Pharaohs and a high fever

On my way into Egypt, my flight is put in a holding pattern right over the pyramids. What a welcoming! People aren't kidding when they say the city presses right up against the pyramids. Egypt is dangerous so it is imperative that I take an organized tour. I am picked up at the airport and taken into the heart of Cairo. My hotel is the nicest one I've stayed in since starting World Tour. I have a roommate named Anna from New Zealand. She is going to be my roommate throughout the entire tour so it's a good thing I really like her. We begin our tour the next morning on a gigantic air-conditioned coach bus. Rafik is our tour guide and he is a really fun guy. One night he takes a few of us to the ATM to withdraw money and he makes us all hold hands to cross the crazy streets. This is strange since I've crossed many a crazy street by now, but okay, let's not get killed in Cairo. He explains that we need to watch out for live wires that jut out of each light post, and he's right! They are everywhere. This place is treacherous. Let's see how it matches up to India.

We start our tour by going to see the pyramids and the Sphinx. It's amazing to stand before such ancient, iconic structures. We also visit the

Egyptian Museum with old relics and King Tut's mask. We are all getting to know each other and it's really fun to know that I will be with these people for the next week, and not have to move on so quickly as is often the case. We are taken to a papyrus paper shop where they show us a demonstration on how the ancient Egyptians used to make paper. That night we board our coach again and begin the overnight journey to Aswan. We all decided to upgrade to the Nile cruise for an additional cost, because it will be best to sleep and live on our cruise for a few days instead of being in and out of hotels as we visit cities along the Nile. I start to come down with a fever that evening and the following morning the misery grows. We awake at 2am the next morning to get an early start to see the temples of Abu Simbel. WOW. This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen. Ever. Nothing can

compare to it. These two temples sit within close proximity of each other and have gigantic pharaohs standing outside of them. Inside my favorite temple, gigantic pharaohs carved out of stone line the entrance. Hieroglyphics cover every inch of the interior walls. Light is cast upward on the walls so tourists can see the detail. We are given ample time to explore inside each one. We take a felucca to a Nubian village across the Nile from our Nile cruise port later that day. Along the way, we have two young African boys hitch a ride by grabbing on to the side of our boat and surfing across the river on their boogie boards. The next few days I'm a stick in the mud due to my fever. All I want to do is sleep in my bed on the cruise and forget all of this intense touring. Organized tours are definitely not my thing. It's a good thing I'm with good people, though I doubt they're enjoying my company since I'm pretty miserable. In the valley of the kings I pay extra to visit the tomb of King Tutankhamen. I stand there for as long as I can staring at his mummy and his sarcophagus which lie separately from each other. This was worth the extra ten dollars.

Over the next few days we are shuttled to and from different temples in the blazing heat. I skip out on a lot of extra ad-on tourist sites due to lack of money and lack of energy. Egypt is fun, but in my book a bit of a bust.

We are told that at the end of the tour we can choose to take the mini bus to the airport that

costs about thirty dollars, or we can find our own way. Everybody chooses to stay in their comfort bubble and take the mini bus. I opt for the dodgy cab (pictured) for a mere ten dollars. And off to Istanbul, Turkey I go.

Kites over the City of Light

We are in one of the oldest cities in the world, Varanasi. Varanasi is known as The City of Light because it is said that if you die in Varanasi that you will go directly to heaven instead of being reincarnated. It sits right on the most sacred resource to the Hindus, The Ganges river, also one of the most polluted bodies of water in the world, where raw sewage, factory waste, and dead bodies are thrown all day long. This city is so ancient that the power goes out multiple times each night due to an explosion in the local power lines that we often see in the distance from the roof terrace of our guesthouse.

