Days 8 and 9 - Sihanoukville

(In reference to the missing days - check out Spencer's blog for his posts about those happenings.  The link is at the top of this page.)

On the road again....though we decided to make it easy on ourselves and get the nine o'clock bus so we could enjoy sleeping in.  Not that this made a difference, since buses aren't exactly timely over here.  Given that I have a knack for running a little late, Spencer claims that these buses were designed for me.  The difference with this chartered bus is that the tourists are out-numbered by the locals. Apparently, we aren't the only ones wanting to head out of the city to a little beach town called Sihanoukville. This was actually never on our schedule, but we ran into enough people so far that mentioned the town as a definite place to check out. With a schedule like ours, which is really no schedule at all, we figured we could spare the time for the beach.  Here's a quick picture of our tedious time on a bus.  Apparently I caught a picture of Spencer contemplating either what the beach will be like, or why he chose the seat next to me on the bus... I haven't figured that one out yet. 

As we took the highways away from the hustle and bustle of Phnom Penh, the mosh pit of buildings transformed into a colorful pattern of streets side stalls and small houses, which often doubled as stores during the day.  The concrete structures later gave way to small tin shacks.  However, there were two constants: motorbikes and advertisements.  As I've already mentioned, everyone rides on the motorbikes and it is just impossible to escape them.  Granted, there are less of them the farther you get from the city, but they're still here.  In fact, as the bus barrels down the highway, they just give a quick honk to let the motorists know that they are coming up behind them.  What they really mean is, "I'm the bigger vehicle and you'd better move over because I clearly don't intend on slowing down."  The trucks and buses frequently cross into on-coming traffic on a two lane road to get around slower vehicles.  As a passenger, you have to trust the driver, and don't bother looking out the front window otherwise you'll begin to worry if traffic laws exist anywhere in this part of the world.

As for advertisement, every standing structure seems to have been given or acquired some sort of sign as decoration.  Eight times out of ten, it's a sign for beer; and most of those times it's a sign for Angkor Beer, a local brew.  From the abundance of signs, you would think that buissness is booming.  Another interesting sight at many stalls, which was a mystery until recently, are clear bottles which once housed water or soda but now hold some yellowish substance.  We finally figured out, these are all full of gasoline.  When your motorbike is running on fumes, just pull over and buy a liter from anyone, no need for a special thing called a gas station, though they have those too.

Finally the scenery gave way to nothing but rice paddy fields scattered with palm trees.  Dotting the
landscape were the ever common cows, much of which look underfed, but someone recently pointed out to me, it's just that they are fit and don't eat excessively.  Six hours later, we arrived in Sihanoukville without a clue of where to go.  The solution: ask the other eight backpackers just getting off the bust where they're headed.  Spencer struck up a conversation with two from Australia. We found out they had been traveling for a couple months and made friends with the rest of the group behind them (whom were involved in debates with the local tuk tuk drivers) on a river in Laos.  Ever since then they've had common destinations, so they were trooping they're way here to Sihanoukville.  By the way, the river activity consisted of floating on tubes lazily while passing waterside bars and shops.  All you had to do was signal to people on the side and they'd toss a rope your way so that you could pull yourself to the stall, buy a drink, and then continue to float on. Quite the hard life.  Though today, they were headed up and over the hill in front of us to a hostel one block from the water.  More immediately, we agreed to hitch a ride with them.  So ten people with bags piled into two tuk tuks and we were whisked over to the beach side.

We headed up past something that Spencer pointed to and said looked like two golden lions humping, so I figured a picture was necessary.  Once past the lions, we found the place called "Utopia" and it kind of had the feel of one.  Everything was colorful and contained within an enclave of walls that separated this place from the street.  Everything seemed to have a yellow and blue color scheme.  There was a deck area complete with pool, jacoozi, bar, lounges, benches, etc.  However, upon closer inspection, things look good from afar, but are far from good.  The pool water isn't exactly clear blue.  The chairs seem to be falling apart a little.  It clearly has been some years since paint was applied.  Though, this deteriorating look adds to the character of the place.  It most definitely belongs in this city which can be described as having a hippie atmosphere in a beach town serving the laid back, party seeking backpackers.  Clearly, things may be built around here and originally look nice, but there is no strongly concerted effort to maintain the appearance of new and clean.  I almost forgot to mention, our accommodations for the evening were in a dorm room of 24 homemade bunk beds stacked in two continuous rows for a measly $2 a night.

