Rambling Through SouthEast Asia

Koh Tao & The Coral Grand Dive School...

2009-07-27T08:00:00.000-07:00

*** There are a couple underwater video clips at the bottom of this post. Check them out!***

Monday, July 20th
An afternoon nap puts me in the right place to spend the next few hours filling out paperwork and getting an orientation talk for my Open Water Diver certification. I've chosen to take classes at the Coral Grand Divers scuba school based on a recommendation from a fellow traveler and a complementary write up by National Geographic Traveler. The school (and the island in general) is recognized as one of the best places in the world to get scuba certified. Koh Tao is only second to Australia's Cairn Islands for the number of certified divers it churns out annually. At about $350 U.S. (about a fifth of what it costs in the states), the price is a bargain that I can't pass up. Besides, I'm no good a just sitting on the beach...

Three hours of instructional videos and some basic talking points, followed by so several hours of assigned reading rounds out Day 1 of dive school.

Tuesday, July 21st
John Allen, my British instructor, sends me and two other classmates to the swimming pool for a day of confined diving lessons. I'm joined in my studies by Eliza, an Italian woman from Milan, and Eric, a Norwegian and professional Thai Boxer. The four of us spend several hours in the resort's swimming pool gradually learning how to assemble, operate and apply new breathing and equipment skills in practical training underwater. The pool was packed with other classes and made for a challenging learning environment but by afternoon John has taught us all the basic skill we'll need for tomorrow's first open water dive.

The certification course teaches and tests more than 20 skills in open water (the ocean) over the course of 4 dives. Once we pass the practical skills, there is a 50 question test that one must pass. Upon completion of the course, students become registered divers who are able to dive anywhere in the world to a depth of 50 feet. I'm excited about this prospect but am now faced with the dilemma of having to allot vacation time to both the surf and the mountains. Woe is me...

Wednesday, July 22nd
After a morning review session, we board the boat at noon and head to "White Rock" dive sight for our first taste of open water. After buddy checks (Eric is my buddy), we get into the water and make our way towards the mooring line. When everyone is ready, John gives us the signal to descend using the mooring line as our underwater guide. I will never forget these first few moments as my head dips below surface. About a dozen divers are cued up along the line, gradually working their way into the depths. Their backs are turned to me as they breath from their regulators, bubbles floating the surface. It's as though I've entered a portal to another world. One filled with deep blue mysteries and excitement lurking in the depths.

We gradually make our way down the line to a depth of 12 meters (39 feet) and spend 48 minutes underwater practicing our new skills. We swim around in our buddy groups, observing corals, fish and crustaceans. The dive sight is teeming with life and my senses are overwhelmed by a world filled with strange color and movement. It takes only one dive for me to be completely enamored by my new hobby. I can't wait to get down here with a camera!

Our next dive sight (the boat always visits two on each outing) is at "Twins." It is a sandy shoal littered with large boulders and growing coral. It's not a particularly stunning sight but the shallow depths and sandy bottom make for a good spot to practice skills. John teaches us to exchange emergency regulators underwater and has us practice a few navigational skills.

We return to shore after our dives and back to the books. We spend the afternoon reviewing our readings and preparing for the next day. I eat a nice traditional Thai dinner at Crua Thai in Ban Hat Sarie (the town) and head to bed. This will become my daily routine.

Thursday, July 23rd
We meet at the equipment shack at 6:15 a.m. for an early start today. The boat is headed to "Chumphon Pinnacles," a deep water dive sight that is often frequented by Whale Sharks. Although it's not the season for them (May is the right time of year) everyone is excited about the prospects of seeing the gentle giant. No one mentions the plankton feeder by name, for fear of jinxing a chance encounter. Everyone instead talks about the chances of seeing the "big fish."

We hit the water by 7:30 and gradually make our way down to 18 meters (60 feet), the limits for a diver registered for Open Water. 30 meters (100 feet) is the depth limit for an Advanced Open Water diver. Our group bottoms out at exactly 18 meters and we practice breathing at this depth. Our air tanks will run out more quickly at this depth, so John moves our group to a shallower depth so that we may explore our surroundings longer. Strange aquatic life bustles around the giant submerged outcropping of rock and coral. Fish dart and morays skulk. Corals dance and plankton flutter in the light. We do not see the "big fish."

After a 36 minute dive, our group surfaces and is transported to our final dive sight for our Open Water certification. We head back to "Twins" where John runs us through underwater navigation drills, an emergency descent and a surface BCD removal task. We spend the rest of the 12 meter / 44-minute dive exploring our underwater playground.

We return to shore and after a decent lunch break (back to Crua Thai), my classmates and I dive into our written exam. Everyone passes with flying colors and we are now officially Open Water Divers! John hands us our temporary dive cards and our new dive logs and welcomes us to the club. It is at this point that I realize I've not gotten my fill of the ocean and I sign up for another Advanced Open Water course. This way I will get 5 more dives and be certified for a depth of 30 meters (100 feet).

Students can pick a particular focus that they'd like to pursue and I'm anxious to hit the depths with a camera. I will rent a camera from one of the instructors and shape my next dives for an underwater photography specialty. After renting a camera for 2 days and paying for the course, I'm committed for another $350...

Despite my empty pockets, I hit the town for an evening celebration with my classmates. We eat a fancy seafood restaurant along the beach and drink beers along the shoreline. By 1 a.m., I'm knackered and ready for bed.

Friday, July 24th
I meet John at noon at the equipment shack. I feel bad because after working for 25 days straight, he is supposed to have a day off. He shrugs it off and diligently tends to my instruction. As the only available instructor qualified to teach the underwater photography specialty, he will be my instructor for another 5 dives. I now have one-on-one course and am happy to continue on with him.

Knowing that I am a professional photographer, John goes light on the camera instruction and lighting theory. I have read the chapter on underwater photography techniques and feel comfortable with the concepts. John hands me his personal camera & strobe setup as we climb aboard the dive boat for another 2-dive session.

We spend a collective 90 minutes underwater at depth of 14 meters (45 feet) because the shooting is always better closer to the surface. Our dive sights include "King Kong" and "Aow Leuk," two sandy shoals along the shoreline of Koh Tao. The water visibility isn't the greatest but at least the sun is out and I'm having fun trying to shoot images underwater. The usually simple task of operating a point-and-shoot camera (beefed up with a strobe) and trying to remain still proves to be challenging underwater. Although I'm sure my images are crap, I have a blast shooting underwater. This is why I signed up for the courses in the first place! I humbly return to the boat to contemplate my future as an underwater shooter. I've opened up a giant can of worms and look forward to the new challenge.

The only bad new from the day is that while we were diving at the wrong sites, a whale shark spent the morning hanging out at "Southwest" dive site. I guess the damn fish didn't want his picture taken...

Saturday, July 25th
We meet at the equipment shack at 6:15 and gear up for my deep dive certification class. Today we will head to 30 meters and I'll qualify for future deep dives at the end of the course. The motivation for me to do this is simple. Many superb dive sights are beyond the 18 meter OW certification limit. An AOW diver has much greater access to dive sights around the world. My new dream is to go on a live-aboard 10-day cruise aboard a sailboat rigged with a dive station. There are many operations in exotic locales around the globe. This is the underwater equivelent of heli-skiing.

John and I hop in the water at 7:30 and are both hoping for a run-in with the "big fish." "Chumphon Pinnacles" is a common hangout for the 7-meter-long beomoths of the deep. My instructor gradually coaxes me down to 30 meters and we spend 28 minutes underwater exploring the depths of "Chumphon Pinnacles." I shoot a few photos before the camera gets stuck on video mode (see videos below). The highlighs of this deep dive include spotting a Giant Moray Eel and nearly being encircled by a huge school of Barracuda. We do not get to see a Whale Shark.

Our next dive is back to "White Rock" where I must practice some more complex underwater navigation skills. The 16-meter dive lasts 40 minutes and it's my last chance to shoot with my rented camera equipment. It's a nice day above water but the visibility below is limited. I make the most of it and try shoot something worthwhile. We are back ashore by noon and I spend the afternoon filling out some knowledge review exams as I wait for time to tick away. I'm anxiously anticipating my upcoming night dive.

I meet John again in the evening and we gear up for my last dive in the AOW certification course. The boat takes us to "White Rock" and we are in the water by 7:45. John leads me into the dark blue, guiding the way with underwater dive lights. My own little dive light is the only protection I have from the uncertainty of the surrounding black abyss. I don't have a camera in hand becuase my instructor doesn't want me to get lost in the inky-blue evening waters. I'm scared shitless! It's not so much a fear of what lays before me, so much as what is behind me in the dark.

The familiar dive sight is transformed at night. Much like a forest, all the daytime creatures have gone into hiding and the nocturnal animals are out in force. A Great Barracuda lazily swims past us, completely unconcerned by our presence. Various sting rays cruise along the ocean floor. A large Hermit Crab meanders across the bottom in search of food particles. He is favorite night-time creature. The dive ends quickly and we return to shore where we wash the gear and John unceremoniously congratulates me on completing the course. After 27 days straight, he is ready for bed and a couple days off. I thank him for his effort and wish him well as we part ways.

Sunday, July 26th
I've still not had my share of diving so I sign on for two more well-earned "fun dives" and climb aboard the morning boat. I will leave Koh Tao in the afternoon and don't know when I'll get a chance to go diving next. For a combined $50 fee, I can't possibly turn down another opportunity to head into the deep blue.

As the boat makes it's way towards "Southwest," everyone chats about the "big fish" that made an appearence here two days earlier. We all secretly hope for a chance-encounter as we slip over the side of the dive boat. I'm in a group of four certified AOW divers with much greater experience underwater than me. At 9 completed dives, I'm the rookie. Nonetheless, our dive instructor (acting in a guiding fashion) leads us down to 23.5 meters (78 feet) and we tour the gorgeous underwater playground of "Southwest." This dive sight is by far the most beautiful that I've visited. Schools of fish navigate between towering boulders that are layered with corals and anemones. The dive ends too quickly (39 minutes) but it's my fault. As the newbie, I'm the one who sucks through my air tank the fastest. The group must always dive together and underwater time is limited to the shortest air supply. They tell me that my breathing will become more relaxed over time. Our dive is fantastic but we aren't lucky enough to swim with the "big fish." Oh well... "Southwest" and Whale Shards are ample reasons to return to Koh Tao.

Our second dive is at "Shark Island." Unfortunately the local fishing fleet has exterminated the local shark population of Koh Tao. Shark fins is considered a high-dollar delicacy in Thailand and throughout Southeast Asia.The shallower dive, 18.5 meters (61 feet), lasts for 50 minutes and our explorations are limited by poor underwater visibility. By the end of my dive, I've had my fill of the ocean and am ready to make my way back to the mainland and on to Bangkok.

I'm aboard the ferry at 3 p.m. and back in Chumphon to await my 9 p.m. train back to Bangkok. Somehow between boarding and off-loading the boat, I lose my $40 train ticket (traveling misadventure #2) and am subjected to an evening aboard a night bus.

Monday, July 27th
My bus arrives at 4:45 a.m. and I will spend the rest of the day burning time till my 11:55 p.m. flight back to Frankfurt and then home. I'll write one more post from the other side to review my route and give a post-trip wrap-up.

The Journeyman...

2009-07-20T07:38:00.002-07:00

Sunday, July 19th
In the course of about 24 hours, I will travel more than 950 miles from Hanoi, Vietnam, through Bangkok, Thailand and finally onto the island of Koh Tao, located off the eastern shores of Thailand's southern peninsula. I make this journey by taxi, then plane, bus, tuk-tuk, train, bus, boat, and pickup truck sequentially.

My flight leaves Hanoi at 9 a.m and I arrive in Bangkok by 11 a.m. I have a several-hour layover in Bangkok between my flight from Vietnam and before boarding the night train to Thailand's southern peninsula. I take comfort in the familiarity of Bangkok's Banglamphu (Koa San Road). I use the brief stopover for a rejuvenating Thai massage, beard trim & straight-razor shave and laundry stop. I also take the time to arrange the final stage of my three-month journey. I will travel to Koh Tao to attend a several-day Open Water Diving certification course which will train me and enable me to go scuba diving anywhere in the world. By nightfall I climb aboard an overnight train to Champon.

Monday, July 20th
At sunrise I'm in Champon on the southeastern coastline of the southern peninsula and I await my 8 a.m. shuttle via catamaran speedboat to the island of Koh Tao. By journey's end at 11 a.m., I am really tired. Upon arrival there is no time for rest, as I start dive school on Monday afternoon...

A Night in Hanoi...

2009-07-20T07:38:00.001-07:00

Saturday, July 18th
Upon my return to Hanoi on Saturday afternoon, I set out to explore and document a couple of Hanoi's distinct cultural assets. My first visit is to the Hanoi Water Puppet Theater. Water puppetry has existed as an art form in Vietnam since the 11th century. As the pictures show, the concept is simple. Puppet masters hide behind a screen and use a surface of water as a stage. They operate their figurines that are mounted to long poles that stay hidden beneath the surface. An accompanying orchestra provides background music, sound effects and occasional dialogue (in Vietnamese) to drive the storyline, which is generally based upon Vietnamese folklore and myth.

I really enjoy watching and shooting the 45-minute performance. My heart and spirits are particularly lifted by the attendance of a small Vietnamese boy sitting in the seat next to me. He is no more than eight-years-old and he just laughs and giggles throughout the performance. I have a chance to live vicariously through him and my own enthusiasm for the show heightens.

