken with the white guy. Several people of all different ages. If my experiences are anything to judge by, they REALLY seem to like white people in Indonesia, and not just for the reasons that they do in every other developing country--i.e., as suckers with cash.

Indonesia was my first experience with a predominantly Islamic country. I can't say that it was a whole lot different. Here are some of the more noticeable differences:

• Lots of women wearing head scarves.
  
• Loudspeakers blasting the call to prayer from the mosques at the prescribed times--one of which is in the wee hours of the morning. (This is problematic for budget hotels with very little sound-proofing.)
  
• Very few places with pork on the menu.
  
• Prayer rooms next to the toilets at rest stops.
  

I never once felt self-conscious about being a white, non-Muslim, American while traveling through Indonesia.

I did on one or two occasions hear grumbles (from Muslims) about the ultraconservative Muslims who are trying to force laws to get everyone to abide by their moral codes. Before I left for Asia, I had read in the news about some of the recently proposed "decency" laws.

On the issue of terrorism, there were plenty of metal detectors and guards at entrances to malls and other public places. (I noticed that train stations and malls in Bangkok had also begun taking such measures since its recent troubles.) In addition to the high-profile bombings in Bali and Jakarta of a few years ago, there are ongoing acts of violence regularly occurring in certain parts of Indonesia. I did not visit any of these places.

Indonesian food was not quite what I expected. I somehow had the impression that Indonesian cuisine was very spicy, which it is not. The ubiquitous dishes were fried rice, fried noodles, fried chicken, and satay.

My point of entry into Indonesia was the Jakarta airport. I had a slight problem there. The immigration guy didn't want to let me in. Many countries have a policy that before entering you must show either an onward ticket or proof of funds. I always have ATM and credit cards, so it is never an issue, but no one has ever asked me for proof. This guy asked me if I had an onward ticket. I told him that I had a ticket to San Francisco, but it leaves from Bangkok. This was a problem. I told him that I had plenty of funds, but he informed me that for a visa on arrival (which was what I got) Indonesia requires an onward ticket leaving from an Indonesian airport. You cannot leave by water or land. I got a bit of attitude for not knowing this.

Trust me, this visa requirement is not obvious. I wanted to make sure that I could get a visa on arrival in Indonesia, so before I went, I looked at their web page. It was less than user-friendly, and I do not recall seeing the bit about needing an onward ticket to use the visa on arrival. I also looked in Lonely Planet. It was not like I hadn't done my homework--I am always worried about getting visas at border crossings. The immigration guy said that there was a sign where I got my visa on arrival stating the requirement. I read the signs there. I do not recall seeing anything other than a list of nationalities that could get the visa and the price.

So, what to do. I was told that I needed to buy a ticket out of Indonesia. The problem was, the ticketing counters were on the other side of immigration. I could call them or use the web and buy a ticket, but there were no internet cafes on my side of immigration and I had no local currency or phone card to use a pay phone (if there were any). I was about to turn back and try to find some way of making a call or getting someone from an AirAsia desk to help me out, when another guy came up. (By this time, everyone else had already left the immigration area--it was just me and the immigration guy.) The new guy said that the ticket desks were closed already. (It was not especially late yet.) He took me aside and said quietly that maybe I should offer the guy behind the desk some money. Ah. I see. That's how this works. I'm supposed to bribe this guy. I was not too happy, but what choice did I have? So, I went back to the desk, told the guy, "Ok, I understand from your friend that I can pay a 'fine' to take care of this. So how much is this 'fine'?" He seemed a bit confused. I told him that I had only US $25 on me (actually, I had more in my money belt) so hopefully it was not more than that. He figured out what was going on and told me that he did not want money, he just wanted me to get a ticket out. Now I was confused and relayed what the other guy had said--whom I thought was another guy working for immigration. The guy behind the desk told me that the other guy was from AirAsia--they had no connection. He had just called the AirAsia guy over to see if I could get a ticket. Oops. Wasn't I embarrassed (and potentially felonious.) I think he was embarrassed too and just processed my paperwork to get me through. I was impressed that he didn't accept the bribe. How embarrassing.

Once I got through immigration, the fun continued. I had to find my bag because I had spent so long in immigration that they had taken it off the belt. Then, once I found it, I wanted to make sure that I had no problems with customs. Indonesia is very strict about importing "immoral" items--such as uncensored movies that might depict nudity or other racy or otherwise sensitive material. I remembered that as I was packing, my friend in Thailand had given me two DVDs to watch on my computer. I had never heard of these movies before and knew nothing about them. Each of them had won some film festival award or other. However, one of them was named "Circuit" and was about circuit parties. I could very easily see it having objectionable material--there were probably sex scenes as well as rampant drug use. Did I mention that drug trafficking carries the death penalty in Indonesia? I dug them out of my bag and threw them in the trash before going through customs. I did not want any more trouble, especially since I was the only person who was going through customs at the time. I zipped right through.

Finally, I was free to go about my business. But wait, there's more. The first thing I wanted to do after visiting the ATM was get a local SIM card for my phone. I asked the information desk if there was a place in the airport that sold them, and the guy told me where I could get one. Because of my delay in immigration, I was one of very few arriving passengers still in the arrivals terminal. I might as well have had a bulls-eye painted on me. Several guys approached.

