Running Commentary

Usually we try to avoid posts like this, because we can't imagine that a play by play of our lives can be that exciting for you guys, but we are so behind on the blog, I thought I'd give you the run down of our last month or so.

We left Siem Reap for Phnom Penh, which was about a six hour, uneventful bus ride. We ended up on a local bus and were reminded quickly how much Cambodians like their food. We stopped at a restaurant for a full on breakfast about half an hour in, and then, because how could we possibly miss lunch, we stopped again, at precisely noon at another restaurant so everyone could have a full lunch!

We finally arrived and were greeted by about twenty tuk tuks staking out the exit and running up and down the side of the bus trying to get our attention. 'Hello! Hello! You want tuk tuk!!' It wasn't a question. As we were the only English speakers on the bus we knew that this overwhelming welcome was directed at us. Its pretty much constant harassment until you finally get into a tuk tuk. Then, of course, they don't want to take you to the guest house you ask them to, because they won't get commission unless they bring you to their guest house. After a significant amount of further negotiation we ended up on the correct street. Bonus. When the whole schmaouze is taken in stride, its all really more entertaining than frustrating. If only I could remember that tidbit at the time! Phonm Penh was ok. We had a chance meeting with this cute, young British couple that we had met in Lao, Emily and Ben. It was nice to see them and they passed along to us a 'travel book of questions' that had been started by an American last year and had been passed from traveler to traveler since then. The idea is that with a world of questions, it would be interesting to share some answers. Every person would answer the question posed to them in the book by the travellers before, they would then write their own question and pass the book along. The book started in India and has so far traveled to Nepal, Kenya, Cambodia and Vietnam. It has a ways to go before the book will be full and sent back to it's creator, but we thought it was a fun idea and an intriguing read.

Phomn Penh has a nice wide boulevard along the Mekong to walk along where groups of people gather in the evenings for entertaining dance classes and good food. AND we found a non-corrupt post office where a nice lady sold us all thirty nine stamps we need for your postcards at (gasp) the actual price of the stamp! Savings = $9!!

Mostly, we needed a Vietnamese visa, which our guesthouse was more than happy to arrange for us.

We boarded the bus to Saigon and the ticket guy wanted our passports. He wasn't able to explain why he needed them, and it seemed like a stupid idea. Everyone else handed their passports over without argument. Finally someone explained in broken English that they needed our passports to fill out paperwork before we cossed the border, and we would get them back as soon as the paperwork was done. It seemed weird, but we reluctantly handed them over. We didn't get them back, immediately, of course, even though I asked about every ten minutes, which was a lot considering it took us about four hours to get to the Vietnamese border. We stopped for lunch on the Cambodian side of the border and someone on a motorbike scooted our passports away. It was annoying. By this point, our driver and ticket checker hated me. Finally, when we got to the Vietnamese border, the officer had all our passports and was calling our names to come and collect them, having already been cleared. All was well.

The first people we met in Vietnam when we got off the bus in Saigon, were very helpful, giving us directions, helping us find an ATM and negotiating a taxi for us. We were surprised after all the horror stories we had heard from other travellers about Vietnam. Saigon is a big Vietnamese city and, not being city people ourselves, we mostly just wanted to arrange a ticket north. I couldn't resist stopping in at the market though and being pulled around (literally) from stall to stall to check out the offerings. The tourist thing to do in Vietnam is to buy an open bus ticket from Saigon to Hanoi, picking which cities you want to stop in. It is ridiculously cheap, which we would find out was reflected in the complete lack of comfort. The buses are all 'sleeper buses,' a phenomenon that we had not yet experienced in Asia. We generally prefer to travel during the day when we, and our driver can fully appreciate the hairpin turns and pot-holed roads in the light of day. Sleeper buses have three rows. One on each side and one down the middle, and two high. The back of the bus is sometimes more of a free-for-all, lined side to side with seats. About that personal space... each 'seat' is a teeny weeny, partially reclining bed that would make Kate Moss feel squashed. The buses are in various stages of disrepair and disgustingness. You are given a flee infested pillow and stinky blanket, which are best used for shoving into the gaping holes of the seats as a thin barrier between your back and protruding metal structure of the seat. Anyways. $37 and we have a ticket from Saigon to Hanoi, covering about 900km, stopping in Mui Ne, Nha Trang, Hoi An, Hue and Nimh Binh. Vietnam, here we come!

