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We spent four days on safari, driving through the Kruger National Park in South Africa.  Our guides drove us around for hours each day as Oksana and I hung out our respective windows, searching the countryside for the next amazing animal.

Before we arrived in South Africa, I never would have guessed that so many of the iconic African animals could be spotted in a single country.  For some reason, I thought you had to travel all over the continent if you wanted to see lions, wildebeest, rhinos, giraffes, leopards, hyenas, elephants, crocodiles, zebra, buffalo, baboons, and warthogs.  (We saw most of those the first day in the park.)  About the only big African animal I can think of that we didn’t have a chance of seeing was a mountain gorilla.

The highlight of the safari, for me, was spotting a cheetah.  After we stopped the car to watch him, his brother also emerged from the brush.  Both of those beautiful animals eventually crossed the road directly in us before disappearing into a ravine.

The next day, it got even better.  Oksana spotted another cheetah.  Our guides were blown away.  Not only are cheetahs among the rarest animals seen in the park, but we were the ones to spot them – not them, the more experienced guides!

It was nearly sunset when we spotted the cheetah on the second day and we were far from our camp.  Still, it was such an amazing animal, our guides graciously allowed us to stay as long as possible.  As we watched, the cheetah got up and stretched, then went about marking his territory.  Against all odds, his path again took him across the road we were on.

There were no other cars around, so our guide let me bend the rules this one time.  He opened up the sunroof and I stood up on the center console before carefully levering my shoulders through the small opening.  As I got my camera up, the cheetah was alongside our vehicle, heading behind us, but paralleling the road.  Our driver put the car in neutral and we coasted along beside him.  I got some great video footage of him walking through the brush like that.

Eventually we stopped and he went about marking a thick tree on the opposite side of the road.  If I’d been shooting out the passenger window, I would have lost him, but because I was standing up through the sunroof, I was able to pivot and continue shooting.  The sun was now at my back, so I switched the 5D off Live View (video) mode and started taking pictures.  I got this photo when he turned to walk away.

We took literally thousands of photos while on safari in Kruger and a handful of them turned out quite well.  This one, however, may be my favorite.

Canon 5D Mark II
Date: 4:44pm, 31 May 2011
Focal Length: 400mm (200mm + 2x extender)
Shutter: 125 sec
Aperture: F/5.6
Exposure: -.3 step
Flash: No
ISO: 400
Photoshop: Auto contrast, slight saturation boost, slight dodging around the eye.

Notes

African Big 5 Safaris was our tour operator (highly recommended!)

The story of spotting this particular cheetah is told in our African Big 5 Safari video, starting at the 19 min, 48 sec mark.

Related posts:

1. PVX: A Crash of Rhinos
2. PV015: African Big 5 Safaris

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | One comment |

—

It occurred to me at the time – I actually had the thought – that the situation we were in reminded me of one of those crazy African travel blog entries I’d read online.  Dropped off in the middle of nowhere, not really knowing where we were, where we were going, or how we were going to get there.  I had the sense that we were in the middle of a great story, but at the time all I wanted to know was how it was going to end.

A large man in a military uniform was the last person to step off the bus.  Because he stopped to purchase something from the roadside stand, he was soon the only other passenger still around.  As he passed by us on the way down the road, Oksana asked if he knew where the river was.

He gestured across the countryside, “I’m not sure,” he said. “But I think it’s three or four kilometers that way.”  His accent was thick, but perfectly understandable.

Both Oksana and I looked the way he indicated.  It looked no different than any other direction.

“Do you… um,” I began. “Do you know how we can get there?”

“I would wave at the first car you see,” he replied.  Oksana and I looked up and down the dirt road.  There were no cars.

As he continued on his way, I helped Oksana into her packs before hefting mine.  We walked over to the kiosk and I bought a warm Coca Light as an excuse to ask the owner some questions.  When she handed me my change, I asked “How far is the river from here?”

“Four kilometers.”

“Which way?”

She pointed to a sandy dirt track a couple hundred meters from where we were standing.  I looked up and down the main road again before turning back to her.  “No taxis?” I smiled.

She smiled back.  “No. No taxis.”

Oksana and I thanked her and started to walk to where the track intersected with the road.  It only took us a few minutes to reach the juncture, but we were drenched with sweat when we arrived.  There was no way we could to carry our packs over sand for four kilometers.  We decided to set them down and wait.  I cracked open the Diet Coke and we passed it back and forth until it was gone.

Twenty minutes went by without a single vehicle passing.  No car, no bicycle, not even a person walked by.  We could see the people back at the kiosk stealing looks at us every now and again.  I got tired of standing and sat on my backpack.

Finally, we spied a small pickup truck rumbling its way up the sandy tire tracks, coming from the direction of the river.  Neither Oksana nor I wanted to be the one to flag it down, but I reluctantly stood up and waved when the truck drew near.

When the truck eased to a stop alongside me, I could see that the driver was a young woman.  The passenger seat was empty, but her three-year-old son was standing alone in the pickup’s bed.  She looked at me and waited.

“Um, hello,” I looked back the way she had just come.  A long trail of dust was settling back to earth.  “We were wondering if this is the road to the river…?”

“Yes.” No expression on her face.

“And it’s about four kilometers away?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I sighed.  She wasn’t making this any easier for me.  I gave her a sheepish smile.  “I… could you possibly give us a ride to the river?”

She looked over at Oksana and the backpacks, then at her rear view mirror.  She turned back to me and said,  “Yes.”

“Really?  Thank you!”  I started to walk around to get our bags.

Oksana hopped up and as we lifted up our bags, the woman got out and warned us that the back of the truck was dirty.  “I work on a farm; some of the dirt might be manure.”

We couldn’t have cared less and assured her we didn’t mind.  She introduced us to her son – “He loves to ride in the back!” – as we propped our packs upright against the cab window.  Oksana and I climbed in and sat on the edge.

The drive took longer than I expected.  While we bumped along the sandy tire ruts, Oksana and I tried to engage the little boy in conversation.  He understood us, but other than a shy nod or shake of his head, he only smiled and chewed on his fingers.

As we approached the river, the vegetation began to change.  Taller, greener trees appeared as we passed through another cluster of houses.  Some kids playing by the roadside noticed us riding along and started yelling and waving.   We smiled and waved back from our precarious perch.  Delighted, they chased after us, picking up more children along the way.  By the end, there must have been at least 10 kids behind the truck, running and laughing and screaming, before they finally ran out of steam and fell behind.

The road eventually led into a thicket of trees, cutting off our view of the surrounding terrain.  We coasted to a stop on a sandy field.  Tire tracks from other vehicles drew big loops in the sand. Ahead, t The twin ruts that made up our road disappeared beneath murky, mineral-brown water.

Our driver cut her engine as I hopped over the side.  I walked up to the edge of the water and peered in.  “Is this the river?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “The river is farther.  On the other side.”  Indeed, I could see tire tracks emerging on the far bank, about 50 meters away.

“What is this, if it’s not the river?  Is it flooding?”

“Yes.  Too much water this year.”  I looked at Oksana, then looked back across the pond.  I tried to think what to do.

Our driver was the first to break the silence, “How are you planning to cross?”

I laughed.  Laughed right out loud.  “I have no idea!  None at all!”  The water looked to be no more than waist deep.  I thought I could perhaps wade the bags across, one at a time, but there were hippos and crocodiles in the Okavango River.  Would they swim up the flooded road?  Finally, I asked, “Do you have a suggestion?”

“Do you have a phone number to call?” she asked.

“No.”  I chuckled again.  “We don’t even have a phone.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment.  “Maybe I can call someone.”

“Do you mind?  We would be very thankful.  We would be happy to pay you for your minutes, too.”

She placed three calls, apologizing between them for not being able to drive us across the flooded road.  “We use the truck on our farm.”  I told her we completely understood.

Eventually, she hung up the phone and told us that she called a campground, called the Swamp Stop, on the other side of the flooding.  They were sending someone to ferry us across the pond.  While we waited, Oksana dug out some cash to pay the woman back for her generosity.  We were both so thankful for her help.

Five or ten minutes later, we heard a rough engine chugging along behind the trees on the opposite bank.  A young man rode into view on a tractor, hitched to what looked to be a flat, wooden boat trailer.  He killed the engine and walked down to the water.  From behind a bush, he pulled a long slim canoe, or mokoro, down to the water’s edge and slid it in.  We watched as his poled his way across.

Our Swamp Stop employee introduced himself as Geoffrey and helped us load our packs into the middle of the skinny boat.  As we climbed into the canoe, we waved goodbye to our savior in the pickup truck.

Our boatman stood in the back of the mokoro and slowly poled us across the pond.  With all our laptops and camera gear between our legs, I was terrified we would capsize (especially with him standing in the back), but the boat was remarkable stable.  Peering over the side, I didn’t see any crocodiles, but my assumptions about the depth had been correct.

Geoffrey asked us where we were going and we told him about the riverboat that anchored in Seronga.  “I am from Seronga!” he said with a big smile. Great!  We were on the right track!

He looked pensive or a moment, then said “But why are you going to Swamp Stop?” Uh-oh.  Geoffrey went on to explain that Swamp Stop was just a campground along the River.  The road went nowhere else and there was no ferry from there to Seronga.  “It is okay,” he shrugged it off.  “You can use the phone to arrange a transfer.”

Once safely docked on the other bank, I helped Geoffrey haul the moroko all the way out of the water.  We climbed up onto the flat wooden trailer and enjoyed the ride as the tractor pulled us over to the campground.  He cut the motor and then led through the landscaped grounds, over to the reception office.

Reception was just a small, glassed-in room attached to a two-story restaurant.  The receptionist behind the desk was surprised to see us.  We soon learned that the entire campground was closed for repairs after the recent flooding.  That explained the green swimming pools teeming with frogs and tadpoles…

We told her our story, emphasizing that we were hopelessly lost and confused.  Back in Sepupa, we thought asking how to get to the river was the best way to cross it, but now crossing back over the flooded section of road would be difficult.  Obviously there would be no car waiting to take us back to the main road.

I dug the printed copies of the Ngwesi River Boat’s website out of my backpack and told the receptionist we were trying to reach Seronga.  She gave me a doubtful look, “I don’t think that riverboat doesn’t docks there.”

“Well, okay, but that’s the information we have,” I said.  “Would it be okay if we borrowed your mobile phone to call the owners?  They’re expecting us today.” It was getting late in the afternoon.

“Well…” she hemmed and hawed. “I’m not supposed to let anyone use the phone…”

“Please?” I asked.  “We just traveled all the way up from Maun.  We don’t have a phone and I don’t know any other way to reach them.  We don’t mind paying!”

Grudgingly, she gave in. “Okay.  But you’ll have to be quick.” Her eyes scanned the campgrounds behind us, searching for her boss.  “Give me the phone number.”

I handed the paper over and pointed to the contact number.  She frowned and said, “I don’t think that’s the right one.  I’m going to call another.”

I thought better about arguing and just said, “Okay. Thank you.”  She dialed the number and immediately handed me the phone.

A man with a South African accent answered.  “Hello,” I said. “I’m trying to reach Wanda.”

“Nobody here by that name.  Wanda who?”  I briefly explained our situation and told him we were trying to reach the Ngwesi  River Boat.  “Oh, sure.  I know who you mean.  Let me get her phone number for you.”  I wrote it in the margins of my printout.  It matched the number I’d given to the receptionist.

I thanked him and hung up, then asked the receptionist to if I could make another call.  She sighed, but motioned me to go ahead.

I didn’t get a hold of Wanda with the next call, either, but it was the correct number.  Her husband answered and, once I’d identified myself, he promised me she would call us back soon.

I told the receptionist – who was none too happy – and asked if there was a place we could wait.  She pointed us toward the restaurant.  We dragged our bags in and sat at the bar.  Another employee, an older woman, was watching a show on TV, but she switched over to a BBC World News broadcast for us.  I felt guilty and ordered a beer while we waited.

Half an hour later, the phone finally rang.  The receptionist handed it to me and Wanda was finally on the line.

“Hello!” I said.  “So happy to finally get in touch with you!”

“Where are you?” She asked. “We’re still in Maun.”

I wanted to thump my head on the bar.

Long story short, Wanda had a family emergency back in South Africa and was trying to arrange a flight home.  They had tried to call us at the Okavango River Lodge, even showed up while we were in our room (an employee supposedly knocked on our door and got no answer.)  She tried to apologize for the confusion, but I wouldn’t let her because the fault was all our own.  If only we’d checked our email before leaving!

Wanda told me that we were more than welcome to spend the night on the riverboat; the captain was expecting us.  I explained that we were essentially stuck at an isolated campground between rivers with no mobile phone.

We talked it over and decided the best course of action would be to wait for Adriaan, her husband.  He would be driving back from Maun the following day and he could pick us up at the campground.  I put the phone against my shoulder and asked the receptionist if it was possible for us to rent a room or a tent for just one night.  She did that nodding-shrugging thing that says, “I guess so.”

Before hanging up, Wanda asked, “By the way, why were you trying to go to Seronga?”

“Because that’s where the website said the riverboat was docked.” I said.

“Oh,” she replied.  “No, no.  It’s in Shakawe now.”  What?!  “You must have been looking at the old website.  We moved the boat when we took it over from the previous owners.”  I sighed.

We made plans for Adriaan to call the following day to let us know when he’d arrive.  I hung up and handed the phone back to the receptionist.  We counted out some coins to pay for the minutes we’d used and handed that to her, as well, before asking about the room rates.  We decided the air-conditioned chalets were far too expensive for our budget.  A huge safari tent with cots, sheets, and blankets was $30; we took one of those.