"Taxi?"

"No, thanks." (Don't EVER go with a taxi driver that accosts you in the arrivals terminal.)

Then one tried to show me to the place where I could get a SIM card.

"I know where it is, I don't need any help, thanks."

He was undeterred and walked along ahead of me and tried to show me to a place which did not even sell them. While he was dealing with that, I ignored him and went across the hall to where I knew they did sell them. I got my SIM card, but the guys were still waiting. I informed them over and over that I was not going with them. One just would not leave. While I was trying to call a hotel in town using my new SIM card, I finally got fed up with the guy and with no attempts at politeness or hiding my irritation I informed him that there was no way in hell I was taking his taxi and to just leave me alone. I did everything short of telling him to fuck off. I still had to get up and walk to another part of the terminal to ditch the guy.

Finally, I went out to the official taxi stand and got a cab into town. I had a pleasant enough chat with the taxi driver who, although he did not speak much English, wanted to chat. When he found out that I was single and traveling alone, he asked if I was looking for women. Here we go again. I made it abundantly clear that I was not in Indonesia for that. When I got to the hotel, the bellboy showing me to my room asked if I wanted to find some women. I have to wonder, does every single white guy visiting Asia get this treatment or is there something about me in particular that makes everyone think I am a sex tourist? When I went into the street to get some dinner (it was around midnight) I had to dodge a hooker or two. (They weren't extremely obvious.)

I stayed on Jalan Jaksa--the street which is the backpacker ghetto in Jakarta. Whenever I met people in Jakarta and was asked where I was staying, I always said "Jalan Jaksa" with a bit of embarrassment. The reaction was usually pretty negative. I asked a friend in Jakarta "Why does everyone know Jalan Jaksa? Why do people go there?" The response was basically, "People go there because that is where people go." Accommodation in Jakarta is pretty expensive for what you get--which is not much. I could have gotten a much better hotel for half the price in Bangkok or any other of the big cities that I have been to in Southeast Asia (except for Singapore.)

The night I arrived in Jakarta, I started communicating with some of the people there that I had met online. By the next day, I was hanging out with them. I ended up meeting several people very quickly. By the end of the weekend, I had people that I didn't remember meeting walking up to me in places and addressing me by name. I ended up doing an unusual amount of clubbing that weekend. Indonesia's club scene is quite developed, apparently. I met some of the people I hung out with in clubs. That is not usually a way that I like to meet people, but it was actually OK.

My first day in Jakarta, a Friday, I hung around with Jojo. We went to a mall so that I could get a replacement charger for my new phone. (The charger that came with the phone worked exactly once.) We used the busway system in Jakarta. This system uses special buses that run in lanes reserved specifically for these buses. It is very much like a light rail except that it uses buses instead of trains. Traffic in Jakarta is a nightmare, so anything that moves people through it is a godsend.

Jakarta has some massive malls. And some pretty upscale ones, too. Prada, Louis Vitton, Bruno Mali as far as the eye can see. I came to discover that Indonesia is very mall-centric. Social life revolves largely around malls. I had never been to a place where nightclubs were located inside of malls.

Jojo, being a good Muslim, did not drink or go to bars. Pavis, on the other
hand, was a Bangkok native who is going to school in Washington, D.C. and in
Jakarta for several months on an internship. He had just arrived within a week before I did. He was out clubbing that Friday and invited me to join him. We went to Red Square where he was out with a friend of his visiting from D.C. and some of her friends. I did not like that bar at all--it was packed with people too dressed up for my comfort zone and acting kinda mindless. They seemed to be having fun, though. It was so packed that I couldn't see a bar anywhere and the waiters didn't bother to bring me my drink order. I was not happy there. Eventually, Pavis told me where the bar was, I shelled out US$10 for a drink, after which I was suddenly much more able to enjoy the place. I still didn't like the place, but I went with the flow. Among other people, some very strange girl from Tennessee started talking to me. I have no idea what she was on. That was the weirdest, most awkward conversation that I had had in a long time.

I was getting ready to go home because I had not gotten much sleep the in the past couple of days and it was already after 2am. I found Pavis to say good-bye and he suggested that I go with him and some of his acquaintances to another club--Stadium. I had heard of Stadium. It had a reputation. I was curious. I figured that I would not go there on my own, so I would fight off sleep a little longer and go with them. Once I saw the place, I would just take a taxi home.

On the drive there, I discovered that Pavis did not know as much about Stadium as I did. What I knew, I got from the description of it in Lonely Planet. Stadium is a huge club--it has four floors and can hold 4,000 people. It opens on Thursday night and closes on Monday morning. And alcohol is not the drug of choice. That last fact was one that Pavis did not know and was not happy to discover. (As far as the opening hours, I discovered that that bit was not quite true anymore. I was told that it closes for several hours on Saturday morning. When asked why that was so, the person did not know. I asked someone else later and was told that they need to close the place to check for dead bodies, presumably from overdoses.)

Stadium was actually quite a nice building. It looked very new and trendy. I wondered how a club that catered to people who did not buy drinks stayed in business. I soon found out. When walking down the hall on certain floors, it looks like the hallway in a hotel, with numbered rooms along the hall. Our group (who got there in separate cars) was meeting in one of the rooms. Stadium rents out these private rooms. That is apparently how they make their money--renting out little private drug dens.

