Beep Beep - look out for me!

That's how a friend of ours (notorious for getting into accidents) changes lanes.  She turns on her turn signal, says "beep beep, look out for me," and changes lanes without so much as a glance over her shoulder.  it's kind of cute, yet terrifying at the same time.

Driving in Vietnam is the same, though not quite as cute.  Cars and buses and trucks and motorbikes alike all use their horns as a short of notice-giver...they honk to let you know they're there, that they're turning, going straight, avoiding you, you need to avoid them,...practically any reason at all.  Their turn-signals even make noise; motorcycles sound like a little squeak, buses sounds like muted and lazy car alarms.

And yet the amazing thing is that no one is mad.  It's never a "get out of my f-ing way" honk, just an "FYI" honk.

Although our bus driver today - for the entire 1.5 hour ride - was incredibly horn happy.  After about half an hour into the ride, the general consensus was that he should have just continuously leaned on the hour and gotten it over with.  But of course it figures that when I finally had the notion to take out my camera to video the phenomenon, he stopped completely.  It would have made the most amazing drinking game.

Take only pictures

My memories of Halong Bay will be forever topped off with the late night giggles that we shared off the sloping front-end of the boat on our overnight in the UNESCO site.   The sky was cloudy and the night was cool but not cold.  Some of us had beers in hand, some were jigging for squid, some of us had our feet dangling over the edge and some were just standing around for the company.

Everyone was from somewhere different from the rest; Germany, Sweden, Canada, Malaysia, Argentina, Australia.  We all shared English--broken as it was in some cases--and passed the time sharing stories of where we'd come from or where'd we'd been.  Laughter erupted amongst the crowd when our day was recounted and our guide's accent and favourite phrases were poorly imitated.

As the night stretched on, the crowd dwindled with people heading to bed, wishing the night owls goodnights.  The last few of us followed shortly after, fittingly closing the evening with a few favourite lines from FRIENDS.  Retiring for the night, we left the karst isle wonders to stand guard over the twinkling historic junks drifting quietly in the bay.  

Late passengers, unite!

Despite having left our hotel at noon and having allotted ourselves 7 hours to make a 4.5 hour journey, we were running late.  Our ferry arrived to pick us up an hour later than scheduled, then took an additional hour in transit and the offload and loading time of passengers from ferry to bus was chaotic and took forever.

By the time we finally climbed aboard the bus that was to take us the final 40-minute leg of the trip to the airport, we figure ourselves to be scheduled to arrive 10 minutes too late for check-in.  However, we remained optimistic.  The British woman with the big hair, on the other hand, did not.

Already on the bus, Big Hair was yelling at the bus-ferry coordinator that the delay was ridiculous (which it was), that she had a flight to catch at 7:45pm (which we did as well), and that leaving at 6:45pm for a 40-minute ride was not going to get her there in time to check-in (which was technically correct, but again, we were optimistic). We calmly informed her that we were in the same position as she was, along with another passenger on the same bus (we'd become friends during our wait for the ferry).  Excitedly, Big Hair exclaimed that we should jump off the bus (that was still parked) and hire a taxi to speed us to the airport together.  Not only did we advise against it (our luggage had been stowed somewhere in the bowels of the bus already) and optimistically share our outlook with her, but the bus-ferry coordinator hopped aboard to tell her she'd make it "okay okay" and announced the bus' departure.

We were stuck.  And although we didn't admit it, Big Hair's frustration and panic had had its effect of wavering our outlook.  However, her volume alone had a secondary effect.

Thai travellers on the bus with us began to pull out their phones and tablets to try to help.  Our airline was called to see if anything could be done about our delay.  While Big Hair and the other passenger on our flight were checked in on an iPad.  With the local help we found on board, we discovered that while nothing could be done to accommodate our delay, our flight had been delayed anyway and it was now just a matter of checking our luggage in time.

When the airport finally rose into sight, all of us on the same flight got up and prepared to make a dash for the airline counter.  When the bus pulled in and stopped, all of the Thai passengers also rose from their seats--but kept the aisles clear to let us off first...AND they cheered us on and wished us well.

We flew through the doors and the initial x-ray scans and made it to the check-in counter...in time!  Big Hair was relieved (it actually wasn't until then that we learned her name) and we told ourselves we'd known it the whole time.

While the fact that we'd made it in time for our flight hadn't surprised us, the amazing help and hospitality we'd received from local Thai strangers absolutely wowed us.  Not only had they gone out of their way to use their own personal airtimes and data, they all courteously let us run off the bus first to catch our departure.  Sure it was very little in the grand scheme of things, but it really is the little things that count.