The next day – Oksana’s birthday, actually – we spent near the restaurant (the older woman offered to cook for us from a limited menu; “Do you want a hamburger or fish?”) and on its second-floor balcony.  The view of the Okavango Panhandle from that balcony was spectacular.  A narrow channel of the river snaked its way in front of us and on the opposite bank, tall reeds grew seemingly all the way to the horizon.

We celebrated Oksana’s birthday by reading on the deck, petting some of the campground’s dozen or so friendly cats, and only looking up for the occasional colorful bird or river otter.  We talked to Adriaan again in the morning and he told us he would meet us at 4pm.  Later, however, he called again to tell us that he needed to see Wanda off and wouldn’t be able to pick us up until the following morning.  We didn’t have to worry about not having reservations for another night in the tent; we never did see another traveler while we were at the Swamp Stop.

Those two days at the campground were actually quite relaxing.  We had been going pretty much non-stop for six weeks and it was nice to have a couple days without anything to do.  We might well have needed the recovery time after the adventure of getting there, too.

At any rate, Adriaan picked us up on the second day and drove us to the riverboat in Shakawe.  Oksana and I spent the next four days on the river – just us and the riverboat’s two crew members – enjoying the sights and sounds of the Okavango Panhandle.  But that’s another story…

—

Notes
Ngwesi Houseboat website 

If you want to read more about us trying to find our way in Africa, I’ve already written about the next leg of this journey (when we left the riverboat, bound for Zambia) in my Thoughts on Namibia post.

Related posts:

1. Waiting in Maun, part 2
2. Learning to use the bus rank in Botswana, part 1
3. Thoughts on Botswana

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | No comment |

This is a continuation of the story told in the previous blog entry: Learning to use the bus rank in Botswana.

We spent a week in Maun, passing most of our time in a chalet at the Okavango River Lodge.  The lodge itself was nothing special, but it suited us just fine.  This far from the actual river, we expected the delta to be mostly dried up, but Maun was seeing the highest water levels in 15 years.  Our chalet was a two-room cement bunker set back in the landscaped grounds.  It was quiet, but not so far from the open-air bar and restaurant on the water’s edge that we couldn’t hear the more social travelers watching the hippos grazing at sunset.

Our room was a concrete box with a curtain hanging over a doorway into a small bathroom.  I set up my laptop on a narrow desk and claimed the only chair in the room.  Oksana spent a lot of time reading in bed, underneath the mosquito net.  After dark I joined her there.  That close to the river, the mosquitoes began to swarm just after sunset.  We learned to shake out our clothing and shoes in the morning, too.  There was a gap under the door that let in all manner of little crawly things.

We didn’t see much of the delta while in Maun because we were caught between jobs.  I spent most of the week diligently editing a video of our four-day safari with African Big 5 Safaris.  They had treated us to a fantastic time and I was set on giving them the best promotional video I could manage.  In the meantime, Oksana was coordinating our next assignment.  There was a tour operator up near the Okavango Panhandle that had expressed an interest in taking us out on their riverboat in exchange for some professional photos of their renovations.

Problem was, we didn’t have internet access.  There was a laptop at the bar we could use to check our email, but at $6 per hour, it was actually cheaper for both of us to drive into town and get online at an internet café.  We fell into a routine where we’d catch a combi to the city center every other day, buy some donuts for breakfast and check our email at a place called “Tech Times.” We’d load up on groceries before heading back out to the River Lodge – it was cheaper to eat PBJs and soup than to buy all our meals from the restaurant.

Eventually, I finished the safari video and, because it was impossible to upload it to Youtube with Botswana’s poor internet infrastructure, we planned one more trip into town to mail a DVD back to our friends in South Africa.  Oksana checked her email and discovered that our riverboat contact had just arrived in Maun the day before!  We’d already made plans to ride out on a bus the following day, but she was offering us a ride instead.

We were kicking ourselves for not checking our email the day before and for not going to the effort to get a cell phone while we were in Botswana.  If we’d done either, getting in touch with them would have been easy.  As it was, all we could do was reply to her email and hope they got in touch with us through the Okavango River Lodge.  Just in case, I printed off all the contact information and directions to the riverboat from their website.

We hadn’t heard anything by the next morning, and the bus was scheduled to leave before the internet café would open.  We debated whether we should pay for internet access at the lodge’s bar, but ultimately decided against it.  We figured we had missed our window of opportunity and that our contacts would already be heading back to their riverboat.  We took a taxi back to the bus rank.

Knowing how the bus rank worked this time, we found the bus to our destination, Sepupa, quickly.  Sepupa wasn’t our final destination, but it was the closest point to a village called Seronga on our map.  Seronga was where the website said the riverboat was anchored, but it was on the other side of the river.  We would have to find the ferry.

The bus was identical to the one we took from Gaborone except that this time we were able to put our big packs down below.  Oksana and I snatched up a three-chair span again – giving us some room for our day packs – at least until we passed though a few more towns and the bus filled up.

I put my earphones in and watched the countryside pass by.  Goats, donkeys, and cows were corralled in waist-high pens made up of tangled of sticks and braches.  The occasional mongoose scampering through the sparse dry grass.  Beige termite mounds, taller than I am, climbed up out of the brush; I must have seen thousands before the four and a half hour trip was over.

We only stopped for one military inspection.  One by one, we took our hand bags up to table set up on the side of the road and opened them up.  A bored solider gave each a cursory look before waving us back on the bus.

As we neared our destination, I opened up a digital copy of the Lonely Planet guidebook on my iPhone and studied the region to make sure we got off at the correct stop.  Just before reaching Sepupa, we started to see the 13 Etshas listed on the map.  I didn’t know what an Etsha was, but it was obvious that they were different than the settlements I’d seen in Botswana so far.  Rather than houses made of wood or concrete, large communities were constructed entirely out of reeds.  Circular huts, tall fences, animal pens; everything was made up of those dry, thin stalks.  Asking around, we learned that these settlements along the river were originally refugee camps for those fleeing from the Angola Civil War, decades past.

It was early afternoon when we arrived in Sepupa.  The bus was full, but not many people stepped off with us.  We collected our bags from underneath and hauled them over to the shoulder as the bus pulled away in a cloud of dust.  When it cleared, we looked around.

There wasn’t much to see.  A tiny store, not much bigger than shed, stood a few paces off to the side.  Three or four people sat on its cement foundation, staring at us with blank expressions.  The landscape was mostly barren dirt; there was nothing blocking our view of the other dwellings scattered around the countryside.  Even so, what we could see was barley a step up from the Etshas.

The river was nowhere to be seen and there were no vehicles – parked or otherwise – anywhere in sight.  The few people who got off the bus with us were already walking away, leaving us alone on the side of the road.  Oksana and I looked at each other.  We didn’t have to say it; we were both thinking the same thing.

What the hell do we do now?

—

Okay, so I just realized this needs to be a three-part story…

Related posts:

1. Lost in Botswana, part 3
2. Learning to use the bus rank in Botswana, part 1

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | No comment |

I wanted to write a story about what it was like to ride a bus cross-country in Africa.  I have two such stories that took place in Botswana, each interesting for different reasons.  This is the first. If some of it sounds familiar, it’s because I wrote briefly about this ride in my Thoughts on Botswana post.

—

South Africa was a good introduction to the continent for us.  While still very different from what we were used to in South America, it wasn’t so strange that we had trouble getting around.  We traveled around there for a month before moving on.

On our last few days in Pretoria, Oksana met a couple Canadian college students in the shared kitchen of our hostel.  They were volunteering in Gaborone, the capital of Botswana, and had come down for the weekend to check out South Africa.  Oksana mentioned Botswana was next on our list and before we knew it, we had invitations to stay with them.  They departed ahead of us, but a few days later we hopped on a bus and joined them in Gabs.

The South African bus company we selected to get us there was both professional and efficient.  We made the 7-hour trip in surprising comfort.  It wasn’t until we traveled inside Botswana that we found the African busses I expected…and feared.

We spent just a couple days in the capital; our real plans for Botswana involved the Okavango Delta, further to the north.  Our new friends worked during the day, so we spent our time sightseeing and seeking out a prescription for anti-malarial medication.  In the evenings, we reconvened for dinner back at the dormitory house.

On our last day in Gaborone, we followed directions to the bus rank, to see about getting tickets to Maun.  Even after an explanation of what to expect, we were not prepared for what we found.

Our taxi driver dropped us off in a parking lot full of taxis.  He actually tried to weasel a few extra pula out of us by offering to drive us to the bus rank, but we’d been forewarned and knew it was just across a pedestrian bridge.  He smiled when we told him, “That’s okay, we know where it is.”

The pedestrian bridge was two stories tall and the hot Kalahari wind whipped dust into our eyes as we crossed it.  Still, we could see controlled chaos of the bus rank below us.  Dozens of buses were parked bumper-to-bumper in 15 parallel lanes, each about as long as football field.  Hundreds of people were milling around and vendors selling bags of dried caterpillars clustered at the bottom of the bridge.

We walked the perimeter of the bus rank, confident we would find an office, ticket salesmen, or at least a schedule written on a sign.  After searching three of the four sides, we gave up.  Oksana asked a fruit vendor how to find the bus to Maun.  She simply pointed to the buses and said, “Go ask.”

We walked into the lanes and asked a bored teenager, the first person that made eye contact with us.  As soon as we mentioned Maun, he shook his head.  “Come back in the morning.  No more buses to Maun.”

“When?”

“5:30,” he shrugged.  “Maybe 7:00.”

On the walk to the taxi lot, we decided to come back at 5:30am.  If there was only one bus to Maun each day, arriving early would be better than missing it again.

The next morning, we were up and moving before sunrise.  Sleepy hugs and goodbyes with our new friends made us slightly late; we didn’t leave the house until 5:30am, but the taxi driver took us straight to the bus rank.  He pulled up to the end of one of the ranks and asked a boy which was the bus to Maun.  I didn’t understand the exchange, but as soon as he said “Maun,” the boy shouted and started running.  Other boys joined him and the taxi accelerated behind them.

We arrived at the front of the rank just as the bus started to pull out.  Our taxi had outrun the kids and braked hard directly in front of the bus.  The bus driver leaned on his horn and began revving his engine.  I was digging out money to pay our fare when the shouting kids caught up and swarmed around us.  Oksana raced to the trunk and hauled out our packs.

It was pandemonium.   I’m sure we would have missed the bus if not for that taxi driver.  He ignored the bus driver completely – wouldn’t even look at him – while I helped Oksana shoulder her pack and hefted mine.  I approached the door and asked the driver if his bus was going to Maun.  The kids around me laughed, “Yes!  Yes, this is your bus!  Get on!”

The bus driver was ignoring me anyway, so I climbed aboard to see if there were any seats available.  There were, but I didn’t know what to do with our large backpacks.  They normally go in a luggage compartment under the bus, but there was no help to be had in that respect.  I spied two seats near the rear of the bus.  It looked like there might be enough room in the overhead bins for our packs…  The driver was still leaning on his horn and everyone on the bus was staring at me.  Screw It, I thought.  I’m sitting down.

I started to walk down the aisle when I heard a strangled cry from the doorway.  “Arlo!” Oksana yelled.  “I can’t get on!”

The first step onto the bus was a good three feet off the ground and, with her main pack on her back and a day bag on her front, she was carrying an extra 60 pounds and couldn’t lift herself up that far with just one leg.  Then engine revved again; there was panic in her eyes.

I dropped my pack in the aisle and went to her.  “Turn around, give me your pack.”  Once free of that, she was able to haul herself up onto the bus.  As soon as she cleared the ground, the taxi drove off and presently our bus was in motion.  Oksana took both day bags back to the empty seats and I shuttled the bigger packs down the aisle after her.

While I was lifting my pack overhead, a candy vendor helped Oksana with hers.  It was a clever ploy.  He smiled and showed her his candy basket afterwards.  It was too early in the morning for sweets, but she gave him the change in her pocket – 3 pula – for his help.

Finally we collapsed into our seats.  We hadn’t paid yet – didn’t even know how much it was going to cost us to get to Maun – but we didn’t care.  We were on our way.

The original bus seats had been ripped out and replaced with straight-backed, metal chairs that were welded to the floor.  Three on one side of the aisle, two on the other.  Even the leg room had been shortened to fit in as many rows as possible on the bus.  At least we had three seats to ourselves.  We placed our day packs between us and tried to get comfortable.

The bus picked up speed as we left the city and the temperature inside plummeted as the pre-dawn air streamed in through the cracks between the windows.  It was still a good hour before sunrise, another two or three before it would really start to warm up.  I ended up putting on four layers – under shirt, long sleeve, down vest, and windbreaker – just to stop shivering.  I pulled the hood of my windbreaker over my head and leaned against the window.  In minutes, I was asleep.

I woke with the sunrise as a young conductor slowly moved up the aisle.  He was taking money and issuing handwritten ticket stubs.  I motioned toward Oksana, still asleep with her arm wrapped around our daypacks, and said, “Maun.” He said, “300 pula.”  It was the price we’d been expecting, so I handed over the money without complaint.

Now that it was light enough to see, I stretched and looked around the bus.  The curtains were drawn across every window, keeping the early morning sun from shining in our eyes.  Besides an Asian man – who looked just as confused as I felt – there were no other tourists on the bus.  It was quiet; everyone was trying to sleep and no one paid us the slightest attention.  I shed a layer and tried to catch a little more shuteye myself.