First stop, Mui Ne. Mui Ne is all about the beach. The beach is long, white, beautiful and sweltering. All the shade is owned by upper class hotels and restaurants that line the beach and display prices in US dollars - never a good sign. We did find one fantastically situated restaurant on stilts over the water at the far end of the beach. It was cheap and the view was fantastic. Of course, the food took about an hour to arrive (no exaggeration) and generally you would only actually end up getting about two thirds of what you ordered and have to re-order the missing meal parts about twice. Not that we were in a rush to go anywhere. I could have sat there in the cool ocean breeze all day. Sometimes we did.

Mui Ne is very popular with windsurfers and kite boarders. There was a consistent breeze and huge waves, and they provided great entertainment, that and watching paste-y tourists fry like fish on a barbecue. Mui Ne's other attraction is its nearby sand dunes. We took a jeep tour one day out to a dramatically picturesque stream of unknown importance, white sand dunes for sleddding, and then to watch the setting sun set ablaze the glowing red sand dunes. The wind was whipping around in a fury the afternoon that we arrived at the dunes. Every tiny grain of sand felt like pins on our skin as we tredged (some more willingly than others) to the summit equipped with a thin, slippery, sheet sled. We were sharing one, because it would be crazy to waste a whole extra dollar to rent two... I, for one, was super excited. I declared to Jonathan that I was going to claim the front and he could sit behind me. Judging by the amount of time and effort it took to get to the top of this dune it was very unlikely that we were going to make the ascent again. We had one shot to make it the most fun sand dune sledding experience of our lives! My sledding partner was significantly less enthusiastic. The sled was lacking in space. We didn't really manage to fit our full selves on the sled, which was probably mistake #1. Then there was the dilemma of where to hide our bags from the evil flying sand, how to actually stay on the sled and how to make it 'go.' Safe to say there were multiple other 'mistakes' over the following thirty seconds, as we catapulted (or rolled, depending on your angle) down the steep dune. Its hard to say how it all really went down, but what I do know is that in the end, we were at the bottom of the dune with sand in more places than I ever, EVER thought imaginable. Jonathan, I don't think, particularly didn't enjoy the flavour of this Vietnamese sand. 'Wasn't that fun!!?' I asked, after spitting out my mouthful of sand and began plotting how we could get back to the top. Apparently not.

Back on the bus we headed north again to another beach town called Nha Trang. Nha Trang was actually a full fledged city compared to small town Mui Ne. Nha Trang has the whole beach side city down to an art, however. The beach was six kilometers of soft, white sand, coconut palms and pounding waves. They had sea-doos for rent, speedboats and beach chairs. The most amazing thing about NhaTrang was the abundance of palm trees planted along the edge of the beach that offered fantastic, free shade. We would start our morning hiding in the tiny amount of shade under a coconut palm, but as the hours wore on, the shade kept increasing it's coverage and we followed it closer and closer to the water. By four in the afternoon the whole beach was in the glorious shade and the locals came out to frolic in the water while the sun-seeking tourists packed up their red bodies and moved on. In Nha Trang everything you could possibly need for a comfortable day on the beach (and much much more) was delivered to you by a constant stream of ladies, who wore full pants, sweatshirts, hats, scarves and gloves and carried a pole over their shoulders on which two baskets of whatever goods they were peddling. When it finally stopped being annoying, it became very entertaining, but more on that later. We really enjoyed Nha Trang and being able to spend the entire day on the beach, in the shade. Plus, they made some good chai tea!

