Bevan, Bon Rouleur
5 December 2005 | Southeast Asia, Part Four
Ok, back to the trip. Though significant, the language barrier isn't always the only or main obstacle preventing meaningful interaction. My relocating most days makes establishing connections with people much more difficult. This isn't to say that I haven't had meaningful encounters while traveling in Asia (I have, and many), but socially speaking, there hasn't been anything to rival three weeks of friendly hostel life in Sydney. This trip isn't about living in a familiar setting with friends, but the abrupt shift was traumatic. I tore myself from a community of peers in Sydney and landed in a part of the world where I was a perpetual outsider.
I've been undergoing a demeanor adjustment. I initially met the Continent's hurdles by pushing my comfort zone more than I should have. I forced myself to immediately assumed the role of the seasoned Asia-traveler: I slept in decrepit hotels or hostels, ate at dirt-cheap hawker stalls, and talked to willing locals at every opportunity. Anything to differentiate me from the despicably conspicuous tourist hordes, never wandering far from the tour bus, always keeping to themselves. Hardly an original sentiment, I admit. But you really feel macho. For me, pushing myself out there was a "yeah, I've shit in the woods" kind of thing.
Despite my efforts, even when not ordering food it was painfully obvious that I was a farang ('foreigner' in Thai), and I was probably lumped in the same group as those I loved to despise. I thought my being ethnically half-Chinese would blur the reality a bit, but especially while biking I found I stood out. Cycling alienated me from locals, which shouldn't have come as a surprise. I had had the idea that the bike would put me on the same level as those I'd be pedaling past. Like the assumption that jumping right into Asia on-the-cheap would speed my transition to macho Asia-dweller, it was a ludicrous thought. There is no getting around the fact that traveling long distances by bicycle is utterly impractical, and that the people I'm traveling amongst rarely have the luxury of pursuing such activities; I've only seen a handful of recreational cyclists in Asia, and all but four or five were westerners. (In mountainous Vietnam, however, I saw thousands upon thousands of cyclists- a most welcome sight.) Whereas I'm not the Prada-sporting Euro guy with his huge designer sunglasses, expensive SLR, and air-con bus (unfortunately), I'm still alien. I felt like a fool: I rode a bike with silly red bags, wore red cycling shorts and a huge white brain bucket, and couldn't speak the language. Environmentalists will tell you, and rightly, that cycling is the most energy-efficient mode of transportation. Practical efficiency, however, is measured in dollars, hours, and comfort, not miles to the gallon. I don't blame those who laugh as I bike past, annoying as they may be.
I incurred quite a bit of ridicule in Malaysia especially. People would often hoot or simply laugh as I biked along. Every couple hundred feet I'd hear a "helloooooo!" followed by laughter and hooting. This grew very irritating but I'd shrug it off; as the perpetrators were mostly little kids. What got to me most were the similar reactions from groups of teenagers as I biked past. Like the kids, they'd point and sometimes laugh and yell, but the sting of their ridicule was a lot greater. I hated it. I occasionally resolved not to make contact with anyone while cycling, which made me the ogre. It wasn't a good time.
My cycling occasionally seems nothing more than a luxurious inefficiency to much of the world, and highlights the economic disparity between me and those I travel amongst. In Malaysia, upon being greeted by a young local English-speaking male, I'd invariably be asked how much my bicycle was worth. In planning my trip, I had been warned about being the rich white kid and the potential consequences of carrying that status. As this warning was issued by the nay-sayers, and was certainly a scenario I didn't want to have realized, I largely blocked it out. What other advice did I unjustly spurn? Feel free to remind me.
The innocent mockeries I was greeted with in Malaysia were trivial compared to the hostility I felt directed towards me in southern Thailand . On several occasions in Thailand's deep south, cars would slow down to my pace, roll down the window, and flip me off very deliberately and insistently. It was nothing like the casual birds one gets flipped elsewhere, and had nothing to do with traffic flow; I bike to the left of a wide motorcycles-only lane (it's left-hand drive there).