After the performance I head back to the streets and to Hanoi's "Freedom Cross," the intersection known as the epicenter of the city's Bia Hoi (Beer Hoi or "Fresh Beer") operations. I spend a couple of hours drinking beer and shooting a series of photos. I aim to capture a glimpse of the cultural phenomenon that occurs when freshly-brewed micro beer kegs are legally dropped on a street corner and pints are sold for less than a quarter (3,000 VDN). "Fresh Beer" is low alcohol content beer that does not contain any preservatives. It must therefore be consumed immediately and the masses are happy to oblige. "Freedom Cross" is a great crossroads for western travelers and native residents alike. People of all races, creeds and color come together to socialize and cool down on a hot summer night in Hanoi. I really dig the Beer Hoi concept and find it to be a poignant argument against open container laws in the U.S. So lift a glass in solidarity where ever you are in salute to Hanoi and Bia Hoi...

I head to bed by midnight in preparation for a huge looming travel day on Sunday.

Hanoi, HaLong Bay, Hanoi...

2009-07-20T07:36:00.000-07:00

Thursday, July 16th
After a rewarding couple of days shooting in the greater northwest region of Vietnam, I take a breather on Thursday to edit photos and catch up on my blog. I spend the day lounging, eating at working at a French-owned and operated establishment known as Le Petit Gecko. (It takes a lot of work and time to maintain this blog). By 5 p.m. my images are edited and my blog is written to date and I hop on the shuttle back to Lai Cao to board the night train for Hanoi. The eight-hour journey passes without incident and by 5 a.m. on Friday morning, I'm back on the streets of Hanoi.

Friday, July 17th
Today I'm heading to HaLong Bay in anticipation of what is supposed to be the highlight of my Vietnam experience. HaLong Bay, located about 50 kilometers east of Hanoi, is a beautiful body of water that was recognized in 1994 by UNESCO as a "World Natural Heritage Sight." The 120,000 square-kilometer inlet is dotted with dozens of islets and islands made up of limestone karsts. Innumerable caverns snake through the limestone, much like "holey" Swiss cheese. The bay is home to an active fishing industry and dedicated to a hyperactive tourism industry.

My shuttle pick up for transfer to Ha Long City arrives at 8 a.m. and I'm boarding my cruise ship's tender by noon. I am immediately disappointed when I observe the spectacle that makes up the city's port. Over 450 registered cruise ships, modeled as Chinese-style junks (but without working sails), cluster together to await the daily influx of tourists. Westerners arrive by the thousands to board their boats for a one or two night excursion.

Once aboard, I check into my luxurious cabin. I've splurged on a $100, one-night cruise which provides a stately cabin with a queen-sized bed, large port windows, air-conditioning and a private bathroom with heated shower. I'm big-pimpin' now! The ship pulls away from the port by 1 p.m. and joins a long procession of boats all booked for a one-night excursion. To my dismay, the cruise ships must stick to a pre-assigned travel plan that is regulated by the Vietnamese government. The armada resembles a floating trail of ants as the fake sailing barges putt 5 miles off-shore to a protected bay with a well established tourism center.

A small group of passengers spends the afternoon with our unnecessary, ambiguously-gay, overtly-enthusiastic, and continuously-screeching "male" Vietnamese tour guide. He takes us into a cavern that has been manicured much in the same fashion of underground theme park. Literally thousands of tourists shuffle along a defined concrete walkway each day, stopping to gawk at rock formations that are lit by multicolored halogen bulbs and are supposed to resemble various mythical creatures. When did I get to Disney Land, exactly?

We then brake down into groups of two (as a solo-traveler, I'm stuck with the overzealous tour guide) and follow a long procession of other tourists on a short paddle aboard sea kayaks. My "partner" chats my ear off about this and that (I quickly stop listening) and I return the courtesy with a meager conversation of my own (and the guide chuckles at everything I say, as if I'm a stand-up comedian). We paddle into a cave and come into a hallow opening inside a karst where a "floating bar" boat greets tourists and attempts to sell overpriced drinks to the thirsty paddlers. Am I now at Club Med?

We return to our cruise ship in the late afternoon for swimming, showers and dinner (the bright point in the cruise ship curriculum). Our captain has anchored the ship in a well-protected cove along with no less than 50 other cruise ships. In this north-facing inlet surrounded by high-rising rock outcroppings, the ship is well-protect indeed... well protected from both the sunrise and sunset. Befuddled and and disappointed, I crack into my previously-purchased bottle of Jameson with a couple fellow passengers and am customarily charged a mandatory $10 service fee for ice! That's $10 just to sip from my own bottle of booze aboard their ship. Bullshit.

By 10:30, a French couple and I have played a dozen games of Ginn Rummy and the bottle is dry. I head to bed with no intent to rise for the invisible sunrise. I am not making the images I came here to shoot and there's nothing I can do about it. I knew that I'd signed on for a touristic trip, but after nearly three months of thinking for myself, nothing could have prepared me for this.

Saturday, July 18th
I lazily rise at 8 a.m. for breakfast and a "half-day" of cruising. We're really back at port by 11 a.m. and are on the road back to Hanoi (after a group lunch) by 1 p.m. I am really disappointed with my HaLong Bay experience and although it is touted as a "must" on the Vietnam circuit, I would earnestly discourage any traveler from signing on if they tend to be a "wolf" rather than a "sheep." In retrospect, if I'd had more time and greater financial resources, I'd come to HaLong Bay under my own power and charter a small sailing vessel for several days to explore the outer reaches of the bay. I really wanted to document the lifestyle in the nearby floating fishing village and try to get a feel for the Vietnamese life at sea. I really wanted to shoot the iconic image of an ancient seaworthy sailing vessel cruising to the backdrop of the rising karst islands. All in all, I'm very disappointed with my shoot and overall HaLong experience. Oh well... perhaps it's a reason to come back to Vietnam?

Over the Mountains to Lai Chau...

2009-07-15T23:49:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, July 15th
Today I vow to move beyond the constraints of "Photo Money" land and in search of a more genuine Vietnam experience. I mount my scooter and am putting towards the Tram Ton Pass. At 1900 meters (6,233 feet), it is the highest mountain pass in Vietnam. The road meanders up the side of sunny valley and the air quickly cools. The top of the pass is cloaked in a shroud of thick fog and I layer up. The road descends towards the distant valley floor, winding its way down like an undulating snake. This stretch of deteriorating highway (under repair in many sections) is a motorbiker's fantasy. Led Zeppelin's Misty Mountain Hop blares in the back of my mind. As the blanket of fog lifts, I spot the foreboding slopes of Fansipan Peak. At 3143 meters (10,311 feet), it is the tallest mountain in SouthEast Asia.

I follow the road as it inches northward towards China. I pass through many small villages and periodically pause to photograph the landscape and its inhabitants. In an almost prophetic manner for my upcoming discovery, a group of children have dammed a section of drainage along the road and have converted it into a refreshing swimming hole. They take a fleeting interest in my presence as I make some images.

By noon my bike has migrated about 50 kilometers away from Sapa and. I pull into the large and unnervingly-empty city of Tam Duong (or New Lai Chau). A construction effort is under way to rapidly manufacture an urban center for an unseen populace. Several high-rise buildings soar into the sky in the center of a hastily-constructed city grid. Tribal villagers graze their water buffalo through the grassy fields of future building sites. Outlying suburban neighborhoods take shape and expansive boulevards lay dormant with the exception of the occasional passing construction worker. The peculiar setting resembles an abandoned site of a completed Hollywood film set. I explore the city, shooting images and trying to comprehend just what is going on here.

I find a lunch hut littered with construction workers and engineers and through several conversations in broken-English, along with a vague explanation in my guide book, I deduce the reason for the project. The nearby city of Muong Lai (or Old Lai Chau) sits in a valley that is about to be flooded due to the construction of a massive dam and hydro-electric power plant. When completed, it will be the biggest of its kind in SouthEast Asia. Apparently the Vietnamese government is constructing the new city for the inhabitants of the old one. Although I'm not entirely sure about this, it seems to be the most conclusive theory. I've heard of similar projects in China due to the construction of the Three Rivers Dam.

As soon as I solve the riddle I am overcome by the weight of a missed great journalistic opportunity. If only I had discovered this story earlier, I could have spent at least a portion of my travels working on a comprehensive photo essay. I would travel to Moung Lai and try to make a reveling portrait of the city before it is washed away. I would spend more time in the Tam Duong and really focus on the pace of construction. This would put me in a wonderful position to return to Vietnam when the dam comes online in 2010 to photograph the facility. I don't know the exact time frame for the completion of the project but perhaps I've discovered a good story for my master's degree final project. I only hope that I'm able to return before I need a scuba tank to visit Moung Lai...

My thoughts are plagued by the missed opportunity as I putt back towards Sapa and Tram Ton Pass. The spectacular views and cool mountain air soothe my burning intellect and I focus on the open road. Near the outskirts of Sapa I stop to pick up a limping elderly man and drive him down the road to the entrance of his village. We do not speak a common language but the customary grunts and gestures work just fine. I suspect people have been effectively communicating this way since the dawn of time. I reach my hotel under a setting sun and the rest of the evening is a repeat of the previous. Dinner, photo editing and sleep.

Sapa: "Photo Money!"

2009-07-15T22:51:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, July 14th
Sapa is incredibly beautiful. Nestled below the misty mountain tops of the Fansipan Mountains, the city is a glowing pearl of commerce for the mountain tribes of Montenyard and Black H'Mong people. The villagers defy steep mountains pitches and toil the earth, constructing thousands and thousands of walled rice paddies that cascade into narrow mountain valleys. This is what travelers picture when they envision the rice fields of the Indochina and the Orient. It is a visual feast. Unfortunately the locals know it and await the arrival of tourists to capitalize upon it...

After a decent night's rest aboard the sleeper train, I am transported 40 kilometers from the train station in Lao Cia to the mountain city of Sapa. At this point I am only a dozens of miles away from the Chinese border. By 8 a.m. I'm checked into a hotel and hit the road aboard a familiar Honda "rice-ycle." I meander off the asphalt road that leads into town and into what I imagine to be a seldom-visited village on the outskirts. Overwhelmed by the lush green fields of growing rice, I stop to shoot my first images. I quickly spot a family of Black H'Mong farmers working in the field nearby. Determined to improve upon my lack of intimacy plaguing my photos to date, I make my way towards them. Navigating the terrace system proves to be an interesting challenge, as the narrow walls were not constructed with a two-hundred-pound falong carrying photo equipment in mind. My clumsy balancing act proves to be amusing entertainment for the family I'm approaching and this suits me fine because it's a great way to break the ice for my upcoming encounter. I finally reach a young woman who is working with her two children and is accompanied by an aging grandmother and a disabled (one-armed) man. They look at me curiously, wondering why I've waded in the fields to reach them. Then I unsheathe my camera and a knowing look comes across their faces.

As I get within range, I fire off a couple of frames that would pass as portraiture. "Photo Money," the matriarch immediately demands. "Photo money," one of the children cries. The mother then sticks out her hand, insisting on a bounty. The family's collective English vocabulary probably doesn't exceed 10 words and phrases and "Photo Money" is one they all know! Apparently I am not the first photographer to visit Sapa. It is painfully obvious to me that many shutterbugs have been here before me and they were not photojournalists.

"Photo Money," or any variation of it (as in, "pay me if you want to take my picture") is the second-most dirty phrase a photojournalist can encounter. The first is "Papparazzi," of course. To most tourists, it makes perfect sense have to pay for a photograph. If they have to pay for every other trinket or souvenir thrust upon them by eager entrepreneurs, why not also pay villagers to a shoot "happy snappy" as a visual memento. I am not visiting as a tourist.

I have ventured thousands of miles and endured countless hours of traveling on motorcycles, buses, boats, trains and planes not to be treated as a tourist. I am here in the pursuit of documenting another culture. It is simply impossible to explain the ethical dilemma of why I can't pay them for their likeness. I cannot tell them that once I have "payed to play," my images become staged and no longer pass as genuine documentary work. (The only loopholes in this code is for me to shoot portraits or to "break the fourth wall" and shoot candid images of people reacting to my presence. Readers tacitly understand that images such as these are intrinsically staged events.) The counter argument is that my simple presence is a form of intrusion and automatically alters the moment. It is the goal of every photojournalist to blend into the background or desensitize their subjects to their presence enough so they can become a "fly on the wall." This is a daunting task for a six-foot-tall, bearded Caucasian man standing in the middle of a rice field in northern Vietnam. Even if I could explain all of this to them in Vietnamese, I doubt they would be sympathetic to the subtle nuances of my journalistic ethics. After all, they've been trained and reinforced by tourists to demand payment for photos.

I gesture to them that I do not intend to pay and am immediately shooed away by the grandma. Begrudgingly, I move to a safe distance to observe and try to fire off some frames when my subjects aren't looking. I guess I wear down their senses and over the course of an hour, I'm able to shoot some candids as they come into closer range. I leave the scene frustrated and upset with the encounter because I fear it is an indication for what is to come.

As I pass through this first village, I'm not greeted by the familiar shouts of "Heeelllllloooo" and waving palms of smiling children. Instead, the kids are all sticking their tongues out at me and shouting "Monnnnneeeey," as I putt by. I am very disappointed and desire to move far beyond this place. (I should also note that for the first time in my life, I truly understand my mother's frustration to my automatic response of sticking my tongue out at her when she tries to take my picture. I've developed the action as a defense mechanism in response to years spent being her primary "happy snappy" subject matter. Sorry, Mom!)

The rest of my day is spent wandering as far away from the town center as possible. I steer my capable craft onto bumpy dirt roads and up into the mountains. I'm rewarded with parting skies and commanding views. I stumble upon a few unlikely characters that do not seek an monetary reward. I really enjoy my encounter with"Le' Goat Madame," an ancient Black H'Mong woman watching over her goat. I shoot some candids and a few portraits and she sends me off packing several fresh peaches. I make the aquaintence of a young "Buffalo Boy," who's main responsibility it is to look after the family water buffalo. He does so while riding on the back of the insesintly-grazing beast.