In trying to fall in tune with the atmosphere of the village, we head out to the main street and search for the place that is most packed because that means it has the best food or the best drink specials, if we're lucky it'll have both.  Today's top spot is an open restaurant/bar/guesthouse called Monkey Republic and drafts are $0.50, I'd say we found our spot.  As I ordered the first round, we met up with an American who was here on a marine conservation project as an intern on one of the islands.  She had gotten a technical degree in marine biology in North Carolina and was now participating in dives everyday to survey and catalog the different species of underwater wildlife around one of the local islands.  Every week she would receive a new wave of volunteers, whom she was charged with overseeing.  Soon we are joined by the other intern she works with, a guy that is half Thai and half English.  He then brings his friend and from the three of these people we begin to learn more about the area.

We learn of a popular spot called Happy Pizza.  It's name doesn't come from the smiling attendants, it come from the patrons who leave smiling.  They use...special seasonings on their pizzas.  Yes it is illegal, but apparently it is also very common, much like back home.  However, here, every local we pass says two things to us in quick succession with a tone of questioning, "marijuana? weed?" So we walk one block past all the locals and arrive at the beach.  It's not pearly white sand, but it is laid back with restaurants and bars on one side of the walkway and chairs and tables in the sand extending to half way between the walkway and the water's edge.  We end up at one by random choice and enjoy the every present 50 cent beers.  Spencer got a little adventurous and ordered some bar-b-q.  Fifteen minutes later a whole fish shows up glaring at him from his plate.  It was actually quite good, and given that we were on the water, it's safe to say it was fresh too.  For some unknown reason, Spencer and I were coaxed into eating the eyes of the fish.  Since it had been grilled, they had a crispy outside, but inside was runny like an under-cooked egg.  Needless to say it's on the list of something we tried, but don't need to taste again.

As evening approached, we were invited by our new found friends to join them as they head up to a more secluded beach were they plan to stay in beach-side bungalows in an area that has a happening night life with a multitude of bars.  With a quick look at each other and a shrug, Spencer and I figure, "why not."  We collect our things from the hostel we were booked into and return to the street to find that they have a car, but not just a car, they have a Lexus SUV.  At least the ride will be free to where ever this beach is.  As the lights vanish and the roads turn to nothing but clay and dirt in the middle of nowhere, we feel just a slight tinge of questioning in our decision process, but then again, can't be too bad.

The bungalows truly are on water and the strong ocean breeze is a welcome natural air conditioning.  We drop the bags and head off into the night.  The night scene isn't exactly lively, and we feel like the youngest patrons.  Though we still enjoy the evening even though we learn that this is off season for the place.  We learn that the guy with the car was actually borrowing it from his parents that are staying at a small hotel up the road from our location and know the owners of the bungalows at which were staying.  So it's almost as if we are with a local, which reassures any fears of getting lost in the middle of nowhere.

In the morning, I was abruptly woken up at the early hour of 10:00 AM saying it was time to take a group picture, pack our stuff, and head back to town.  Needless to say, I wasn't ecstatic, though ordering some mango shakes and sitting in a chair watching the clear blue sky and endless waves made up for it.  We headed back to town and said adieu to our new friends.  We checked into the colorful guesthouse we spotted the previous day, Monkey Republic, and then headed to the beach.  Here was our beach day of doing absolutely nothing.  However, it wasn't the relaxation you'd expect.  Literally every 2 minutes, someone would approach trying to sell something.  Women stopping offer to give you a massage or manicure.  Beggars asking for money.  Men selling sunglasses and lighters. Little children shoving their goods in your face.  The children were seemingly innocent, but were the most annoying.  They would hang around and tell you to buy their bracelets.  If the answer after 30 seconds was still no, then they'd ask, "maybe later?"  Regardless of your answer, they instructed us, "if you buy, you buy from me!  Come to me later and buy from me."  Spencer got a more rude answer from one of the kids.  He didn't like Spencer's, "No," and responded with a litany of burps into Spencer's face and then turned and ran.