The ride to Maun took 10 hours.  There wasn’t a bathroom on the bus, but we stopped on average every one or two hours, usually at a bus rank like the one in Gaborone, only smaller.  While they loaded and unloaded passengers, there was more than enough time to hop off the bus, find the restroom, and pick up a drink or a snack from one of the vendors.

Twice, we stopped at cattle gates that doubled as security checkpoints.  Each time, we were ushered from the bus by men in military fatigues with assault rifles slung over their shoulder.  They checked our IDs and waved us across a cattle grid laid across the road.  We all stood around on the dusty shoulder until the bus joined us on the other side.  Each inspection only took five or ten minutes.

Between bigger towns, the bus filled up and Oksana and I gave up the seat holding our day packs.  It grew hot as the sun climbed higher in the sky, but the locals protested when we lowered the windows.  The blessedly cool breeze was a hundred times better than the stale, body-odor heavy air inside the bus.  I couldn’t understand why they preferred it that way.  Perhaps the road dust was even worse.  At any rate, we shed every layer until we were in shorts and t-shirts, but sweat still pooled on our laps, underneath those heavy day packs.

With the sun beating down, it made sense to close the curtains too.  I regretfully turned my attention from the arid Botswana countryside to my iPhone.  I listened to a few podcasts and read a few chapters in my book to pass the time.

We arrived in Maun, sweated and tired, in the mid-afternoon.  Yet another bus rank greeted us and combi (minivan) drivers leaned out their windows in an attempt to coax us over.  We didn’t understand the system yet – and besides, we didn’t even know where we were staying yet – so we started looking for a pay phone.  We set off toward a grocery store on the edge of the bus rank called “Choppies.”

After buying a much-needed cold drink, Oksana and I gathered in the shade of a big tree and put our heads together.  We looked over the map we had of Maun and tried to find the hotel choices we’d researched ahead of time.  Turned out most of them were far outside the city limits, along the shores of the Okavango River.  We trudged back to the bus rank and found a taxi willing to take us to our first choice, the Okavango River Lodge.

It was well outside the town, 12 or 13 kilometers at least, but fortunately, the lodge had rooms available.  We piled our stuff into our little “chalet” room, went back out long enough to grab something to eat, and were in our mosquito net-draped bed by 7:30pm.

Related posts:

1. Lost in Botswana, part 3
2. Waiting in Maun, part 2
3. Thoughts on Botswana

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | No comment |

If you have a question that’s not on here, let me know.  Be happy to add something to the list.

Post Travels FAQ

Index of questions:

Q: How long did you end up traveling?

Q: Where are you now?

Q: What are your plans for the future?

Q: What was your favorite place/tour/country/thing out of all your travels?

Q: What was the craziest/most disgusting thing you ate?

Q: Which countries did you visit?

Q: Which country was your favorite?

Q: What was your least favorite country?

Q: What was the most dangerous thing you did?

Q: Did you have any trouble while traveling?  Was anything stolen?

Q: How much did you spend?  Were you able to stick to your $100/day budget?

Q: Did you ever get sick on the trip?

Q: Are you still married?  How has being together 24/7 for 18 months affected your relationship?

Q: Do you miss it?  Does life seem boring now that you’ve slowed down?  Did you burn out on travel?

Answers:

Q: How long did you end up traveling?

A: Almost exactly 18 months.

Although… that answer doesn’t really tell the whole story.  In our minds, there are three or four distinct parts to our time away from home:  Crossing the US and Canada, staying with family, active travel, and living in Australia. 

We left home on July 1, 2010, to drive across the country.  By August, we’d made it as far as North Carolina before a family emergency delayed our plans to leave the U.S.  We stayed with my grandparents until November 10, 2010.

From November 10, 2010, to December 26, 2011 (58 weeks), we were actively engaged in what I would consider “world travel.”  We visited 31 different countries in all, starting in Ecuador (Colombia, if you want to count passport stamps) and ending up in Australia.

Since December 26, 2011, we’ve been living and working in Brisbane.  While it doesn’t feel quite like “real life” again, it’s certainly not travel, but since we played tourist the first week or so we were in Brizzy, we decided to count that as part of our travels.

Our infographics chart our travel time from July 1, 2010 to January 1, 2012.

Q: Where are you now?

A: Brisbane, in Queensland, Australia.  Oksana has a job working as an assistant accountant at an auto dealership called Motorama, while I’m a stay-at-home husband trying to update our website and write a book about our travels.

Q: What are your plans for the future?

A: Can’t say for sure; we’re still very much in the “wing it” mentality, but we have a 10-month lease on our apartment, so it’s likely we’ll be staying until December 2012.  (We’re inviting our friends and family to visit in November; contact us if you might be interested!)

Our visas expire near the end of December, but we haven’t decided yet what we’re going to do then.  Neither one of us is looking forward to going back to Alaska in the dead of winter and there’s been talk of spending time in Central America – a region we missed because of those family emergencies.  To be honest, we’re not 100% sure we’ll even return to Juneau.  Life on the road has taught us that opportunities can arise at any time.

Q: What was your favorite place/tour/country/thing out of all your travels?

A: I don’t know!  Are you the kind of person that has a ready answer for those “what’s your favorite movie?” and “what’s your favorite song?” questions?  I’m not.  I have to qualify my answers…

Favorite geological wonder: The Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia (the world’s largest salt flat)
It was incredible and like nothing else I have ever seen.

Best wildlife: Galapagos Islands and Kruger National Park (tie)
Both give you very up close and personal encounters with wild animals.

Best food: Argentina (steak and wine, asado), South Africa (biltong and ginger beer, braai), Thailand (fruit and Thai cooking), Vietnam (coffee)

Best ruins to explore: Peru, Egypt, Cambodia (tie)

Best excursions: 7-day Galapagos cruise (just amazing); 4-day private safari in Kruger National Park (best guides; proud to call them friends today!); 3-day Salar de Uyuni tour (best value for the money); and Mountain biking down the World’s Most Dangerous Road (for the extras/freebies thrown in.)

Best SCUBA diving: Galapagos (though not necessarily the dives in the video below)

Q: What was the craziest/most disgusting thing you ate?

A: Craziest?  Probably “lemon-flavored ants,” in the Ecuadorian jungle.  Most disgusting?  Finland’s Salmiakki (salted licorice) – and I love black licorice, too!  We also tried kudu, ostrich, crocodile, and springbok in South Africa; snake in Cambodia; and kangaroo in Australia.

Q: Which countries did you visit?

A: Canada, the United States, Colombia (in transit, airports only), Ecuador & the Galapagos Islands, Peru, Bolivia, Chile, Argentina, Uruguay, South Africa, Botswana, Namibia (1 day), Zambia, Zimbabwe (1 day), Tanzania and Zanzibar, Egypt, Jordan, Israel, Turkey, Bulgaria, Finland, Estonia, Russia, United Arab Emirates (1 day), Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, Malaysia, Singapore, and Australia.  31 in all.

Q: Which country was your favorite?

A: Again, so hard to choose a favorite.  Every country has something to like.  It may help if we rephrase the question: Which countries would you want to visit again?

There are three: Turkey, Bulgaria, and Thailand.  Of course, we’ll likely visit many of these countries again.  I’ve been to the Galapagos three times now, and I’d go back in a heartbeat.  We have many friends in Argentina and family in Russia; I’ll bet we return to both those countries, too.  But with a whole world out there to explore, it’s difficult for us to spend our hard-earned vacation time on countries we’ve already been to.  Even so, both Oksana and I would like to see more of Turkey, Bulgaria, and Thailand.

Q: What was your least favorite country?

Egypt, hands down.  Oksana and I were disgusted by how we were treated as walking wallets by almost everyone even tangentially associated with the tourism industry.  Also, while their ancient artifacts are literally some of the best in the world, they don’t seem to be valued very much by people living there today.  It’s a shame, because they’re astonishing, and I want nothing more than to recommend you plan your next vacation there.  But I can’t.  At least not without many warnings and caveats.

Vietnam (north) might also have been a contender (for many of the same reasons), but we went in with very low expectations and came out pleasantly surprised.  Oksana doesn’t have very fond memories of Tanzania, either.  Dar es Salaam felt unsafe.  Even though nothing ever happened to us in the city, we always felt on edge.

Q: What was the most dangerous thing you did?

A: Depends on what you consider dangerous.  Some might consider riding a bus through the Andes dangerous, and we did a lot of that!  Off the top of my head, though, there’s…

Mountain biking down the World’s Most Dangerous Road near La Paz, Bolivia.

Walking into pens with multiple adult tigers to let them lap milk from our hands in Luhán, Argentina.

Standing in a couple inches of water on a Bolivian salt flat as a thunderstorm rolled in.

Tip-toeing around slippery pits of boiling mud on top of a volcano near the Chilean border.

Sitting in a diving cage as a 3-meter Great White Shark bumped up against it.

And, sadly, walking down a deserted beach in Zanzibar.

Q: Did you have any trouble while traveling?  Was anything stolen?

A: We were very lucky.  Setting aside things like getting sick or being scammed out of a couple dollars in Egypt, the only bad thing that happened to us was being mugged at machete-point on a beach in Zanzibar (Tanzania.)  However, we both look back on that and laugh.  We only lost USD$15 and got a great story out of it!

Neither Oksana nor I ever had anything stolen, either from pickpockets on the street or taken from our bags in our hotel room by a maid with sticky fingers.  Of course, we’re both extremely paranoid travelers.  We had tiny padlocks on our backpacks and our pockets sealed with safety pins when out on the street.  Plus, we’re street smart, try to be aware of what’s going on all around us at all times, and watch out for each other.

Come to think of it, a couple guys in Puno (Peru) did try to pick my pockets, but my unconscious reaction to their jostling me from both sides was to shove them away and shout, “Hey!”  They instantly melted into the crowd and when I checked my pockets, nothing was missing.

Q: How much did you spend?  Were you able to stick to your $100/day budget?

A: We’re still working on the exact numbers.  Oksana needs to go back and put the first few months of receipts into our new travel budget format (the Excel spreadsheet she created grew in capabilities as we went; it’s quite comprehensive now!)

However, here are the ballpark figures:

Total travel expenses for 18 months: $61,438.11
Total fixed “back home” expenses for 18 months: $17,316.13

Breakdown
US and Canada road trip, plus stay with grandparents (1 July 2010 to 10 Nov 2010):  $13,039.20
Travel outside the US (10 Nov 2010 to 1 Jan 2012): $48,398.91

Our fixed “back home” expenses such as cell phone, ministorage, post office box, annual credit card fees, and, perhaps most importantly, health insurance, add another $17,316.13.

Our goal was $100/day (for travel expenses), but we fell short of that.  Our actual travel expenses ran just under $112/day.

We also only planned to travel for one year, but we pushed on longer than that.  If we look at only Nov 10 to Nov 10, an exact year of travel, our travel expenses were $43,059.70, or $6,559.70 over our planned budget.

For comparison’s sake, after three and a half months, we’re averaging $146.56 per day in Australia (excluding those fixed “back home” expenses.)

Q: Did you ever get sick on the trip?

A: Yes, sometimes quite severely, but even so, not as much as we anticipated.

Before we left, we took our vaccinations very seriously.  We were each vaccinated for Hepatitis A and B, Typhoid, Yellow Fever, TDAP (Tetanus, Diphtheria, and Pertussis), and Meningococcal Meningitis.  Once we reached Africa, we also got the Oral Polio Vaccine and started up Doxycycline and Malarone anti-malarial routines (which we also used in Southeast Asia.)  The only vaccinations we didn’t get, which we might have had some use for, were for pneumonia and Japanese Encephalitis.

Here are the highlights (lowlights):

• During the Galapagos trip, one night I came down with uncontrollable shivering.  I thought it might be hypothermia from snorkeling and a cold shower afterward, but the shipboard doctor checked me out, discovered I had a fever, and gave me a course of antibiotics.  I was (mostly) fine the next day, however.  Lost my appetite for the rest of the trip, but didn’t miss out on any of the outings.
• In Ecuador, I fainted dead away in front of a couple maids, falling like a bag of bricks to the hard-wood floor.  I’d been stung by a bee earlier in the day, but I suspect it was simply light-headedness brought on by the altitude.
• Oksana battled stomach problems in Lima, Peru, for a time.  Not sure if it was an actual bug or just a reaction to new food and the new bacterial strains that invariably come along with it.  She took some antibiotics and it went away.
• On our first attempt at the salt flats tour, both of us came down with severe abdominal cramping.  We suspect it was from something we’d eaten on an earlier bus ride.  Up until that time, we ate everything put in front of us, including raw vegetables and street food.  After a week of abdominal cramping, horrible gas, and generally debilitating stomach problems, we both decided to self-medicate and bought a full course of strong antibiotics (Cipro) at the pharmacy.  Did the trick; I figure it killed whatever intestinal parasite was boring away in our guts.
• Oksana experienced some signs of heat stroke when we were touring the Luxor ruins in Egypt.  That was the day it was 120 degrees and we drank six liters of water… each!
• Both Oksana and I came down with terrible sinus infections in Thailand – the first time we’d had a cold in over a year and a half.  Just head colds, though.  They passed in time.  Strangely, after doing a month-long loop through Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia, we both picked up head colds again the day we returned to Thailand.  It was mild in comparison, however, the second time around.

Other than that, we were fine.  Well, except for what the anti-malarials did to our bodies.  Let me tell you there were times when we were on Doxycycline that we wondered if we’d ever have a solid poop again!

Q: Are you still married?  How has being together 24/7 for 18 months affected your relationship?

A: Yes, we’re still happily married.  More happy now that we’ve stopped traveling.