We arrive by cab from the train station. We're sharing our old white cab from the 1950's with two Germans that Olivier doesn't like. They're apparently very rude but I don't understand

German so I'm just watching the craziness going on outside of our rickety cab (pictured). We know of a guesthouse right on the river so we ask our cab driver to take us there. He takes us as close on the streets as he can get us and then orders us out of the car to follow him to it by foot. What a walk this is. I don't even know if this qualifies as a walk so much as it does an excursion. We wind through the ancient alley ways, dodging piles of cow feces swarmed by flies. Smells to melt our faces waft around us. We pass stray dogs, cows, trash mounds, people coughing, spitting, cooking, and trying to sell us various items. Men sit tucked away in their little huts in the wall cooking and crafting in their tattered clothes. After the five minute walk through the serpentine walkways we arrive at the guesthouse only to find that they will have a room available in four hours. We're too tired to kill time so we make our way back to the cab and go find a new one that we settle on. We relax and nap in our hotel the entire day. Traveling this country really takes it out of you. That evening we head to the roof for our dinner. We are five stories high on this terrace as we look out among the other rooftop terraces. We notice children all over Varanasi on their rooftops flying kites. Nothing fancy, no trick kites made to look like birds, sharks, or fish. Just standard single-color kites that have been cast into the sky to fly proudly among the hundreds of other kids' kites. It's a simple thing that brings these children so much joy. They're not tethered to an XBox by a controller cord trying to beat their brother to the top level. They are, instead, on the top level of a local building with a kite tethered to their hand by its string, standing next to their brothers taking turns to keep the shared kite aloft. It makes us realize how minimal their lives are and how something so simple can bring them so much joy and pride. We sit down and order some food from the man in the sweat-stained tank top. The sun is finally setting on our lazy day as we eat our dinner on the rooftop. Suddenly we hear cheering and chanting in the distance. As it grows closer we look over the railing down at the crumbling street below. A group of men march into view yelling and hollering. A wide plank is resting on their shoulders and on that plank is a man lying down wrapped in yellow cloth that seems to glow against the poorly lit street. His mouth is concave and his head is shaved and bobbling violently from side to side as these men jog him through the streets. "Is he dead!?" I ask some other hotel guests in horror. "Oh yeah, that's definitely a body" they reply in a morbidly fascinated tone. I'm suddenly filled with a mix of amusement and horror. The body is only in view for about ten seconds and then they whisk him away toward the Ganges River where he will be cremated and dumped in the river. We later learn that if a person lives over eighty years, then his life is celebrated by his body being paraded through the streets. "You obviously haven't been down to the river yet," the hotel guests assume. We tell them we will be going tomorrow or the next day, and they proceed to tell us that this is just the beginning. The rest of the night I feel a bit uneasy about seeing this dead body, yet very intrigued. If there is one moment on this trip that has truly left a mark on me, it's this one. We don't speak very much for the rest of our meal.

We spend the following day not doing very much. Just hunting down food is exhausting. We want to go to a specific restaurant so we head out to battle the dusty streets. India is really exhausting. Everybody wants something from us it seems. They always approach Olivier

instead of me since he's the male. They talk and talk and never let us go on our way. Often I just

want to shout, "For God's sake leave us alone we don't want to go to your scarf shop!" Even the children badger us. We spend way too much time waiting for each person to stop talking.

The

following morning we awake to watch the sun rise over Varanassi.

We climb into a rowboat and our rower fights his way upstream. We watch women beautifully adorned in all colors of the spectrum as they take their morning dip in the Ganges. Husbands ritually dunk their wives, people brush their teeth. The sun casts a morning glow over the crumbling buildings and the people praying to Shiva. We are rowed to a funeral on some stairs that lead into the water. An old man cries as he grips the shoulders of his deceased loved one.

His wife crouches a few stairs above, crying. We think it may be their son or daughter but the body is already wrapped in white plastic. The man boards a small boat and the body is slung over the tip of the boat. A cinderblock is twined around the legs of the dead body. A monkey is also prepared and placed in the boat. The man is rowed only about twenty yards into the river where he offloads the body into the water where it instantly disappears into the murky abyss. The mood is heavy and we are rowed away and dropped back off.

That evening we get in another rowboat and are taken to the burning ghats where bodies are burned twenty-four-hours-a-day. We are greeted by a priest who is draped in white cloth and

has a blessing mark on his forehead. Even though we know he'll eventually ask us for money, we're so relieved he is going to show us around the cremations instead of us braving this alone.