At night, we set out in search of a beach party scene.  It wasn't exactly a rigorous search.  Several of the beach side bars just increased the level of their music and put on some neon lights, presto, beach side club.  They even hired locals to put on a pyro-display with wands doused in kerosene.  They would twirl the sticks of flame right next to the water for a couple minutes and then return to talking amongst themselves on the side of the bar.  We began to notice this trend throughout the crowd.  Unlike other places we'd gone so far, where people are open to meeting the strangers they sit next to or talking to travelers, this crowd was more interested in staying within their small groups.  This vibe killed the enthusiasm for finding a beach-side party, so it was back to Monkey Republic for us.  On the walk back of just 2 blocks, our disappointment of the evening was joined by the disinterest in the area from the number of hookers that we kept getting becoming looks and gestures from as we made our way back for the evening.

The next day, we figured it was time to move on.  Some places in ones travels just turn out to be an adventure, some are brimming with excitement, some are just impossible to leave, but here, we just didn't get a good vibe, so it was time to find the next place.  This was only supplemented by an old Australian guy that struck up a conversation with Spencer in the bar/restaurant area of our guesthouse.  He was a rough looking older guy that wasn't exactly well kept.  He commenced telling his story of last night heading to the bar at the end of the pier so he could find a woman for the evening.  He was successful and claimed that he insisted on starting the business transaction straight away.  So he stepped out of the bar for a minute and took several of those magic blue pills for older men.  While he was outside another Aussie called over to him and warned him not to pursue the girl he was talking to.  The guy couldn't help but be offended and thought the other man was just envious.  The response, "It's just because you're a fellow Aussie that I've got to let you know, you're talking to a lady-boy."  "Come on, you're shittin' me, how do you know?" was the obvious response.  The man responded, "Cause I've known him for 10 years."  The old man telling the story to Spencer died laughing, smacked Spencer on the shoulder, and turned around and left.  Spencer kind of looked back at me with a "well that guy's crazy".

So it was back on the road for a bus to Phnom Penh for a couple hours so we could grab another bus to Siem Reap.  We were headed from the beaches to the jungles, but the thought of seeing epic temples that reside normally only in photos was quite inspiring and made up for the 12 to 13 hours of bus rides we were in for.  Sorry for the lack of photos, but we were slightly weary of taking the camera with us to the beach and out to the bars.  This probably has something to do with one of us losing the more rugged camera within the first night out in SE Asia...

Day 4

From the title of this post and the number of days we've been traveling, either you can tell I can't count or I'm very behind in my posts, chronologically speaking.  So the next couple of posts will be on the briefer side and more pictorial based in order to appease my strange need to fill in the missing days of the blog.  One other small note, if I didn't write about a day go check out Spencer's blog, chances are he wrote about it.  There was just something logical in realizing we didn't both need to write competing blogs about the same events.

So on the 4th day of our trip, we are still in the bustling city of Ho Chi Mhin with its 9 million inhabitants and over 5 million motorbikes.  We decided to approach the day in prime tourist fashion by booking a ourselves into a tour group going to an area known as the Cu Chi Tunnels.  It should come as no surprise, but this was the largest concentration of tourists we'd run into yet.  We piled onto an old charter bus that must have been a Budweiser bus in its prior life because every seat had the red and gold emblem embroidered into the headrest.