The dreaded evening came when we had to board our first sleeper bus, to actually sleep overnight. Ahhh! The bus was over an hour late and we were beginning to wonder/hope it wouldn't show up at all and we could put the ordeal off until tomorrow. It came though. We were two of the last people to get on. We ended up at the back of the bus. To our amazement the windows at the back of the bus were the only ones that opened! Score! At least now, when we woke up in the middle of the night, mid air as result of a massive pothole or ninety degree turn we would have the benefit of fresh air as opposed to the 'air conditioning' aka stale smelly air that barely leaked from the air holes.

It was a gross, sleepless night, but we arrived safely in Hoi An, the old UNESCO world heritage village. Conveniently, the bus dropped us off right in front of a reasonably priced hotel where we scored the perfect room with a balcony! It would be hard not to fall in love with Hoi An. The buildings in the old quarter are old, peeling and colourful. Shops are brimming with colourful clothing, scarves, books and lanterns. Fishing boats plow the river, restaurants have picturesque views, there is a lively market, delicious food and, get ready, 19 cent draft beers! Sure, its super touristy, but for really good reason. Its fantastic. Every other shop is a tailor who wants to make you a silk suit, dress, skirt, shirt or coat tailored to fit you perfectly. For very, very cheap. Its all undeniably pretty and tempting. Its the perfect town for wandering.
We took a day excursion to the My Son ruins, which were interesting and set in a beautiful lush jungle, but paled in comparison to Angkor. The best part about our excursion were the two London-ers we met. Liz and Libby were on a two week vacation and were super friendly and interesting. Plus, I got to dream shop through them as they took advantage of the super deals on silk dresses and jewelery. We ate some fantastic food together and enjoyed great conversation. With any luck we will rendezvous again when we are in London in December!

Another important day came and went in Hoi An with Jonathan's Birthday. We enrolled in a cooking class at the Morning Glory restaurant. We had eaten the best Vietnamese food thus far at the restaurant and figured the cooking class would be a good bet. The morning started with a tour of the local market. It was fascinating to learn about all the interesting fruits and veggies, a little traumatizing seeing various animal parts and more than a lttle gross wading through fish guts, but it all added to the cooking adventure. Back at the restaurant we cooked up the most delicious Vietnamese food. My favourite was, by far, the fresh spring rolls overflowing with the fresh herbs and Jonathan really enjoyed a local specialty, the savoury Hoi An pancake. After a little afternoon siesta we set out in the evening for drinks at an atmospheric riverside restaurant. Oh! And the best thing about Hoi An, I almost forgot, are the hundreds of colourful, silk Chinese lanterns that are lit every night all over town! The evenings are absolutely beautiful with everything glowing in the soft light of the lanterns. Its a splendid setting for any evening, let alone a birthday celebration! Not willing to let my darling husband celebrate his 29th without official birthday cake, I took him to a western style cafe that made fresh ice cream and had a glass display of the most delicious looking, sweet, chocolate-ly, rich cakes we had seen in eons. It was his birthday, after all! This was all for him. Jonathan chose a cheesecake and I settled (after much deliberation) on a Chocolate double cream cake. After singing Happy Birthday we devoured our very yummy cakes in a very small amount of time. YUM! Yaa for Birthdays!