We step off our wooden boat on to the steps and begin our grim tour around the dark ominous building. He tells us that people are in this stone building waiting to die. They pray every day in the river while they await their fate. Once they die, they are taken to the burning platform

which is right next to the building. We wind

along the back of the building where men lean against huge heaps of special burning wood. The oldest sons have shaven heads and are draped in white cloth. Women are not allowed at the burnings since they are too emotional and this is said to inhibit the spirit from crossing seamlessly into the new world. We squint and cough through the asphyxiating smoke that billows off the platform. He takes us to the ground level floor of the building that sits in open air right over the river. We pass people lying on the ground and look at each other in horror wondering if these people are dead or alive. This is so grim. We can see about seven bonfires on the adjacent platform. These fires are burning bodies under heaps of wood. As we stand listening to him talk about the facility, we squint through the smoke. Dead bodies are prepared and dipped in the ganges. We're trying to act reverent and interested but every twenty seconds or so, a firework goes off scaring the bejesus out of us. Already feeling a bit sensitive because of this whole thing, the fireworks are frightening me even more than they normally would. We watch the burnings and are then asked, of course, for a small donation for his services. We oblige, and walk back past bodies, mourners, and diseased people near death.

The next days are spent exploring Varanassi by rickshaw bike (pictured at left). I've grown to really like these things.

I feel like I'm on the back of a chariot and viewing the world from a platform of esteem, like the queen in a parade. People look at us because we're white and some even shout "hello" just like they have all throughout Asia. We eat lunch at various places suggested to us by the Lonely Planet travel guide. Olivier is an expert traveler and is never afraid to ask any questions to get exactly what he wants. At one point Olivier decides to get his face shaven at a roadside barber next to a pile of bricks in an old rickety chair. He gets the ultimate treatment and decides to give them the most generous tip they will ever receive. I stand by and take pictures with his beautiful camera as a 12-year-old joins in on Olivier's impromptu massage. Apparently he's receiving the deluxe pamper package. The 12-year-old tries to get me to go to his scarf shop.

We head back to New Delhi on the night train and arrive early in the morning. We go to the famous Lotus Temple. Indian guys approach me because they want me to take pictures of them

in front of the temple-- with my camera. Every country seems to have a different request with westerners wielding cameras. This one is the most odd to me. If you'll recall, I've been

hassled for group photos in my swimsuit in Indonesia, held babies in pictures as if I were the Pope in China, and later in Egypt I will be practically torn to shreds by hoards of teenagers by the pyramids for their westerner photo op.

Today is my and Olivier's last day together in India, so we take it easy. We walk around old Delhi. I have huge ambitions for us to go see a Bollywood movie, but I have a massive headache so we keep it low key. In the morning we will say goodbye not knowing when or where we will see each other next, but we always manage.

I arise early in the morning to figure out how to get to the airport by eight o'clock. I see a young guy arguing with the guy behind the counter of my hotel. He is trying to check out and it's not a pretty argument. I ask him if he wants to share a rickshaw to the airport, so we go do some early morning haggling and off to the airport we go. I nearly miss my plain due to India International's TSA Changing of The Guard. MY GOD THIS COUNTRY! They couldn't resist one last dig at me.

Through God's Country

In Thailand I was told India is God's country by a young Indian guy. So far I haven't even seen the first traces of God. I'm pretty tired already and it's still early in the day. Indian train stations are absolutely insane. Huge rats run along the perimeter of the stations and along the tracks. People sleep on the tile floors awaiting their trains. The locals avoid the walkways that lead from platform to platform and just jump down onto the tracks with their entire families and make their way to where they need to be. We take the walkway instead. Our train is really wide,a room almost, and just has padded benches for us to sit on. We try to sleep but our bench is a bit too small to get comfortable and I have a lady on my right leaned against the train wall. There's no air conditioning just fans and open windows. Every few minutes men pace down the isles yelling out what they are selling. The most common is "Chai, chai!" repeated at nauseum. Suddenly a bongo drum rings out from behind us in the doorway to our cart. A little boy in the isle comes into view. He suddenly starts dancing and girateing to the beat in the isles. He shakes his shoulders up and down and then leans foreword to orbit the ball attached to a rope pinned in the center of his baseball cap. As he turns toward us I realize his tiny face has a mustache painted across it and little circles for rosy cheeks have been added to complete the circus look.He continues his little act and suddenly I'm so tickled that I start to silently chuckle. I can no longer keep silent as the laughter grows into a painful belly laugh. My eyes begin to tear and my face starts to hurt. Olivier looks at me unable to figure out what is so funny. As I continue to laugh, the tears turn to tears of sadness. I realize that this boy has to do this for a living while his mother plays the drums for him to dance, and then I'm filled with sorrow for this child and the many just like him. I've been told that India can make you laugh and cry all in one minute but I couldn't picture the scenario that could possibly reduce me to such a mess. Now I'm pretty sure I hold the record for quickest elation to sorrow time in the Indian tourism category.This sudden burst of emotion could also be due to a serious lack of sleep. He finishes this two minute act by passing his little body through a hoop and then comes around with a pan for a bit of money (as pictured). He is one of very few children I have given money to on this trip. He deserves a few rupees for his show and for making me go through such an extreme roller coaster of emotions.