Oksana and I have always had a good relationship.  We literally (and by “literally,” I mean literally!) went three or four years into our marriage before we had our first argument.  We communicate with each other well.

But that isn’t to say being together every waking moment for a year and a half was easy!  We had plenty of arguments on this trip, some quite heated, but it never got so bad that we considered quitting.

Really, it comes down to stress.  When everything was going according to plan, no problem; we were both happy and carefree.  But when we were put into stressful situations, which happened rather often (e.g., coming into a city late at night without any hotel reservations, realizing we’re going over budget and trying to decide what to do about it, or just having to figure out where the stupid bus station is before it leaves without us), that’s when we got short with each other.

It was definitely a learning experience and because we got through it, I think our relationship has only grown stronger.  One of the things I learned about Oksana (which, surprisingly, I hadn’t already figured out in the 10 years we’d been together) is that she has a fear of the unknown.  Where are we staying tonight? Is this our bus stop?  What if they don’t take American currency?  Is that the right price or are we getting ripped off?  Those were all things that didn’t bother me much at all, but drove her crazy.  Knowing that about her now, there are things I can do to make her travels more enjoyable… which in turn makes mine more enjoyable, as well.

If we had this trip to do over again, we’d do one thing differently.  Instead of traveling non-stop for a year, we’d build in breaks like those we had in Buenos Aires and Thailand.  Travel three months, then rent an apartment somewhere for one month.  Repeat until either our time or money runs out.  Those months of non-travel let us to get to know a place and meet people, allowed us to save some money, gave us some valuable “down time,” and recharged our travel batteries all at the same time.

But the real answer to your “How has being together 24/7 for 18 months affected your relationship?” question?  Flatulence.  You can’t eat foreign foods and live with someone in a tiny hostel room without coming to terms with that.

Q: Do you miss it?  Does life seem boring now that you’ve slowed down?  Did you burn out on travel?

A: We miss seeing new things every day, but we certainly don’t miss all the planning that goes along with it.

Even now, coming up on four months after arriving in Australia, we’re both quite happy living a “boring” life.  Weekends come and go and we’re still surprised that we’re both completely comfortable not even leaving the apartment.  We’re watching movies, catching up on American TV shows, and cooking dinner every night – things we just couldn’t do on the road in South America or Africa or Southeast Asia.

Eventually, we’ll get bored of this lifestyle again, I’m sure, and the wanderlust will kick in again.  We’re already planning epic adventures to spend our annual leave on in years to come.  There’s a whole world out there; we’ll never stop traveling.

Related posts:

1. One Year Abroad
2. One Year of Travel

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | 4 comments |

As I mentioned previously, Oksana and I have decided to spend a year living and working in Australia.  However, we’re trying very hard to replenish some of the savings we burned through traveling around the world, so playing the tourist isn’t something we’re planning to do while we’re in Brisbane.  Though it’d be a shame to live an entire year in Australia and not see anything outside of Brisbane…

So we’re making plans.  Plans which may involve you, especially if you’re one of our friends or family members (or pretty much anyone on our Facebook or Twitter list!)

Although I haven’t really had the opportunity (yet!) to share what happened on our Galapagos trip – the one where we invited friends and family to come along with us – both Oksana and I viewed it as a big success.  We had 5 people join us in Ecuador; a good friend, his cousin (who we’d never met at all), and a family of three I barely knew in passing.  We all hit the streets of Quito, found ourselves a luxury cruise at a reasonable price, flew out to the islands, and spent a week together on a boat.  Afterwards, our friend stayed an extra week with us in Ecuador, where we took him on a day trip into the jungle.  I think it’s safe to say a good time was had by all.

Solo travel has its own rewards, but there’s something immensely satisfying about sharing adventures with other people.  For that reason, I’m not only glad I got to travel the world with my wife, but I’m also thankful that other people joined us, as well.

I know that many people consider Australia to be on their “bucket list,” that is, a place they want to visit before they die.  If you’re one of them, why not consider joining us Down Under later this year?

Oksana can’t get away for more than a weekend at a time, at least not while she’s still working.  You’re welcome to come visit us in Brisbane, of course, but if your goal is to go sightseeing around Oz, we won’t be able to travel around ourselves until November.

We have a few things on our must-do list, so we’ve decided that Oksana can’t afford to work right up until the very last day before our visas are set to expire.  She’s thinking about turning in her resignation letter around the first of November.  That’ll give us a month (or two!) to do the tourist thing.

Here’s what we’re thinking:

• There’s a total solar eclipse passing over the northeastern tip of Queensland on the morning of November 13^th.  How cool is that?! I consider it to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that we cannot miss!  Everything else we’re planning will revolve around that.
• Ever since we first learned to SCUBA dive on the Great Barrier Reef, Oksana and I have looked forward to the day we could do it again.  We plan to at least do a 5-day live-aboard on the near reef, and perhaps do a 7-day on the more spectacular outer reef… if other people are interested and we can find a way to pay for it.
• Since touring Cairns wouldn’t be new for us, we’re thinking of renting a camper van and driving down the coast, after our dives, just to see something new.  We’ll still have our apartment in Brisbane, so we can either stop there or continue on down to Sydney (or Melbourne?) and fly home from there.

Those are just ideas for now.  Once we get a list of people who might like to join us, we can brainstorm more together.

How much will it cost?

Good question, but a hard one to answer.  Let’s break it down.

Airline tickets from the States look like they might run a hair under $2000, round trip to Cairns.  This is assuming  you’re flying from somewhere in the continental US and not waiting until the last night to make reservations.  If you have some frequent flyer miles saved up, it’s possible you could knock a big chuck off of that price.

Diving can be expensive.  I think it’s safe to say that Oksana and I would like to go with Deep Sea Divers Den again, because we know what we’d be getting: A giant stateroom on a plush catamaran with 3 meals and up to 4 dives a day.  This should cost about $900-1000, depending on whether or not we share our cabin with two others.

Not a diver yet?  Not a problem!  You could take a 5- or 6-day course – the same one we took in 2008; and one of the best vacation decisions we’ve ever made! – and pay roughly the same amount of money.  The only catch is that the first two days would be spent in a classroom and a pool before you get out on the reef.  I’m sure we could coordinate this so you could dive with us, if you wanted to.

For those with no interest in diving, there’s plenty to see and do around Cairns.  You could pay for a snorkeling day-trip out on the reef, go island-hopping on a sailboat, take a tour into the Daintree rainforest, head up into the Tablelands and do something hiking, visit a crocodile farm, or any number of other things.  After our diving excursion, we could all meet up again and set off down the coast.  (Heck, we may even be able to plan things so that you don’t even need to come to Australia until after we’re done diving, which could be especially handy if you have a limited amount of vacation time.)

Recently we invited a couple from Holland over for dinner when they passed through Brisbane.  They had rented a camper van and had been driving all over eastern Australia.  Sounded like a great way to travel and save money.  They told us they spent about $65/day on the van and all the necessary insurance, but the ones I’ve browsed online are a little more expensive.  The good news is that they have ones that sleep four for around $100/day.  That’d be only $25 a day for both transportation and lodging (as campgrounds and both cheap – if not free – and plentiful here.)

I could think of nothing cooler than to have enough people to warrant getting two or three of these camper vans and shuffling traveling companions around every day!  And there’s no reason people have to rough it in koala- or kangaroo-infested campgrounds, either (as if you that doesn’t sound cool in its own right!)  Anyone that wanted to spend the night in a hostel or hotel would be more than welcome.  We could just meet again for breakfast in the morning!

It’s hard to give you a good ballpark figure on what a trip like this would cost because not everyone is going to be able to stay the same length of time nor want to participate in the same excursions, but let’s take a shot at an all-in, two week vacation.  You’re looking at $2000 for the flights, $1000 for diving, and $700 for a camper van.  Gas (petrol!) is more expensive here, closing in on $6/gallon.  We might put 3000 kilometers on a car if we go all the way down the coast to Sydney.  Call that $1500-$2000 for gas (ouch!), but if we put four people in a van, we can divide up the cost of that, too.   We’re getting close to $4000 before food and other expenses, such as random tour fees and hotels.  All in, $5000 per person should be a safe bet, though.  Yeah, I told you Australia was expensive, but hey!  Arguably the coolest thing of all – the total solar eclipse – will be free!  (Let’s just hope it’s not cloudy that day!)

You don’t have to decide right now, based on that $5000 number.  Do your own research, see if you can knock things down by using frequent flyer miles, bringing a friend along to share expenses, or just skipping certain parts of our proposed itinerary altogether.  Maybe we can work something out.

Next Step

So!  Interested?  Even just enough to get more information before making a decision?  Then fire me an email or speak up on Facebook or Twitter or something.  I want to use the next week or so to gather up the interested parties and create an email list (or a Facebook group or something) where we can all brainstorm together about dates, costs, activities, and such.

Come on!  Oksana and I would love to see you.  And you… well, you deserve to tick an item off your bucket list!

No related posts.

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | No comment |

When we were planning our trip, it was only supposed to be a year-long thing.  July 1 to July 1.  We were both hoping that our jobs could be held for us, but in my case, that didn’t work out.  I’m glad.  We would have lost out on a world of opportunities if we’d had to rush back to the daily grind.

Just after we left the United States, we heard about one of those opportunities from a fellow traveler in Ecuador.  He (or she; wish I could remember who it was!) told Oksana about Australia’s Work and Holiday Visa program.  Basically, if you’re 30 or under, you can apply to live and work in Australia for up to a year.  I was over the age limit, but Oksana was both qualified and intrigued.  It seemed like a risky proposition at the time – spending almost 3 days worth of our travel budget on the application fee – but ultimately we decided to give it a go.  Maybe, if everything worked out just right, we’d be able to extend our trip.

Two or three days later, she received confirmation that her visa had been approved.  It stipulated that she must enter Australia by December 28^th, 2011.  Perfect!  We had a full year to decide if we were going to use it.

By the time we were in Thailand, we had met many Australians while traveling and most of them had suggestions about where to stay and how to go about finding work.  During our month of downtime in Phuket, Oksana started the job hunt, mostly using Seek, Australia’s job search site.  She sent her resume to dozens of recruiters and companies and collected an impressive set of rejection letters.  We learned that companies don’t often give interviews to applicants who can only work a maximum of 6-months in one place…

Getting her resume out there wasn’t a complete waste of time, however.  She had a least one Skype conversation with a recruiter that specialized in auto-industry work.  He confirmed what we already knew: Just after Christmas (which was when we were planning to arrive) was literally the worst time of year to be looking for a job.  Nobody’s hiring during the summer holidays.

He asked her to contact him when we arrived, though.  Maybe something would turn up.

Since we didn’t have a job lined up for Oksana, we had no idea where we should fly.  Australia is huge.  Should we go to Sydney or Melbourne, because the job prospects may be better?  Cairns because we could go diving on the weekends?  Or Brisbane, because we knew some people (including the recruiter) there?  We decided on Brisbane, if only because the tickets from Singapore were slightly cheaper.  We reminded ourselves that we weren’t in Australia to sightsee, but rather to work.  We could always hop another plane if a job offer came in from Sydney or elsewhere; heck, we’d even spend a year in an outback mining town if the price was right!

Just before Christmas, I emailed a family we met in Ecuador that lives near Brisbane and asked them for recommendations on how to go about looking for a place to stay.  They had good news and bad.  The bad news was that they wouldn’t be there when we arrived; they were off enjoying their holiday in New South Wales.  The good news was that their daughter was with them and wasn’t using her apartment in Brisbane…

It was perfect for us.  We arrived the day after Christmas and moved in for three weeks.  It was a 2-bedroom, shared apartment in St. Lucia, which is a suburb outside of Brisbane known for its proximity to the University of Queensland.  We had our own bathroom and shared a living room and kitchen with a delightful Indian couple who helped us figure out where to shop for food, how the public transportation works, and other important thing you need to know whenever you move some place new.  Except for the ongoing job hunt, those first three weeks in Australia were practically stress free.

Half way through January, Oksana still hadn’t heard back from any recruiters or companies though, and one day, while we were walking back from the store, we discussed what would happen if we couldn’t find her a job.  We agreed that Australia was too expensive, so we started brainstorming where we could go.  Being the middle of winter back in Alaska, we weren’t in any hurry to rush home.  We thought maybe spending a month (or six) in a place like Guatemala might be nice.  I could study Spanish and she could study for her CPA exam.  We decided to give it until the end of February before making new plans.

Of course, she got a call the very next day.  Funny how these things work out.

We’d slept in and Oksana was still in her PJs when the phone rang at 10:30am.  A local company was looking over her resume and wanted to know if she could come in for an interview that day.  In an hour.  Oksana managed to push it back another half hour, until noon, but it was still a rush to get her showered, dressed, and out the door with instructions on how to cross the river and find her way to their office with Google Maps.

Before the interview was over, she’d been hired by a gourmet foods importing business.  She started the very next morning.  Unfortunately, she quickly realized that what they told her she’d be doing in the interview wasn’t actually what she ended up doing on the job.  Rather than entry-level accounting, more often than not she was stuck answering the phone.  Which wasn’t easy when the person on the other end was a foreign-born chef with an incomprehensible accent asking for cheeses and pastas she’d never heard of.

She lasted two weeks.  By then, the recruiter she’d connected with way back in Thailand had a line on two automotive accounting jobs.  The first was in Cairns; it sounded great, but they were looking for someone to stay 2-4 years.  The other was right here in Brisbane, filling in for another accountant on maternity leave.  Oksana jumped at the chance to interview and, once again, she was hired before it was over.