The morning after the celebration we left Hoi An on a three hour late bus for Hue, a city not so very far away. Our plan was to spend the day in Hue and then catch our last night bus north that evening towards Hanoi, but get off in Ninh Binh a smaller city about 9okm south of the Capital. We ended up on a seemingly random sleeper bus leaving from a parking lot that a taxi took us to. There was a large group of people at the travel agent waiting for the bus to Hanoi, but we were singled out to get in a taxi and go to this other bus. It was strange, but not alarmingly so for Asia. I hopped on the bus to snag the back seats by the window that opened while Jonathan took our bags to be stored beneath the bus. 'He only let me put one bag under the bus, Jonathan said when we got on. We were tight enough on space as it was without having to share our crib size bed with a bag too. I decided that that was stupid. We have small bags, compared to the houses that most travellers cart around, surely they could squeeze our tiny bag under the bus. I carried the bag outside and was putting it under the bus on top of our other bag when the luggage packer started having a little fit. People pay busses to transport packages, mostly of the massive variety to cities they pass on route. Mr Cranky wanted more room for the multitude of boxes he was trying to jam into the compartments. 'Ninh Binh' I said, glaring at him and pointing to our bags as I secured them both in place. He threw his hands in the air and stormed off to his buddies to complain. As I got back on the bus I began to wonder if I had made a mistake. Would our bags go missing in retaliation? Would they be delivered to some random roadside stop along with one other oddly shaped packages rolled in cardboard? I was pretty concerned. I hung my head out the window and watched for the rest of the lengthy packing process. Our bags didn't come flying off in a fit of rage, which I considered it a good sign.

The bus stopped in the middle of the night for a break at a restaurant. Because who isn't hungry for a meal at 1 am? I got off to go to the washroom. Getting off the bus is quite the ordeal. I was on the top bunk, so first, after locating my sandals, which have to be taken off before boarding the bus and stored in a plastic bag, and some toilet paper (a complete take-along necessity) I climbed down from my bunk being careful to place my foot in the tiny space beside the person below me's face, as opposed to on top of it. This is especially hard when one is half asleep. Then, in the barely one foot wide aisle I had to negotiate my way around all the extra people that the bus has picked up enroute who are now sleeping on the floor in the aisles. Then, I need to remember to hold my breath and plug my nose while passing the on-board bathroom, not trip over people's plastic bags full of luggage, their children or their limbs hanging from the beds I pass. Finally at the front of the bus I struggle to put my sandals on, while holding my toilet paper between my teeth. Once off the bus, of course, there is a line for a dirty, smelly, toilet paper-less squat toilet. When its finally my turn, the door doesn't really close and I have disturbed all the night's creepy crawlers banging around in the dark trying to hold the door shut, my pants off the floor and attempting to get the least amount of pee on my pants as physically possible. Its a good time. My eyes are still half closed as I make my way past all the cheery, laughing, eating Vietnamese people back to the bus. No joke, I am two feet from the door of the bus when it slides shut with a decisive clunk. I am very, very annoyed by this point. A bunch of guys start laughing at my predicament. I whirl around and make it very obvious that I am not impressed. The driver is no where to be seen. The door won't budge open. There's no handle. I consider kicking it, the trick always seems to work with vending machines in the movies, but I decide against it. I can't be bothered. I stumble back into the restaurant and sit on one of the child size chairs at a pint size table, cross my arms and glare at the world. After a five course meal and a package of cigarettes and a half hour for his stomach to settle, the driver finally opens the bus door. I complete the same obstacle course in reverse and find Jonathan practically snoring in his little coffin-bed. 'What took you so long?' he mumbles. And so is the adventure of peeing on a night bus.

By some miracle, ourselves and our bags are thrown off the bus in Ninh Binh town. We are all a bit dirty, smushed and smelly, but we've made it! Success! We follow the lone guest house owner who has arisen at this ridiculous hour to wait at the bus stop for lost, exhausted travellers like us who are willing to pay just about anything for a bed that isn't on wheels back to his guesthouse and collapse in our new non-moving room.
Ninh Binh was going to be spectacular... later that afternoon...

P.S Say a prayer for dear OLD Jonathan who barely made it two weeks into his 29th year before pulling a muscle in his back. The first day he could barely walk, or get out of bed, but thankfully, he is doing much, much better everyday. The sooner he is back to his good, old, agile(?) self, the better!

Talk about my room

The kids that we were teaching English to in Siem Reap were the most entertaining after the class was over. Our last class of the evening ran from 6-7pm. I had a beginner class and Jonathan had an intermediate class. Although most of the kids in my other classes were older and in grade 12 or so, half of the kids in my last class were young. The Life and Hope Organization houses kids from the countryside who otherwise wouldn't have access to education and so the kids live in the Wat compound. I think they mostly just register for English classes to entertain themselves for an hour each night with a foreigner flapping their arms around trying to act out or draw the English words I was trying to convey to these beginners.