When we got to the room, it had a couch, some chairs, a TV with a karaoke setup, an attached bathroom--and was almost completely dark. There were other people already there, apparently for quite some time. Judging by the near-total lack of light and the fact that some of them were still wearing sunglasses, it was clear that what they were doing in there was not karaoke.

Interesting side note, in spite of the fact that Indonesia has severe drug laws (trafficking is punishable by death), it is the ecstacy capital of the world.

Pavis clearly hated Stadium and wanted to be somewhere else. I found it repulsive, but it was actually not nearly as bad as I expected, so I was OK. I asked Pavis if he wanted to leave, but he was determined to stay with his acquaintances and go with them when they left. Once everyone showed up, we went to one of the dance floors. After being there for about half an hour, I had decided that I had seen enough and it was time to go home. I asked Pavis again if he wanted to get a taxi out of there with me, but he was going to stay. He apologized profusely later for taking me to Stadium, which was unnecessary, since I knew what I was getting into.

It had started raining while we were in the club, and there was a huge crowd of people waiting for taxis. It was after 4 am. I had made a mental note of how to (safely) get to the main road when we entered the club, so I made my way there. A little boy with an umbrella followed me and shielded me from the rain for a tip. He also helped me spot a Bluebird taxi--the reputable taxi company in Jakarta. And so ended my first day in Indonesia.

The rest of my stay in Jakarta was more mild--going to more tame clubs, meeting people for lunch, dinner, and karaoke (which I have been doing a lot in Asia this time), and such.

On the Monday after I arrived in Jakarta, I bought a train ticket to Yogyakarta for the next day, took in the view from the top of the national monument (a big obelisk), and got together with some friends one last time. Jakarta may not be the prettiest or most interesting city in the world, but those 4 days there were a bit of a whirlwind.

The Most Important Travel Tool That I Own

I had a few electronics failures while in Bangkok. The charger for my quad-band phone that I use while traveling stopped working. I bought a new one. Then the phone stopped receiving text messages, which are important when I travel in Asia. On top of that, my PDA died.

The need for a new phone and a new PDA convinced me to finally get a smart phone. I would have gotten an iPhone except that Apple handcuffs you to AT&T, and if you have the phone unlocked, Apple completely disowns it. A phone that only works with AT&T is less than useless when traveling in Asia, and I did not want to pay $500 for an unlocked I-phone (readily available in Bangkok) that would not be updatable and would have no warranty if it broke the next day. In the end, I bought the Nokia E51. The phone has wi-fi, a camera, an SD memory slot, and the usual goodies like bluetooth, speakerphone, etc. It is a smart phone, so it replaces my PDA, with the added benefit that it is with me at all times without taking up extra pocket space.

Why am I writing a blog entry about a new phone? Because it has become an immensely important travel accessory. Here are the handy things I can do with the phone:

My phone is a quad-band, unlocked GSM phone. As such, for any country that has a GSM mobile phone network, I can go to a store, buy a SIM card, use a prepaid plan, and voila! I have a local phone number. Every airport in Asia that I have been to on this trip has had a shop where I could get a SIM card. It is so nice to have a local number as soon as I land. Having a local phone account makes it much easier to connect with people in that country, as well as make hotel and travel reservations. It also lets me exchange text messages with people in other countries at a reasonable rate. Since most such phone plans have free incoming calls, anyone back home can talk to me, provided that they are will to pay for an international call. (I still use Skype for my international calls.)

The phone plays mp3s. Since getting it, I have pretty much stopped using my iPod and my other mp3 player. Because the phone has a slot for a 2G SD memory card, I can put songs, language lessons, etc. on the card and listen to them on the phone, either via headphones or the speaker on the phone. When exercising, it is nice to not have to have to use headphones like I do with the iPod.

I am a light sleeper. Noise wakes me up. The best way to combat this is by having some kind of white noise generator in the room, such as a fan or a loud air conditioner. When these are not available, I can play an mp3 recording of a vacuum cleaner through my phone's speaker. It does a respectable job of blocking out unwanted noise.

The wi-fi capability of the phone allows me to connect to the internet. I can download podcasts which I can then listen to on my phone, either via headphones or the speaker on the phone. I can check e-mail on the phone as well. I can also surf the web, but this can be a slow, tedious process. Wireless access points are not always easy to find, but since the Starbucks empire has infiltrated a whole lot of places, there is usually one around somewhere in larger shopping centers in cities. Some hotels, restaurants, and other coffee shops also have them.

Nokia smart phones have the Nokia Maps program which is turning out to be immensely useful. When connected to the internet via wi-fi, I point the application to whatever city I want to navigate and it downloads the map for it. (There is a separate PC application that can download maps, but I have not tried it.) I can zoom in to street level or out to a view from space. I really wish I had a phone with GPS--the combination of GPS and Nokia maps would be so handy. Unfortnately, Nokia maps do not cover all cities. So far, it has done great with Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur, and Jakarta, but other cities like Denpasar in Bali do not show up at all. I have found that Nokia Maps works better than Google Maps in that it is not as tethered to the internet. I could, of course, use Google Maps with a 3G connection to the internet, but that would be crazy expensive.