2 hours later, we were outside of the city in a wooded area and pulled into the complex of the tunnels which had been preserved for tourists.  This network of tunnels was built up to an astounding 250km winding pathways underground with depths ranging from 2m to 9m below ground.  All of which was dug by hand without the aid of GPS or any sort of planning map.  In fact, a map of the tunnels was never made so that if  a member of the Viet-cong was killed there would be no map for the enemy to posses.  The entrances to the tunnels were well hidden and quite small.  We were shown how the VC would enter and exit the tunnels with ease through this 14x8 in square in the ground.  It wasn't as easy for the brave few in our group of tourists that decided to try entering in the same fashion.

Now this area which we had access to was a small area preserved by the government and set up to educate others of the tunnels.  For those needing a refresher in history, the Viet-cong won, and as such it was quite unique to see the story told from their prospective.  In fact, the tour guide, who was from south Vietnam and his family was against the VC, was quick to point out that the movie introduction of the tunnel system may come across as propaganda, and it did.  They went on an on about the US and Australia helping the rebels of the south and killing the peaceful people living in the Cu Chi area.  Granted, the US did not come out of the war with a glamorous record of humanitarian deeds, but I figured I would take everything we heard and read with a grain of salt. Among the displays were many traps conjured for maiming or killing enemy soldiers as they traipsed through the woods.

The park area, in addition to being set up as Vietnamese war propaganda, was set up with the capitalist perspective, complete with gift shops at the entrance and in the middle. They even sought a little entertainment to surprise the visitors. We were asked to locate the entrance in a clearing of leaves. Upon finding it, one of the tourists lifted the door to be shocked with a large firecracker going off to simulate a grenade exploding from the tunnel. The park attendants nearby chuckled to themselves at the shocked group. Five minutes later, while the tour guide was giving a speech about the tunnels, another loud fire cracker went off. The two park attendants just looked back and said, "Sorry...accident," and smiled. Apparently there isn't too much training or safety courses to speak up.

Continuing through the park, we realize that we aren't at a US Smithsonian with the plethora of "do not touch signs". In fact, we are encouraged to climb on an old US tank that was left exactly where it had been disabled by a land mine. Being good Americans, we lost no time in climbing onto the tank and taking a pictures. Then came the cool part, they said, "Who wants to shoot a gun?" Of course, Spencer and I jumped at the opportunity. But just like every good theme park, they tell you the price per bullet of $1.50 and you have to buy a minimum of 10 bullets after laying out the option of guns. Spencer opted for the M30 machine fun, I of course had to one up him and go with the M60, which was nicknamed the "Rambo gun"...it was worth the 15 bucks!




Finally, they take us to the tunnels. We are only given about 100m to walk and we are told that there will be exits every 20m if we can't stand it. Mind you, the tour guide points at the entrance and says he'll meet us at the exit since he'll be walking around and not through the tunnels.




Once we leave the tunnels and head back to the city, we re-enter the city and engage the crazy game called city traffic.  I've mentioned the scene before, but I feel this picture is worth pointing out.  This is the view from inside the bus as we go through a major intersection.  Notice that everyone seems to converge at the same time in the same place and just kinda goes for it! It is crazy!  Luckily we had the big bus, so we dominated the intersection.

On the ride home, we talked with our fellow tourists.  We leaned that they are from Canada and think American football is too much of a sissie sport because they have everyone wear pads.  I shook my head and could only think of my football fanatic friends and the litany of retorts they would have to the Canadian's comments!  We saw past the disagreement of sports and agreed to meet out new found friends later for a night on the town.  Here's a quick picture of the city at night as we walk through the city.








Now our new friends have been traveling for several weeks and were not as afraid of foods and other concerns as us.  As such, they introduced us to the finesse of ordering street food.  To the best of my knowledge, it was pretty much a point and shoot (or order) game.  One of them was Chinese, even though she couldn't speak Vietnamese, she was designated as the person to order because it is less likely she would be ripped off and the locals would try talking to her as a local....what ever works.  We got a rice dish, a noodle dish, and something else, all I cared about was the fact they had been fried, so at the very least my food was seared free of any bugs.