At the end of my first day in Thailand, a teenager scared the crap out of me with a very realistic-looking toy shotgun. It didn't help that there were real guns everywhere; Thailand is in the midst of a civil war in its deep south due to a separatist movement, and the military presence is extreme. There were truckloads of troops on every block of some southern cities, and military checkpoints every few miles complete with machine guns, sandbags, and razor wire. The troops carried rifles equipped with rocket launchers, and the hummers and transport cars had machine guns mounted on their roofs.
In some small villages and cities of southern Thailand I saw Osama on t-shirts and stickers. The media (Bangkok Press) seems to have associated the separatist movement with Islamic extremism. I gather that a faction in southern Thailand desires unification with Malaysia, even though that country wouldn't risk tensions with Thailand by accepting them. Despite the seeming futility of their struggle they are persistent. In fact, the airport in Hat Yai had recently been bombed. Rocket attacks on police buildings are a common occurrence. With worrying similarity to events in the Middle East, there have been over a dozen beheadings in the past months. The Bangkok Press stresses the religions of those involved: "Muslims Behead Buddhist Man" read one headline. There were also government signs condemning the violent acts of Muslims.
The civil war and religious conservatism are likely reasons for the increased tensions in southern Thailand, and going there may have been irresponsible as they weren't ready for tourists. I hadn't read, heard, or seen much about those issues until I got close; it seems the local governments may be trying to keep the situation quiet.
I have to further qualify my feelings of isolation. During my stay in the Muslim areas, my eczema was extreme, which made me sour towards everything. Also, it happened to be Ramadan. I couldn't have a cooked meal until around 6pm, and the available gas-station foods were high in simple sugars which is very bad for biking. I found myself completely drained very early in the day, and got dehydrated frequently despite my constant drinking. With my terrible scratching and very low energy, I was annoyed at pretty much anything, and grew to despise the little kids shouting things by the side of the street. Also, I was wearing spandex cycling shorts which the socially conservative population may not have been used to seeing. They aren't extremely conservative and I hadn't read anything about it, so it didn't dwell on my appearance for too long. My helmet was also unusual, as no cyclists wear them here. Motorcyclists are also helmet-less more often than not (I have yet to see a helmet in Vietnam). My clothes, helmet, increased irritability, and my being away for over three months probably accounted for the bulk of my feelings of isolation in Malaysia and southern Thailand.
I got tired of being the outsider and living in such different, and often adverse, conditions. I no longer wanted to pretend I was a traveling lifer and sought familiarity in every respect. Since interactions with locals were always awkward, I started avoiding them. I stayed in more comfortable hotels ("comfortable" is relative, though!) I ate western food. I retreated into books, and bought whatever English ones I could find. In Bangkok, I stocked up on reading material. For awhile, my reading habit was more expensive than my other living costs combined.
Movies were another escape. Whenever possible I'd watch a new English movie in a theater, and I saw a lot of them. Even crappy ones were most welcome. A silly inefficiency in Asia is the seating system. When you buy a movie ticket in Singapore, Malaysia, or Thailand, there is a seating assignment on your ticket. While in theory this may seem like a good idea, in practice it is often inefficient. Especially during a crowded feature, you'll invariably have to walk past many seated patrons to get to your number. This being Asia, there is less leg room, which makes it all the more difficult for westerners. However, assigned seating may be worth it; you know you won't be stuck in the front row. Some theater facts: Singapore has the best popcorn of the three countries, by far. In Malaysia they only serve sweet popcorn, and if you want an empty theater try a 7 o'clock feature during Ramadan. In Thailand, they play the national anthem before every film, while showing pictures of the president against a backdrop of beautiful mountain forests. Everyone stands during this, with hands at their sides. Imagine if they tried that back home!