My route leads me high onto a mountain plain where the foliage gradually changes from bamboo stands and other leafy-greens to shrubbery and finally, conifers. I am among the fog now and have followed the road from asphalt to dirt where the road peeters out to a footpath in a small mountain-top village. I notice a group of women meandering along the path that leads to a distant pass. I dismount the bike and bound after them. My long legs propel me along the path and I enjoy photographing their trek up to the pass. We part ways at the breach and I find myself alone and among the clouds, with the world fading into the distant unknown below me (see self-portrait). My heart leaps and soul rejoices in my return to the mountains.

I slowly return to my bike and back the way I came, pausing to shoot a group of children determined to poke at my camera and giggle at me. It makes for some really nice moments beyond the "fourth wall." My afternoon is spent in similar fashion as I scout the roads and villages beyond Sapa. By dusk I return to my hotel and I'm treated to a wonderful sunset from my balcony. I spend the evening editing images in a small internet cafe and hit the sack by 11 p.m.

Storm Delay in Hanoi...

2009-07-15T22:18:00.001-07:00

Monday, July 13th
My alarm goes off at 7 a.m. so that I can pack. I am anticipating an relaxing three days spent cruising around the breathtaking inlet of Halong Bay. The body of water is located about an hour and a half to the east of Hanoi. A popular tourist destination, it is known for it's incredible beauty. Chinese-style sailing junks and fishing vessels navigate between islands and floating villages, all set the backdrop of limestone karst islands that rise out of clear sea water. I cannot wait to just sit back and relax as I sip a scotch from the roof-deck of my sailing barge.

Mother Nature has other plans for me. About 30 minutes before I'm set to depart, I receive a phone call from my tour organizer informing me that all cruises are cancelled for the day. Appearently a tropical depression (brewing baby typhoon) has struck the inlet and it is unsafe to set sail. Dissapointed but relieved I'm not currently aboard another boat, I swap my plans and book a ticket for an overnight train to Sapa. My train is set to depart in the evening. I will spend the next few days among the misty mountains and cascading rice terraces in the northwest corner of Vietnam.

This leaves me an entire unscheduled day in Hanoi. It is a Monday and all the cultural sites, i.e. museums, pagodas, etc., are closed for the day. I have an early brunch and dive into my book. By noon the tropical depression has hit land and taken shape in the form of a massive storm over the city. Buckets of drain drown the city streets in a matter of minutes. With nothing better to do, I dive into the fray to try and document the regularly-occuring spectacle.

The water level raises to couple of feet deep in some areas where the drainage system is clogged. People living in these areas are used to having the ground floor of their establishments and homes flooded and just wait for the cycle to take place. Everyone heads for drier and higher ground. When the rains subside, the residents head for the storm drains with sticks and brooms to dislodge any street debris that may be clogging the grates. Observing this from the second-storey balcony of a coffee shop, it is easy to appreciate the rehearsed choreography of the citizen response. Neighbors work together to unclog the drains and sweep up the trash into neat little piles along the curb. Others take the opportunity to mop up and sweep their tiled-first floors. City workers come by to pick up the trash and aid in the thawing process.

I make a day of reading, sipping hot drinks and wandering the city streets. My gear is soaked and I must wait for the fog to evaporate from inside my lenses. In the late afternoon I happen upon the ancient "Temple of Literature," the city's first established university-turned historical attraction. I spend the afternoon hours reading in a courtyard within the structure. The walled-temple sits in a small park and is a welcome oasis of calm from the chaos of the streets.

My evening is spent lounging at a Bai Hoi stand along "Freedom Cross," the heart of the keg stand operations. By 9 p.m. my cheeks are rosey and I'm ready for a good night's rest in the sleeper cabin of the Sapa-bound night train. "All Aboard" (in Vietnamese)...

Hanoi, The House That Ho Built...

2009-07-12T07:19:00.001-07:00

Saturday, July 11th

Today is the two month mark for my journey. After a quick flight from Da Nang, I arrive in Hanoi. Hanoi International Airport is infamous for it's aggressive taxi cab and mini bus mafia. For the 45-minute ride from the airport to downtown, a taxi cab will cost you $10 or a mini bus will cost you $2. If you opt for the minibus, you'll be dragged around to various hotels so that the driver will be eligible for his commission. The other option is to hop on the local city bus, which takes about an hour, for a grand total of 5,000 dong (about 30 cents). In my ongoing war against crooked tuk-tuk drivers and such, I opt for the city bus and arrived in Hanoi's Old Quarter by 4 p.m. The origins of this section of the city date back over 1,000 years and the Old Quarter is still the beating heart of Hanoi.

I navigate the narrow streets in search of accommodations, dodging honking vehicles and screeching motorbikes as I go. Soon enough, I arrive at a decent hotel and also manage to book my itinerary with an in-house travel agency for the rest of my time in Vietnam. (I'm heading to Halong Bay for a 3-day cruise, followed by a trip to the northern terrace-city of Sapa via the sleeper train). After a nice meal at a local restaurant, I discover one of Hanoi's best phenomenon's; the street-side keg stand.

In addition to the usual noodle stalls and cigarette kiosks, Hanoi's street corners are teeming with plastic chairs that encircle keg beer vendors. Known as Bai Hoi, or "fresh beer," the low-alcohol content beer makes for a refreshing drink on a hot Hanoi summer night and a wonderful way to socialize. I spend several hours talking with random strangers as I watch the hustle and bustle of Hanoi's Saturday night shuffle. After a full day of traveling, planning, eating and drinking, I retire for a good-night's sleep by 10 p.m.

Sunday, July 12th
With a complimentary buffet breakfast coating my belly, I'm ready for a trip to Hanoi's most holy of holy sites; the Ho Chi Mihn Moseleum. Despite Ho Chi Mihn's own wishes for a simple cremation, his body has been entombed in a massive stone fortress, much like other infamous Communist leaders. "Uncle Ho," as he is endearingly called by his supporters, joins the ranks of Lenin, Stalin and Chairman Mao in a state of stunted decomposition.

Why is it that Communist nations consistently feel the need to turn their most influential leaders into stuffed puppets? Is it because without the bizarre displays, the foundation of the repressive ideology may crumble? In their preserved state perhaps the descended leaders add an extra measure of authority, as if they are watching on from beyond the grave.

By 9:30, I am cued up in a long, snaking line that consisted of at least 10,000 people. The steady flow of visitors to "Uncle Ho's house" is comprised of thousands of indoctrinated Vietnamese youth and littered with a few hundred curious westerners. Having forcibly surrendered my camera gear at a holding booth, It takes me and 90 minutes to reach the entryway to the mausoleum. (Out of respect for the deceased, I guess it makes sense that the government doesn't want people departing with "happy snappies." But this logic begs the question as to why the government would want to put their "great man" on display as though he were morbid theme park attraction).

Since I have no photographic evidence to share, I must rely on words. The marble hallways of the stone cube are lined with a red carpet. Guards in snowy white uniforms and spaced at 20 pace intervals, enforce the steady flow of traffic. The tomb lays in the heart of the stone structure. Four statuesque armed guards stand at attention at each corner of a glass casket where the embalmed remains of a little Vietnamese man, dressed in simple green military attire and donning a full head of flowing white hair, lays at rest. Eyes closed, hands resting on his chest, Ho Chi Mihn looks peaceful despite his suspended state of eternal rest. The line snakes around the casket at a respectful distance and evenly-spaced guards ensure the steady flow of gawkers. After waiting in line for over an hour, visitors get about a minute to glimpse at the corpse before shuffling out the exit.

After my bemused visit to the tomb, I am reunited with my camera gear and spend some time photographing the mausoleum from a regulated distance. At noon, I document the changing of the guard (I may re-shoot this when I return in a week).

I spend the afternoon on a cyclo-tuk tour around the heart of the Old Quarter, lazily shooting as my little Asian driver labors to propel my large Caucasian frame up and down rolling city streets. My tour ends as just as perpetually-cloudy skies open up with a wave of torrential downpour. This makes for some comical shooting as I wade through flooded city streets. I eat an early dinner and spend the rest of the evening composing my two most recent blog entries. I will wake on Tuesday morning for my transport to Halong Bay and awaiting cruise ship, modeled after Chinese sailing junk.

Happy in Hoi An...

2009-07-12T03:43:00.001-07:00

Wednesday, July 8th

My plane touches down in Da Nang at 9 a.m. and by noon I've made the hour long journey to Hoi An and have found adequate accommodations on the edge of the "Old Town." I am physically drained from a 5 a.m. start out of Nha Trang but my room is too hot and muggy to attempt taking a nap, so instead I cross the street to an Internet cafe to catch up on some emails, hang out and dive into On The Road.

I strike up conversations with various travelers and find myself talking late into the afternoon with Michael Lawrence, a young and successful advertising director and commercial branding guru who runs his own firm out of New York. We spend the entire day together chatting about our various industries and the general visual creative process. By dinnertime, our conversation spills out onto the street and into another establishment. I have successfully talked the day away and our search for a good restaurant is my first real exposure to the streets of Hoi An.

Known throughout Vietnam as the "Tailor's Town," the beautifully preserved French Colonial-style architectual grid is home to literally hundreds of small tailor shops, shoe stores and souviner stands. Conciuous of it's tourstic draw, the city council has mandated the preservation of the architecture and even cracks down on hawker activity in the heart of the Old Town district. Unfortunately I am two days late for the monthly full moon observation where electricity is shut off through the entire district and the streets are lined with candles and oil lamps. It would have been a phenominal photographic opportunity that I encourage any future travelers to plan ahead for it.

Michael and I eat at riverside noodle stand and head for drinks at a traveler's bar afterwards, where we run head on into the party scene. We soon find ourselves migrating in the direction of a beach party to join the host of energetic 20-somethings looking to drink and groove the night away by the shoreline. I make my way home by 4:30 a.m., exhausted and with a lighter wallet.

Thursday, July 9th

Unable to sleep due to dehydration and dissagreable accomidations (the riverside hotel stinks of fish and brackish shoreline mud), I crawl out of bed by 8 a.m. and head across the street to my trusty internet cafe for breakfast. I spend the next few hours reading On The Road and await the arrival of Michael at lunchtime.

We eat at noon at another fabulous riverfront cafe and part ways after pledging to keep in touch and perhaps working on a project together. After an afternoon nap in a new (and cheaper) hotel in the heart of the Old Town district, I wake up for an evening of street photography. Hoi An is a magical place at dusk and in the early evening. The streets come alive in the light of colorful lantern shops and bustling pedestrian traffic, and I make an effort to capture the pulse with my lenses. There is a beautiful and ancient decorative bridge at the western end of Old Town known as the "Japanese Bridge," which is a constant draw for tourists.

After a delicious dinner at a gourmet restuarant, I'm yawning and ready for bed.

Friday, July 10th

My alarm clock goes off at 5 a.m. for a scheduled shoot of sunrise over town. I am not getting up early today. Instead I sleep in till mid-morning and wander over to my breakfast spot for another daily installment of lounging and reading On The Road. I'm really enjoying this novel the second time around. I first tried to read it as a teenager and hadn't yet developed an appreciation for Jack Kerouac's poetic writing style. It might also be a better read while one is actually "on the road."

After brunch and a nice converasation with Alan and Claire, a Canadian & British couple, I decide it's time to get fitted for a new blazer. It is the "Tailor's City," afterall. Ya Ly Couturier is the leading establishment in town and soon my measurements are taken and my afternoon adjustment appointment is made. I take an afternoon nap and return for minor alterations. By 6 p.m. I am the proud owner of a brand-new handmade, charcol-colored cashimere jacket, all for the whopping price of $80!

I spend the early evening roaming the city streets once again in search of characters and moments to document. Dinner is spent the company Alan & Claire, a recently-married couple who met online after Alan started an blog entitled AreYouMyWife.com. The couple gained international media attention but seem inteligent and well-adjusted as they celebrate their honeymoon in Vietnam. It takes all kinds, I guess...

Saturday, 11th

This I'm ready for the 4:45 a.m. start. I will travel back to Da Nang and take a flight to Hanoi today, but first I have unfinished business on the streets of Hoi An. I drag myself out of bed and head to the riverfront to photograph the dawn light over town. I'm greeted by the tunes and moves of the local Tai Chi troupe engaged in their daily morning practices. The aging and undiciplined group makes for some fun shooting, as they all seem to be slightly out of cink with one another. I gravitate cross the river and make my way to the morning market to shoot the arrival of the day's catch as it arrives aboard the vessals of the local fishing fleet. I wander the various produce and butcher stalls, interacting with various vendors as I go.

At 8 a.m. I board the local city bus for the hour-long commute back to Da Nang. I've scheduled a noon flight and have a couple of hours to kill upon my arrival at the airport...

Much Ado About Nha Trang...

2009-07-08T02:15:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, July 7th
I wake up early in Dalat hop on a bus for the four-hour commute to Nha Trang. The beachfront city is not a destination of interest for me but I must catch an early flight from there on Wednesday to get to Da Nang. From there I will make my way to a highly-anticipated stopover in Hoi An, the tailor's city.

By noon on Tuesday I'm in Nha Trang and the Lonely Planet is correct in it's lukewarm assessment of the town. The over-developed feels like and western beachfront resort town that has seen better days. It is the equivelent of a SouthEast Asian Fort Lauderdale.

The upside to my visit to the town is that I spend the majority of the day and evening in the company of Mark and Karen, a British couple who are two-months in to their year-long travel itinerary. Mark is on leave from a position as a geography teacher at a primary school in England and his girlfriend Karen has left her job as a British immigration officer. The three of us pass the day away chatting in the shade of a beachfront cafe.

I head to bed by 11 p.m. in preparation of a 7 a.m. flight to my next destination.

***No need for pictures on this stop.***

DaLat Streets & Hill Country...