Ferry Dirty

We just travelled 3 hours on a ferry with first class tickets, seated like third class steerage. Our trip to Koh Phangan taught us that even in spite of light drizzles encountered on the way, the best seats were on the top deck that was open, but covered, and as a bonus, the seats reclined! So naturally, for the ferry back from Koh Phangan, we pushed and shoved our way to the top deck, only to find that while itw as open, there was no roof for shade and the few seats there did not recline. Oh well.

We snagged the seats anyway, wiped them as clean as we could (they were filthy--which we should realized as a sign of things to come), slapped on some sunscreen and settled in for the ride. Moments later, the ferry weighed anchor, and we quickly discovered why the seats had been left empty by locals and had been so filthy to begin with.

Exhaust. Two giant, black, billowing pillars of it. And just our luck, the wind was blowing it right back onto the boat, soaking us in soot.

Having just shoved off, we decided it wouldn't be too bad; once we picked up some speed the smoke stacks would belch their debris backwards off the boat, right? But to our dismay, there was no speed. The ferry had already departed an hour later than scheduled, and it looked like it was going to add an additional hour onto our travel time at the rate we were chugging along, because chugging was the the best we were managing.

The engines churned away, three decks below, pounding out a beat that sounded like the low bass notes from the Full Moon Party DJs, except that there wasn't necessarily rhythm to this beat, nor was there an end to the song. There was no escape. The seats on the decks below were enclosed, but not air conditioned, and besides, by the looks of the crowds of passengers who had crammed themselves onto every available spot on our deck, it didn't look like there was going to be any room down below anyway.

For three hours we endured. For three hours we baked in the sun, save for the times the wind shifted directions and the smoke stacks blocked it out. For three hours we breathed in our own smog until our noses were blackened with it. Three hours.

When the sights closer to the opposite shore became familiar again, passengers began to rouse themselves from their spots on the deck. While I thought our chairs were dirty, these poor people had become completely covered in grime. Whatever had touched the deck was graced with a layer of black grime and soot. It was disgusting. Thank goodness for my dirty chair.

Three hours from our ferry's departure--five hours from our departure from our hotel--and we still had an hour and a half to go to our final destination of the SRT airport. It won't be until midday tomorrow that we'll arrive and check into a hotel and final get to wash this leg of our journey away.

No photo; money

Travel guides and fellow globetrotters will tell you that you'll get used to the beggars and pan-handlers you encounter in all of the emerging countries.  They've each got their gimmick to tug on your heart strings--gimmicks that can be VERY effective.  There's nothing wrong with giving money to them, it's just that if you don't harden up to it fast enough, you'll find that you're handing out more than you'll expect.  But how could you resist these little girls?

At first, we thought they might just have been cute little volunteers at the temple we had stopped to visit; the first little girl we came across was singing.  Pictures were snapped of course, not just by us, but by the crowds walking by—the little girl even posed for Malcolm’s camera.  But by the time we were ready to make the trek back down the 306 steps from Doi Suthep we’d made the connection that the girls were doing it for money.  In fact, for the unlucky photographers they caught taking pictures and not paying, they would trot on over and stand on the step below them, blocking their way down the mountain until they were paid. 

Now onto their scheme, I told Malcolm I still wanted a picture with one of these adorable girls and fished through my bag for a 10 baht coin.  As I was fishing, another foreigner beat me to the picture and snapped a photo of the little girl I was standing beside.  Dutifully, she skipped on over to him, stood in his way and reprimanded him. 

       “No photo; money.”

Not understanding her at first, he tried to dodge around her, but she blocked his path and repeated,

       “No photo; money.”

I was ready with my coin by then and thought that it might placate her with regards to his stolen photo as well as allow me to take one of my own.  I presented the coin to the girl, but she wouldn’t even look at me.

       “No photo; money.”

She was fiddling with her little change purse slung around her shoulder as she chanted the recitation so I thought perhaps she hadn’t noticed my offering.  I put the coin in her line of vision, but again,

       “No photo; money.”

The fellow foreigner, Malcolm and I exchanged bewildered looks.  Didn’t she want her money?  We decided to let the guy give it a try offering it to her – it was he who caught her attention in the first place.  He accepted the coin from me and he handed it to her, making sure she could see it.

       “No photo; money.”

He tried slipping it into her change purse for her.  She pulled away.

       “No photo; money.”

Her sulky words were both frustrating but adorable.  We weren’t going to go away without giving her the money, but we couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t take it?  Then Malcolm had an idea: we would try giving her 20 baht. 

I fished through my purse and found the appropriate bill and offered it to her.