While all this was going on, I was struggling to find us a place to live.  Our friend had returned from her holiday and needed her place back, so I stopped by a few real estate agencies and looked at a few properties.  We quickly learned that all realtors require a minimum 6-month lease.  We couldn’t commit to that before Oksana passed her two-week trial period at the new job.

So we looked into “house shares” on Gumtree – Australia’s answer to Craigslist.  We found a temporary arrangement in another house and stayed there two and a half weeks.  By then, we knew Oksana was happy at work and felt comfortable signing a lease until December.  We moved into our new place in Highgate Hill on Feburary 7^th.

Oksana quickly settled into a Monday-through-Friday routine, but I still had some work to do before I could find a routine of my own.  The first was to get internet hooked up at our new place, which was much easier said than done.

Long story short, the entire suburb is going through a fiber optic upgrade and all copper-based internet installations have been frozen.  Even though our neighbors have ADSL or cable, it was impossible for us to get the same thing because the company handling the infrastructure, Telstra, didn’t want to have their technicians spending time undoing that work.  The fiber plans were expensive, but they were fast.  I was happy to pay for the installation, but there was nothing to do about the wait time.  It took two weeks before we had internet in the apartment, and that was only after five or six calls and three visits to a local Telstra shop to iron things out.

But I have to say, it was totally worth it.  I have a true 100Mbps connection and it’s screaming fast.  At least 12 times faster than anything I had back home in Alaska!

The other thing on my to-do list was more worrisome.  While Oksana’s visa was good for a year, my tourist visa was only good for three months.  If I didn’t figure out something by the end of March, we’d have a real dilemma on our hands.  Should Oksana stay and work while I go back to the States?  Should we break our lease, pay the penalties, and pack up and go together?

Fortunately, we never had to make that decision.  I filed for a tourist visa extension and, in spite of my stressful anticipation, it was quickly and painlessly approved.  The only hard part was paying the nearly $300 application fee.

So now I’m settling into my routine, as well.  Everyone asks, “If Oksana’s bringing home the bacon, what the heck are you doing all year long?”  Well, my plan is to write a book about our travels – it’s something I know I’d never get done while working a 9-to-5 – but I have plenty of other goals, as well.  I want to keep creating content for our website and that includes more photos, more videos, and more writing.  By the end of the year, I could easily envision having enough content for, not just a novel, but also a coffee-table photo book and a DVD.  I even have an idea for an audio podcast I’d like to explore, but with all the other work I have in front of me, I don’t know if I should try to tackle that, too…

Our current budgetary projections indicate that we’ll probably just break even at the end of our stay in Australia.  That’s based on Oksana’s salary.  I don’t have any illusions of my travel book setting the world on fire, but any money I can make selling it would be great.  My modest goal is to earn just enough to cover the amount we went over our travel budget last year.  I’m still waiting for Oksana to give me exact numbers, but I suspect that’s on the order of $6,000-$8,000.  (I’m just guessing, but we exceeded our travel budget in late September and didn’t reach Brisbane until December 26.  Shit, maybe that number is closer to $10,000.)  I can make some money selling it as an ebook, of course, but I’ve been thinking about a Kickstarter campaign, too, in the fall.

So.  That’s where we are now; living and working in Brisbane through the end of the year (Oksana’s employers have already offered to sponsor her for full work visa, but we’ve been away from home for so long, we just can’t see ourselves taking them up on their offer.)  We never planned it, but I’m glad for the opportunity to try something new.  My only regret is that we may leave this country without seeing much more than Brisbane and its suburbs…

…But we’re already batting around travel ideas for November.  Watching a total solar eclipse, SCUBA diving on the Great Barrier Reef, and perhaps driving down the Sunshine Coast.  More on that in the next blog post (with an invitation to join us, too, if that sounds like something you might want to do!)

No related posts.

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | 2 comments |

This one’s all about transportation.  Specifically, the time we spent traveling from place to place on our trip.

It was easy enough for me to collect this data.  I spent a lot of time on my iPhone on those long bus rides.  Watching movies, reading books, and listening to podcasts; it really wasn’t such a bad time.  At some point during the long ride, I’d remember to jot down the beginning and end points in the Notes app and, once the trip was done, I’d count up the hours we’d spent on the road and jot that down, too (rounding to the nearest quarter hour.)  While I did the same for trains, boats, and minivans, I neglected to write down much of anything about our airline travel.  I had to recreate that data by digging through archived emails for the itineraries.

For obvious reasons, I didn’t keep track of any travel within the cities and towns we visited.  Taxis, metros, city buses and the like were too frequent and too short to worry over.  To that end, what you see below is only the intercity travel.

I’ve been looking forward to totaling up these numbers and sharing them with you ever since we took an epic 34-hour bus ride in Africa.  I knew the numbers would be impressive, but even I didn’t expect the total we came up with.  Look at that first number:  737 hours and 45 minutes of travel.  That’s 30.74 days we spent moving from one place to another.  One entire month of our 13-month, ’round-the-world trip was spent sitting in a bus, plane, train, boat, or automobile !  (Over two weeks of our lives spent in bus seats alone!!)

It kind of boggles the mind.

(Make sure to click the image to see a larger version.)

Related posts:

1. PV Infographic 1: Time and Place
2. PV Infographic 2: Camera Stats

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | One comment |

While on the bus from Malaysia to Singapore, I reflected on all the Southeast Asian countries we’d traveled through.  Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore, in that order.  I realized that (excepting a small backwards step to Cambodia) we had been easing ourselves back into the first world with every new country we visited.

Once I started to look for them, I found arguments to support this theory everywhere.  Bathrooms steadily improved, from bucket-flushing in Laos to modern toilets in Thailand and beyond.  Hotel keys changed from big, metal skeleton keys to RFID-enabled plastic cards.  Safe drinking water was more readily available; we could once again drink from the taps in our Singapore hotel.  Internet access speed increased and wifi hotspots, while more prevalent, were also more often locked down and monetized.  English in Laos was only found in hostels and travel agencies, but by the time we arrived in Kuala Lumpur it was the de facto standard.  In Singapore, we could watch the local news (a novelty for us!) because the major newspapers and television news broadcasts were all in English.

Perhaps the most obvious indication that we were climbing back up to U.S. standards was the lessening number of scooters on the road.  It was literally impossible to view any stretch of road in Vietnam, no matter how short, and not see a motorcycle somewhere.  There were fewer in Cambodia, fewer still in Thailand.  By the time we arrived in Singapore, it was almost all cars again.

Anyone who has traveled extensively knows that reverse culture shock is a very real thing.  Setting aside the psychological problems that some travelers cope with after being in a third-world country long enough (being unable to share experiences with friends and family because they’re don’t care about or, conversely, are jealous of them; difficulty readjusting to “the daily grind,” etc.), there are many surprises – some good, some bad – waiting for you when you return home.  Toilet paper in public restrooms.  Drivers sticking to their lanes.  People showing up to appointments on time.  Having to make hundreds of choices in a grocery store.  High prices.  The constant barrage of advertising.

Personally, I’ve noticed it always takes me at least a week to stop mentally preparing my approach to each and every person in public.  How do I translate my question into Spanish?  What gestures can I make if they don’t understand me?  Shut up, brain!  I’m back in the States!  I can just ask in English!

After a year on the road, I expected our reverse culture shock to be of epic proportions.  I was honestly worried that Australia would be too much for us when we arrived, but something as simple as our route through Southeast Asia put my mind at ease.  Instead of being hit with it all at once, we eased into our reverse culture shock over the course of an entire month.

In some ways, Australia turned out to be a step backwards.  Singapore was the wealthiest country we visited on our entire trip (by gross domestic product, at purchasing power parity, per capita.)  And that includes the United Arab Emirates (Dubai)… and the United States of America!  Singapore is 3^rd in the world after Qatar and Luxembourg.  The U.A.E. is 6^th, the U.S. 7^th.

It occurs to me that someone new to travel, someone who wants to see Southeast Asia but is worried about diving right in, could take a lesson from the story above.  They could reverse our route, start in Singapore, and ease themselves into the countries that are more difficult to travel through.  Anything you can do to lesson culture shock – or reverse culture shock, for that matter – can only make your travel easier and more enjoyable.

Rules

Like most first world countries, Singapore has a high regard for the rules.  You might remember the controversy when an American broke one of them a few years back and was sentenced to caning as punishment.  Oksana had her first run in with the rules at the border.

While we were standing in line at immigration, we could just barely see a LCD-screen playing a loop of prohibited items.  There were plenty of the things you’d normally expect to see screened at customs: no guns, no live animals, no seeds – those sorts of things.  Only two items gave us cause for concern: My Swiss Army knife and Oksana’s chewing gum.  (If we’d been arriving from South America, I might also have had to ditch any bootleg DVDs I’d bought, but I’d long since stopped carrying those around…)

The ban against knives was ambiguous.  The screen said no knives, but the accompanying pictures showed things like swords and bayonets.  I decided to take my knife out of my pocket and bury it in my big backpack instead.  Argue to keep it if it ever came to that.  Oksana decided to declare the big container of gum she’d just purchased in Kuala Lumpur.

When she did, the customs officer opened up the canister and looked inside.  When he saw all those chiclets, he shook his head and tsk tsked us.  “You can’t bring gum into Singapore,” he said.  Oksana was already resigned to losing it; she simply sighed and picked up the rest of her stuff from the x-ray belt.  But then the customs agent leaned in and said, “Here. Hold out your hand.”  He then shook out a generous portion and smiled.  What the hell, I thought, and stuck my own hand out.  He winked and gave me a handful, too.

I always assumed that the U.S. was the pinnacle of rules-based societies, but Singapore has us beat.  Some of the rules I agree with and would happily endorse: No smoking in public places, no littering, and stiff penalties for things like drunk driving and “crimes that disrupt racial or ethnic harmony.”  On the other hand, they also go to ridiculous extremes.  No chewing gum (unless it has a therapeutic value), no spitting, and mandatory flushing of public toilets – all are fineable offenses.  Sadly, there are also some laws that I flatly disagree with.  For instance, homosexuality is strictly illegal in Singapore.

A great byproduct of all those rules, however, is a sense of safety and security (assuming you’re not gay.)  Oksana and I had no concerns walking the streets late at night.  In Vietnam, I heard horror stories of cab drivers extorting huge fares from unwitting tourists.  In Singapore, that shit is illegal.  Taxis not only are not allowed to overcharge (everything is by the meter), but they’re not allowed to tout, either.  That was a huge relief.  We’d much rather stand in line for a taxi than have a dozen drivers shouting at us the moment we set foot in a new city.

Size Matters

While there are plenty of countries smaller than Singapore (it ranks at 193 out of 249), it’s still pretty darn small.  Total area is about 270 square miles, which is still only a quarter the size of our smallest state, Rhode Island.  The country is so tiny it can truthfully be called a city-state.

Already, there are over 5 million people living in Singapore.  That’s a lot of people in a relatively small area (the aforementioned Rhode Island has barely more than 1 million.)  As a city, it’s not exactly high on the population density list, but as a country it sure is.

Singapore’s urban planners are doing a good job conserving what land they have.  We saw many examples of their efficient usage of space while we were there.  Skyscrapers were the most obvious and visible examples.  When land is scarce, build up!

We also saw entire malls with subterranean levels.  Enter on the ground floor and you could shop up or down.  Our bus drove under the airport, on a busway that entered on one side and exited out the other.  Not only was it space-saving (just like the terminals stacked on top of one another), it also served to keep us out of the rain… like the bus station in Kuala Lumpur!

Perhaps the most extreme example of space saving was the soccer pitch we saw down by the marina.  Or, I should say, the soccer pitch we saw floating on the marina!

Christmas

Christmas certainly is different in Singapore.  I don’t know what the major religions are, but it appears that only the shopping part was adopted from this Christian holiday.  Oksana and I went out to record our McDonald’s video at 10pm on Christmas Eve, thinking the streets and malls would be clear by then, but boy were we wrong!

Midnight, Christmas Eve, is a huge event in Singapore.  In the States, people are more likely to be going to midnight mass (religious), or trying to sleep (with kids), just before the clock ticks over to Christmas day.  Singaporeans are more likely to be shopping shoulder-to-shoulder before heading out to the streets to count down the seconds until midnight together, New Year’s Eve style.

It was all a little much for Oksana and me, especially considering we had a flight to catch the next day and the rain wouldn’t let up.  The street decorations were nice, though.

Rain

The rain was spectacular in Singapore.  It rolled through the city, multiple times a day, and trapped everyone in mall entrances.  There were times when it hit and we were only a block away from our hotel, but we didn’t dare make the dash back.  Better to duck under an overhang and wait it out.

We packed lightweight rain jackets, of course, but we didn’t carry them around with us in Singapore. Too hot.  More than once, Oksana and I took the rain as an excuse to laze around at Starbucks and browse the internet on our iPhones.  Eventually we bought a cheap umbrella from 7-Eleven just so we could get back to the hotel with our top halves dry.

Prices

About that “third wealthiest country in the world” thing?  Yeah, it affects prices.  We knew that going in and decided not to skimp on our hotel accommodations.  After all, Singapore was the last country on our trip, so why not go out in style?

We stayed three nights at the four-star Rendezvous Hotel Singapore for an average of USD$118 per night.  Normally it’s up around USD$150 – a far cry from our target of USD$20 throughout most of our travels – but we’d been wisely booking our hotels throughout Southeast Asia on Hotels.com and we’d built up to a coupon code worth about USD$100 off our stay.  Made the added luxury a little easier to rationalize.

We didn’t buy much more than food while we were in Singapore, just window shopped our way through a few malls.  The food we did buy was mostly through grocery stores.  We’d spent so much on lodging, we had to find ways to save in other areas.