2009-07-06T06:35:00.000-07:00

***After three hours of writing, my computer crashed and I'm rewriting this entire post (the short version) all over again! ***

Saturday, July 4th
American Independence Day and I am homesick. Today marks the first time I've been out of the country for July 4th. It makes me realize just how much I love cheezy parades down main street, American flags flapping in the wind and massive fireworks displays. Although I recognize the romanance of being in a distant land, I wish were barefooted, drinking a beer and manning the grill in the lawn at a backyard barbeque, surrounded by friends and family. Being on the road also makes me realize how much I love my country. Despite all of it's shortcomings and misdeeds, the United States truley holds a special place in the international community. I intend to discuss this further in my post-trip analysis.

After a short flight from Saigon, I've arrived in Dalat. The hilltop city, located in Vietnam's south-central highlands, is a popular weekend retreat for the Vietnamese. Due to the cool climate amdist sprawling hills covered in evergreen forests, it is the land of weddings and honeymoons. It's temperate climate also makes Dalat's surrounding countryside the commercial vegetable and flower garden of Vietnam. Thousands of terraced gardens and green houses spread out into the hills below. It is also fertile ground for coffee plantations and the beans produced here are prized throughout Asia.

Upon arrival from the airport, it takes me three hours to find a vacant hotel room. Although this frustrates me at the time, I've come to appreciate the relative indifference innkeepers hold here towards westerners. Dalat is a town for the locals and for the Vietnamese. Foreigners are just and added bonus. Once I'm settled into my hotel, I find a mediocre restaurant that tries its best to quell my homesickness with a Vietnamese version of an American "hamburger" and "chicken wings." After a dissatisfying meal and many thoughts of home, I head back to the hotel for a good night's rest.

Sunday, July 5th

Over a delicious breakfast consisting of fresh banana & chocolate pancakes and a cup of high-test drip-brewed ice coffee, I settle into a good conversation with an "Easy Rider." The Easy Riders are a small band of motorcycle tour guides and they are the rockstars of Dalat. Riding on Harley-style Honda "big boy" 250cc motorcycles, the guides are known throughout Indochina as the badboys of the road. Nearly every westerner visits Dalat with the intend of a ridealong with the Easy Riders. Their popularity comes with a price tag, however, and I'm not about to shell out $30 for a half-day tour through the countryside.

Instead, I settle on the services of another eager guide happy to escort me for $15 on his standard 100cc "rice-ycle." We head off into the surrounding countryside of Dalat and stop at a small village. I spend a couple of hours walking the dirt roads, talking to curious locals along the way. One family pauses from their daily grind in the vegetable garden to pose for some portraits. After some time, a distant cemetery catches my eye from the village core and my driver ferries me to the hilltop. The cemetery hilltop doubles as grazing grounds for cattle and horses. I'm drawn to the juxtaposition of the feeding animals set to the backdrop of tombstones. It serves as some kind of visual metaphor for regeneration and the cycle of life.

My next destination is varies tourist sights in downtown Dalat including the defunct French colonial railway station, the city flower gardens and a large recreational lake. The body of water is filled with couples cruising on swan-shapped paddleboats and the shores are lined with fishermen lazily casting into the blue.

The next waypoint is a distant temple known as the "Dragon Pagoda." Although I've had my fill of temples, wats and religious sculptures, I am obliged to listen to the recommendation my guide. Rising seven stories out of the Dalat countryside, the Chinese-style pagoda is fantastic. The ornate structure is covered in sculpted dragon heads that protect the Bhudda statues strategically-placed on each level of the building. The highlight of my visit is an encounter with a monk drapped in chinese monk's robes. Shooting his portrait make my day.

By mid-afternoon, my tour guide shuttles me back town. We stop once when I take interest in a group of boys playing soccer on a muddy patch of earth.

By 3 p.m. I'm back in town and after a quick meal at an alley-side noodle stand, I hit the streets of Dalat to get a glimpse at its inhabitants. I wander through the city grid, snaking up and down random city alleyways. I encounter young children playing in the city's hidden corridors, women dutifully tending to costumers patronizing their soup stands, men of all ages smoking cigarettes as they lounge in city cafes. The elderly act as landmarks for me as they observe the passing of time from their respective posts along city terraces and stoops.

By nightfall, I am tired and happy. My spat of homesickness has been replace with a sense of accomplishment reached from a full day of exploration and documentary street photography. I eat a good dinner at the Art Cafe (owned and operated by a local painter) and head for bed.

Monday, July 6th

Today I will rent a motorcycle and go on a self-guided tour. After another dose of pancakes and coffee I let the asphalt lead me out into the countryside. "You can't get lost if you have no place to be," I say to myself. "You can always go back the way you came." This philosophy guides into the distant evergreen-coated hills and to the shores of a small reservoir. I follow the road till it turns to dirt, then I follow the dirt road till it hits a distant bank on the far side of the lake. The evergreen canopy of the shoreline makes for a perfect resting spot and I spend the early afternoon diving into Jack Kerouac's On The Road. From the banks of the reservoir it is easy to imagine that I'm resting beside a small lake somewhere in the Adirondacks or Catskills of upstate New York.

The daily monsoon season thunderstorms begin to collect in the early afternoon and I head back the way I came. I stop on the outskirts of town to explore a row of greenhouses teaming with plant life. I discover dozens of rows filled with colorful flowers being mass-produced for sale at Vietnam's various marketplaces. Once I've had my fill of roses, dafodils, daisies and such, I return to town just in time to miss the torrential downpour and duck into a restaurant for an early dinner. After dinner I head to bed in anticipation of my upcoming travel day to the beachtown of Nha Trang.

Saigon & A Different Take on History...

2009-07-03T21:42:00.000-07:00

Friday, July 3rd

I'm writing this entry on the 5th, as it's taken me a couple of days to digest my experiences visiting the Cu Chi Tunnels and the War Remnants Museum in Saigon. As the saying goes, "History is written by the victors" and according to the Vietnamese, America certainly didn't win the Vietnam War.

Ho Chi Mihn City

Before I get down to the nitty-gritty, I'd like to describe my overall impression of Saigon. In short, I am completely indifferent to the city. It is simply a sprawling commercial metropolis. It could be Los Angeles, Detroit, Berlin, Johannesburg or any other non-descript urban center one can think of. It's greatest defining character trait stems from the overwhelming and perpetual flow of motorcycle traffic. Over four million motorcycles scuttle down busy city streets and merge around seemingly dozens of massive roundabouts. That leaves one motorbike for every two inhabitants. Much like Bangkok, I was not inspired to shoot a lot there.

The Cu Chi Tunnels

Friday started with a visit to the infamous Cu Chi Tunnels. Located 30 kilometers outside of Ho Chi Mihn City, the area was never successfully penetrated by American forces and remained a thorn in the U.S.'s side throughout the Vietnam Conflict. The local Vietnamese farmers, turned V.C., built the tunnel system during the 2nd French Indochina War in the 1940s and greatly expanded upon them when the Americans took over the fight in the 60's.

Despite it's close proximity to the city, it took almost 2 hours for my tour group's minibus to weed its' way through city traffic and into the nearby countryside. We made a short stop on the way at handicraft factory where several handicapped artisans labored to produced lacquer paintings and pottery.

By 11 a.m. our tour operator lead us to the ticket booth of the tunnel system. The first stop was to a movie screening room where we were subjected to a government propaganda film for a "proper" history lesson / indoctrination session. The outdated black &white film touted the superior ingenuity of the local inhabitants against the evil and imperialist American monsters. Then an aging former tunnel inhabitant talked us visitors through a model depicting a cross section of the three-level tunnel system. At it's peak the tunnels stretched over 250 kilometers underground and were accessed by hundreds of well-hidden doors. The tunnels were used as a staging point for a devasting guerrilla warfare battleplan. One could not help but marvel at the ingenious construction project and the battle tactics that it enabled.

Our tour guide lead us from the screening roomto the next eduction hut and a demonstration of the various handmade traps used against the villainous U.S. enemy. As he triggered the trap door of a pungy pit and the swinging door trap (set to the backdrop of a painted mural depicting spitted and snared American soldiers), I could not help but cringe at the thought of American servicemen falling victim to the simple brutality of the V.C. war effort. My thoughts drifted to my friends and acquaintances who served in Vietnam and I tried to comprehend the experiences they had here. Out of respect to them, I chose not to illustrate the demonstrations.

From the trap tent, we toured through more displays filled with mechanized dummies disassembling American munitions and fashioning landmines, rocket launchers and other booby traps. I felt as though I were walking through a twisted version of the Disneyland's "Pirates of the Caribbean" ride. Although I know the intent of the models to bring history to life, I could not help feeling a bit offended by the whimsical nature of the motorized mannequin displays.

The next stop on the tour was a shooting range where visitors could purchase ammunition to fire from the authentic weapons of their choice. AK-47s, M1 carbines, M16s and even a belt-fed M60 machine gun are accessible to the public. I was totally taken aback by the brash insensitivity of the facility. Who in their right mind would want to go fire a weapon after seeing a demonstration of a pungy pit designed to kill humans? Apparently a lot of visitors didn't make that connection and I had to wait about 30 minutes while gung-ho Australian and British travellers fired off rounds into targets. I settled my nerves with an ice cream cone but this only backfired as my thoughts grappled with the ethical dilemma of casually consuming the tasty snack only 40 yards away from where people were firing off live 7.62 mm rounds.

We finally left the shooting range and made our way to the highlight of the tour, a renovated (widened) section of the Cu Chi Tunnels. Tourists crawled down ladders at several entry portals and wiggled through the light tunnel system. I headed underground to an access point to try and take a photograph. Once I made a passable image, I was very ready to leave the tunnel complex and carry on with my day.

Our tour guide lead us back to the minivan and by 2 p.m., I was back in Saigon and ready to confront my next stop.

The War Remnants Museum

Originally named "The House for Displaying War Crimes of American Imperialism and the Puppet government of South Vietnam," the Vietnamese government changed the name to the more politically correct "War Remnants Museum" in 1994 when normal relations were re-established between United States and the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. The external grounds of the museum contain abandoned American military hardware including jets, Huey helicopters, tanks,bulldozers and artillery pieces. Mounds of unexploded (and deactivated) ordinance lean against the concrete structure of the museum.

The first floor of the building houses several exhibits depicting the atrocities committed by the U.S. war machine. Centerpieces include detailed displays of the Mai Lai Massacre and the continuing effects of "Agent Orange" on the Vietnamese ecosystem and population. Large pull quotes from the American Declaration of Independence ("All men are created equal..., etc.") and condemnation from international organizations fill the empty space on the walls. It is clear after examining the evidence on display that the gallery places blame squarely on the United States for all the injustices committed from 1968 to 1975.

The second floor of the museum is a tad more objective. It contains a powerful exhibit of war photography shot by photojournalists operating in Vietnam, including several who lost their lives in action. I spent a couple of hours examining the heart-wrenching work of the brave documentary combat photographers. I was particularly drawn to the the work of Time/Life photographers Robert Capa & Larry Burrows, both who sacrificed their lives in the name of photojournalism and accurate war reporting in Vietnam. I was familiar with much of their work after recently being exposed to it by my friend and fellow photographer, John P. Kelly, U.S. Army Lieutenant, Ret. (Kelly, I believe this is your rank. Please forgive me if I'm wrong.) Kelly, a successful and talented commercial photographer, first picked up a camera while serving in Vietnam.

By 5 p.m., I left the War Remnants Museum somber and depressed. It is hard to see one's country portrayed in such a villainous manner. At the same time, I also left the exhibit with a greater appreciation for my own country. The difference between the U.S. and Vietnam is that our government allows for freedom of speech and an objective disclosure of its shortcomings. Through accurate and sobering war reporting, Americans saw the horrors of war as they unfolded because the broadcasts were beamed directly into their living rooms in the 60s and 70s. In fact, many historians attribute citizen disapproval for the war as primarily being shaped by the reporting of American media. The First Amendment and the role of the media as the watchdog for the people makes The United States of America the great nation that it is. In contrast, even to this day the Vietnamese government is careful to construct a particularly one-sided version of history in its displays at the Cu Chi Tunnels and the War Remnants Museum.

Saturday, July 4th

I spent much of the day traveling from Saigon to south-central Vietnam. It was a rather lonely day, being a combination of my father's birthday and the first time I've ever been out of the country on Independence Day. I had many thoughts of friends and family and momentarily yearned to be state-side at a backyard barbecue. I hope everyone reading this post had a wonderful holiday and I look forward to catching up with you all soon.

Farewell till my next post from the pleasant hilly-countryside of DeLat...

Floating Markets, & Arrival in Saigon...

2009-07-03T03:47:00.000-07:00

Thursday, July 2nd
Although routine at this point, 5 a.m. starts aren't getting any easier for me. I crawl out of bed and drag myself across the modest living space of my meager Can Tho guesthouse to the shared bathroom and showers. I'm met by my boat driver on the street at 5:30 and he shows me to the nearby river pier where his floating tuk-tuk awaits. He coaxes the fragile lawnmower-sized engine to life and we sputter down the Can Tho River for a 20 kilometer, six-hour canal loop.

A half-an-hour passes before reach a busy section of the river, teeming with floating contraptions and bustling with commerce. The Cai Rang Floating Market. Massive Chinese-style junks tether together as smaller craft bob and weave around them. The sun is cloaked behind a thick blanket of pea soup but manages to break through occasionally to create beautiful warm light. My captain procures some pineapple and I purchase a fresh bunch bananas that we later share.

The captain is a character. I never got his name, but we manage to communicate to each other quite effectively through grunts, gestures and random commonly-understood words. "OK, OK... very-good," he says as we reach a common understand about something. He also understands what I need to accomplish photographically, often maneuvering our craft into a better position or directing me to a better vantage point to make my images. It's obvious to me that he's dealt with photographers before and understands the basic concepts of light, composition and the "moment." After about 45 minutes, we depart and make a heading upriver towards a better, less touristic market in Phong Dien.