After our three hour journey, we have arrived in Agra, the city where the Taj Mahal stands. We find a lovely rickshaw driver who will be ours for the day for a mere eight dollars. We go to the post office to send some of Olivier's unneeded items back to Luxembourg. It takes forever but is a real experience. Before we sit down on some lawn chairs at a desk, a man is ordered to dust them off. He spanks the dust off with a rag and then we are gestured to the chairs. The place

looks like a huge warehouse and I wouldn't be surprised if his stuff never makes it home. They seem to be very confused by international mail because it takes them forever to figure out how to properly prepare the package. The rickshaw driver takes us to Red Fort to lock our huge backpacks in their cloakroom. Then we're off to the Taj Majal. There are two long lines to get into the gates of the Taj grounds, the men's line and the women's line. I stand with him in the men's line until the end where they split us off to search our bags behind some wardrobe screens. A security guard goes through my bag and sends me away to lock up my gnome and a couple of other random items. What the hell!? I storm away without Olivier knowing where I've gone since he is in the men's line on the other side of the screens. I walk past the long line of women and go looking for the lockers. I'm approached by tons of people directing me to "the lockers" that they all seem to be suspiciously enthusiastic to direct me toward. I'm really nervous because I don't want to lock my things in a locker where they'll get stolen. People keep approaching me and trying to get me to buy things which I'm used to by now, but right now I've got a shorter fuse. I just feel a scam coming on for some reason. This doesn't seem right but I have no other choice. I lock my stuff away, and then make my way back to the Taj grounds about five minutes away. I later open my locker to find everything untouched. They let me in and Olivier looks a bit puzzled as to where I've been. I explain that I hate India right now, and these ten minutes without him will go down in history as the worst ten minutes I've spent in this country. Not having a male with you in India is definitely overwhelming. We take our time at the Taj Majal which looks absolutely unreal against the clouds.

It's really magnificent. We are taken to a rug factory afterword where they show us how rugs are handmade.

We're exhausted and can't wait to board our night train that will take us through the night on to Varanasi, the city of light. We wait a long time until our train finally pulls in.

We board our train and order dinner, a full curry meal that we consume on my top bunk. We are so exhausted that we both get a really good night's sleep. We awake the next morning about fifty miles outside the city of Varanasi.

India- The Craziest Place on Earth

Olivier (my friend from Luxembourg) and I have decided to brave India together. And when I say brave I mean it. Olivier has been in the south of India for twelve days already. From the airport we take a rickshaw which is the India version of a tuk-tuk. Our room for the first night is just a tiny cement prison cell and has only a ceiling fan to keep us cool. It's a sleepless night. The next morning we head into the old area of Delhi to a guesthouse we've read is good. We settle in and are starving so we head out to one of the best restaurants in the area. It's an insane walk. I feel more uneasy than I have on this entire trip. The oriental Asians weren't this intimidating. How do I begin to describe this scene? I feel like I've stepped back in time 15o years. Bike carriages and rickshaws line and cram the streets. People, including us, walk with the traffic. Goats stand tied to posts. Men pound ancient looking iron keys out by hand. Very few women are visible, but those who are are either adorned in vibrant traditional dress or all in black depending if they're Hindu or Muslim. A man is slitting throats of pigeons as he stands among towers of caged chickens soaking wet and crammed into small cages. Bloody goat heads covered in flies lie sopping wet in a stack on the table, their guts sorted next to them in piles (pictured). Horns fill the air and whirl around pedestrians dodging all imposing obstacles. We are moving targets trying not to get our heels clipped by any moving vehicle be it motorized or pulled by man. Amputees reach at us for money with arms that once had hands. Child beggars carry their unclothed baby siblings on one hip while begging for money with a free hand. Handicaps that I've never witnessed come hobbling past. A lady with feet curved so far foreword that she is walking on the tops of them, staggers by. Smells of both good and bad, food and feces. We balance on what's left of the sidewalk that's under construction by men dressed in their tattered civilian clothes. When we finally reach the restaurant it's heaven to be in such silence. We eat the famous butter chicken at Moti Mahal restaurant, and then head back to brave the streets once again. The monsoon rains begin their downpour so we take shelter in the carriage of a vacant taxi bike on the sidewalk. Once the rain slows we make our way back to the guesthouse. We're done for the day. There's only so much India one can handle in a single afternoon.