One thing we couldn’t avoid was laundry.  Other than hand-washing a few items in the sink, we hadn’t had clean clothes going all the way back to Koh Mak in Thailand, three weeks and as many countries before.  It was the single longest stretch we’d gone without doing laundry on our entire trip and I’m sure we looked quite the sight when we walked into the Rendezvous lobby with giant backpacks and rumpled clothes.

As in the sections of Bangkok and Kuala Lumpor we’d stayed in recently, the Orchard Road area of Singapore had no laundry businesses catering to tourists nearby.  The best we could find was a small coin-op Laundromat in a mall nearby.  Cost us $20 to wash and dry two loads – easily the most we ever spent having our clothes washed – but by that point we would have twice that.

The one thing that was surprisingly inexpensive in Singapore was the public transportation.  Both buses and taxis were surprisingly cheap.  It cost us less than $4 for the both of us to get to the airport (which took about 40 minutes by bus.)  I didn’t think to check, but I wonder now how their gasoline prices compare.

Cybercafés

There are cybercafés all over the world.  In the smallest place, in the middle of nowhere, if tourists visit, someone will cobble together a couple old computers and charge them to check their email.  Oksana and I were traveling with laptops, so we didn’t frequent many internet cafes.  More often than not, we looked for wireless hotspots (easily found in restaurants, cafes, and hostels) instead.

Even so, I noticed that cybercafés are big business in Singapore.  They’re not like the ones we’d seen in other countries, with hand-me-down computers, fluorescent lighting, and a loud fan pushing hot air around the room.  No, in Singapore, there were rows of high-end computers, dressed out in neon lights, in a pitch black room.  These were gaming cafes.

When scouting out McDonald’s locations and menus for our video, we walked into one mall that had no less than three packed cybercafés.  Right inside the main doors, a giant decal for a popular game was plastered on the floor, advertising league play.  As we walked past the open café doors, I spied people playing Counterstrike, Starcraft, and other popular games.  Judging from the shouts and cheers coming from different cafes across the multi-level mall, I wouldn’t be surprised if players in one were competing against teams in another.

Fake Eyelashes

Oksana decided to have a pair of fake eyelashes applied in Singapore.  She’d tried the same thing in Thailand where the prices were much cheaper, but unfortunately you get what you pay for and they started to fall out sooner than she expected.

She did her research and decided on a place in Chinatown.  Once we found it, I left her alone to have single eyelashes glued on, one at time, over the course of a couple hours.  That’s Oksana’s sort of thing, not mine, so I didn’t think much about eyelashes until after she had them applied.  It was only then that I noticed practically every woman we passed on the street had fake eyelashes, too.

Reminds me of the women in Bulgaria who dyed their hair.  Just another reminder that different cultures place different values on what they think of as beautiful.

Toy Outpost

Oksana spotted an interesting store in the Plaza Singapura mall called Toy Outpost.  Basically, the “shelving” of the store was row upon row of clear glass lockers.  Every locker was filled with toys, mostly collectibles.  I saw dozens of plastic movie action figures, Barbies and manga characters arranged in full pose, stacks of Magic the Gathering cards, Beanie Babies… as well as plenty of other things I didn’t recognize.

We finally figured out the business model.  The store owners rent out the glass lockers, people fill them with toys or other memorabilia they want to sell, set their prices, and the store handles all sales (and keeps a small commission for their effort.)

It occurred to me that this is essentially a “physical eBay.”  Instead of trying to guess the quality of merchandize from a few amateur photos taken in poor lighting, buyers at the Toy Outpost are able to see potential purchases up close.  And because the items are right there, there’s no worry that a scammer is behind the sale, either.

Well, that’s about it.  Twenty-seven “Thoughts On…” articles on Postcard Valet and I’m called it done.  I’m caught up!

For the record, there are four countries on this trip that I didn’t write about:

• The United States, because, well, that’s where I’m from everything else is compared to it.
• Canada, because, come on, unless you run into a French-Canadian, you can hardly tell the difference!
• Colombia, because while we did get stamps in our passport for the country, they were only “en transisto;” we never left the airport.
• And finally, Australia, because we’d visited it for the first time in 2008 and I wrote about my impressions then.

I may or may not write an update on Australia after we’ve lived here a year.  I’m definitely learning many new things about the country, but they’re not exactly travel-oriented.  After a whole year, that could be a daunting post to write.  You know what?  I’ll probably skip it.

At any rate, finishing up my “Thoughts On…” posts has been holding up my Postcard Valet to-do list for awhile now.  Glad to have it behind me.  I plan to write the next post about coming to Australia, what we’re doing in 2012, and where we’ll go from here.  After that, I really need to make some changes to the site (such as updating the FAQ and About this Site pages) before diving into what I really want to be doing: Writing about many of our adventures on the trip (as well as calling attention to some of our favorite photos, editing together some more videos, and pulling together more infographics.)

Stay tuned.

Related posts:

1. PVX: McDonald’s in Singapore
2. Thoughts on Malaysia
3. Thoughts on Thailand

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | One comment |

The final McDonald’s — country number 29! — in Singapore.   Our video record of eating at the restaurant chain sort of ended with a whimper; the signature meal was the same as in Kuala Lumpur, so we didn’t get to try anything new and exotic.  Come to think of it, the most memorable thing about it was that it was Christmas day and some of the cashiers had on Santa hats.

As I mention in the video, Oksana and I already ate at an Australian McDonald’s in 2008, so even though we’re going to be living in Brisbane for the year, it’s not like we’re in a hurry to take our camcorder down to “Maccas” (as they call it here.)  Still, you can bet we’ll probably record another video before we leave.  The McOz has a slice of beetroot on it!

Related posts:

1. PVX: McDonald’s in Estonia
2. PVX: McDonald’s in Turkey
3. Thoughts on Singapore

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | No comment |

It had been awhile since we’d eaten at McDonald’s.  Neither Laos, Vietnam, nor Cambodia had the franchise, so we had to wait until our Southeast Asian loop was done before we could eat there again in Malaysia.  Wasn’t hard to find a restaurant in Kuala Lumpur; there was one right outside our hotel.  Oksana went for the Malaysian variation on fried chicken and I tried out the seasonal Prosperity Menu (I guess it only occasionally comes around, like the McRib back home.)  Mmmm…  I can still taste that black pepper!

Not much else to say, except that we saw something new and McDonald’s related around town.  Lots of cars had what looked like Golden Arches parking stickers on their windshields.  Turns out that signifies the driver is a member of the McDonald’s VIP Drive-Thru club, which, I guess, entities them to a small freebie once a month.  Don’t know what McDonald’s gets out of that, but judging by the number of stickers we saw, it seems like it’s a very popular club.

Related posts:

1. Thoughts on Malaysia
2. PVX: McDonald’s in Finland
3. PVX: McDonald’s in Estonia

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | No comment |

We were down to the last couple weeks of our trip when we decided to go to Malaysia.  Sitting in Thailand, we had tickets in hand to fly from Singapore to Brisbane the day after Christmas.  The question on the table was, “What do we want to see between now and then?”

The easiest options would have been to stay in Bangkok a little longer or fly directly to Singapore.  Always wanting to see a new place, my preference would have been to bus down through Malaysia, but I knew Oksana wasn’t up for that.  At any rate, there wouldn’t be time enough to do the country justice.  Kuala Lumpur was only a few hours from Singapore by bus, though.  Perhaps we could spend a few days there – and see the Petronas Towers, at least – before moving on?  (And yes, I’ll admit that chalking up a visit to another country’s McDonald’s may have influenced my decision…)

Oksana agreed, so we paid for a one-way flight from Bangkok to Kuala Lumpur.

I started taking notes about Malaysia two months before we officially entered the country.  After our first month in Thailand, we had to do a visa run to extend our stay.  Since we were in Phuket, we had only two options. One, we could take an all day bus-boat-bus ride across the border into Burma, but that would have only granted us 15 more days.  To get a 30-day stamp, we chose option number two, which was to buy round-trip airline tickets to Kuala Lumpur.

We left practically all our belongings in our hotel room and just brought along a laptop and iPad to keep us entertained during the 5-hour layover.  We never even left the airport, but even so, that’s when I jotted down my first thoughts on Malaysia.

Rain

I saw a lot of scattered clouds as we descended toward the city, but it was sunny when we exited our plane.  I figured it must be monsoon season, though, because the airport was prepared for heavy rains.

We were in the budget carrier terminal, where most of the jets parked out on the tarmac.  Instead of descending down a jetway to reach them, passengers were, more often than not, herded into buses which drove them out to their awaiting planes.  Because of this, passengers would sometimes be at the mercy of the elements.

Fortunately, the Kuala Lumpur International Airport watches out for travelers, even in the budget carrier terminal.  Right outside the gate’s doors were huge baskets filled with dozens of large umbrellas.  I saw them and wondered if we were going to see any rain while we were there.

We did, oh yes indeed, we did.  While waiting in the passenger lounge, we looked outside to see a torrential downpour.  Everyone out there – the passengers, baggage handlers, mechanics – looked miserable.  Within minutes, an inch of water covered the entire tarmac.

It was gone in an hour or so, though.  The ground was nice and dry by the time we boarded our return flight home.

Later, when we were playing tourist in the city, we experienced similar weather from time to time.  Reminded me of South Florida in the summer.  Thunderstorms would roll in, drench the streets, and then pass on by.  Didn’t really stop us from exploring, though we did wait out one storm in a mall.  Grabbed a coffee at Starbucks, caught a movie.

Drinking Fountains

There were drinking fountains in the Kuala Lumpur airport.  Seeing one of those made me realize just how rare they are in the world.  If you don’t count the old fountains in Istanbul, I’m not sure we’ve seen one since leaving the States.

Advertising

“Two for one,” “Buy one, get one free,” I’m sure you’ve seen offers like that before.  While waiting for our return flight to Thailand, we had breakfast in Dunkin’ Donuts and we bought a couple Coolattas because they were “Buy 1, free 1.”

Not a huge revelation or anything, but I thought that was a clever and catchy restatement of the advertisements I was used to.  I’ll bet you that phrase – complete with numerals in place of written words for numbers – was selected because it makes more sense to people with a limited grasp of English.

Worked on me, anyway.

McDonald’s

Something new at McDonald’s?  After almost 30 different countries?  Surprised me!

I kept seeing these little stickers of the Golden Arches on car windshields all over town.   When I finally found one on a parked car, I discovered that they were “VIP drive-thru” stickers.  Didn’t know what that meant at the time, but I’ve since learned that they entitle you to some sort of freebie, once a month, when you use the drive-thru.  Must be a popular club, judging from all the stickers I saw.

Language

Speaking of English, Malaysia surprised me in the amount of English they use in everyday life.  We noticed it right away as the road signs from the airport to the city were all perfectly understandable to us – sort of a novelty after traveling though Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia!

On the streets, some business signs would be in Malay, but the vast majority were in English.  I remember seeing one for a laundry mat and realizing just how much easier it would be for travelers to get around in Kuala Lumpur than in, say, Bangkok or Phnom Penh.

Malaysia identifies over one hundred languages within its borders, but English is second only to Malay.  If you only visited the city, like us, you might be forgiven for thinking it was the official language of the country – everyone speaks it and it’s printed everywhere you look.  In reality, English is the de facto language of business and government in Malaysia.

You’ve heard of Spanglish, before, I’m sure – the cross-pollination of Spanish and English.  Likewise, there’s Engrish, which is a label we often use for funny translations on Asian signs, menus, and the like.  Did you realize there’s a Manglish, too?  Mangled English is the Malay equivalent of Spanglish.

I believe it’s a term usually reserved for a jumbled up mix of spoken English and Malay, but I wonder if it might also refer to some of the written words I saw in Kuala Lumpur.

For instance, there were the bas tikets we purchased to get to Singapore, Epal and oren fruit-flavored sodas in the convenience stores, and even some ice cold rut bir.

“Mangled English,” sure, but were they simplified spellings or honest mistakes?  That, I don’t know.

Technology

Our first hint that Kuala Lumpur might be more technologically advanced that other countries in Southeast Asia was on the drive from the airport to the city.  We arrived at night, so there wasn’t a lot of traffic, but there were still road advisory signs lit up along the way.  Not only were the LED sign boards accurately stating the travel times to different destinations, they also flashed a notice every once in awhile to let motorists know that they could get up-to-the-minute traffic information by following the KL traffic twitter feed!

Later, when Oksana and I window shopped our way through the Low Yat Plaza, a huge mall full of nothing but camera, computer, and mobile phone stores in the Bukit Bintang shopping area, we realized that Malaysia is one of the few places in the world with technology prices comparable to the U.S.  (In fact, I’d say it was second only to Dubai in that respect.)

We also noted that both our hotel room and our metro tokens took advantage of RFID technology.  Most of our hotel/hostel room keys on this trip resembled something you’d use to unlock a pirate’s treasure chest, but not in Kuala Lumpur (at least not in our hotel!)  We received what looked like a normal swipe card, but without the magnetic stripe.  Instead of putting it in a slot or swiping it somewhere on the door, all you needed to do was bring it within close proximity to the latch.  I didn’t even need to take it out of my wallet.

Similarly, the metro used tokens that looked not unlike small poker chips.  ATM-like, touch screen machines dispense them after you’ve tapped in your destination and paid the appropriate amount.  I thought there would be a slot on the turnstiles into which you deposited your token, but instead they’re simply pressed flat against a sensor.  You keep them with you while on the train (presumably so that you can preset them, upon request, to metro officials) and only relinquish them when passing through the turnstiles at your destination.