The street vendor was very animated to have 8 tourists stopping to order food that she pulled up several plastic chairs, cleared a table, and started yelling at the man working the wok 3 feet away to start cooking up our food. At some point she felt so generous that she cooked up some odd looking meat in a sauce and brought it over to the table. As luck would have it, I was sitting on the end of the table and caught her attention and she tried to tell me what it was and that I must have some. She didn't take no for an answer. This determined lady grabbed a piece of break, put it through some sauce, procured my chopsticks, and proceeded to grab a piece of meat and hold it in front of my mouth. How could I refuse? Then again,....what the hell was I about to eat? With much laughing from everyone else, I ate it. It didn't taste horrible, but the texture was not appealing. It was a bit tough and had a raised something or other on one side. After much debate, we settled on saying I ate liver.



We walked with out new friends to a local bar hangout and sat down for some beers and fried whole crabs from another street vendor. Entertainment consisted of numerous people peddling their goods from sunglasses to books to dvds to bracelets. There was one persistent little kid that came up to one of the girls in our group and insisted on her purchasing a bracelet. He was pretty set on his price too! She haggled with him but he would give a response such as, "I'll give you special price, 20, but then you pay me extra 10." For the non-math majors, he was dead set on getting 30 for the bracelet. Later a guy drove down the street on his motorbike and started blasting Michael Jackson from a loudspeaker on the back of his bike. He moon-walked and danced in the street until some drunk foreigners began to include themselves in his display of dancing. Another character joined us briefly. He was a Russian guy with a strong accent and had clearly been drinking all day. His contribution to the group was a Russian cheer. He said, "Te Be Sex. You can remember this easily by thinking terrible sex and just saying it really fast." He muttered some other Russian, but I couldn't remember it. Then he disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared. And with that so will I. Until the next post...cheers!

How it Begins...

Ever wondered how long a 12 hour flight really is?  Well sit in the same seat without leaning to the left or right for the next 12 hours.  See, problem solved, now you know.  At least that's how it would have been on a flight with most airlines I've experienced. Though I'm pleased to report back that Eva Air made it quite a bearable journey.  I felt more like a paying passenger rather than some organized cargo.  Who would have thought that we would get two full meals throughout the flight, drinks, and have access to personal touch-screen TVs with plenty of options to watch, and all included in the fare.  Oh, and did I mention we were just economy class sitting in the back of the plane, I wonder what first class would have been like, in flight massages?

On the second flight from Taiwan to Vietnam, we met the first of many interesting people.  The first thing we could notice was his tattoo sleeves, which ranged from colorful to sinister and his over stuffed backpack which he was trying to squeeze under the seat in front of him.  Robbie was a 24 year old Australian, but from Austin, TX, and was headed to Saigon to start training in a dojo for MMA.  Apparently he hadn't been to Vietnam in several months, but was extremely excited to be back.  Once Spencer started up a a conversation with him, his enthusiasm burst forward as he talked to us about everything from what not to do, to what bars to visit, to strip clubs.  He was set on showing us a good time once we landed.  He mentioned to us, "trust no one, including myself, yet somehow try to trust me."  We figured it'd be a worth while venture to see Vietnam with someone that already knew his way around, even if his interests weren't exactly aligned with ours.  (He must have mentioned the number of girls he was planning to get with every 10 minutes.)

However, upon arriving, plans changed.  We were greeted by the muggy weather and throngs of people waiting outside of the airport exit much like crowds gather at concerts trying to catch a glimpse of their beloved rock stars walk out.  Robbie was picked up and whisked away by his semi-estranged father, but he left us with the intersection of two streets which we should take a taxi to.  And we did.  However, this was our first foray into communicating, and it definitely wasn't the easiest.  I would pronounce the name of the street one way, Spencer pronounced it another way, the taxi cab driver asked it a third way, and then I tried pronouncing it again.  We played this game of going around trying to convey our horribly skewed Vietnamese until we just pointed at a map and the driver smiled and said of course, no problem (yeah, right).