After class, one of the older boys would lock up the classroom for me and I would sit on an old desk on the open air hallway and wait for Jonathan's class upstairs to finish. Jonathan didn't have a watch or a clock in his upstairs classroom so I would send two of the young girls on the mission of letting him know that time was up. They loved their little responsibility and took it very seriously, running immediately upstairs when I let them go, to deliver the news. They would then wait for Jonathan to make his way down the dark stairwell and perform a dramatic 'drumroll' before presenting to me, 'your husband!' While those two little girls were on the husband retrieving mission the rest of the kids like to crowd around me, keeping me company so I wouldn't have to wait alone. First, they discovered that if they pressed their fingers into my reddish skin that it would leave a momentary white mark. This, was very, very entertaining for them. Having darker skin, their arms didn't create the same show as mine. It began with just a dozen boney little fingers pressing into my skin, but it soon turned into whole tiny hands gripping hand fulls of my skin and squeezing as hard as possible and then laughing hysterically when my skin turned white for a brief moment before returning to its 'natural' red... it would also later turn a 'natural' black and blue... but the kids didn't stick around long enough for that show.

When I finally convinced them that their poking did, indeed hurt, the resorted to sneaking up behind me and then reaching around to grab handfuls of my stomach. Jonathan thought it was absolutely hilarious. I suggested they go back to just jabbing me instead. Jonathan declared them 'Jenny Jumblers' as a group, as they so enjoyed 'jumbling my fat' and they quickly moved up the ranks to his favourite students.

In more acceptable behaviour, they would often run off as we were collecting our books and bags at the end of the class and return with fistfuls of wild flowers for us that they would then painstakingly arrange in our hair, only to fall out the second we moved. It was very cute ,though; and super thoughtful.

As we made our way out of the Wat complex the kids would all hop on their bicycles to escort us to the gate. Well, mostly they liked when we pulled them along like a bike train, but, either way, we always felt like the most important people on the street when we walked away to a deafning chorus of 'Goodbyeeeeeee! Thank YOUuuuuuu! See you when I see youuuuuuuu!' accompanied by what I'm sure was NOT traditional Khmer dancing.

One of the assignments that the kids from my intermediate class completed while we were there was to write a paragraph about their favourite room in their house. Most of the kids try so hard for their assignments and often wanted us to correct them over and over again until the sentences were just perfect. We were so impressed by their commitment, especially considering that their marks in the class, in the grand scheme really weren't that important as the program is not part of their actual schooling. One teenage boy in particular was disappointed that we weren't staying longer, as he was hoping to 'become fluent' from our daily before class chats.

Anyways, we want to share with you a couple of our favourite assignments. We love their vocabulary and how creative they are in describing their favourite rooms. Having attempted to learn a second language ourselves, we know how daunting writing paragraphs can be and think that these kids, having only taken a couple English classes previously are pretty great, and kinda funny:

Talk about my room

'In my house i like my room too much. Because it's so large that can contain a lot of thing in it. Especially it have veranda that almost of many flowers and brightly coloure. Inside room I have desk for studying, chair for sitting. So many books that I have. I can save or put it in the drawers under the table. And then have a lot of flower's pictures around it. either my family photo or friend's photos on the wall. So it make hapy to study. serch. read. and draw the picture that i need. So then I can look over the landscape outside the window around my room. And have a good fresh air too. So I love it and happy with it so much!'

My Favourite Room

'My favourite rom is that i like is a long room. It has a lot of everything like books, a computer, a fan, a bed, along pe, a branket, a rideo, a TV and a mobile phone. Because they make me easyer than each time. Whe I have free time i like tye my computer lessons, play music, play game on my computer and listen to rideo about currency of news.'