By the time we reach the Phong Dien Floating Market, the sun has burned off the morning cloud cover and the light is beautiful. The market is exactly what I had hoped for in my minds-eye. dozens of small rowboats dart between larger vessels and there's almost an organic movement to the traffic flow. People exchange goods in the form of fresh produce, poultry (often live chickens), pork and a steady supply of seafood. My captain directs me to a vantage point from the roof of the largest vessel and I shot some overalls (seen above) that make my morning. By the time we leave the market to complete our loop, it is already 10 a.m. and the sun is climbing high in the sky.

The next couple of hours are spent navigating narrow canals overgrown with floating vegetation. The shores are dotted with tiny communities going about their daily business. I'm put ashore in one such community to interact with the locals as my attentive captain tails me from the river. We stop for lunch and I treat my driver to a meal. I have fresh chicken noodle soup and the most delicious crispy spring rolls I've ever tasted. After our stomachs are full, we make our way along another canal system, returning to our starting point. This boat journey is what I was looking for as I floated through the canal system in Bangkok, only it is several hundred miles away in the Mekong Delta.

By 2:30, I'm showered and waiting outside of my guesthouse for transport to the bus station. After a late pickup (3:15), I'm finally on my way. The five-hour bus ride is uneventful and at around 8 p.m. I'm dropped off 8 kilometers outside of Ho Chi Mihn City's downtown core. Ready for a war with cabbies, I step off the bus and into the fray of awaiting would-be con-men. But I was ready for them. I notice one driver who seems to be dozing on his cycle in the corner. I tap him on the shoulder, set a fixed price of 50,000 Dong ($2.60) and say "take it or leave it. The next guy will take it." He understood I wasn't going to mess around and did the math in his head. I offered him a fair price (intentionally slightly overcharging myself for the distance) and we head off into the sea of motorcycles.

Saigon has an estimated 4 million motorcycles for a population of about 8 million people. For all I can tell, the traffic flow is one continuous stream of organized chaos. This is one town I will not be renting a cycle in. As a matter of fact, whenever our bike comes to one of many roundabouts, I close my eyes as the driver wades us into the fray. By 9 p.m. I'm settled into a decent hotel in a backpacker's neighborhood in the heart of the town. I'm paying nearly double what I wanted too ($16) but I'm too tired to haggle and don't feel like walking the busy streets with all my belongings hanging from me.

After all the horror stories shared with me by other travellers, Vietnam doesn't seem to be living up to its foreboding reputation. Sure, everyone seems to be out to make a buck and the locals are often successful in maximizing their profit, but it's nothing I can't handle. Thailand was like boot camp for my monetary skirmishes. Cambodia (Siem Reap) was my first military-monetary engagement. By the time I've reached Vietnam, I'm battle-hardened and ready to protect my hard-earned financial resources. I'm having a hard time spotting any sign of communism in this heavily-capitalist marketplace.

Good Morning. Vietnam?

2009-07-01T06:02:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, July 1st

My alarm clock goes off at 5:45. Travel day. Somehow I reach through my bug net and turn off the alarm clock. I fall back into my slumber. I am wrestled from my dreams by an eager tuk-tuk driver purring at me through my bungalow window. "Sir... Sir... I am here to pick you up..."

"Oh, Shit! I fell back asleep and am not ready for my 6:30 pick up," I shriek. The startled tuk-tuk driver assures me it is ok but urges me to pack quickly for my full day of travel. This was one driver who is determined to get his $10 bounty for the shuttle to the Pra Chaek (Cambodia) / Ha Tien (Vietnam) border crossing. I hurriedly shove my belongings into my backpack and we hit the road. It is a good day to get out of Kep, as the Cambodian Prime Minister is scheduled in town today and the streets are already teaming with overzealous security details.

My tuk-tuk headed out of town along bumpy "paved" roads and met up with a prearranged motodriver, whom after receiving $6 more from me, ferried me to the border crossing. After waiting for me to clear through customs, he shuttles me to the seaside town of Ha Tien. I am now in Vietnam. I was supposed to be in time to catch a bus to Ho Chi Mihn City but it left early so another moto driver agrees to transport me to a different bus stop (for $8 more). With my only other option being to burn a whole day in a sleepy border town, I agree and we on the road. At this point the only tangible difference between Cambodia and Vietnam are minor improvements in the road surface.

We have a bit of time to burn before the scheduled bus pickup and I ask my driver to stop occasionally for me to shoot the beautiful coastline and busy inlets. We reach the bus stop and I ask my driver (who speaks very good English) if there are any other good cities or towns to stop at in the Mekong Delta. I am not in a rush to get to the swarming metropolis that is HCMC. He suggests that I go Can Tho, the regional center known for nearby floating markets. I page through my Lonely Planet and the book says the markets though often overlooked by tourists, are definitely not to be missed. My driver redirects me towards another bus that will ferry me in the new direction.

We speed off down the asphalt and catch up with an aging old road warrrior of a bus that is belching exhaust as it trudges down the road. I haggle with the bus "first mate" who smiles when we settle on $15 US from $20. This is my first exposure to the Darwinist economic marketplace of Vietnam. I would later learn that the cost should have been about $8 for the whole trip. Now I know to counteroffer with a quarter of the price that I'm originally quoted. (I am now surrounded by entrepreneurial crooks who see no problem with emptying the pockets of uninformed and weary travellers.)

Five hours of bumping and screeching over 1 & 1/2 lane highways (all roads in SouthEast Asia seem to be built too small), I arrive in the town of Xuyen Long. I think that I am in Can Tho, as no one bothered to explain to me that I need to transfer to a new bus. I get off the bus and walk out of the station as moto drivers scream at me for my attention. One was particularly adamant that I come with him. (I've learned over my traveller that whenever I get to a new station, I'll be greeted by aggressive drivers and it is usually best to walk down the street a little before getting my bearings).

I wander around the new town for a while, trying to find landmarks on my map. After about 15 minutes in this new town, I am informed by someone speaking broken English that I am in fact not in Can Tho, but Xuyen Long. I head back several blocks to the bus station and try to find out what went wrong. As I am demanding a refund from the bewildered bus "first mate," the same moto driver who was eagerly trying to wave me down earlier, pulls up beside and tells me get on. No one informed me that this shuttle was prearranged for me and that he was there to take me to the connecting bus.

I begrudgingly hop on board, wary of some hidden fee, and we head to another bus station where I am shown to my seat by a little, old lady speaking perfect English (she worked in the U.S. at some point). She explains the miscommunication to me and informs me that I'm only an90-minutes away by this bus from Can Tho. I settle in my seat and spend the next hour and a half listening to the familiar sounds of a hyper-aggressive bus driver pounding on the horn to part the seas of motorcycles that swarm before us. (You have no idea how annoying the continuous repetitive blast of high-pitched bus horns can be until you have listen to it for countless hours of road travel across Indochina.)

I arrive in a daze around 6 p.m. and have found my way to a budget guesthouse suggested in the book. In one 12-hour day of travel I've taken one tuk-tuk, two buses and three motorcycle rides. I've only travelled about 140 miles from Kep and somehow it cost me $39. I can fly across the entire country from Ho Chi Mihn City to Hanoi for only $11 more. I'm tired of buses, motorcycles and crooked cabbies... I hope tomorrow's floating markets will be worth the journey.

Kep-Cod: Coastline & Countryside

2009-06-30T00:54:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, June 30th
After a couple quick weeks, my time in Cambodia is coming to an end. Tomorrow I will leave the coastal retreat of Kep and head to the Vietnam border. For the past couple of days I've been hanging loose in town and on nearby Rabbit Island (the locals think the land mass is shaped like a bunny).

Saturday, June 27th
The previous draining day of travel was washed away by a wonderful night's sleep at the luxurious Vanna Lodge. Eduard and I splurged on a $20 room that had two plush beds with fresh linens, a hot shower and air-conditioning. I spent the morning editing my pictures from Battambang.

After lunch we headed on rented motorbikes to explore the coastline and venture out into the Kep countryside. The town of Kep is little more than a small waterfront market and restaurant area, a stretch of hammock-ridden beach rimmed by a shaded promenade, and scores of burnt-down or rebuilt waterfront villas. The Khmer Rouge did a thorough job of torching the swanky bourgeois retreat in 1975 and new money is now just slowly returning to the area. Bullet-ridden and burnt facades of aging concrete structures slowly decay in vacant lots, waiting for someone with the right kind connections to level the building remnants and construct new waterfront mansions.

We passed along the coast area quickly and soon found ourselves motoring along a rough stretch of pavement out into the surrounding inland countryside. Eduard had yet to do any caving, so we followed our maps to a distant cave at the base of a limestone karst. We went a tour through the cave system, lead by an enthusiastic teenage tour guide who was anxious to practice her English and French.

On the way back from the cave area, we came across a few friendly characters who were happy to have their pictures taken. (I really like the images of the smiley guy with his white bovines). At sunset we found ourselves back at the Kep Crab Market where we sat down to a wonderful meal consisting of fresh, grilled crabs and a side of fried noodles with shrimp. The crab is to die for. Coated in a delicious pepper, lemon & garlic glaze, the crabs are a lot like Maryland Blues (only sweeter). They are somewhat small and take a lot of work to eat. Well worth the effort for this crustacean-lover.

With our bellies full, we headed to the lively Kep Lodge for cocktails and socializing by the poolside bar.

Sunday, June 28th
After a fun evening at the Kep Lodge pool & bar area, Eduard and I woke up late for our departure to Rabbit Island. We boarded a boat at noon and by 1 o'clock, I was swinging in the hammock from the porch of my personal bungalow. Rabbit Island should be known as "Gilligan's Island." The scraggly shoreline and dense inner vegetation of the island is home to about a dozen Cambodian families who let their small herds of cows, goat, chicken and dogs graze along the waterfront of the toursist beach. At $5, the primitive bungalows lining the beach have everything a marooned backpacker could want: A hammock on the front porch, a soft mattress covered by a bug net and a private shower attached to each hut. There are probably 60-such bungalows on the island, all serviced by several family-run food shacks.

The best thing about Giligan's Island is that there's nothing else to do but lazily swing in a hammock or wade in the shallow waters of the sandy beach. With the exception of shooting a few random photos, this exactly how I spent the rest of my day.

Food, nap, swim, nap, sunset, beer, diner and sleep. Truely relaxing...

Monday, June 29th
Wake and move to the hammock, nap. Eat breakfast, nap. Move to a beachfront hammock, nap. Sip on a cocoanut, move to the dock for a different view, nap. Swim in bathtub-temperature water, sunbath & nap. Talk about going for a walk around the island, nap. Move back to the bunalow hammock & read. Nap, then rest from napping. Wake up for delectible free-range pork rib dinner, then sleep. I might just melt into the hammock if I stay here any longer...

Tuesday, June 30th
We woke up for sunrise and shot some nice images while waiting for our ferryboat to return us the the mainland. Upon reaching land, Eduard headed for the bus stop to hightail it to Bangkok via Phnom Penh. I returned to the Vanna Lodge for another evening and have spent the rest of the day cruising around on a motorbike and writing this blog.

The next time I write, I should be sitting in an internet cafe in Saigon, known as Ho Chi Mihn City to the people that won the war.

Battambang: By Boat, Bike & Bamboo Train

2009-06-26T23:30:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 27th
Hello from the little town of Kep, situated along the Cambodian coastline. Kep was once the ocean riviera retreat for Cambodia's movers and shakers and ground zero for the parties of the international jet set elite. Then the Khmer Rouge came to town and virtually leveled the seaside mansions and quaint promenade. The town is now going through another renaissance era. It is dotted with beautiful bungalow resorts and seaside restaurants serving up fresh crab that is snared in crab pots directly in front of the dining establishments. Myself and Eduard, my new French travelling accomplice, are enjoying the former playground of the rich and not-so-famous. But where was I for the previous couple of days? Battambang, of course!

Wednesday, June 24th
On Wednesday morning I boarded the slow boat from Siem Reap to Battambang. The ferry boat filled with foreigners and Cambodians alike, passed through "floating village" at the entrance to Tonle Sap, crossed the large inland lake and up another large river before reaching the shores of Battambang (Cambodia's second largest city). Having secured myself a set at the bow of the slender vessel, I enjoyed the ride and shot a bunch of images while chilling on the elongated bow. Midway through our journey, the drive shaft of the boat snapped and we offloaded several less patient passengers onto another passing ferry. Those of us left enjoyed each other's company while the drive shaft of our craft was repaired with support from a floating way station.

It was during this travel respite that I struck up conversation with two guys aboard my boat. One guy was a 21-year-old German named Ben and the other was a 20-year-old French guy named Eduard. We talked for the next few hours as our boat made it's way up the river. I was particularly impressed by Eduard. Born in France to a French family, he grew up in Germany, went to English boarding schools and is facing his senior year at Oxford where he is majoring in Philosophy. In addition to my photojournalism degree, I also have an undergraduate degree in political philosophy. As one could easily deduce, two philosophers marooned at sea for several hours can find plenty to talk about. The hours passed quickly as we bullshitted about everything from ethics to metaphysics and the true nature of the universe.

I don't really know what I expected from Battambang, but we were not all that impressed upon landing at the commercial port of Cambodia's second largest city. Fortunately first impressions are often subject to change. Battambang is comprised of a 8x6 blog grid that is dissected by the river. It's French Colonial facades and 70s era high rise hotels have seen better days. Beggars roam the streets, tuk-tuk drivers and moto-drivers accost small groups of passing tourists and shop owners anxiously coax passing pedestrians into their storefronts. The 5-storey Hotel De' Paris provided a perfect vantage point for me and my new roommate to survey the scene.

Eduard and I spent the late afternoon and evening roaming the city streets and finally settled on a good local's establishment for a delicious dinner of chicken noodle soup (Vietnamese style) and some fried spring rolls. I finish every meal in SouthEast Asia with a fresh lemon & lime fruit shake. After a quiet evening, we settled in for a good night's sleep.

