After an easy 6-hour bus ride from Phnom Penh (capital of Cambodia), I headed to Uncle Ho’s great city in Vietnam to meet a little dose of home.
A while back, my friend Brad, in a moment of awesome, decided to take a full month off work and join me. We’re on day two of a seven day motorcycle trip through the mountainous rural back roads of northwest Vietnam, stopping only for a nice hot bowl of Pho Bo. The countryside in these parts looks like this:
Then we’re heading south for Christmas in Kuala Lumpur, and New Years on a white-sand beach in Thailand (specifically, the beach where they filmed “The Beach“) before heading north to Chiang Mai for some more countryside tooling and a cooking class or two. That’s the plan, more or less.
A few days later, his co-worker buddy Kevin arrives, and following that–god help us all–our friend Markus arrives. Lastly, we’re meeting back up with Graham, who’s still oblivious to the terrible magnitude of what he’s getting in to. Poor baby.
So, without further ado…
________
I arrived in SE Asia a month and a half ago, with Mikey, Graham, and Rosie all a few days behind. I spent a good 10 days on my own a few hours west of Bangkok in the sleepy little riverside town, Kanchanaburi.
The name won’t ring any bells, though “Bridge Over River Kwai” should. Kanchanaburi is the location of the infamous bridge–part of the Death Railway–which was built with the forced labor of thousands of Australian, American, and British WWII prisoners of war.
History of Death Railway, Abridged: Japan dolloped some whoop-ass over all of SE Asia in the beginning of WWII, rolling over all Allied positions from here to India and down through Indonesia. In the process, they took many thousands of P.O.W.’s. Wanting to keep the momentum for a push further west into India, they sought to reap the resource-rich lands of Burma, but the thick jungles, craggy mountains, and many rivers made it virtually impossible by land. By sea was little better though, as they had to sail alllll the way around through the straights of Malacca, where Allied submarines were waiting to do the whole “fish-in-a-barrel” thing. Supply boats don’t sail so well when they look like a whiffle ball, so the Japanese decided screw it, we’re going overland, and we’ll make those POWs build it. Thus the Death Railway was born, running 400km between Thailand and Burma. Conditions were awful, especially during the wet season, and over a two hundred thousand died in the process from sickness, malnutrition, and something you should never ever Google Image, tropical ulcers. Hence the name, Death Railway.
I rented a scooter and tooled around the countryside of Kanchanaburi, following the railway (no longer in use and now overgrown) about 80 km out into the jungle, ending with a visit of Hellfire Pass (so named for the demonic shadows that the firelight cast against the ravine walls during the night shift of work), before getting lost and ending up on an elementary school’s soccer field.
Kanchanaburi itself is a great little town, and I stayed in a nice little guesthouse right on the river for about a dollar a night. Ate lots of noodles, dozed in a hammock, finished Moby Dick. Basically, recharged for a return to Bangkok and meeting up with the India crew. Also, fought off tenacious prostitutes with a flip flop.
_______
I met Graham back in Bangkok, and after a night out there and more beer than was wise, we decided to head south to Thailand’s beaches in the time we had before Mike and Rosie showed up. We retired to Tonsai beach–a white-sander framed by massive limestone cliffs that attract world-class rock climbers.
Graham and I watched these guys and gals grunt up the faces for a while, then decided to do our part and order some BBQ chicken with sticky rice and sweet chili sauce. This Thai specialty is arguably better than sex with the lights on, and carries with it the addictive capacity of high-grade heroin.
A few days later we found ourselves on Koh Lanta, an island about 2 hours off the east coast of Thailand. There, we posted up in a little beach bungalow, strung up our hammocks on the veranda, and several times a day went over to our dealer–a charming little Thai woman running a roadside food stall– for another BBQ chicken/sticky rice fix.
She was a character, running this little place like a matriarch, her grand kids happily helping out peeling cucumbers and squeezing limes. I shot a video of her little operation, complete with relatively retarded narration. In this one, we salivate over our BBQ chicken as she mixes up a papaya salad (not sweet), with tomato, lime, a few shrimp and as many or few chilies as you request (1 was enough to make your nose run, 4 was enough to burn a neat hole through compressed iron ferrite).
One afternoon we ventured out on scooters to tool around the island’s interior, up dirt roads and into little villages. I filmed a little of this, which admittedly is really boring, save for the first 10 seconds where I come within inches taking out a chicken with my scooter. Soon after this video was shot, “Whoa, Chicken!” became a catchphrase in our group, even tossed around as the name of a hypothetical bar.
Graham and I made our way back to Bangkok for Mike and Rosie’s flight in from India. Gleefully reunited, we booked a train out to Vientienne, capital of Laos for that evening, then headed down to the infamous Khao San Road for a beer before our departure. Mikey took this gem.
We arrived in Vientienne the next morning, and immediately I could tell the difference from Thailand. A sleepy town despite being the capital, the Laos people were incredibly laid back and friendly. We took in the local scene, pausing to have a Beer Lao and sample some street food. We chose the local faire of Pig’s Ear. I don’t think I’ll have it again, as it was almost entirely made up of gelatinous fat.
We didn’t spend long in Vientienne, opting on the advice of other travellers to head up to Vien Vang, a small village about 3 hours north where one could rent an inner tube and float down the Nam Song river, stopping at a riverside bar for refreshment. More pics poached from Mikey:
Vien Vang was a beautiul spot, and the tubing was fun… but it was a bittersweet experience. The place had become overrun with western tourists, specifically youngsters between 19-23 (we were certainly the oldest, running the gamut from 26 to 33). It had become a full-blown party scene, complete with drunken antics and swarms of kids getting rowdy. We felt guilty seeing this quaint place become a foreigner’s playground, and though we were certainly participants, we scooted out of town sooner rather than later, seeking a different, quieter scene.
We headed south to 4000 Islands, a smattering of islands in the Mekong river, a short ways from the Cambodian border. This was more our style. Out of the way, lightly tread, and wonderfully alive with local culture and lifestyle. We posted up at a pair of riverside thatched bungalows on the island of Don Det, and rented out some bikes to explore. Pictures again, poached from Mikey, Graham and Rosie. If you’re wondering why I have none, it’s because my camera developed a crack in it’s lens, blurring every photo I take. I know, pretty sweet.

Traditional Laos house. On stilts, the kitchen is (quite literally) the ground floor, sleeping is upstairs. In the yard, some chickens scratching in the dirt, a lazy pig tethered to a tree.

Little paths bisected fallow rice paddies. Nice shade spot, but we weren't going to interrupt the buffalo.

Locals were phenomenally friendly and approachable. This lad, no more than 18, let Mikey drive his longtail boat on a trip to shore. "Like a bus!" he said. Mikey did us proud. For once. ...Limey turd.
We made our way down into Cambodia, and encountered a nice local snack during a stop on route to Siem Reap.

Our merry band, in an excruciatingly touristified Siem Reap, Cambodia. We were there for one thing...
I’ve got enough pictures of these temples, which were by any measure awe-inspiring (even more so considering that at the height of the Khmer empire when these were built, it was a civilization of over a million… London, at the same time, was a little township of 25,000).
That will have to wait though, as the dude here at the internet cafe is giving me the “we’re closing” eyeball and I have an early morning wake-up for our ride further into the moutains of Vietnam.
So, yeah. More soon, I promise. Seriously.















































































































