The following morning we are awakened by a call to prayer of the Muslim Mosque across the street. Once it stops we fall back asleep until it resumes an hour later and awakes us for the day. After we get dressed for the day, Olivier wants to check out the roof terrace of our guesthouse so we head up the stairs and enter the atmosphere of loudspeaker Muslim chanting. As we look over the ledge, thousands of Muslims come into view kneeling on mats facing Mecca inside the open mosque while the words and prayers of the loudspeaker pour over them

dressed in their traditional white garb. Women stand in a designated area along the edge of the mosque. We later read that this is the Mosque of Friday. The surrounding streets have been blocked off for men to pray in. It is Ramadan right now so the Muslim world revolves even more around prayer than usual. Olivier has decided he wants a tailor made suit so we go to get him measured and then have a nice dinner for our last night in Delhi. Tomorrow we will head to the Taj Mahal in Agra and then on to Varanasi.

In the early hours of the morning, we are awakened by a pounding and yelling down the hall. A man is moving his way down the hallway and banging on every door. He finally makes it to our door and startles both Olivier and I. Olivier jumps up and waits for the pounding to subside. Once it does, he opens the door to look down the hall where the man is pounding on another door, and realizes it's the bell hop. Olivier gives him a "what the hell?" look and closes the door. In the morning when we are checking out, the guy behind the front desk wishes us farewell and then gestures to the guy who woke us up and insists we tip him. Ummm.... absolutely not. "He woke us up!" Olivier accuses. "Yes." says the man very matter-of-fact, "Tip him". NO. We refuse. We later find out it was for 3am prayers, but that doesn't mean we should tip him. Do we look like Muslims? I could see tipping him if he had skipped our door because he remembered we were westerners but since he didn't, I'd say he failed. And thus we failed to tip.

Full Moon Party/ Whose Shoe Am I Wearing?