If you've ever been to NYC, then you've seen some crowded and aggressive city driving, but really, you haven't seen anything until you've seen the streets around here.  It's like a heiarchy of traffic.  Whoever has the bigger vehicle wins.  Maybe 8% of the traffic is comprised of buses and cars, but it's the motorcycles and mopeds that breed the sense of confusion.  Everyone is on one.  Entire families ride on one bike, and these bikes are no bigger than the ones back home.  I could easily have reached out of the taxi window and shook hands with someone on the back of a moped.  These fearless bikers came within inches of the cab.  The cab driver didn't seem to worried about running anyone over either, he would just honk incessantly if someone was in his way or close to being run over.  The taxi driver was amused at how amazed we were by the chaos of traffic, yet how couldn't we be, there was more traffic than New York City, almost no traffic lights to speak of, and everything on the streets was a free for all.  I was quite surprised when I saw an officer walk straight out into the street and point his baton at a biker and direct them to the side.  What law could there have possibly been that was just broken, that everyone else wasn't breaking?!

Stepping out into the city from the cab, all we could hear were cars and bikes honking and the regular murmur you would associate with a city.  There were street vendors, there was a worn down park, there were trashy streets, there were bikes everywhere (even on the sidewalks), and then there were two backpackers trying to figure out, what next?

Before arriving, we had read that to cross the streets, you just start walking slowly and deliberately.  Well now with traffic in front of us, this seemed like quite another thing.  We kept watching and timing traffic for a break to walk through....but no luck.  Spencer and I figured, well, if everyone else is walking across the street, then we should have no trouble.  So we walked.  It was an adrenaline rush to step into traffic and let it part around you like the red sea.  By the time we reached the other side, we high-fived each other only to realize that we need to walk across yet another busy intersection.

We walked around to a couple hotels and settled on something that seemed mid-way between cheap and nice, so it was a nice cheap hotel.  Though we were only on the 4th floor, the walk always feels like it takes forever, the stairs just keep going.  Mind you, it's actually the 5th floor because they start counting at floor zero. Also, these buildings are maybe 12 feet wide but yet 8 or 10 stores tall.  Our first meal of the city was appropriately some Pho at a local restaurant and then it was back to the hotel for an attempt to recover from traveling.

We walked out of the hotel around 8 PM and it was as if the city had transformed.  The streets were filled with a dizzying sense of chaos with the neon blinking lights, the yelling of street vendors, and the every-present honking of bikes.  We meandered a little ways an ended up at another small street side restaurant.  However, along the way, we decided to be a little adventurous and cut through an alley.  It was fine until a rat the size of Master Splinter ran out in front of Spencer and made him start skipping his way down the alley at quick trot.  I laughed, but I was watching out for the next rat otherwise I'd be the next one running.

Here's where the day begins to change.... we were tired but thought the best way to overcome the jet lag is to stay up and form a normal sleeping pattern.  Agreed.  So we thought the best way to stay out is visit a little bar and have a few beers (maybe one or two).  These bars down the street had set up plastic chairs and tables (much like you would find in a kindergarten class room) all the way to the street and onto it.  Almost every seat was packed with tourists and locals watching the traffic and other bar patrons.  So we joined the crowd.

Our next set of acquaintances were a businessman from Australia here for a conference, Kelvin, and a Chinese man on vacation between jobs, Wap (I think).  Kelvin told of some awesome sites to visit in Thailand and where to go in the Mekong delta, all of which were duly noted.  One particular place was an island with cliffs you can rock climb, and if you fall it's right into the ocean, so no need to worry, he says.  The first thing Wap told us, "Don't go to China."  We laughed and he looked at us and said, "Really, don't go to China."  He went on to explain why, but the comment of the night which stuck with me was his joke, "The great thing about America is you are free to curse the American president. You see, China is also a great place.  We too are free to curse the American president!, but really, don't go to China."