Thursday, June 25th
I woke with the rising sun. My biological clock was set by several sequential early rises in Siem Reap, so I headed to the roof deck of the hotel to photograph morning light basking the busy streets below. Eduard joined me by 8 o'clock and we headed to "The Smokin' Pot" for a fresh breakfast, Texas style. I had the house special consisting of Texas toast, bacon, sunnyside-up eggs, baked beans and seasoned hash-browns. After a full breakfast, I was ready to take on the day.

We headed back to hotel to meet up with our waiting tuk-tuk chauffeur and were enroute to Battambang's famous bamboo-railway station. We had a brief delay in the downtown core of Battambang to photograph the morning alms procession of the "metropolis's" monk population, then onto the train station. The Lonely Planet speaks very highly of the makeshift pirate railway system used by locals and tourists alike. The basic concept is simplistic in the truest sense of the word. Cambodia has a series of defunct railway lines that are still utilized by the occasional passing freightliner. The natives have harnessed the decaying infastructure for their own transportations devices. They plop a mobile and easily-deconstructed bamboo platform with a lawnmower engine and a small gearbox on a pair of railroad axels. The light rail-craft soars effortlessly down the line, so long as it's passengers sit center-weighted in the middle of the bamboo platform. If two bamboo trains heading in opposing directions come across eachother on the railine, the train operators and their passenger/crew simply deconstruct the less-laiden train and reassemble on the far side of the obstructing train.

Eduard and I paid our tourist fee of $7 and flew down the rail line for about a half-an-hour, propelled by our trustworthy train operator and his young brother (acting as the conductor and first mate). We stopped on a rail bridge passing over a large irrigation ditch feeding several rice paddies. The "conductor" took the opportunity to cool off with a couple of cannonball dives into the irrigation ditch (great shooting). After a short dip, we threw the lawnmower engine in reverse and headed back the way we came. We had to stop once to traverse around oncoming traffic.

The afternoon was spent cruising around on rented motorbikes in the greater Battambang area. We drove along the riverfront on a series of interconnected dirt footpaths, primitive roads and paved highways. We darted between outlying village and poor wats, shooting images and meeting locals as we went.

We returned our motorbikes as the sun set over the horizon and had dinner with a pair of 20-something male Cambodians who were entrepenurial enough to loan us their rides for the day ($6 each). We bought them dinner at the "Wild Rose Cafe," chatted for a while and headed to bed in preparation for a long day of travelling across the heart of Cambodia.

In retrospect, I really enjoyed Battambang. It reminded me of my time in Chang Mai because the city economy isn't dictated by tourism. It has a very genuine feel to it. I guess the best examples of this are that the commerical spaces are not dominated by internet cafes and currency exchange businesses and noodle soup still costs a dollar on the street...

Friday, June 26th
It takes a REALLLY long time to get anywhere in this country. Our "Express, VIP, airc-con, super cruiser monster bus" took six hours to travel the 150 kilometers (90 miles) to Phnom Pehn. After a civilised lunch at the FCC (my personal oasis from chaos of Indochina), we hired a tuk-tuk con-man to ferry us to the Central Market for a sharetaxi to Kep. The first scumbag wanted to charge us $70 US for the journey. For the record, one can fly from Hanoi to Bangkok for $60 US. I angrilly cussed him out and we sought a more reasonably-priced ride. We went to another market and bartered with a mini-bus driver who was driving a bunch of locals to Kampot, a town located only 10 miles from Kep. He offered to take Eduard and I for a shared price of $25 US. We were on our way.

Four hours of flying over paved, gravel and dirt potholed roads took its toll on us. Eduard and I shared the front seat and my accomplice's leg had to do constant battle with driver's stick-shift lever. Crammed up against the door, my head spent most of the journey stuffed out the passenger window. We were very happy to reach Kep.

To our delight, we reached the "Western style" resort town and were dropped off at a bungalow-guesthouse. The complex has a dozen cabin-bungalows with air-con, sprawling hot showers and fresh white sheets. Our room comes with a shared pricetag of $20 a night and would easily cost $200 to $300 a night anywhere in the west. Sweet, sweet civilization at last...

Praise Bhudda, Sunshine in Siem Reap...

2009-06-24T03:30:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 20th

My alarm clock went off at 4 a.m. After 14 hours of sleep due to excruciating stomach pains the pervious afternoon, I was well rested and ready to go. I met my tuk-tuk driver, Chi, downstairs at about 4:45 and we headed off to the ticket booth at the entrance to the ''Angkor Temples Theme Park," as I not-so-affectionately began to refer to it.

Although the ancient stone structures still emit an auora of mistique and grandeaur, the rampant capitalist greed of a poor developing nation has largely ruined the visiting experience. Dozens of lawn crews roam temple grounds and along the roadway, randomly chopping back the natural growth of the surrounding jungle. Tuk-tuk and moto drivers race about catering to the visiting hordes that they successfully overcharge for transportation. A taxi monopoly has been created whereby it is illegal for a visitor to rent their own gas-powered transport and must pay high "fixed" prices of 12 to 15 dollars for a day of shuttles.

Everytime a tourist stops at a new temple sight, he or she is immediately bombarded by aggressive vendors yelling, "Missster... Siiiir... Laddddy... you want cold drink, t-shirt, postcard, bracelet, my first-born-child? 1 DOLLAR! You buy!" They truely are obnoxious... So much so that I began to develop my own defense mechanism where I would preemptively immitate their sales pitch in a mocking manner. Crude, I know but I actually recieved quite a few laughs and smiles from the vendors and they ultimately learned to leave me alone.

Furthermore, in an attempt to preserve the lucrative structures, the temple grounds are now heavily fenced with obtrusive ropelines and overzealous guards instructing people to keep their distance from the rock. Access for photography is greatly limited by this and there are constant obstructions to optimal framing. Not to mention the eyesore of random scaffolding cluttering the facades of the most iconic structures... Why did I come here again?

Back to the timeline. Despite recommendations to visit the outlying temples first, my curiousity got the better of me and I immediately headed to the grandest temple of them all, Angkor Wat. I was dropped of at the entrance and crossed over the moat by 5:15 in preparation for the 5:40 sunrise. About 150 people were gathering there for what looked to be an iffy sunrise through spotty cloud cover. My instinct drove me past the hordes and I walked down an ornate stone causeway to the footsteps of the main structure. Just as I noticed the doorways were blocked with "no entry"signs till 6:30, a guard looking to make some extra dough approached me and asked me if I wanted to pay him for "something special." We negotiated a fee of $10 and he led me up into the temple, around to the stairway leading to the highest stuppa (marked "No Entry, Conservation Construction). Not really realizing how special my access was, I groggily watched the muted sunrise in private from the best seat in the house. Beyond the stuppa's Bhudda statue and a couple of overalls, I didn't shoot many images from my vantage point and just soaked in the experience. This would definitely be one of two highlights from my time in Siem Reap.

After succumbing to the heckling of some food vendors and a halfway decent banana pancake breakfast around the reflecting pond of the temple, I made my way back to Chi the tuk-tuk driver to continue my tour. The sun rose steadily higher in the sky as I shot images of several major temples including the Bayon and Ta Prohm (the Tomb Raider Temple). The growing crowds and mediocre light took their toll on me and after seeing the afternoon monsoon building in the distance. I aborted my plans for a sunset shoot at Angkor Wat and headed back to my guesthouse.

Dinner, internet, television and early to bed for Day 2.

Sunday, June 21st

I opted to purchase a weeklong pass to the Angkor Temple Theme Park and thus, spent Sunday morning away from the crowds. Chi took me on an 8 kilometer drive to the shores of Tonle Sap Lake for a boat tour of the nearby floating village. Another monopoly scam awaited me at the boat dock where the boat tour company managed to enforce a $20 pricetag for a two-hour private boat journey along the "floating village." The long inlet leading out to the lake was lined with house-like structures placed on pontoons and tethered to the mainland. During the rainy season, the boats come towards shore from protection against the rising waters. Only in the dry season do the houses actually get dragged out and repositioned in the lake for easier access to fishing. I shot a bunch of nice "slice of life" images but was largely let down by the falsely advertised distant floating village and the steep boat ticket.

Somewhat demoralized and concious of my shrinking budget, I decided to pay Chi for my $8 transportation to the village and cut him loose for the rest of the day. I spent the cloudy mid-day and early afternoon wandering about the downtown area and stressing about my lack of drive to go back into the themepark. Around 4:30, I summoned the willpower to battle the visiting hordes and payed moto driver to shuttle me out to Angkor Wat in an attempt to shoot the structure in afternoon light. Mother Nature thwarted my plans and a dull and cloudy sky blotted out the warmth of the setting sun.

Another repeat evening of dinner, internet, t.v. and early to bed.

Monday, June 22nd

Chi met me at 5:30 a.m. for another long day of continued temple exploration. We picked up two more passengers willing to share the expense of visiting a distant temple and continuing through the "Grand Tour" of all the most famous sites. The pair of British girls were not exactly my cup of tea, but dispite their looks they were nice enough to chat to and they were willing to split the $40 fee with me. Bayon and Angkor Wat for another thwarted attempt at shooting a sunset. Monsoon season and landscape sunsets really do not mix.

At this point I was a bit depressed about my shooting and financial investment into Siem Reap

and decided that despite my weeklong pass, I'd really had enough of the themepark and would only spend one more day in town in a last ditch effort to make that "perfect"photo. I parted ways with Chi at 4 p.m. and went back to the guesthouse to take a nap. Chi and I made plans to meet for a farewell diner at 8 p.m. (I told him that I was going to rent a bicycle the next day but really had enough of his expensive services).

Chi and his girlfriend met me for dinner as planned and we headed across the street for a memorable local meal. Chi wanted to impress me with authentic cuisine. He ordered some grilled beef accompanied with lots of fresh raw vegitables. I ordered a stirfried chicken and basil dish. Cambodians eat family-style so we munched on his dish while we waited for mine to be served. I attempted small talk in broken with them and struggled with their broken English but time passed pleasently enough. My meal came out and appearently the kitchen was short on chicken, so the cook substituted fowl with freshwater eel. It was gross but I made do with picking at Chi's meal. He was a bit embarassed and I tried to console him by frequently reiterating that it was not his fault. The meal came to an awkward end and we exchanged emails after promising Chi that I would recommend him to any of my friends who plan to visit the area. I went back to my guesthouse, ordered some spring rolls and headed for bed. I had one more day to make a decent image of Angkor Wat and the pressure was on.

Tuesday, June 23rd

5 a.m. alarm. I was in a really foul mood to be awake again at this hour only to be greeted by another cloudy sky. Nonetheless, I dragged myself out of bed, met my moto driver downstairs and headed for the blasted temple again. I walked up the familiar causeway to Angkor Wat attempted to shoot moody morning pictures in subpar light. By 7:30, I headed back to the guesthouse and slept till 1 p.m.

I roamed town in the afternoon and it took every ounce of my professional determination to head back out to Angkor Wat at 4:30 p.m. The sun had poked through a growing hole in the clouds and there might be a chance for some decent light before the temple guards kick everyone out at 6 p.m.

The light was really nice as I approached the familiar reflecting pond and I noticed a monk wandering along the facade. I excitedly chased him down and shot the bright orange robe and bald head as it steered through the ancient stone columns. I made a satisfying image and the sky was only getting better. By 5:30 I was really excited. The sun had not set behind the veil of looming clouds and was casting beautiful light on Angkor Wat. I also realized that the horendous eyesore of restoration scaffolding had been deconstructed over the course of the day and I'd actually get a clean facade to photograph. By 6 p.m. the guards asked a handful of gathered photographers to break down their gear. It was fine with me. I'd accomplished what I came do do and had a couple really nice scenic images in the can. Bright light, moody background and one happy photographer! This was the second and most important highlight in my visit to Siem Reap and made all the expenses and haggling worthwhile.

Tuesday evening was spent editing all the pictures above on an extremely slow computer while consuming several celebratory beers. I could now leave the following morning with a clear conscience. I didn't get the radiating morning sky, but I was very happy with my sunset take.

Wednesday, June 24th

I woke up at 5:30 and boarded a shuttle for my six-hour boat ride to Battembang, Cambodia's second-largest city. I am now here and will write about my thrilling ride in my next blog entry. All is well on my end and I hope things are well with everyone out there. Farewell till next blog entry...

Phnom Penh Streets & Facing Khmer Rouge History...

2009-06-20T03:24:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 20th

Hello from Siem Reap. I arrived here yesterday and spent the day in bed due to terrible stomach pains. Obviously something I ate did not agree with me. After 14 hours of rest, I feel like a new man. It was good to get the sleep because I had an early start (4 a.m.) to go see the sunrise over Angkor Wat. I'm getting ahead of myself, however, and will get to that in the next post. I'm revisiting Phnom Penh in this post...

Tuesday, June 16th

After catching up on my blog, I intended to head out onto the streets of Phnom Penh to explore my new city. Just as I was suiting up however, the daily monsoon struck and a huge torrential downpour soaked the streets. Instead of drenching myself, I opted to head to the fourth floor balcony of the Royal Guesthouse for a nice view of the streets below. I made several photos of the rainfall from above (they lead off this post) but it was difficult to capture the ferocity of the storm. Several inches of rain must have fallen in just a matter of minutes. The drainage system in the city in the process of a much-needed upgrade and was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of falling water.

After about an hour, the skies parted and the storm subsided. I stepped out into the world and spent the next couple of hours wandering through city streets shooting whatever caught my eye. This activity brought me back to my photographic roots. I first fell in love with photography (particularly documentary photography) as a teenager in high school when I would spend my weekends in NYC roaming around with my camera and several rolls of black & white film. I love just rambling around as an active observer, pointing my lens at whatever catches my eye. On this particular outing, monks in reflective pools of rain water did the trick. I think I'm developing a photographic monk fetish... I can't seem to help it as their robes are almost neon orange!