My old PDA was very useful as a time-waster when I was on buses, planes, trains, and the like. I would read books on it or play games. I have downloaded a book reader and some books for my phone, which works perfectly well, although the screen is a bit smaller. (Books are heavy, take up a lot of space, and are expensive. Reading public domain books on a handheld device works great.) I have also downloaded several games, but the lack of a touch-screen on the phone makes playing games a lot less fun. The phone has a Java interpreter, so I can play games written in Java. (Non-geeks can ignore that last sentence.)

The phone has a 2 megapixel camera, which means that I always have a camera with me. The camera is not nearly as good as my Canon, so When I go to tourist spots, I still take the Canon. Still, there are a lot of shots that I would not have gotten without the camera phone.

The phone has a photo viewer. I use this to view maps that I download from the internet, such as transit maps or city maps.

I have other applications on the phone that are useful while traveling: an alarm clock, a world clock, a currency converter, a program to download podcasts, an appointment calendar, and an application for writing notes to myself.

There are some things that my phone does not have that I wish it did:

• GPS
  
• a touch screen
  
• a flash for the camera
  
• the ability to charge the phone using the USB cable (My phone charger died the day after I bought the phone and I had to buy a new one, since I was no longer in the country where I bought it--Thailand.)
  

Eventually, I intend to install one or more language dictionaries and phrasebooks--hopefully, talking ones.

I would also like to get a bluetooth keyboard so I can type up my journals and blog entries on my phone.

I Hit the Road Again--and It Hit Back (Thailand, 5/15/08-6/12/08)

As most of you know, I am back on the road again after taking a break for a couple of months in California. I came back from Costa Rica on Feb. 22 and left for Thailand on May 15. Yes, I am SERIOUSLY behind on my blogs. I still have pretty much all of Central America and lots of Mexico to write up yet.

In May, prior to leaving for Thailand, I went back to Illinois to visit family and friends, since I will probably not be back for Christmas again this year. While there, my family threw me a surprise 40th birthday party. I was definitely surprised--my birthday was not for 3 more months. They knew I would not be in the country for my birthday and figured that that was the only shot they would get.

Some of you may know that I had planned to go to South America after my break, followed by Asia later. I decided to go to Asia first for a few reasons:

1. The thought of going back to Latin America filled me with dread rather than excitement.
   
2. The thought of going back to Asia, in contrast, sounded like a lot of fun.
   
3. It would be winter in South America.
   
4. A friend of mine in Bangkok was about to move to Europe, and by going to Asia first, I could visit him before he left.
   

Because of that last reason, I started my Asia trip in Bangkok--a place that
I became very familiar with in previous trips to Asia.

Sadly, my trip to Thailand was largely miserable. I tend to regret very little--mistakes tend to make valuable learning experiences--but I regret going back to Thailand when I did. I had gone there to visit my friend, of whom I had many happy memories. Those happy memories have now been replaced with some very unhappy ones. I would have preferred to have just left things as they were when I last visited.

Five years ago when I was in Thailand, after meeting in Bangkok, my friend and I took a trip to Ko Samui which was filled with a lot of things that still made us laugh recalling them. Two years ago we took a nice, low-key trip to Cha Am. On that trip, I was happy to see that my friend's life had changed for the better, and he seemed much happier than I remembered him years before. But just as I was very happy to see these changes in him two years ago, I was very unhappy to see some of the changes that took place between then and now. I am not at liberty to say what those changes were--I promised I wouldn't--but the resulting behavior put a big strain on our friendship. So much of a strain that I don't even know if I would still call us friends. Time will tell. On the bright side, I think the source of most of the problems will go away when he leaves the country--away from some bad influences and into the presence of someone who will not put up with what was going on.

I arrived in Thailand at midnight after a 24-hour plane trip. A day before I left California, my friend invited me to take a trip with him and some friends to Ko Samet--a place that I had considered visiting last time I was in Thailand. A bit hesitantly, I agreed to go. I wish I had not. A lot of bad shit went down there, and the rest of my visit to Thailand never recovered from that. Don't get me wrong--I was never in any danger and the bad things that happened did not happen to me, but what happened there disturbed me so much that it had me lying in bed awake for many nights. Again, I cannot go into details because I promised that I wouldn't.

I should say that the things that were wrong with that trip to Ko Samet had nothing to do with Ko Samet itself. In fact, I would recommend Ko Samet. It has beautiful beaches with rustic beachside restaurants that do not spoil the scene by pumping out loud music and creating that whole "party 'til you puke" vibe. (At least, this is true of the part of the island where I stayed.) You can find all the relaxation you want there or you can dance all night if you prefer. Ko Samet seems to have found a nice balance, and I enjoyed both sides of it.

In spite of the aforementioned disturbing incidents, I did have some genuinely good times on Ko Samet. I went dancing on several nights with my friend and his friends and had a lot of fun. (I found out weeks later that someone else who knew me from Bangkok saw me dancing on Ko Samet but was not sure it was me, since he did not know I was back.) After one such night out, we stopped by a booth to play that carnival game where you throw darts at balloons to win a prize. Someone won a Piglet stuffed toy, which was given to me and now shows up in photos of the places I visit.