PS: Facebook is blocked in Vietnam, so if I am ignoring you-that's (probably) why.

Also: We've posted a bunch of pics from Angkor and Cambodia as well as Vietnam in our 'Flickr Photostream' which is the badge of rotating photos on the right of the blog ------------------------------------------------------------------------------->

Most important PS: Congrats Amanda and Shawn! Welcome to the world, Jack!!!

PPS. J, here. My personal apologies for that devilishly sarcastic arrow up there. I told Kristen that it is an insult to you, our family and friends, to point out which way is to the right. I just couldn't overpower her here. I'm sorry. I have let you down. Over and out.

PPPS. Blah, Blah, blah. I think its aesthetically pleasing and in no way was meant to be an 'insult.' I am just impressed that I managed to make a keyboard graphic all on my own!

PPPPS. keyboard graphic? I wasn't aware that we were using MS DOS here.

PPPPPS: Jonathan = boring, graphic-less blogs.

How to get left on the side of the road by your tuktuk

The temples around Angkor Wat are nothing short of spectacular. We bought a seven day pass for a whopping $60 that can be used over the course of a month. This way we could see as many temples as we wanted, and not feel rushed trying to cram them all into a couple days. We are here for two weeks anyways, so we figured we might as well explore this World Heritage Area as much as we could.

Today was our fourth day of 'Temple-ing' aka exploring the temples. 'Temple-ing,' according to its actual definition, which I made up, consists of me stealthily sneaking through ancient stone doorways and clambering over piles of ruins, pretending to be Angelina Jolie in Tomb Raider. I'm very believable, as you can imagine. If I had a riel for every person who came up to me and said 'Hey- are you Angelina Jolie rehearsing for Tomb Raider 3'.... ok well I probably would still be poor, as there are 4000 riels to the dollar, but still. I'm good.

Our first day out we ran into a great American couple we had met back in Luang Prabang. Tuk tuks generally take their fares to the same middle of nowhere restaurants in between temples where they are given free food or drinks or something in return. Although the restaurants are generally overpriced and serve sub-par grub, it worked out fantastically in this instance. Joel and Sonia are on a similar route to us and are great company. We were so happy to catch up with them again and hope that that will not be the last time.

Anyways, as I was saying, today was our fourth day 'Temple-ing' and, so far, we have gone through as many tuk tuks. We aren't doing well. Maybe we should come with a warning as Tuk Tuk drivers don't have good odds with us. The temples of are anywhere from 10-60 km from town. Most are closer than further though, and most of the main ones are all linked on a paved loop road. To get there, you need to hire a tuk tuk. You can, I suppose, bike to the closest ones, but in heat like this, I, at least, would probably keel over, so we splurge on tuk tuks to take us around. Prices range from $25 for the day to be driven out to further temples and $10-$12/day for closer ones. It all depends on your bargaining skills. Tuk tuks are abundant in Siem Reap. You can't walk 100m without hearing 'tuk tuk lady!' at least five times. It doesn't matter if you are walking past and obviously not looking for a tuk tuk, if you are sitting in a restaurant eating, getting out of another tuk tuk, or even IN a tuk tuk. They still ask you. Its like it's cumplusive. You spot a person and you MUST ask if they want a tuk tuk, regardless of common sense. Maybe its a disease.

We arranged our first tuk tuk driver through the guesthouse that we were staying in. It happened to be the same tuk tuk that picked us up from the airport. He was great. He was smiley and friendly and we loved him. As much as you can love your tuk tuk driver. We even bought him a Red Bull in appreciation. The next day we had to change guesthouses to a cheaper one. We arranged in advance with our tuk tuk to pick us up at our new guesthouse the next morning at 730am and agreed on a price. 730am came and went. No tuk tuk. We waited until 8am, watching the sun rise higher and higher in the sky as the morning got hotter and hotter by the minute. We finally gave up and started a hunt for a new tuk tuk. As I said before, its not finding a tuk tuk that's hard, as they are actively (and loudly) letting you know that they are there. Its getting one to agree to a reasonable price that takes time, patience and effort. Our new tuk tuk was fine. Not super friendly or anything, but he took us to the temple and back without any hassle.