At this point, we've now exceeded our expectation of two beers, but the people are friendly, and the night is young so we stay out.  Some travelers sit down at the table next to us and we start up another conversation.  This is a group of 6 ladies mostly from the UK and one from San Francisco.  They all teach English at a local school and were taking their night off to come to the side of town that stays up late.  And with that we joined their group to bar hopping down the street.  They were a friendly and talkative  bunch, and some were quite steady drinkers apparently.  Wap disappeared at some point, but the jovial Kelvin gladly joined us as we searched for different bars.  At some point we ended up at a shady little bar with a pool table in the back, a bar in the middle, and something resembling a dance floor in the front.  It was here that we saw fit to part ways and end the night.

If you've ever watched the movie, "The Hangover" then you might have an idea of how we felt the next morning.  Except, no one was missing, there weren't any tigers in the bathroom, and there weren't bottles strewn across the floor.  So really, I guess it was nothing like the Hangover, it was just two guys waking up very hungover and in a strange new environment, and we were waking up at 4:30 PM.  We think it was the combination of drinks, new atmosphere, and jet lag, because we were much sicker than expected.  It pained us to do so, but we called downstairs asking when dinner would be served and the hostess of the hotel answered, "Good Morning!!"  Apparently she knew that we hadn't been out of the room all day.  We tried to stomach the dinner of soup, banana, and tea.  The hostess was very kind to us, but kept laughing at the long faces we had just sitting there like two corpses.  Needless to say, dinner was the only excitement of the day.

At some point last night, we did a survey of ourselves and were glad we had made it back to the hotel with our wallets.  Which was when I noticed that within the first day I had managed to have my brand new camera stolen.  While we tried to sleep all I could mutter about was losing that damn camera.  I should have known better, if it hadn't been in a pocket down near my knee, then I would have been able to keep track of it.  Oh well, live and learn.  Today, we've got an early start at 6:00 AM, and we're determined to make up for the lost day.  It's unbelievable that we are already on day 3, though we did spend one whole day sleeping.  At least we're sure not to go out drinking anytime soon!

Hopefully future posts will be shorter and with more pictures.  Though having the camera stolen made it difficult for me to post pictures of everything I've seen!  Cheers to whoever is reading!

Off into the Wild Blue Yonder

It seems like just yesterday that I walked into a coffee shop (Starbucks of course) to discuss plans for the upcoming semester of studying countless hours of engineering textbooks, but walked out with an agreement to travel to Southeast Asia with my good friend Spencer the summer following graduation.  The reasoning was simple, when else would we have an opportunity like this?...time with no responsibilities in which we could take off on an adventure for several months.  It would be the period between graduation and a job or more school (at the time I had no clue which options I would have.)  Most people would think of going backpacking across Europe, including myself, though Spencer had an answer for that, "I've already been there," he said.  Being slightly indifferent at the time (possible because I didn't think the plan would truly come to fruition), I went along with the reasoning and conceded to the destination of Southeast Asia.

The idea has grown over the past year.  It became a dream to hang our thoughts on as we worked many sleepless nights throughout the semester.  It became a goal to work for.  It became something to discuss when we were tired of debating the derivation of equations.  As the summer came, it also became a marking of time we had remaining to pursue other activities.  However, it wasn't until that little button "Purchase" was pressed on a deal finding website for plane tickers that the dream started to become a concrete plan.  And now, after waiting until the last minute of the last day (as usual for me) to purchase, plan, and pack, it is actually sinking in that in 4 hours I will be cooped in a plane for 12 hours. (Great....)  We'll head out there with no true expectations other than to see, do, and go where we haven't before.  So our bags are packed and "we're leaving on a jet plane..."

The First Post..

...I guess it's about time I started up a blog, whether it be due to the fact I said I would or the mere fact that I'll have to keep up with the crazy traveling friend of mine that has a head start.  Given this is my first foray into blogging, I have but no clue where to start other than ramble.  And with that, you've successfully read my test of the blogging software ;)