And finally, after we left Malaysia, I came across an article in the New Strait Times that claimed a new law had been passed in Kuala Lumpur requiring every large restaurant, cafe, bar, and pub in the city center to offer wi-fi internet access to their patrons.  Starting in April of this year, Kuala Lumpur’s City Hall will not grant or renew a food operator license unless the establishment installs a hotspot for its customers.

I wish we had laws like that in the States!

Garbage

While I wouldn’t say that Kuala Lumpur was a particular dirty city, we did witness one of its downsides.  While walking along a concrete reinforced canal that channeled a river through the city, we observed someone chucking garbage out of their window.  It was hard to miss; they were on the 5^th floor.

It looked to me like a normal plastic shopping bag which had been tied off.  It arced over our heads and landed with the sound of breaking glass just shy of the water’s edge.  There it sat, awaiting the next heavy rain (likely to come along any minute) to swell the banks and carry it downriver to who-knows-where.

Seeing people litter in their own country always makes me sad.  Have a little pride.  I’d to see your best side while I’m there.

Religion

When I woke up the first morning in our hotel room, I noticed a tiny little arrow stuck on the ceiling where the walls met in a corner.  On it was printed the word “Kiblat.” My guess was that it was pointing to Mecca, so that Muslim guests knew toward which direction they should pray.  A quick check on the internet confirmed that I was right.

Malaysia seems to have a fairly tolerant view of religion.  Islam is dominant in the country, with about 60% of the population practicing, but there’s a healthy percentage of Buddhists, Christians, Hindus and others, too.

For such a predominantly Muslim country, I did not expect to see as much emphasis put on Christmas as I did!  Perhaps it was because we stuck to the shopping areas, but every mall was decked out with decorated trees and Santa Claus advertising while traditional Christmas music played in every store.  I guess the Muslims and Buddhists don’t mind too much, especially since you don’t have to be a Christian to take advantage of the sales!

Greetings

Oksana noticed this one.

Often, when two women greeted each other on the street, they’d reach out for a handshake; however, it was a slightly different handshake than we’re used to.  It starts out as a two-handed shake, where one person would cover the other’s hand with both of their own.  After a cursory shake, they would pull their hands apart, but slowly, almost as if they were lingering.  The person using two hands would caress the other’s hand in one long stroke, top and bottom, and their fingertips would be the last thing touching as the hands slid apart.

When Oksana demonstrated for me, I found the gesture to be strongly effeminate and wondered if men in Malaysia greet themselves the same way.  I wasn’t able to find an answer to that question online, but it seems the country has as many different greetings as it has cultures.

Transportation

We’ve seen a lot of bus stations on our trip, but I guess we saved the best for last!  The BTS station in Kuala Lumpur is amazing!

The single, huge building is at least six stories tall.  The uppermost floor is a food court which included, among other restaurants, Dunkin’ Donuts, Subway, KFC, and a Kenny Rogers Roasters (of all things!)

The mid-level is where you buy your tickets.  There are ATMs, self-service kiosks, convenience stores of all sorts, and rows upon rows of windows where you can buy your ticket from a helpful cashier.  We mistimed our arrival at the station, and so had to wait a couple hours for the next bus to Singapore.  We found some comfortable chairs and killed time surfing the internet on their free wi-fi.

Downstairs… downstairs is where the magic happens.  Bus-wise, I mean.

Everything is set up exactly like an airport.  There is a departure lounge for each gate, with rows upon rows of seating.  There are big LCD screens with rows upon rows of departure information and more screens above each exit announce the departure time for each bus.  Barely five minutes before its scheduled departure, a bus rolls up to the gate – the door and windows are all glass, so you can see it idling there – and a gate attendant announces the bus number.  You show your tickets, toss your big bags into the luggage compartment underneath, and climb aboard.

The best part is, the bus lanes are built through the building itself.  It may be raining cats and dogs outside, but you and your bags will be perfectly dry when you climb aboard!

Related posts:

1. Thoughts on Thailand
2. Thoughts on Singapore
3. PVX: McDonald’s in Malaysia

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | No comment |

View the same video in high-definition (720p) on Youtube.

The World’s Most Dangerous Road!  I’ve been waiting a long time to share this one with you.

In February 2011, we found ourselves charging back and forth across Bolivia.  We rushed from the Lake Titicaca region, all the way down to Uyuni, so that we could meet some friends for a tour of the salt flats.  If you saw that video, you’ll know we bailed out on them after we picked up a nasty intestinal parasite.  We eventually returned to Uyuni to do the tour again, but not before going all the way back to La Paz for a week or so.

We self medicated there and, once we were feeling up to it, decided to mountain bike down the World’s Most Dangerous Road – its real name, the North Yungas Road – which connects La Paz, high in the Andes, to the Amazon Basin, thousands of meters below.

We recorded our voice-overs a day or two after the ride, while the memories were fresh.  That painted background was actually the wall of our hotel room in La Paz.  Both Oksana and I had a lot to say; each of us spoke into the camera for more than 20 minutes.  (We really need to be more concise.)  This project was a nightmare to edit down.

The final video runs almost 12 minutes and has a lot of information about the road and why it’s considered the most dangerous in the world.  If you’re interested, here are a few more tidbits that were left on the cutting room floor:

• Much of the shaky cam footage in this video was from our Contour HD, helmet-mounted camera.  We brought it along with us for just this kind of thing, though we got to use it precious few times on our round-the-world trip.  I wouldn’t normally include such bouncy footage – to say nothing of the rain-spattered shots – but I actually think it paints a decent picture of what the ride was like.

  

• I doubt anyone will ever know the true number of deaths that have occurred on the North Yungas Road.  It was built in the 1930s and some people claim that literally hundreds of people have died every year since.  The Bolivian government does not keep complete records.

  

• Mountain Biking tours have only been running down the road for the last 10 years or so.  We heard that anywhere from 12 to 30 tourists and guides have died on the road since then (the best estimates put the number at 18.)  It is a dangerous road, but approximately 25,000 bikers ride down every year.  I firmly believe it’s safer to bike down, than drive.
• A new road, the South Yungas Road, opened in 2007.  It’s a two-lane, concrete road throughout, and guardrails protect every dangerous curve.  Despite those precautions, there are still deadly accidents – the terrain itself conspires against drivers.  Furthermore, many people would still rather drive up and down the original road if only because there’s less traffic to contend with now.  (In fact, our bus driver was planning to drive us back to La Paz on the “Death Road” after our tour, but (fortunately!) there was a new landslide he couldn’t get around, so we were forced to take the “safe road” home.)
• I was very impressed with the company we chose, Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking.  The mountain bikes they gave us were in perfect condition, literally the best equipment I’ve ever ridden on.  Excellent brakes, front and back suspension, and big, knobby tires.  Riding someone else’s bike can be iffy, but not in this case.  Their bikes are probably better than your bike.
• Gravity Bolivia also handed out gear to mitigate the weather.  Windbreakers, helmets, ski goggles, gloves, safety vests, and jump pants, not to mention rain gear if you wanted that, too.

  

• After the trip, we were loaded down with freebies!  Each rider received a high-quality T-shirt, deck of playing cards, pen, buff, and a CD-ROM full of photos and videos taken by one of the guides on the way down the road.  In all our travels, we’ve never seen any company so generous with free giveaways!  That made the USD$100 price tag much easier to swallow.  (My only complaint was that the videos were recorded on an inexcusably low-quality setting.)

  

• If a monkey reserve isn’t your type of thing, an optional zip line tour was also offered at the bottom of the World’s Most Dangerous Road.  Oksana and I skipped it.  You do one zip line, you’ve done them all.

  

• At La Senda Verde, the monkey reserve, we learned that just two days prior, a new decree had been passed down from the owners: Visiting tourists were no longer allowed to touch the monkeys.  (As opposed to the volunteer tourists who were working at the reserve, who were.)  The reason was because some of the monkeys had been catching colds from sick humans and the hope was that limiting contact would keep them healthy.  We respected the new rules, but no one seemed to have told the monkeys.

  

• Just after I finished editing this video, Oksana and I downloaded and watched Top Gear’s Bolivia Special (Season 15, episode 6.)  Very entertaining, but we knew enough to know when they were over-dramatizing things and even staging certain scary situations on the Yungas Road.  For instance, we knew right away that the Jeremy Clarkson segment – where he’s inching by another car with his tire off the edge of a cliff – was fake because he had inexplicably turned his car around and started heading down the mountain road!

Episode Notes:

Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking
La Senda Verde
The Yungas Road (Wikipedia)
Cycling the world’s most dangerous road (BBC News)
Top Gear Bolivia Special (Youtube)
Our Recommended Tours page for South America
Contour HD helmet-mounted camera

Related posts:

1. Zanzibar is Dangerous
2. PV015: African Big 5 Safaris
3. PV016: Elephant-Back Safari

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | One comment |

We only had about five weeks left to go in our travels when we started planning what we’d see in Southeast Asia.  We’d had more than enough time in Thailand, but that still left Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, Malaysia, and Singapore on our to-do list.  Five weeks isn’t a lot of time even when you don’t have to factor in long hours of travel between points of interest.  Ultimately, we had removed most of Cambodia from consideration before we’d even arrived in the country.

Still, you can’t travel Southeast Asia without going to see Angkor Wat, right?  Although it meant passing up the capital, Phnom Penh, we made sure our bus from Saigon took us straight to Siem Reap so we could spend as many days as possible exploring the ruins in the area.

Border Crossing

The border crossing from Vietnam into Cambodia was easy enough.  The bus conductor took $25 USD from each of us before the bus left Saigon and, because we’d studied up, Oksana knew that he was keeping $10 for himself.  She grumbled about it, but he did ease us through immigration when we got there.  (And we did see signs at the border, in English, stating that the price for our visa was only $20 USD.)

Crossing the border was more interesting on the Thailand side.  We had to stand in line for awhile to get our stamps, but before they let us go, there were a couple other safety measures to perform.  First, we were electronically fingerprinted.  That wasn’t altogether odd; many countries now have those little boxes with the red lights that blink green after scanning each of your fingertips.

A little further down, though, a man stopped us so he could put a digital thermometer up against our foreheads.   Beep-beep, no bird flu, welcome to Thailand.

The only other place I can recall having my temperature taken on arrival was at the Dubai airport, but that was a much less invasive process.  They simply had thermal imaging cameras pointed at the immigration counter lines.  I assume if you were running a fever, they’d grab you for further testing or questioning.

Right across the border into Cambodia, on both the Vietnamese and Thai sides, there are an abundance of casinos.  The border towns are quite seedy, as you might expect, and the legalized gambling didn’t help matters any.  But economically speaking, I can see why they allow it.  The exchange rate and easy visa application process attracts a certain element from their more developed neighbors.

Sadly for the Cambodians, the reverse isn’t true.  While it’s very easy for someone from a neighboring country to pop on over for the weekend, Thailand and Vietnam heavily restrict the influx of Cambodian tourists to their countries.  Not surprising.  It’s that way the world over.  When a rich country borders a poor one, the direction of immigration flows one way.

Poverty

I could group many of my observations about Cambodia under the heading of “poverty,” but I’m going to try to avoid that.  Perhaps the differences I noted were because of other, less obvious reasons.

Ice

There’s a huge ice industry in Cambodia!  It sort of reminded me of stories I’ve read about 19^th century America.  We noticed it first right across the border, where a vendor was pedaling (literally) ice blocks from a cart hooked to the back of his bicycle.

The ice itself seemed to be uniform in size and shape.  They were huge rectangular blocks, about 6-inches, by 6-inches, by 3- or 4-feet.  There was a whole network in place to hauls these blocks from an ice factory out to wherever they were needed – usually to the restaurants or roadside kiosks that sold sodas or ice cream.

This made perfect sense inside the temple complexes, where modern buildings were practically non-existent and gas-powered generators were probably luxury items (if they were allowed at all.)  It would be difficult to entice a tourist to your restaurant if all you had on hand were wilted vegetables and hot soda, so each establishment had their own plastic cooler and loaded up on ice every morning.

Later, I came to realize that a widespread lack of electricity was most likely why ice is in such high demand.

Fire

We never had a problem finding power, but we paid to stay in a hotel in the wealthiest, most touristy city in the country.  Besides being able to charge our camera batteries, we also had wireless internet access.  Thinking back, though, it’s safe to assume not everyone lived so well.

Believe it or not, many restaurants – low-end ones, certainly – still cook all their food over wood fires.  Most of the roadside pit stops we made on our bus ride across the country were at places like that.  On the way back to the bathrooms, you could see the cooks preparing food on a fire built right on the floor in one corner of the kitchen.  Drinks, of course, were being sold out of ice-filled coolers.

I’m not saying that those restaurants didn’t have electricity, but what they did have was probably only used for cheap, minimal lighting.  I doubt the country has the infrastructure in place for gas cooking, but electricity should at least be an option.  The lack of refrigerators or electric stoves may have just come down to the proprietors not being able to afford big appliances.

We also saw lots of fires along the roadside.  Some of that was garbage disposal, some was for cooking.  We saw people hauling around firewood from time to time, too.  Must be an industry there, somewhere.

Public Services

As you can imagine, a country as poor as Cambodia isn’t likely to have the best health care.  Siem Reap, however, has a decent children’s hospital.

One evening, as we were coming back from the ruins, our route passed in front of the hospital.  Our tuk tuk was the only vehicle on the road when a doctor stepped up to the curb before crossing the street (the hospital is split among buildings on either side.)  We came to a stop as crossbars were lowered and machine-gun bearing military personnel escorted the doctor from one sidewalk to the next.  I made a point to ask about it when we arrived back at our hotel.