I'm off to Koh Pangan, the island where the infamous Full Moon Party is held. From Phuket it's a long bus and then a 2.5 hour ferry ride. The rain chases the ferry out to the island and when the boat docks the downpour begins. I'm completely on my own for now. I fight my way through the pouring rain and hop in the back of a taxi pickup truck. It has benches running the length of the bed, and a roof for protection from the rain but the sides are open. There is a French guy in the back of the taxi with me. I tell the driver to go to Sun Beach Inn where Grant (the guy I met on the bus ride four days ago) has told me he and his friends are staying. The truck grinds and skids up steep hills as the rain pours down and the full moon looms, reminding us of the fun ahead. I figure out where the boys are staying and go find them tucked amidst the bungalows. Our bungalow is a twenty second walk down to the beach. Our group will be Grant and Rich (from the bus), Jamie (their Australian friend), and two blond girls from the UK. We go to a restaurant on the beach and have dinner and drinks while painting each other in neon paint since it is a glow party. At about eleven o'clock we walk to Sunrise Beach where the party is held. We pay three dollars and get snazzy wristbands. We walk down the entry lane and and that's when I see how massive this party really is. People cover the cove for about one third of a mile. There are thousands. Stands are set up for alcohol sales all along the beach. We choose our poison and they pour the short bottle into a bucket with a mixer and some ice, give me four (three of them unnecessary) straws, and off I go. We jump into the waves near the flaming sign and start raging. The waves are clear and penetrated by the bright light of the flames that light a huge sign that reads FULL MOON PARTY 2010. We jump up on the platform attached to the sign and dance like possessed maniacs while the heat of the flames threatens to remove our skin. We jump back into the water from the platforms and are thrashed by the waves causing us to spill our alcohol into the ocean. We go up mushroom hill to examine the sheer magnitude of this party. My God it's huge. The music is bumping all along the beach and is filtered into the bar in which we sit. We drink and take photos for an hour and then head back down to the beach where we grab some food to absorb the alcohol. We make our way to some more music an booze buckets. People are making out, passed out, or pissing into the ocean like it's a urinal. What a display. We dance on the crowded beach where everyone is soaking wet from going in the waves. Two of the boys in our group make out. At one point I stop a fight heating up between Jamie and a drunk Italian. We go on to discover the flaming rope of death. Two Thai guys are on platforms five feet in the air turning a rope doused in lighter fluid and raging with flames. Guys jump it until they trip and it burns them causing them to scurry away from it with burn marks to the legs and arms. This is most likely just an attempt to eliminate the rowdy obnoxious ones with too much testosterone from the party. Just near that is an extremely janky slide with a hump in it that is one story high and shoots you through an arch of fire. The boys go down it naked and suffer the consequences for days. Toward the end of the night on some benches among some passed out people, the sun finally begins to rise and cast its glow over the remaining party animals still raging on. We hop on a table and continue to dance. I sit down near the water and the others join me while the sunrise becomes broad daylight. I get back in the ocean and then Grant decides to put me on his back and do a 'same shorts run' where he runs up to people with the same neon shorts as him and yells, "Same sorts! We have the same shorts!" Grant bought his shorts locally where Full Moon Party merchandise is sold, and everyone goes to get their gear, so you can imagine we're making contact with a lot of guys wearing neon pink trunks. I've had enough of the Full Moon Party so Rich and Jamie agree to walk back to the bungalows with me. People are staggering and limping away from the beach back to their own bungalows for the day. Some have stepped in glass and are bandaged up and most are just still hammered. We fall asleep for the day and in the evening Rich, Grant and I decide to get dinner on our beach called Sunset Beach. What a treat it is to have seen the sunrise on Sunrise beach, and now get to watch the sunset on Sunset beach. Tomorrow we will all part ways and I will spend the next few days lounging on Bottle Beach on the northern tip of Koh Pangan.

Thailand and the 19-Hour Journey

I spend a day doing some tourist sites in Bangkok. At one point my tuk-tuk driver takes me around the king's palace. There is a mote surrounding the palace that he claims has crocodiles in it. I smile and nod assuming he's misinformed. That's when I see a crocodile making his way up the bank of the mote toward the street!!! Bangkok is okay, it's a city, but I'm ready to see the Thailand that everybody talks about. Blue beaches and warm water. I board the night bus out of Bangkok in the evening. I've been told it will take me fifteen hours to reach Phuket (pronounced Poo-ket, you foul-minded twit), where my old best friend currently lives and teaches English. It is all the way in the south so I know they're not kidding. The bus is full of young backpackers that are headed toward the Full Moon Party on one of the islands. I have two seats to myself and the bus is pitch dark, perfect for sleeping. At one of only about two rest-stops I meet two guys from the UK. Grant is from Scotland and Rich is from England. They are both in the army. What's with me and Army guys? When we board the bus again, Grant and I sit next to each other and chat for about three hours in the dark. At 3:00am Grant and Rich have to get off the bus because we have reached their stop. We exchange information and make a tentative plan to party together at the Full Moon Party in five days time.

At five o'clock in the morning I'm told that those going to Phuket need to get off the bus. I'm

put into a new Toyota with the music and air conditioning blasting. I am hardly awake, but once the driver races around town trying to get me and a couple of other girls to our busses, I am wide awake. I make the next bus and spend four hours winding through beautiful Thai scenery until I get to Phuket station. Andrea, my childhood best friend, pulls up on her moped and I hop on. I'm so tired and so glad to see her that I laugh so hard my eyes tear. I hop on the back of her scooter and we head to her apartment. That night we go to the main tourist road and have a crazy night out with her roommate and a ton of

their friends that teach English at the same school. When we are leaving the bar, who do I see but Philip, the Jamaican guy I partied with in Malaysia! I have a freak-out and run up to him. We're shocked, but kind of realize that we're both on the travel circuit and sometimes this happens. I still can't believe it though. Andrea, Andrea's roommate, and I, decide to call it a night at about three o'clock in the morning. I've had a really long day. We sleep the next day away and go out briefly the next night. On Monday morning she takes me to her school where I meet all of the children she teaches. Thailand is known for its Thai brides and you see it everywhere. On the party roads I see nothing but unacceptable dirty looking older men with young Thai girls hanging on them. At Andrea's school I see the next step, Thai/Euro children. It's quite an interesting thing watching all of the young Thai moms and old white dads drop their kids off at this expensive school. I watch Andrea teach them English through song and dance. They're so cute!!!