Fast food was another comforting familiarity, and a delicious one. KFC is everywhere here, as are other members of the enterprising parent-company YUM Foods, such as Pizza Hut and A&W (which is a restaurant out here, not just a soda.) The staff always speak English in these havens, so I spent a fair amount of time in these establishments, eating and reading. McDonalds is by far my favorite, with Pizza Hut a distant second. McDonalds almost never have my Quarter Pounder with Cheese, though. To my dismay and great benefit, not once have I seen a double-QPC. Every region has their own specialties. In Malaysia it was the mysterious McD, some sort of beef soup, with a bunch of other floaters in it. Elsewhere I've seen various pork sandwiches (including an all-pork Big Mac in Thailand), and the Aussie Burger in Australia (with egg and pineapple I believe). In Malaysia, all the meat is Halal certified of course, since the population is predominantly Muslim.
I have to hand it to YUM for selling South East Asia on their food. Rarely did I see a town without at least one KFC. YUM brands have much more coverage than McDonalds. They didn't even have a McDonalds in Thailand's second-most-populous city, Nakhon Ratchasima (Chiang Mai is the second-largest), and believe me, I looked! It was often quite remarkable how often I'd come across a KFC. One time in Malaysia, there was a clearing in the rain forest, and there was the Colonel. Alone in the jungle, with just one hotel and a few other shops nearby. During Ramadan, fast food restaurants (which are still rare compared to back home) were often my only options during the day (although some still closed). YUM also has a booming China division. If I had any money, I'd buy its stock.
KFC and McDonalds are universal havens. I sought refuge in them over here, and initially thought mine was a strictly western reaction. However, I don't see why South East Asians wouldn't appreciate the familiarity of those establishments while traveling abroad, given their frequency in this part of the world as well.
Despite fast food and books, I was unable to ward of my homesickness. Everything culminated on October 14th: my nineteenth birthday. At the time I was staying in a small and simple room in Khota Baru, Malaysia, near the Thai border. Living cheaply as usual, I didn't even have my own bathroom (although I did have air-con). Despite having seen other western travelers for the first time in over a week I was depressed and lonely. I really wanted to go home, and knowing I'd have to endure many more months in strange lands was very tough.
I gradually came to terms with my trip as the time I'd spent out became a larger chunk of my overall commitment. It's not that the end was in sight; rather, I think I just got used to it. Not biking helped, as cycling was a source of stress and having eczema was very depressing. I still looked forward to returning home, but I didn't have nearly as strong a desire to do so.
*I said earlier that money won't let you down in South East Asia. There is one very notable exception. The border-violating expat with a penchant for Lao women warned me thoroughly about the dangers of a white boy's traveling in the fourth-poorest country in the world (I think). "Do not go out at night," he said, uncharacteristically stern, "they will kill you, these people have nothing." Ok, that's easy enough, I thought.
My first night in Vientiane: I'm walking the mile back to my hotel, at midnight, on an empty street, alone, and suddenly realize I should have asked the guy at the internet cafe to draw me a map. I start running to speed things up. On one side is a swamped field, on the other an impenetrable block of wooden shacks and rusty corrugated roofs. At a gradual bend in the road, I spot a group of ten young men about 50 feet away, walking away from me (keep in mind I was running), one of which had a large rifle on his back. They wore no uniforms and were talking aggressively amongst themselves. Some appeared drunk. I stopped and weighed my options. They must have heard my running, and I questioned whether stopping had been a good idea. My stopping had alerted them to the fact that I noticed, and cared about, their presence. Turning around casually as if to see if my companions were in tow, I very slowly started walking in the opposite direction. It may not sound scary, but it was very frightening given the warnings I'd received, especially it being my first night in the country. Fifty feet may seem pretty far away, but it ain't, especially if the other guy has a rifle. Luckily for me, at precisely the right time my guardian angel showed up in the form of some man I'd asked for directions earlier (it really was quite miraculous- the streets had almost completely cleared at 8pm, and there had been no traffic aside from him). He graciously insisted on giving me a ride to my hotel on the back of his motorbike. As we passed the group, it turned out at least two of them had weapons, and were quite young. Not that I stared too long.