A few days later we wanted to go again. We agreed to go with one of the annoying tuk tuks that are always harassing us when we walk down the street from our guesthouse. It was a bad idea to begin with. They are just so in your face sometimes, its easier to talk to them then try to walk past the human tuk tuk wall that they form along the sidewalk. We probably could have got the ride cheaper, but we really wanted to beat the heat, so we agreed. It seemed like a good deal for him. He took us to the ruins we wanted and he had friends there who owned a restaurant. He played cards literally all afternoon and we even ate at his friend's ridiculously overpriced restaurant, because we are good sports. He was ok.
We got back last night and arranged for him to pick us up again this morning. We showed him where we wanted to go and agreed on a price. Again, we probably could have got it a bit cheaper from a different tuk tuk, but we went along. It wasn't even noon and we had finished about half of the temples we thought we had agreed on. 'Ok, just one more left,' the driver said to us. 'No, four more left,' we said and we showed him the map again. 'No, I only agreed to the 'Grand Tour' those temples are in the 'Short Tour' he said like his personal naming of the 'Tours' made an iota of difference to us. 'Now I don't know what to do,' he said, like he was making some sort of big, difficult, moral decision. 'I do. I think you should take us to the temples we agreed on for the price we agreed to,' I said, about five times in a surprisingly nice tone.' I think you should give me a little more money,' he replied, 'You want to go eight kilomters out of the way, now.' I repeated my radical idea of Mr. Tommy the Tubby Tuk Tuk taking us to the temples we agreed for the price we agreed upon. (As named by ourselves). After all his apparent moral anguish, he came to the conclusion that it would be a better idea to leave us stranded at the side of the road. Seriously. I must admit that I was a little shocked when he actually drove off, leaving us standing there in a cloud of his tuk tuk's disgusting, dirty, black fumes. We hadn't paid him yet and tried to give him $5 for the fuel he used driving us as far as he did. He refused. He was making a statement. We were the ones being unreasonable, expecting him to take us to the temples we had agreed on for a the price we agreed to pay him.

Luckily for us, we were deserted in front of one of the many popular temples. There were tuk tuks abound. Unfortunately they were all there because they were waiting for their respective charges to return from exploring the temple. We figured that stealing a fellow travellers tuk tuk was maybe not a nice thing to do. We went back to the ticket checker. 'Ticket please, ' he said, even though he had checked our ticket about twenty minutes prior. 'We don't have a tuk tuk. Are there any here who haven't come with passengers?' We asked. 'You lost your tuk tuk?' he laughed. ' Don't worry! He will come back. He probably just went to the toilet or somesing.' I wasn't sure, but judging by the way our tuk tuk angrily took off, I didn't think he'd be coming back. I didn't bother trying to explain this to the ticket checker. 'Ok, thanks,' we said and looked around for another option. Tuk tuk tuk tuks everywhere, and not a one to take. That thought itself was almost funny. I was standing in front of a sea of tuk tuks, wanting a tuk tuk, and none were available! hmm
'Lets start walking,' was Jonathan's suggestion. We were about 15km from town. I gave him 'the look.'
Just then a single blonde woman pulled up in her tuk tuk. She looked just like the kind of woman who wanted to save the day. I (practically) ran up to her tuk tuk as she was disembarking. I waved at Jonathan to stay behind, because, (you've seen pictures) and the last thing I wanted was for this poor girl to run off terrified after her encounter with Big Foot's hairier cousin. 'Hi!' I called. She looked to her right, her left and behind her. Her fears were confirmed. I was talking to her. 'Hi?' she responded a little nervously. 'Soooo.. our tuk tuk just left us here because we wouldn't pay him more money... and I was wondering if we could hop a ride with you for the rest of your route?' 'Of course!' our new best friend, Luba, answered without a seconds hesitation. Wow, what a relief! We love Luba! We had already toured the temple she had arrived at, but we wandered through again with her, so we could get to know her a bit and profess our thanks in an unbroken stream of 'You are so nice! Thank you so much! We are so happy to meet you'. And genuinely meaning it too. Luba is originally from the Ukraine but moved to Israel several years ago. She speaks Ukranian, Hebrew, Russian and English. She was very modest about her impressive language skills and a very friendly and interesting tuk tuk companion. We toured the rest of the temples on her route with her and met for drinks and a traditional Apsara dance performance that night. What could have turned into a travellers horror story ended up being a fantastic experience that afforded us the privilege of meeting Luba, learning loads about Israel and being extended an open invitation to visit her in her town, just outside of Gaza, whenever we wanted. Thanks Tommy the Tubby Tuk Tuk! And Luba, of course!