*smile*

Her chant stopped and she smiled brightly for the camera, allowing the other foreigner to escape and me to snap my picture. 

Malcolm also paused at the bottom of the stairs to snap another (paid) picture with the first girl who had been singing and who had given him the great pose in the first place.  In a developing country, even if you’re only 4-years old with only 3 words of English – Money talks.

To the Batu Caves!

Having the only laptop around, I've had to share and haven't had enough alone-time to blog.  Shitty excuse, but I'm sticking to it.  The lack of alone time with or without the laptop has resulted in me having kept up with the writing, online, offline, or on paper.  I have to say that's pretty shitty too.  I shall strive to rectify this, but crankiness may prevail.  Perhaps when I get my ring back, that will help to cure some of that.

Remember a while ago I was in Malaysia?  In Kuala Lumpur?  I didn't write much about it because for the first bit, we didn't do very much.  Then when we DID do something I was too busy (or sucky) to write about it.  I'm playing catch-up now.

The Batu Caves were a place that Malcolm had been too, but so long ago that it was I who informed him (and his friends) that there was now a city train line that had been extended out to the caves and they were now accessible without needing a chauffeur.  Perfect.  So one morning after breakfast (of course) with friends, we were dropped off at the LRT station and left to our own devices via Malcolm's memory and my navigation.  Not long later, we had found our way and exited the train.

I wasn't quite sure what we were getting into having done minimal research on the site and just going along with Malcolm's memory.  I knew at some point there were going to be caves, there were going to be 272 steps, and I was to beware of the monkeys.  The first thing to catch my eye as we crossed through the gates and onto the grounds of the Batu Caves was not in a cave, was not quite a monkey, but was super tall.

Now I had an idea of what I was getting into.  Without having reached the main entrance of the grounds, I was already struck by what I'd seen.  The cliffs were breathtaking and the temples already grand.  I'd never been to a Hindu temple before (at least, not to my recollection) and was impressed by the grandeur I found at the bottom of the steps.  Somehow, though I had read that the statue would be big, I didn't realize it would be THAT big.

Before heading up to the main temple, we came across a smaller one at the bottom of the steps which visitors were allowed to enter so we took a peek inside.  Statues, shrines, frescoes, sculptures, incense and more greeted us as we entered with our shoes off.  Priests seeking to give us blessings (and receive donations, which we gave) called us over to rub ashes on our foreheads and put flowers in my hair.

Already, I was liking this.

Blessed (hopefully with phenomenal stair-climbing abilities), we decided it was time to make the climb.

Since I am fully aware of how much I hate to climb stairs and especially how much I suck at it, I steeled myself to the task at hand, knowing there was no other way up.  No elevators, escalators, or secret lifts here.  Besides, after a quarter of the way up, we saw this guy and I could no longer feel sorry for myself.

Halfway there!

The sights to greet us were well worth the climb, though at the moment there were no priests or anything sacred going on at the top--only monkeys running amok.

Two tried to tag-team me and attack, but I soon found the secret to warding them off (as I didn't have any food or drinks on me that they could possibly want) was simply to remember that I was bigger than them and to reassert that fact to them.

Overall, the trip was the most touristy that I was to make in KL (since the Petronas Towers were closed) and it was quite the memorable one.

The details

November 24, 2011

After listening to me gripe and feel sorry for myself about having gained the (more than) obligatory "welcome home" weight all night, Malcolm told me I looked beautiful and said he would take me on a walk through his childhood neighbourhood if it would make me feel better. I accepted.

We walked and we talked and he pointed out the places that meant a lot to him having shared memories there with his late grandfather. Crossing a bridge on the way home, we paused for a moment, watching the traffic pass beneath us. A moment later, Malcolm turned to me.

    "I have a secret...I bought you something."
    "What is it? Electronics?" (our secret joke for "engagement ring")
    "Maybe."

At this point, I didn't take it to be something very serious. We'd kidded about it often so it wasn't something completely out of character.

    "You know, you're not supposed to TELL me about that."
    "But I don't want it to be a secret anymore."

And with that, he dropped to one knee, and, holding my hand, told me how much he loved me and asked me to marry him. Before he'd finished his first sentence--perhaps before his knee even hit the ground--I was already crying. Speechless, I nodded at first and then eeked out a "yes."

He stood up and we kissed. Then he opened up his left hand one finger at a time to reveal...and empty palm. :) Before I could figure out what it meant, I felt him slide a ring onto my finger with his right hand and smile. I was smiling and laughing and sobbing all at once. From there we walked back to his home in Penang where we shared the news with his family and they welcomed me (still sobbing) with open arms to the family.