It turns out that carrying guns in Laos is completely normal. They have a big gun culture, almost as widespread as that of the US. However, unlike in California, people can walk around with them on the street.
Laos does have violent rebels, however. Parts of Route 13, which runs through Laos' entirety, is notorious for ambushes. Dozens have been massacred in the last two to three years including two western cyclists. There have also been bombings and other signs of unrest throughout the country.
I didn't get to see as much of Laos as I'd wanted. I stayed in the capitol, Vientiane, for over a week while I waited for a package from home (in which I received a new ATM card, having lost/had stolen my old one). I then took a bus from Vientiane to Hanoi.
The bus trip was a mix of hell and wonder. I went to the station at 7 pm, and sat in the bus until it left, at nine. In the first ten minutes, the guy behind me threw up, out the window. I took a nap. I woke up maybe half an hour later and noticed a strange smell. I looked back and found rice and little meaty bits all over the now-closed window and even a few specks on my arm rest. That set the tone for the trip.
We eventually stopped for dinner in some remote Lao village, where people spat on the floor of the restaurant/residence. I befriended a couple people but nobody spoke English. I foolishly hadn't packed any food or water for the trip, so I ate a lot and got back on the bus. I couldn't fall asleep, as usual, and the washboard dirt roads we traveled on didn't help.
Very early in the morning and high in the mountains road we came to a stop. There had been a landslide, which I gather is quite common in this region, and we had to wait a few hours for it to be cleared. The sunrise was unforgettable, and the mountains incredibly beautiful. My pictures don't do it justice.
At the Laos/Vietnam border I got a seat companion. I was now in the seat right above the wheel-well (already the bus had no leg-room; I had to put my legs in what was left of the aisle), and my new friend was pressed against me. At that point I'd been sitting for fifteen hours or so; I wanted out, and would have gotten out had my stuff not been strapped to the roof in such a manner that it would have taken a very long time to reach my belongings. It was grim.
The rest of the trip was very uncomfortable. I had barely eaten, had no water, and my seat broke (it now rocked back and forth such that if I leaned back I'd be reclined, perhaps fully so were it not for the passengers behind me.) At least two people were intent on hot-boxing the bus (most windows were closed but people smoked marijuana regardless). One man, shirtless and wearing a tatoo of a necklace and crucific on his neck, amused himself by deliberately taking hits from his bong during police bus-inspections, blowing the smoke towards the ground. Because of the tons of crates, bags, and unpacked goods lying about in the bus, he was pretty unnoticeable.
Twenty-seven hours after I'd boarded, I finally reached Hanoi. Well, not really. They dropped us in some distant industrial neighborhood from which the city lights weren't visible, and where I was hassled by a bunch of taxi drivers and others about my bike, gear, and money. In the end someone helped me out, which has become the rule, not the exception (no doubt because the "end" is so often dependent on someone's helping me!) I asked for directions and a motorbiker insisted on leading me to the main part of town.
I'm now in Hanoi. Two days ago it rained for the first time in awhile, and has since gotten very cold (well, under 70). This is good news for me, since cycling should be possible now. I plan to resume after I get my Chinese visa, which will be a few days yet.
Congratulations. Something tells me you've read this far which was probably no small feat. This took longer than I'd thought to get out; I'm working on writing more, and more frequently, but self discipline is always a struggle. I had to leave a lot out, but I hope this was at least mildly entertaining.
I'm conflicted about reporting on personal encounters. Although those have been the most definitive and interesting parts of my trip, they don't necessarily depict the other party in a positive light. I've always been quick to give out my URL, and since I don't want to hurt anyone I'll save those stories for the book. In any case, the conclusions I've drawn from the stories in question are for the most part in keeping with those I did mention.
(Continue to Part Five)
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