Also, on Ko Samet, I had a very good conversation with my friend, where he showed me photos from the past few years and told me about his days as a monk last year. In Thailand, it is not uncommon for men and boys to spend a little time--a few weeks or months--as Bhuddist monks. (I know another friend--Siam--who has done this as well.) It is often done to honor their families. The last time I visited my friend, he told me that he had planned to someday be a monk for a while to honor his mother. I had a hard time picturing him as a monk then. When he showed me the photos and told me about the experience, I saw a side of him that I had not seen before. His plan was to be a monk for two weeks. Once he started, he decided to continue for five months. He tried to describe the feeling that made him stay, but had difficulty. In the end, he just said something to the effect that he stayed because he felt so strongly in his heart. I found it incredibly touching.

On Ko Samet and afterwards, the friendship pretty much crumbled, leading to some hurt feelings, but still, some pretty good times in Bangkok. The last few days before I left Thailand did a lot to mend things between us, but I suspect that it was too little too late. Time will tell. When I go back to Bangkok, he will not be there, and I find that to be a relief, which in itself is sad. I would like to think that our friendship will recover, but I do not have a lot of hope. Sigh.

My arrival in Thailand was met with the worst case of insomnia that I have ever had. My second worst case was the last time I arrived in Thailand. I blame this mostly on the flight there. (I took the same flight both times.) Usually, I combat jet lag after an all night flight by staying up until at least 8 pm and then sleeping until morning. Using this trick, I have almost never had jet lag. Unfortunately, my 24-hour flight to Bangkok landed at around midnight. There was no way I could stay up another 20 hours before sleeping. (I did, however, stay up until around 4am talking with my friend.) I hardly got any sleep for the next week. I was amazed that I could go so long with so little sleep. I was awake for 24-hours straight more than once. When I did sleep, it was generally for an hour or two. (It was not all jet lag--nights out, rock-hard beds, and troubling incidents contributed to the insomnia.) Usually, after two or more nights without much sleep, I tend to get sick--colds and the like. I was feeling amazingly fit after my week of sleeplessness.

Once I got back to Bangkok, I reconnected with several other old friends. I visited with Siam--the first friend I ever made in Thailand. We caught up and he showed me his brand new condo. It is tiny, but it is in a very nice building. (So nice, that the previously mentioned friend used to dream of living there when viewing it from the balcony of his apartment a few blocks away.)

I also visited Dew, who is now the proud proprietor of a new guesthouse in Bangkok. The building is owned by his family, but he was in charge of renovating it and turning it into a guesthouse. It is pretty much his baby. He gave me the grand tour. When I left Thailand, it had not yet opened. Dew and I met and hung out several times when I was in Bangkok five years ago. He visited San Francisco a couple of years ago, at which time I showed him around and introduced him to Halloween in the Castro with some friends.

I also met a few new friends in Bangkok to replace the ones that have left the city or lost touch since I first started going there.

I have always loved Bangkok, inexplicably, from the first time I went there. I have to say, however, that each time I go back, some of the luster wears off. There was a time that I would have loved to live in Bangkok. Now, I'm not so sure. I still like it, partially because of its status as my home-away-from-home, but now it is more of a "yeah, I guess I like it" rather than "oh, my God, I love it". But as long as I have friends there, I expect that I will like it. And it is any easy place to make friends, which is something that has always made me like it.

I stayed in a different hotel during this visit to Bangkok--The Blooms Residence. It was suggested to me because I was staying for a while and they have cheap monthly rates--about $225 a month. The room was tiny, but fully functional, and best of all, quiet. It was a 15 minute walk to the nearest train station (more than I would have liked), but other than that, fairly well located. When I checked the rates for the hotel, they had three rates: daily, monthly, and hourly. Yep. Hourly. The place really did not exude the no-tell motel ambiance, and there were plenty of families staying there, but anyone who knew of the place knew of it as a haven for sex tourists. After I checked in, I happened upon a little tidbit on the web. It turns out that the wacko that claimed that he killed JonBenet Ramsey (remember her?) was living there when he "confessed". (For those who do not commit details of media frenzies to memory, it was concluded that this guy could not possibly have killed her and was just nuts.)

Another new thing added on this trip to Bangkok was my use of motorcycle taxis. There was always a bunch of them waiting outside my hotel. During high traffic times, they are a lot faster than regular taxis because they can just go around the cars in a traffic jam. And, I was surprised to discover, they have fixed rates, so you do not have to negotiate a price like you do with tuk-tuks. Of course, you always run the risk of getting your head splattered on the pavement. They usually have an extra helmet to help prevent this.

When my one month visa expired, I left Thailand. I had an old friend to meet in Bali.

Bluefields, Nicaragua 01/20/08-01/21/08

Highlights

• Transportation woes a-plenty
• A boat in the rain

After Managua, I decided to go to the Corn Islands off of Nicaragua's Caribbean coast. To get there, you have to go to the city of Bluefields and either take a boat or plane to Big Corn Island. Rather than simply fly from Managau to Bluefields and continue on to the island, I decided to take the land/water route to Bluefields and just fly back when I was done with my time on the islands. I would just do the land route once for the experience. It ended up being an experience I could have done without. It was all because of the people providing transportation.