At around 4 p.m. I realized that I hadn't visited any of my landmark sightseeing spots for the day, so I made my way over to the National Museum. Hundreds of ancient stone carvings of Buddhas and other Hindi gods line the open-air gallery. After while of roaming the halls with my thoughts, I noticed another monk (orange robes, people) and his friend feeding fish in a fountain located in the atrium. I shot for a little while before catching the monk's eye and he beckoned for me to come over. I approached and showed him his photograph and is lead to an hour-long conversation through broken English. The 23-year-old monk explained to me that he was studying English in school but had never actually gotten a chance to have a conversation with a foreigner. He was very eager to practice and I obliged.

The monk enthusiastically invited me to accompany him to his school to chat with other monks. We walked several blocks, passing through the central square of the city, by the Royal Palace and along the waterfront. By the time we reached the campus, classes were just getting out for the day. Before I knew it, I had a circle of 15 monks of all ages surrounding me and asking me questions in English. They really were excited to be talking to a foreigner and practicing their language skills. I had a lot of fun trying to explain to them what America and Colorado are like and giving them feedback on my impression of Cambodia. By 6 p.m. we parted ways so they could attend evening prayer and I was exhausted from straining to understand them.

Tuesday evening was quiet. I had a simple meal back at a restaurant along the river promenade and spent caught up on the news while watching t.v. in my room.

Wednesday, June 17th

After a good night's sleep and a big breakfast, I set out to face an emotionally challenging day. I was going to head to s-21 and The Killing Field outside of Phnom Penh. I apologize if the images above are disturbing, but I felt it necessary to shoot in order to deal with my own emotions.

Here's a rudimentary history for context. Pol Pot and his cronies became members of the communist party while studying in Paris and returned to Cambodia in the wake of the American power vacuum of the early 1970s to do battle with the Vietnamese and create their "classless" communist system. When the Khmer Rouge took over the city in 1975, they immediately emptied Phnom Penh (and all other Cambodian cities) and marched its inhabitants out into the countryside to partake in an "Agrarian Utopia." Their doctrine labeled anything "Western" or modern as evil. Anyone or anything that did not relate to simple farming culture need to be destroyed. This genocide ultimately lead to the deaths of more than 2 million people. Anyone who was educated or related to an educated person was purged. It took 3 years before the Vietnamese finally invaded Cambodia in retaliation to Pol Pot's strikes on Vietnamese border towns and the Khmer people were "liberated."

s-21 was an integral part of Pol Pot's killing machine. The prison was originally a high school. The campus was converted into an interrogation and torture camp where captives were forced to confess to crimes they did not commit before being exterminated. Political prisoners and poor citizens who questioned the regime (or were accused of being conspirators) were ruthlessly and systematically dehumanized. Death often came as a welcome escape. I toured the facility, taking care to soak up the solemn feeling of the place. The atrocities of the past pulsated through my senses. It was almost as though the walls of the makeshift cells soaked up the suffering of the 20,000 people imprisoned there.

I had to go to my camera for protection. As I focused on making images, I was able to shield my senses from the grim reality on the other side of the lens. My camera has often served as a barrier with the unhappy events that I am sometimes obligated to face as a photojournalist.

After a couple hours in the haunting facility, I found my tuk-tuk driver and he whisked me away. We drove 15 kilometers outside of the city to what was once an orchird. It is now the memorial site of the Phnom Penh killing fields. There are several sites like it located throughout Cambodia.

In contrast to the palpable sufferings entombed in the walls of s-21, the Killing Field was almost a letdown. After 30 years, mother nature has done her job. Fresh vegitation lines the pits of the excavated mass grave sites. If it weren't for signposts marking the depressions, one might think that they were just uncultivated plots of land. The most powerful part of the memorial is a large glass and concrete stupa that contains the skulls of more than 8,000 victims that perished here. I paid my respects to the dead and headed back to town to digest my experience.

To further understand the atrocities commited in Cambodia, I visited the book store in search of First They Killed My Father. This 200 page story is the equivilent of The Anne Frank Diary to the Khmer Rouge genocide and I would quickly devour it over the next 24 hours. I spent the afternoon and evening reading in the Foreign Correspondent's Club, a swanky restuarant, bar and hotel operation with a wonderful history. The walls are decorated with powerful images of war photography by Al Rockoff and other famous photojournalists and the establishment is a must for any member of the press visiting the area. The FCC is easily my favorite place in town.

Thursday, June 18th

After a few too many cocktails at the FCC, I slept in a bit on Thursday. By 10 a.m. I was on the streets and headed towards the Russian Market for a bit of street photography. The old market has been around since at least the 1920s and I guess the Russians in the area used to shop there a lot. The covered market was a feast for the senses. Thousands of people wiggle through narrow walkways, passing countless vendors hawking their goods as they go in search of the next best deal. Everything from motor parts to Kitchenware, pirated CD's to crappy souviners and even pigs and not-so-fresh seafood fill the booths. The highlight and centerpiece of the market is colorful food court located at its center. I had a ball shooting and several images can be seen above.

By noon, I need to escape into fresh air. I spent the next 3 hours walking the 5 kilometers back towards my guesthouse and the waterfront. I returned to the Royal Guesthouse for a shower and an afternoon nap and woke in the early evening to go shoot a couple pictures at a colorful billards hall around the corner. I then made my way to shoot an image of the Royal Palace by night and spent some time conversing with ia few Cambodian 20-somethings who were intrueged by my pressence. I was informed that today was the queen's birthday and that there would be a fireworks display over the river in honor of her.

After the subpar show, I headed to the comfort of the FCC with my book in hand and ordered a big personal meat lover's pizza. After dinner I finished my book and enjoyed a cuban cigar from the rooftop bar.

Friday, June 19th

I was up early and on a bus by 9 a.m. to Siem Reap. The six-hour ride seemed agonizingly slow. Matters were made even worse when we had to stop and pick up more passengers stranded by a broken-down bus. Every seat in the vehicle was filled and there was little wiggle room for anyone. I grumpily arrived at the Siem Reap bus station at 2 p.m., 5 kilometers out of town with a fierce stomach ache and in no mood to bargin with tuk-tuk drivers. I somehow managed to find a friendly and personable driver who sensed my state and whisked me away to a nice guesthouse. I spent the entire day in bed and coping with my physical distress. All is well now.

Farewell, until the next posting...

The Island Lifestyle...

2009-06-15T20:30:00.001-07:00

Tuesday, June 16th

Hello from Phnom Penh, Cambodia. I've been away from the computer for the past several days and now it's time to play catch up. You will find two posts below that will bring you up to speed on my wanderings.

Cheers, the Rambling, Babbling Wanderer (as Shawn has now named me)...

Friday, June 12th, continued...
I reached the shore of Don Khong by 6 p.m. (Yes, I did have visions of coming to shore to find a giant gorilla locked behind a huge gate, as the name of the island suggests). I found a marginally-priced guesthouse that was nothing to write home about and finished my Khamounne blog update. The Internet cafe was possibly the most expensive Internet in Laos (about 75 cents a minute). After writing for and hour on the laboriously-slow aging machine and terrible Internet connection, I found a cheap meal and headed to bed early. I set my alarm for 4 a.m. so that I could photograph the arrival of all the stall owners coming to shore in time for the start of the 6 a.m. morning market.

Saturday, June 13th

I really hate waking up early but photography is my calling and it must be served. I managed to pull myself out of bed by 4:30 and made the short jaunt to the beachhead were all the farmers land their crafts to bring their goods to market. I had the shore to myself for about 30 minutes and enjoyed to serenity of the slowly-warming dawn light. At around 5 a.m., the marketers began to arrive in droves. I got a bunch of stunned responses and hearty laughs as my flashbulb went off in some of their faces. With little hope of returning to sleep, I followed the pack to the market square.

I spent the next hour or so shooting the market, taking care to focus on the faces and the personalities of those in attendance. After shooting for a while, I purchased some nice fried pastries filled with coconut shredding and went back to main street to find an iced coffee. By 8:30 I was headed across the Mekong River and enroute to my next island stop at Don Det.

On the way to Don Det, my package-deal escort shuttled me to a massive waterfall that creates a natural shipping barrier in the Mekong River. The French attempted to circumvent the waterfall by building a rail system between Don Det and Don Khon (which I would later explore). The waterfall was cool and reminded me of a miniature version of Niagara Falls. I spent a half-an-hour shooting images but midday light and droves of tourists did not inspire me.

Shortly thereafter, I found myself upstream and shuttling across the Mekong to Don Det. I arrived in the little village and found myself back in backpacker's purgatory. Everywhere I looked, Caucasians were wandering between tiny Internet cafes, restaurants with "happy" menus and dozens of bungalow operations. Even though I was aware of my surroundings beforehand, I wasn't quite prepared to rejoin the travelling herd. I scoped out the village for a while before settling into a distant family-run bungalow complex on the sunset side of the island. The rest of the day was spent finishing my book while reclining in a hammock on the deck of my abode.

Sometime in the afternoon, Hamill, my British-Indian companion, arrived on island and happened to take up residence in the bungalow next to me. After several days into my solo stint, I was happy to see a familiar face and delighted to see that he had survived his accident. He told me that he set off the following day (that I left him) on a new motorbike to conquer the Khamounne Loop. Motorbikes must not be his thing because he suffered a second accident on his final day of the ride. Hamill was pushing his bike to get back to Thakaek on the final stretch of the loop at dusk when he collided headlong into cow that was sitting in the middle of the road! Bruised and bloody once again, he picked up his second damaged bike and loaded it into the back of a pickup truck for transport back to the Thakaek Travel Lodge and the wrath of Mr Ku.
All-in-all, Hamill had to pay about $600 in repairs for the two vehicles and has vowed not to ride another motorbike for a long time to come.

The afternoon of reading and chatting with my neighbors was capped off by the most wonderful sunset over the Mekong River. On Saturday evening I dined with Hamill and another French fellow from our bungalow complex. The glorified shack didn't have a fan (or electricity) and it was a hot night's sleep.

Sunday, June 14th
After a dismal night sweating in the bungalow beneath my bug net, I stirred and packed my bags for the short stroll to Don Khon. After a nice breakfast, I walked the sunset trail (in the shade) out of the village and across the island to the old rail bridge connecting Don Det to Don Khon. I stopped on a few occasions to interact with locals and make some images.

By 11 a.m., I crossed over the bridge into Don Khon and entered the pleasant village in search of accommodations. I arrived at a slightly-more upscale bungalow guesthouse and treated myself to a shower in my own bathroom. Midday was spent swinging in a hammock and talking to my neighbors, Simon and Stefanie from Australia. The two have been on the road for six months and are frequent travellers. I enjoyed chatting with them and had to force myself out of my hammock to go explore the island.

Don Khan is interesting because several bits of infrastructure remain from the French colony and miniature railway that was built in the early 1920's. I rented a bicycle and rode along the outer rim of the island. I stopped several times to photograph women working large fabric looms and men taking a break from the midday heat to watch an important televised Muay Thai fight in a small local's bar. I got a flat at the far end of the island was rescued by some children wielding a hand pump. I returned through the center of the island along to rocky road that once served as the French rail line. All remnants of the railway have been removed with the exception of some loading docks on either end and a rusting iron locomotive parked at one end.

I returned in the late afternoon drenched in my own sweat and was relieved by a dip in the Mekong from the shore of my guesthouse. After a couple beers on our shared porch, my neighbors and I went to a nice late dinner at a good restaurant. I ate fish la'ap over rice and fried spring rolls on the side. We played Gin Rumey over evening cocktails and headed back to the bungalows for a good night's rest. Not yet sleepy, Simon and I chatted for a good while on the porch while being treated to an evening thunderstorm light show. The next morning I would head across the Lao border into Cambodia and planned to make my way to Siem Reap and Angkor Wat. I really enjoyed a few day's relaxation of the island and the lifestyle there reminded me of Martha's Vineyard or the San Juan Islands in Puggett Sound.

Monday, June 15th

At 8 a.m. I ferried back to the mainland and took a 15-minute shuttle to the Lao/Cambodian border. After greasing the palms of the crooked border agents on either side (it cost me an extra $5 U.S.), I purchased a one-month visa for Cambodia. Once I cleared "customs," I made my way to a waiting bus along with a handful of backpackers. The bus was headed to Phnom Pehn and I opted to go with the flow for fear of being marooned at the border station. It turned out to be a good move as the bus ride to the Capitol city was 14 hours instead of what would have been a 24-hour ride to Siem Reap.

The whole day was spent cruising from north to south all the way across the eastern-third of Cambodia. despite the long haul, the ride was enjoyable and my front-row seat gave me the sensation of co-piloting the bus across the countryside. Hungry and tired, I arrived at a bus station on the outskirts of the massive sprawling metropolis (which feels like Los Angeles). I made my way to the riverfront via tuk-tuk and settled into the Lonely Planet-recommended Royal Guesthouse for "bacon cheeseburger" with french fries and good night's sleep.

Tuesday, June 16th

Well I woke up at 7 a.m., had breakfast and settled in to update my blog at the guesthouse Internet cafe. Now it's 1 p.m. I intend to spend the afternoon touring the Cambodian National Museum followed by a stroll through Royal Palace. Tomorrow I intend to go to S21, the Khmer prison and to the Killing Fields outside of town. The leaders of the Khmer Rouge are finally on trail in this country and open to the public. I'm going to try and attend a hearing on Thursday. After that, I'll make my way to Siem Reap for a week exploring the Angkor Temples.

I hope that I didn't babble too much in these last two updates...

Champassak & Wat Phu...

2009-06-15T20:21:00.000-07:00

Thursday, June 11th

Bleary-eyed from lack of sleep and too much time updating my blog, yet fueled by a big continental breakfast and a wonderfully-greasy lunch, I made my way via rickshaw to Pakse's afternoon market square to catch a sangethaew to Champassak.