Siem Reap is probably the wealthiest city in Cambodia and all of that wealth comes from tourism.  It’s no accident that the best hospital in the land is located there.  Most, if not all of its financing, comes from tourist dollars.  (One of the ways they collect money is by hosting a cello concert every Saturday night.  One of the doctors plays music, shows a short film, and talks about the medical issues affecting Cambodian children.  The concert is free to the public, but the donations they collect help fund the hospital.)

Anyway, because so much money is concentrated in one location, officials worry that the hospital and some of its employees may become targets for criminal activity.  Thus, the military presence.

As we learned about the children’s hospital, the conversation took a turn to public schooling.  We asked a lot of questions to get a feel for how educational institutions operate in Cambodia.  Our driver told us that there are two models for schooling, government and private.

Government-sponsored schooling is free, he told us, but isn’t very good.  Classes are only 4 hours a day and the government teacher rarely does anything more than write things on the board for the students to memorize.  Classroom sizes, on average, are 50-60 students.

Private institutions are better in almost every way; however, there are per-student and per-term tuition costs involved.  Consequently, classrooms are significantly smaller, kids can get more than 4 hours a day of instruction (again, depending on tuition costs), and teachers are invested in actually helping their students learn.

To hear our driver tell it, students who go to public schools don’t really stand much of a chance in the real world.  If a parent wants their child to have a shot at a productive life, they’ll have to find a way to pay those tuition fees… and even then, the child will be at the mercy of Cambodia’s economic conditions when they graduate.

Sadly, many parents forego schooling altogether and train their children to hawk postcards and trinkets at the temple gates almost from the time they’re able to walk.   Those kids will grow up with no other option but to teach their own children the same thing.

The Cambodian People’s Party

I just read through eight dense paragraphs, across two Wikipedia entries, explaining the Cambodian government.  It wasn’t until the very last sentence that my suspicions about the country’s governance were confirmed: “The party adheres to a platform of Socialism.”

Of course, it’s not as simple as that.  Governments rarely are.  While there are elected officials and multiple parties vying for control of an upper and lower chamber of parliament, Cambodia also has a king.

But I have a feeling it’s the Cambodian People’s Party that pulls all the strings.

Now, granted, I know very little about how the government in Cambodia works.  My hunch about the CPP is based solely on the number of road signs I saw while our bus crossed the countryside.  Think that’s an unfair assessment?  Obviously, you’ve never driven through Cambodia…

At a guess, I would say that there was a large, Department-of-Transportation-style, metal sign proclaiming something about the Cambodian People’s Party planted every half kilometer along the main highway from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap.  That’s about 400kms or roughly 800 signs.  In addition, many of the more important looking buildings also had signs and banners proclaiming allegiance (I assume) to the party.  With that kind of “media” coverage, it has to be darn near impossible for another party to take control of the parliament.

As with other Southeast Asian countries, the fall of the Soviet Union had profound effects on the government of Cambodia.  In 1991, they tweaked their communist ideals and the Kampuchean People’s Revolutionary Party (with Marxist-Leninist ideals, it was the only legal party in the country at that time) renamed itself the “Cambodian People’s Party.”  It’s not surprising they still have a very secure hold on the reins of power.

Service

As in many poor countries, labor is cheap in Cambodia.  While they haven’t yet harnessed their workforce for international ventures like Thailand and Vietnam has, you can still see how cheap labor affects the service industry.

The most obvious example is what I came to think of as “over service.”  Much the way restaurant waiters would hover over us after delivering a check in Vietnam, every member of the wait staff would do something similar in Cambodia.

This would manifest in familiar ways – as when bellboys offered to take our luggage up to our room — but we soon realized it went far beyond that.  While you look over the menu for breakfast, they’ll watch over your shoulder and offer suggestions.  While you wait for a tuk tuk that the hotel had called on your behalf, they’ll stand by your side at the curb.  I would have felt just as uncomfortable if they’d assigned a butler to follow me around all day.

Looking back, I can see that they were just doing what they could to make our stay as stress-free as possible, but Oksana and I had been self-sufficient in our travels for a very long time at that point.  Perhaps less travel-weary tourists welcome that level of “over service.”

Bootleg Books

I got quite used to seeing bootleg DVDs and Blu-Rays on the streets of South America, but the big ticket items in Southeast Asia are books.  We started seeing them in Vietnam, but there were many more vendors near the temples of Cambodia.

The books for sale were all travel-related, with the bulk coming from Lonely Planet’s library.  The opening price was often only $5 or $6, leading me to believe they could be had for only $3 or $4.

We didn’t purchase any for a variety of reasons.  One, we didn’t need them; we do almost all of our travel planning via TripAdvisor and Wikitravel.  Two, our bags were too heavy as they were.  And three, we’d read about how most of those bootleg books were nothing more than poorly-photocopied reproductions, sometimes with pages missing, flipped upside down, or even merged with other books!

Without buying one, we couldn’t confirm or deny those rumors, however.  While every book looked extremely slick and professionally printed on the outside, every single one was shrink-wrapped tight.  There was no way to check the quality without buying one first – the mark of a true bootleg industry.

Water

At certain times of the years, water is a force to be reckoned with in Southeast Asia and Cambodia is not exempt.  For much of our long bus ride, we drove along the shore of the massive river-lake, Tonlé Sap.  With nothing else to do but look out the window, I watched people fishing from small canoes as well as from the decks of their stick-stilt houses along the shore.

The lake fell behind us as we approached Siem Reap, but we continued to see many fields and ditches flooded with water.  I assume the fields were rice paddies, even though they were flat and without tiers.

What surprised me most was what appeared to be people fishing in the ditches.  Many times I would see a group of three or four people throwing large nets out into the water.  You have to understand, these were closed ecosystems; a single ditch might only be as large as a basketball court.  What could they be catching?  Tiny fish?  Freshwater shrimp?

Whatever it was, it seemed like it was being farmed.  I saw one group using a couple gas-powered pumps to drain water from one ditch and pump it into another.  There must be a good reason for doing that, especially since the next rain would just fill it right back up again.

Temples

Obviously, Cambodia has temples.  The ruins of Angkor Wat and its surrounding complexes go back over a thousand years, to when the Khmer empire ruled the region.  Now, as in the surrounding countries, Buddhism is the dominant religion.

Most of my time in the country was spent exploring the ruins of temples, but I saw a few monstrous and majestic modern-day temples from the window of my bus.  They were impressive enough in both scale and upkeep that I wondered if religion is more important to Cambodians than it is to Thais or Laotians.

If you’ve seen how well the wats of Thailand and Laos are kept, you’ll know that’s saying something.

Angkor Wat

Even though we went to Cambodia to see Angkor Wat, I didn’t realize before getting there that that particular temple is a very small portion of the ruins that Cambodia has to offer.

In just three days, we also visited the ruins of Bakong, Lolei, Preah Ko, Phnom Bakheng, South Gate, Angkor Thom (including Bayon, Baphuon, the Elephants’ Terrace, the Leper King Terrace, the North and South Kleang, and Preah Pithu), Victory Gate, Thommanom, Ta Keo, Banteay Kdei, Ta Prohm, Sras Srang, Pre Rup, East Mebon, Ta Som, Neak Pean, and Preah Khan.

See what I mean?  Take a look at how small Angkor Wat is in relation to the other ruins on this map:

Angkor Wat is probably famous because it has the distinction of being used as a religious site pretty much continuously since it was built in the 12^th century.  All the other temples, at one time or another, fell into disuse and eventually became the ruins we see today.

For the record, I felt Bayon and Ta Prohm were far more impressive than Angkor Wat.

Insects

I’m sure, what with there being a jungle and all, that there are a frightening number of scary insects and arachnids around the temples of Angkor Wat.  Fortunately, we didn’t see many, but we heard them.

They start up in the late afternoon and continue on until sunset.  I wrote in my journal that it sounds like “high pressure steam escaping from the forest.”  It is unbelievably loud and actually hurts the ears.

The first time we inquired about what could be making such a racket was back at our hotel.  One of the young employees, eager to practice his English, explained to us that they were “sort of like butterflies.”  I tried to imagine a colorful butterfly screaming its way along an erratic flight path through the jungle.  Couldn’t do it.

Later, our tuk tuk driver told us they were cicadas.  That made a lot more sense.

Compact Discs

I saw a novel use for old CD-Rs on the streets of Cambodia.  They use them as reflectors on their tractor-drawn carts and tuk tuks.  Not a bad idea, really.  They’re dirt cheap and do a great job bouncing back any light at night.

Koreans

Any Koreans traveling through Cambodia have my deepest sympathies.  It’s an open secret among Cambodians that they’re very easy to overcharge.

(To be clear, we’re talking about South Koreans here; North Koreans’ travel options are more, shall we say, limited.)

Our tuk tuk driver Mr. Boret, told us that the other drivers fight over Koreans tourists.  Whereas we negotiated a price of $15USD/day for his services, he could routinely charge a Korean $30 a day; $60 for a couple!

“Why?” I asked.  “Do they have a lot more money?”

His smile, though large, had a hint of guilt behind it.  “No. It’s because they don’t speak English!”

At first, I took that to mean that they weren’t able to haggle the price down, but now I realize it goes beyond that.  Lots of sites, including the aforementioned Wikitravel and TripAdvisor, are full of forums where people discuss what they paid for everything from cab fare, to street food, to 5-star hotels.  If a certain Korean doesn’t speak English, he or she is locked out of a whole wealth of travel information online.  And if Koreans, as a group, are monolingual, and if most Cambodian hustlers have been using this to their advantage, then it’s quite possible that Korean travel forums are, even now, full of misinformation that just reinforces those too-high prices.

I wonder if any other nationalities have the same trouble in Cambodia.  Chinese travelers may be largely monolingual, as well, though I’ll bet there are plenty of Cambodians who speak Chinese.  The Japanese, perhaps?  Russians?

Nah, not the Russians.  They may not speak English, but something so inconsequential as understanding would never stand between them and a good bargain.

Related posts:

1. Thoughts on Egypt
2. Thoughts on Russia
3. Cambodia Photos

© Arlo for A Midgett Blog, 2012. | Permalink | No comment |

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While in Cambodia, we made sure to buy a three-day pass for the temples.  Partly that was to have enough time to see all the ruins at a leisurely pace, but I also wanted more than one shot at getting a sunrise photo over Angkor Wat.

On our first morning, we had our tuk tuk driver pick us up at 5am.  He dropped us off at the gates of Angkor Wat and told us to try to set up in front of the northern reflecting pool which, he said, was the best spot to get the sun, the temple’s spires, and their reflections all in one shot… at least in December.

That early, it was still pitch black.  Without our flashlights, I’m sure we would have tripped on the uneven paving stones of the causeway.  By the time we reached the reflecting pool, almost every available spot had been taken.  We set up on the extreme right edge where we could still get some water in the shot, but unfortunately the grassy edge of the pond dominated the frame.  At least the sky was clear.  The best photos we got that morning – when the heavens were still changing from black to purple to red – were well before the sun actually came into view.

We resolved to make another attempt the next day and arranged for our driver to have us at the gates just before the park officially opened at 5am.  Those extra 15 minutes made all the difference.

While other people made it into the complex before we did, Oksana and I were the very first ones to the reflecting pool and we even had about five minutes to choose our spot.  By the time I was extending my tripod’s legs, other people were staking their claims.  This time we were set up on the opposite side of the pool.

The sky was very different that morning.  There was a low cloud cover that was being pushed by the wind.  Clouds came from beyond the Angkor Wat, floated over the temple, then over our spot at the reflecting pool.  It never looked like it was going to rain, but those clouds prevented us from ever seeing the sun directly.

My favorite photo came well before dawn.  I was still playing with the settings on my camera, trying to find the right balance between silhouetting the temple and illuminating the clouds.  Oksana later told me about the Japanese tourist that had leaned in over my shoulder after every shot, trying to read the 5D’s shutter speed and aperture settings so he could dial them into his own DSLR.  (Pointless, because he didn’t have a tripod.  The only way he was going to get a 30-second exposure in focus was if he’d brought Medusa along as his assistant…)

Many, many of the tourists crowding around us were cluelessly taking flash photos with their point-and-shoot cameras.  Most of them were either unaware that their tiny flashes wouldn’t illuminate much beyond 10 feet, or didn’t know how to turn them off.  At any rate, Oksana and I commiserated about how annoying it was to have a hundred strobes going off in the dark every minute.

Later, when we were reviewing our photos on a laptop, we discovered an unintended and wonderful consequence of all that added light.  While even 50 flashes were not enough to lighten the face of the temple, their cumulative brightness was enough to paint the pink water lilies out on the pond with their light.

Canon 5D Mark II
Date: 5:32am, 6 December 2011
Focal Length: 47mm
Shutter: 30 sec
Aperture: F/4
Exposure: +2 step
Flash: No
ISO: 640
Photoshop: Slight rotation and crop, auto color, slight saturation boost, and a lot of tiny patch tool work to get rid of the long-exposure, red and blue “hot pixels.”

Before taking this photo, I had strapped a camcorder to one of the tripod’s legs and let it record the sunrise as I snapped away.  Unfortunately, my camera work periodically shook the tripod and the final result is less than perfect.  Even after stabilizing the footage in After Effects, there’s still a sort of smooth bumpiness to it, but I decided to upload it anyway, because I think it’s pretty cool to see all those clouds streaming past.

View the same video in high-definition (720p) on Youtube.

Related posts:

1. Thoughts on Cambodia

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