Bluefields is a small town on the Caribbean with a small airport. It is only reachable by boat or air. It is the gateway to the Corn Islands. There is not a whole lot of interest in Bluefields other than the airport and ferries.

Details

To get to Bluefields, I had to go by land from Managua to Rama and catch a boat the rest of the way to Bluefields. I took a cab to the bus station, where I knew there was a direct bus going to Rama at 9:00am. I was surprised when the cab driver accepted my reasonable offer of 40 cordobas for the ride. He spent quite a while on the way looking for other fares to share the ride. (In Nicaragua and other Central American countries, they will generally try to get other fares going the same direction. This is not considered unusual.) He did not find any other fares. When we got to the bus station, I paid him his 40 and was informed that I needed to pay him 10 more. After an initial sigh of frustration, I decided that I did not want to have an argument in Spanish over 50 cents instead of catching my bus, so I just gave it to him. It was still much cheaper than I expected to pay. Did I ever mention that I hate taxi drivers?

At most of the bus stations in Central America, there are usually people who will ask you where you are going and direct you to a bus--a surprising case of people in the street out to help you and not just themselves. In Managua, there are guys there who have no interest in you but want to get something from you. I was a bit wary. The woman with the shuttle right next to me asked if I was going to Juigalpa. I said no, and proceded to put on my backpack to find my bus. Then she asked if I was going to Rama. I said yes and she indicated that I should take the shuttle. I asked if it was direct and what the price was. It sounded OK, so I got in. Well, much to my annoyance, I later found out that the shuttle was direct, but it was direct only to Juigalpa, halfway to Rama. I got out there, failed to get a direct bus from there to Rama, and ended up on a very nice but incredibly slow bus there instead. I was fuming. I was so pissed that I did not just get onto the bus I had originally planned to get on. I was really pissed at the thought that I might miss the last boat to Bluefields and have to spend the night in Rama--an apparently seedy town. I kept thinking, "I am really getting sick of Central America. It is time to leave."

I got to Rama in plenty of time for the boats, but as I arrived, it started raining. As with bus stations, boat docks often have people to guide you to the pier and the right boat. A guy saw me heading there and walked with me the rest of the way to the ticket booth. But wait--there were two companies with boats to Bluefields. They were giving contradictory statements about the services. One group was lying, but which one? Or both? I gut stuck with the liars. They said the boat was covered, but it was not. By that point, I just thought, "Screw it. Just get me the hell out of here and get this day over with. If I have to wait an hour for the other company to run the covered boat, I would rather just get wet."

Instead of the boat being covered, the passengers got covered with a sheet of opaque plastic the length of the boat. It was stiflingly hot under the plastic. As the boat moved, I put my head out from under the plastic. I decided that I would rather be drenched with rain than with sweat. As the boat picked up speed, the rain stung my face. I was worried that I might be causing the guy behind me to get wet, so I went back under the plastic.

I had taken the river route rather than fly so that I could see the scenery. All I was seeing was the inside of a sheet of plastic. It wasn't even the rain or the plastic that pissed me off. It was just the fact that I was lied to and screwed over yet again. At that moment, I just wanted to get the hell out of Central America and never come back.

After just a few minutes, the rain stopped and we took off the plastic. As he sky brightened, so did my mood. I think I even smiled.

The scenery was basically just jungle lining the river. It was not much different from Rio Dulce in Guatemala. The ride was quite rough in spots. My butt hurt. Even in the smooth spots, the boat was constantly bouncing up and down.

It was getting dark when we arrived in Bluefields. I had decided to not bother with a hotel search and just go to the more expensive option listed in Lonely Planet. As I got off the boat, I practically ran to avoid dealing with touts.

I walked directly to the hotel with no trouble. On the short walk, I definitely did not get the warm fuzzies about Bluefields. I decided I would just eat in the hotel tonight and take care of any business in the morning rather than walk around Bluefields at night.

The hotel restaurant was out over the bay and was quite nice. It was so darkly lit that the waiter had to bring a flashlight for me to read the menu. While eating, some little girl kept screaming for quite a while. I don't mean crying, I mean shrieking just for the fun of it. Neither her parents nor anyone else made any move to get her to stop or even seemed to notice that she was doing it, reaffirming my theory that in Central America the existence of noise is not acknowledged.

My sleep was interrupted a couple of times in the early morning by dogs. Like all of Central America that I have seen so far, stray dogs are an infestation in Bluefields.

I needed to run errands before heading to the airport to fly to the Corn Islands. I did not know if I would have internet access on the islands, so I booked my return ticket home. I have one more month of Central America before I fly home from San Jose, Costa Rica. It may be too long, considering I have only been gone for 3 months, and that as of this day, I am officially burnt out on Central America.

After searching and asking around, I found the post office and finally mailed the photo CDs back home to Ganesh.

I packed up and headed to the airport to fly to Big Corn Island. Flagging down a taxi was surprisingly hard. There were zillions in the street, but they were taken and heading the other way. When I finally found someone willing to go to the airport, I asked if he would do it for 10 quetzales (the cheapest suggested fare to the airport), and he said yes. No haggling. We picked up another passenger on the street, dropped her off (I didn't see her pay) and off to the airport, which is a very short ride.