The sangethaew is a means of local transport that is basically a jumbo tuk-tuk. The price of a ride is usually half what a bus would be and generally a tenth of what the tuk-tuk drivers would charge you. The catch of the is that you're generally stuffed into the overloaded truck bed with a dozen other passengers and all of their goods. There were 9 people, 20 jumbo bags of rice and salt, a couple floor fans, some furniture and a bunch chickens on the roof of vehicle as we made our hour-long journey to the town of Champassak and Wat Phu. I don't really know how the engine was able to work it's way up to cruising speed.

We stopped several times along the way to pick up and drop off passengers and new goods before finally reaching a ferry station to cross the Mekong River. Once our vehicle was about the ramshackle ferry, the afternoon thunderstorms rolled over the distant mountains and onto the body of water. The ferocity of the storm forced the ferry crew to tether down the boat to the shore. I joined my driver and half-a-dozen passengers in a couple of shared beers under the cover of a concession stand. We smiled and laughed with each other as we tried to communicate through broken English and dramatic gestures.

The storm passed and we boarded the ferry for the 15 minute transport to the far bank. I was dropped off at the driver's cousin's guesthouse and my usual inclination is to bolt in search of accommodations of my choosing. But the guesthouse owner spoke passable English and offered me a fair rate for a night's stay, including a reduced price on a bike rental for my six-mile journey to Wat Phu. I passed a quiet evening dining and reading on a restaurant porch overhanging the Mekong River.

Friday, June 12th

I woke early in the morning on a time table to eat breakfast, pedal to and from the ancient ruin, get back across the river and somehow find my way south to Si Phan Don or the 4,000 Islands. It was going to be a busy day.

I enjoyed my road ride on my rusting 10-speed bike (only capable of working in one speed) and reached the site on schedule. Wat Phu is the Laotian equivalent to Angkor Wat. It was constructed in the 4th and 5th centuries by the Angkor people and was intended to be an interpretation of heaven on earth. The temple exists on three tiers that gently climb up a forested mountainside. The grounds are very impressive. With aid from Italian archaeologists, the temple is gradually being reconstructed from the original remaining rock litter. I spent an hour working the site in less than desirable light conditions but I will let the images speak for themselves.

Around 10:30 (and still on track), I pedalled back to my guesthouse to pick up my backpack and return the rented bike before finding my way to the ferry crossing. With my backpack draped over my shoulders, I made my way down a 2 kilometer stretch of road and boarded the ferry by noon. As we waited for vehicles to fill the open deck of the ferry, I saw an opportunity to bum a ride in the bed of one of the several pickup trucks aboard. A military officer headed back to Pakse agreed to transport me up the road 25 kilometers to Pakse's southern bus station, where I could get a lift 100 kilometers south to the 4,000 Islands. The weather was great and we cruised along as I jammed out to The Mighty Mighty Bosstones on my Ipod. I was in a great mood and perhaps the air tasted sweeter because I was finally hitching and getting a free ride somewhere.

At 2 o'clock I boarded a modified sangethaew designed to carry only passengers and 20 or so of us (mainly locals) hunkered down for the three-hour ride to Si Phan Don (The 4,000 Islands). The islands are mainly comprised of thousands of rock and sand outcroppings covered in vegetation. There are three main islands; Don Khong (the largest and least spoiled), Don Det (the backpacker's destination) and Don Khon (a happy mixture of the two). I headed to Don Khong first because I read in the bible that there was a nice photo opportunity first thing in the morning.

The Khammoune Loop...

2009-06-12T22:01:00.000-07:00

Thursday, June 11th
Well I've left the central part of Laos and now am in the southern regional capital of Pakse. I had a hell of a time getting here but I'll get to that later. I travel on to Champassak (an ancient wat ruin) this afternoon and then on to the 4,000 Islands in the southern-most part of the country. From there it's on to Cambodia. Let me catch you up to speed...

Monday, June 8th
After a nice breakfast at the Thakaek Travel Lodge, Hamill and I (my British-Indian sidekick) set off for the first leg of our 250-mile loop in the Khamounne National Protected Area. The first section of road was a busy 2-lane highway that eventually runs to the Vietnamese border. It is also under heavy construction, as it's the portal to a series of new hydro power dams that the Lao government is building. We passed through a series of one-lane sections that created a maze of chip and seal pavement. This made for dangerous driving because the road was scattered with sections of loose gravel.

Despite the not-so-fun road conditions, Hamill and I were enroute to a series of limestone caves that exist in the cliffs parallel to the highway. There are 9 well-known caves in a 20-mile stretch of road. Our first destination was to be the "Buddha Cave." This cave has an interesting story. It was rediscovered in 2004 when a villager went hunting for food for his family. He decided to climb into an obscure cave 50 feet above the jungle floor in search of bats. When he got inside he didn't find any bats but instead, he was greeted by a small army of ancient Buddha statues. The cave is home to more than 200 statues ranging in size from a foot to five feet tall. Some of the statues have dated back over 600 years. It's not clear how the cave slipped back into anonymity, but it has now become a holy place for Buddhist worshippers. Unfortunately no cameras are allowed in the cave, which frustrated me greatly. I've visited many places of worship at this point and the Buddha Cave is the first place I've been where I wasn't able to take pictures.

Hamill and I soaked up the spiritual setting for a while and decided to hit the road in search of our next cave. We made our way over dirt roads and back to the main highway and I noticed that my travelling companion was having a hard time getting a hang of his motorbike. As soon as we hit the pavement, disaster struck. We were moving along a good clip and Hamill must have not been paying attention to the road. As we approached a gentle banking curb coated with pockets of loose gravel (with me in the lead, fortunately), Hamill lost control of his bike and slid out from under it. Hamill and his bike hit the deck hard, causing both to tumble for few yards. Hamill was bruised and his appendages were bleeding a bit from road rash, but otherwise he was O.K. The bike was totaled. I always travel with my medical kit and quickly bandaged him up. We hailed a passing pickup truck, loaded up the broken bike and parted ways. I was a "lone wolf" once again.

As I continued down the busy section of highway, I decided I was tired playing pack leader to strangers and made a new resolve to try and stay solo for the majority of my travels. Although there is some safety in numbers, I much prefer having to think on my own and for myself. I do enjoy coming across other backpackers and exchanging stories and information, but I find that I'm more focused on my shooting and move more freely when I'm solo. I guess I'm the true definition of the "lone wolf" backpacker.

Having been a bit shaken from Hamill's crash, I focused my energy on safely navigating the busy stretch of highway and skipped the rest of the caves. In the early afternoon the light peeped out from a thick blanket of clouds and my eyes were drawn several rice paddies swarming with human activity. I pulled over, stowed my backpack in a bush and whipped out my camera. Determined to not make the same pedestrian images I'd made early in my travels, I took off my flip-flops and stepped into the rice paddy where a group of about 20 women of various ages were laboring to plant the crop. I caught the eye of a small group of them, waved and smiled happily and made gestures of my intentions to photograph them. They caught on quickly and giggled as I fired off frames in their direction.

The group of children, mothers and grandmothers cackled and pointed as I inched closer and closer. I carefully waded through sloppy mud and water as I worked the rice paddy for about 30 minutes. As I got close to one grandmother, she gestured more me to put away my camera and take a handful of unplanted rice stalks from her basket. I got the message loud and clear, and earnestly watched her as she demonstrated how to plant rice. For the next hour or so, I worked side-by-side with the women, pausing frequently to giggle with them. I'm sure the joke was on me, the curious falong who was put to work as payment for my intrusion.

The sun worked it way across the sky and I remembered that I needed to be on my way in order to reach my evening destination before sunset. I took my leave and washed the muddy earth from my hands, feet and fingernails before mounting my "hog." I continued down the road for a good while before stopping for a late lunch. After lunch, the road turned to dirt and I spent the next several hours plugging along at a slow and cautious pace.

Just before sunset, I reached the small village that was marked on my map. I rolled onto a large bridge spanning a newly-flooded section of river. The river has risen as a result of the new dam downstream and several villages were relocated to higher ground. The swollen section of river set to the backdrop of the setting sun made for some wonderful evening shooting as I observed fishermen in search of dinner.

I approached a small guesthouse made of bamboo and elevated on stilts. A Canadian-Vietnamese couple also arrived at the residence for the evening and we chatted over a nice meal cooked by the woman of the house. They told me about the do's and dont's of Vietnam and coached me on how to avoid being ripped off by the predatory and business-minded culture. I went to sleep early while reading Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett. Despite early mishaps, the day will go down as one my best to date.

Tuesday, June 9th
The damn roosters woke me up again (since arriving Laos, I've made a commitment to eating as many chickens as I can to take my revenge). I rolled out of bed early, ate noodle soup with my host family and set out on a patch of road that I was told would be slow going. The next 50 kilometers was made of a primative road filled with massive potholes and shallow muddy pools. I passed through deserted jungle terrain and tiny villages where children would shout "Sa-bi-dee" (hello in Lao) and wave furiousley to get my attention. My little motorbike struggled and shook constantly from lack of decent shocks. By the time I reached the pavement, my arms were jellow and I was in need of a good Thai butt massage.

I made a left at a junction and got up to speed. The next 60 kilometers of road are described as like "driving in a video game." I headed into the heart of the Khamounne Protected Area. The jungle crept up onto the windy road as my bike climbed through the limestone karsts (mountains) and through river valleys. I stopped briefly at a wat nestled against the wall of one karst and discovered a pen full of monkeys kept as pets by the monks.

By mid-afternoon, I reached the split in the road leading to Kong Lo Cave. The asphalt suddenly transofrmed into a smooth, flat surface and I was able to cruise along at top speed for the next 40 kilometers. The sensation was much like what one experiences when driving into a U.S. national park. The scenery was breath-taking. The valley floor was lined with lush rice paddies in the midst of being planted and sheer cliff walls rose above to encaplate the landscape. I found a guesthouse with simple decor and had to scrounge around a bit to find someone to pay. It was definitely off-season in the area.

It was early-afternoon at this point, so I decided to drive down to the Kong Lo Cave for the two-hour boat tour. When I arrived, I was informed that the tours were done for the day and to come back the following morning. A bit discouraged, I headed back up the road but was rewarded with a brief rain shower, followed by a dramatic rainbow. It made for great light and I shot a bunch of images of farmers planting in the fields.

My evening was quiet in the empty guesthouse and I struggled to find an open kitchen to serve me dinner. After my sixth meal in a row of foe (rice noodle soup), I went to bed carrying a cluster of bananas for breakfast.

Wednesday, June 10th
I woke up at 7 a.m., ate my bananas and headed back to the cave for my boat ride. The boatmen didn't show till 8:30 but it would be worth the wait. I boarded a small canoe with an engine ( known as longtail boat) along with two boat operators. We crossed a small section of river and headed on foot into the mouth of the cave where we boarded another vessel. The boatmen fired up their headlamps and I was off into the darkness of the cavern.

The cave is simply amazing. It is really more like a 5-mile long limestone tunnel with a river running through it. There are small offshooting chambers on either side of the main cavity and we stopped for a brief tour through one to view several stalagtites and stalagmites. A scorpian ran across the trail and my guide stopped me to keep a safe distance from the poisinous wretch. We got back into the boat and traveled to the other side of the cave for a break. The guides took an interest in the images I was making as they smoked a quick cigerette. We climbed back into our crafted and headed back the way we came.

By 11 o'clock, I was out of the Kong Lo Valley and headed back on a 160-kilometer stretch of road to return my motorcycle. I passed over a breathtaking mountain pass that resembled somthing like Independence Pass madeover with a jungle motif. The road was long and unforgiving but I decided that I was making such good time that I'd forego a night's stay in Thakaek and head to the bus station for the journey south to Pakse. I got back to the Travel Lodge by 2:30 and was headed to the bus station by 4 o'clock. At this point, I was feeling pretty good about myself for having saved a night's rent.

My First Misadventure...
I could have gotten on 5 p.m. bus that would have gotten me into Pakse at midnight but after surveying the vehicle, I decided that I didn't want to spend the next 7 hours on an ancient and overcrowded school bus lacking fans or air conditioning. I waited instead for the 6:30 air-conditioned monster bus know in Laos as "King of Buses." I climbed aboard and got two seats to myself. Before I knew it, the bus was so packed that the driver pulled out extra plastic seats to line the aisles with. It was not an enjoyable ride.

I arrived at the Pakse bus station at 2 a.m. expecting to find a busy terminal. Instead the gate was locked, the lights were off, the tuk-tuks were long gone and I was stuck seven kilometers outside of town. Then it began to rain. With little else to do, I put on my rain gear, turned on my headlamp and headed down the road towards town.

I made it about 2 miles when I came to the first guesthouse. Everyone in Laos is asleep at that hour and the place was closed up for the evening. I realized that this would be the norm no matter how far I hiked in the storm and that I'd have to find another means of shelter for the night. I plodded on.

After a while, I came across a monastery and temple and I remembered hearing along my travels that monks will provide shelter to those in need. I went in the compound and walked up to a rickety, old dormitory . I knocked on the door of the rickshack and eventually a young monk (novice, about 14-years-old) groggily answered the door and stared at me. I made a gesture (like begging) and then another gesture (like a head on a pillow) and then said "sleep?" He repeated my words, contemplating what I was asking, then he smiled and gestured for me to come in. At this point I was grateful to have my sleeping pad because there was only one bed in the small room. I blew up my pad, laid down on the floor at the foot of his bed and closed my eyes. It was hard to fall asleep because for some reason, a flickering florescent bulb was left on in the room for the entire night.

Thursday, June 11th
Monks rise early to go for their daily alms procession (they depend on contributions from the public to feed them), so I also got up. After 4 hours of sle p. I was out the door by 6:30 and quickly hailed down a tuk-tuk for a ride to town. I had a BIIIG continental breakfast at the swankiest hotel in town. I figured that having saved a night's rent, I could splurge on a "fancy" buffet. Thursday marks one month for me on the road...

***There will be more to follow (I'm finishing this on Friday) but I'm currently paying way too much for internet in the 4,000 Islands. I'll be writing my next blog from Cambodia.***