I have a great visit with Andrea. We go to dinner on the beaches and she shows me around the island on the back of her scooter.

Desperate times in Bangkok, Thailand

I arrive in Bangkok with no reservations. This is the first time I've done this. A true backpacker move that I haven't had the guts to make. I've heard the main tourist road is called Kaosan Road, where all the backpackers stay. The first two days are spent pretty much in my prison cell of a room with a stomach ache. Between feeling sick, I explore the area a bit and walk around on the main road checking out the tourist market that lines it. It's kind of nice to be in a tourist area again instead of rural Cambodia where I'm constantly stared at for being white. Don't get me wrong, I still think I like Cambodia more. On the second evening of being in Bangkok I realize that my ATM card has gone missing. It hasn't been stolen because there are no unauthorized transactions on it. I'm down to my last five dollars and getting hungry. Fortunately, my dad has given me an emergency credit card. Unfortunately, nobody takes credit card so I have to go on the quest to find an AmEx office to get cash. The next morning I awake to deal with the problem. I buy a yougurt from 7-11 to get me through the morning. Then I find a cab driver who says he knows where the address is that I have presented to him. We negotiate a rate of ten dollars with two stops. Stops are either at a tailor, jewelery shop, or travel agent. When a cab or tuk-tuk driver drops a customer off to look around, he gets a gas card from that company, so tourists pretty much can't get in a cab or tuk-tuk without being bothered by the driver to go to these places along the way. The good part is that it reduces the fare for the passenger. So I agree to doing two in order to keep the fare at ten dollars.
Chan, the driver, takes me to the location I have provided on a piece of paper. We can't find American Express. He makes a few calls on his cell phone and finds out where it is. I insist on going back to the hotel so I can re-group and work out exactly what to do after calling my dad. When we arrive at my hotel, the cab breaks down. When I call my dad he tells me I'm being ripped off with the cab fare. Oh, hell no, nobody rips me off anymore. I decide I need to go to the AmEx office we have located, so I go back on to the street to find Chan. He introduces me to his cab driver friend who will now take both of us to the AmEx place across Bangkok. I ask him if we can use the meter in the cab instead of negotiating a rate. He says it will be more expensive, and I say I'm willing to take my chances. By the time we reach the AmEx office, which is way further than the original failure location, the meter is at a mere three dollars. My dad was right about being ripped off. I go in and get my money, and return to the cab drivers. From the back seat I point at the red numbers on the meter, and in my most calm tone say, "Chan? What are those red numbers?" "That's the fare." He replies, very matter-of-fact. "So you seriously overcharged me this morning." I accuse. "No, I didn't." He insists. I proceed, again in my calmest tone. I've read it's very un-Asian to lose your cool. "The place we went this morning was nowhere near as far as this, yet it was way more expensive." I persist. He argues that it wasn't but we both know the truth. "How about this Chan, I'll pay you ten dollars, but we have no stops. I think that's fair." Chan becomes somewhat outraged and and says "What happened? Now all of a sudden you got your money things have changed? I helped you a lot this morning making calls to American Express trying to figure out where they were located. I can't believe you're doing this to me!" I approach in a crisp tone, "You are the one who has severely overcharged me, so if you want to talk about who has done what to whom, then you have definitely screwed me over. I am willing to pay a bit more for all you have done for me, but not that much." I ask his friend, the current cab driver, if six dollars would have covered the rate to get to where Chan and I went this morning. He says that it would, so I've trapped Chan with his own friend. We later agree on a smaller fee, but with two stops since he was really counting on them. I do my two stops for Chan, and then they drop me at my hotel with very few hard feelings. For the next few days I see Chan hanging out outside of my hotel among the cab drivers playing checkers. We always say hi, and smile at one another. Oh, Chan, you're as forgiving as a puppy. Or maybe I'm the forgiving one.