I bought my ticket and waited for about 3 hours, which was when the next flight left. The airport is tiny and the only other people there for the first hour or so were people who worked there.

Before I could board, I had to take the spoon out of my carry-on. Apparently, spoons are dangerous. I had another spoon in my big bag, so I just threw away the one in my backpack.

Managua, Nicaragua 01/18/18-01/20/08

Highlights

• Met my acquaintance from the internet
• Walked up to the lagoon overlooking the city.
• Walked around the city
• Tried (unsuccessfully) to plug a leaky shower.

Summary

What is there to say about Managua? It is the capital of Nicaragua, has a large portion of the population, and is not the most interesting place in the world. It's downtown area was destroyed in an earthquake and not rebuilt because it sits on multiple fault lines.

I stayed near some of the international bus stations because this part of town has the cheap lodgings. (Managua seems quite overpriced.) Not surprisingly, this neighborhood has some of the seedier elements. There was more than one person with that "let's see how much we can get out of this guy" look. And, as is apparently the norm in Nicaragau, plenty of people saying "Give me a dollar" as I walk by.

I did get to hang out with my first Nico (Nicaraguan), although even that was kind of disappointing.

I have no pictures of Managua because I did not take my camera with me when exploring it. The crime rate was too high in some parts of town to risk carrying my camera. In the end, I didn't go through those parts.

Details

When I got to Managua and got off the bus, I ended up sharing an overpriced taxi with a Dutch guy whom I chatted with.

When my taxi passed the Ticabus station down the street from the hotel I wanted to go to, a tout ran after the taxi so he could get to the hotel gate before I did. The hotel was overpriced (and I wonder if the tout resulted in a price increase.) I could not get rid of the tout until I headed to an area where he apparently could not get commissions. He tried to convince me that they were too expensive.

My hotel seemed fine at first, but then I realized that the walls did not go all the way up to the ceiling. The result: you could hear every sound anywhere in that part of the building. If someone showered, you could hear it. In the morning, the music and cooking from the kitchen came in loud and clear. I moved to another hotel the next day and it was even worse. That one had a leaky shower head which made the room super-humid. I tried to fix this by tightly wrapping plastic around it with rubber bands. For a shower with no pressure, it had enough pressure to explode the plastic.

My first evening in Managua was spent meeting Oscar, who lives there. We walked around my neighborhood a bit, stopped by the big mall there, and had dinner in a restaurant nearby. Oscar is lawyer by training. He was working in Panama and is now getting certified for Nicaragua. Our conversation was fine, but a little bit depressing. Neither of us made an effort to get together again that weekend.

When I left after dinner, I was advised to take a cab the 5 blocks to my hotel. I knew that the neighborhood was dangerous after dark.

The next day, I decided to see a bit of Managua. I considered going to the area monumental--the destroyed former center of town. However, I knew that this was a crime ridden part of town and didn't want to be bothered with that that day. Instead, I walked up the hill to the lagoon. From there, I got a good view of the area monumental and Lake Managua behind it. I could see the remains of the cathedral very clearly.

The lagoon itself was OK, but nothing spectacular.

After the lagoon, I decided to walk to the Zona Rosa, which I had ascertained from locals was a safe walk. Safe, but not particularly attractive. The most interesting things were casinos and this odd church with tons of little hemispheres all over the roof. (It was, unfortunately, pretty ugly.)

It was without much regret that I left Managua less than two days after arriving.

Ometepe, Nicaragua 01/16/08-01/18/08

Highlights:

• Pushing a truck out of a ditch
• Walking around the island
• Talking to a Managuan pen-pal

Summary

Omoptepe is a volcanic island in the middle of the giant Lake Nicaragua. It is two islands joined by an isthmus. Each smaller island had a volcano at its center. There are beaches around the island and several small towns. Most of the towns are so small that they are not distinguishable as town. The only towns with populations over a few hundred are Myogalpa, where the ferry stops, and the smaller, more laid back Altagracia. I decided to stay in Altagracia.

My intent was to take the bus around the island, maybe go to some of the beaches, and, hopefully, climb the smaller volcano. After walking around the island a bit, I realized that my feet were not in good enough shape to do an 8 hour strenuous hike on a volcano. (My feet have been sore off and on since I was in Tikal.)

I contented myself with my walk around the island and decided to just get on with my trip.

Details

The day I left Granada, I kept waking up in the the early morning, particularly after this wierd dream where I was trying to get a vegetarian sandwich in the middle of the night. in a (non-existant) restaurant in St. Libory known for cooking beans in the can on the stove until they exploded.

I packed and to my horror discovered that the water was off. fortunately, it came back on before I needed to shower.

I took my bag to what I thought was the bus stop for Rivas. Fortunately, I asked a woman there and she and others there told me it was around the corner.

There were a lot of stops along the way to pick up people. The bus got pretty packed. I liked the road we were on, even if the bus did have to veer to avoid potholes. It did not have lines for the first part and had trees along it and was surrounded by mostly flat, non-jungle land. Then it turned to jungle.

When we got to Rivas, people shuffled us to the microbus to San Jorge. For 5 cordobas, they took us directly to the ferry dock. I bought my ticket at the ticket booth, while most just paid on the ferry. The ferry left at noon, about 20 minutes after we arrived. Very good timing.

I did not go on top of the boat for fear of getting motion sickness. I sat in the middle of the cabin and did not see much, other than cheesy Sanish-language music videos. The ride was a bit over an hour. It was kind of choppy, so I was glad that I got the ferry and not the smaller boat.

When the boat arrived at Myogalpa, I hopped on the bus to Altagracia. It was hot, and we waited quite a while. The bus got really packed along the way. The island is pretty, but the towns do not seem to be. An hour or so later, we reached Altagracia. It was disappointing that there were not many places where one could see the volcanoes or beaches from the bus.

When I got off the bus in Altagracia, I walked two blocks south to my hotel. This guy on a bike kept trying to suggest hotels and saying that he could be a guide on a volcano hike. He did not take the hints that I was not interested in hiring someone off the street.

I got to the hotel and got a nice room for US$5, which I then had to switch because of a pluming problem--the water from the sink poured onto the floor.

While having lunch in the hotel restaurant, I asked the woman at the hotel if I should be suspicious of people who talk to me in the street. She said it depends on the person. Lo and behold, five minutes later, the guy on the bike came by while she was at the door. They exchanged a few words. I told her that he was the guy I was talking about. She said to avoid him. He was bad news.

I walked around town a little. There is not much to walk around. A lot of the roads are just dirt. There is nothing here, which is not so bad, except that they do have people trying to get the attention of tourists. That has become my new prime factor in whether I like a town or not. I just want a place where I can be left alone.

I unsuccessfully tried to find the beach near town.

The next day I decided to walk to the other half of the island. It was a pleasant walk down the main road, where I encountered a truck that was sideways in the road with its rear wheels stuck in a ditch. I put down my bag and helped push the truck out of the ditch which with the extra hands, was quite easy.

I found the turnoff to the Isthmus, but after that, I did not know where I was. It was a pleasant walk among plantain and banana groves, with a few corn fields and some animals. I regularly ran across pigs, horses, cows, and chickens just loose in the streets or yards. There were some beautiful blue birds with long tails among the banana trees.

I had planned to go to the big beach on the isthmus, but never found it. The map in Lonely Planet was not very detailed. I thought I had passed the town and was walking on the other island, but found out later that this was not the case. I had turned around and walked to a beach, but not the one I was headed for. There was one family there further down.

I walked back toward Altagracia, passing the little river where I had seen woman washing clothes earlier. It was a very hot, sunny walk. I was sweating a lot Thankfully, my REI sunscreen seems to have held up. Before I reached the paved road, I had to walk through a herd of cattle coming the other way.

I reached an intersection prior to the paved road and decided to head down toward the shore. It took me past farm land. The lane was very rough and rocky and was lined with a stone wall. It was quite picturesque, but I did not go all the way down because I was beginning to doubt that it went to the shore.

Back at the hotel, I used the trash can in my room to wash some clothes in the shower. I desperately needed some clean clothes but did not have the chance to take it to the laundry.

The power went off and on for several minutes at a time that night. That meant no fan, but the evening was fairly cool, so this was not too bad. It didn't help with drying my laundry, though.

During one of the outages, I listened to Spanish lessons. During another, I decided to finally call Oscar in Managua--someone I had met on the net. To my surprise, he spoke English. He had never uttered a word of English in all of our chats and e-mails. He seemed to be quite looking forward to meeting me. From what he says, he has no social life. When I told him that I was thinking of going to Managua this weekend and asked if he had plans, he said, no, he never has plans on weekends.

One interesting thing that Oscar said was that he feels old. He is only 26. He said he sees all of these 15 and 16 year olds and feels old. I asked why he was hanging around so many 15 year olds and he pointed out that most of the country's population is below 20.

I went to bed, pretty sure that I was going to Managua in the morning.

The next day, I packed my clothes, which were still wet from the previous days washing. I walked with my bags to the town square to catch the bus to the pier at Mayogalpa. I sat on a bench an asked the old lady next to me if this was the stop for the Mayogalpa bus. She said that it was, and when the bus came, she got up and signalled for me to follow.

When I got to the pier, I had the option of hopping right on the panga with the potential for seasickness or wait two hours for the ferry. I hopped on the panga. It was a lot calmer than I expected. I sat up top, fortunately shaded by the cabin behind me, and looked backward.

I sat next to an Irish couple, and we chatted a bit on the way over.

When we reached the shore, we saw people wearing shirts that read "tourist assistance" in Spanish. We had a good laugh at that. Someone tried to get me to take an overpriced taxi or shuttle to Rivas. I said I was taking the minibus. He said there was none. I told him that I had taken it to get here, and he left me alone.

When we got to Rivas, I immediately hopped on a bus to Managua. I had them put my pack on the roof, then realized that it would have fit in the overhead rack and that Managua is not a place to have your luggage out of your sight.

One time when the bus stopped, they popped the hood and added water. The bus sounded fine and nothing seemed wrong, but I was wary. Then the bus stopped again. They turned off the engine, popped the hood again, and added water again. People (me included) thought that the bus had broken down and some had started to move off. However, the bus had stopped because of a traffic jam, and once the jam was moving, we got to Managua without incident.