I would like to say that our encounters with Tommy the Tubby ended right there, and that the last that we saw of him was the back of his shabby tuk tuk as it drove off. This, however, was not the case. Although, if this was one of those 'choose your own ending' books, that certainly would have been the ending I would have voted for. The evil villain riding off into the steamy afternoon in search of more tourists to rip off, and getting a really nasty sunburn on route, but never ever to be seen again. A fairy tale ending it was not. We arrived back at our hotel satisfied with our days templing and looking forward to a bit of relaxing before dinner. Low and behold, much to our dismay, there was Tommy, stalking around at the tuk tuk stand in front of our hotel. As soon as he laid eyes on us, it was clear that all that humming and hawing over the 'right' thing to do earlier had dissipated. Now he just hated us. Somehow in his twisted little tuk tuk mind, we had been the ones in the wrong. It was completely unacceptable to him, and apparently the whole tuk tuk mafia that now surrounded and backed him, to refuse to pay more when it was demanded. Before we had even gotten out of Luba's tuk tuk Tubby had gathered his posse and together they put on a striking performance of 'booos' giving us the double thumbs down. 'Bad people!' 'Not nice!' They called out as we walked through group which stood between us and the hotel. Jonathan, always the peace-maker, tried again to give Tubby $5 for fuel. (He hadn't taken any money from us yet, which was one of the most bizarre aspects of this whole sharade). 'I don't want your money!' He yelled in Jonathan's face. 'It is bad money. I want money, but not yours. I am rich and you are poor!' Direct quote. Seriously. Where as I burst out laughing at his ridiculousness, Jonathan was polite and courteous as he worked through the crowd that was the growing Siem Reap tuk tuk mafia. 'Blah blah blah' continued Tubby like a broken record, 'I don't want your dirty money!' It was getting a little annoying. Especially because it was forty degrees and they were direct barriers between myself and the air conditioning. Unfortunately restraint is something that I rarely am able to display. 'Great! Then there won't be any need for your (hand making talking gesture) every morning any more then, right?' I asked Tubby defiantly. Jonathan gave me a very mean glare. Apparently I had gone too far. Tubby and the Tuk Tuk mafia are all up in my grill and I get in trouble for a little jab! Jeez. I could have taken them.. all. I know Tae Bo! I was in Tomb Raider! Hello, did he forget that time I starred as Sydney in Alias? Fortunately, for everyone, Jonathan dragged me through the crowd by the ear (metaphorically speaking) before I got a chance to display any of my moves.

By the next morning, I was the picture of calm, cool and collected. Hard to imagine, right? But still, our feud with Tubby continued. From his end at least. I admitted that maybe it would be better if we just ignored the catcalls, which was a good decision, because by the time we left our hotel the next morning Tubby had permanently positioned himself outside our lobby and decided he would refer to us, individually or as a pair, I will never know, as 'Mr. Stinky.' 'Are you happy, Mr. Stinky?!' he yelled in Jonathan's face that first morning. I wasn't really sure what sort of insult that he was trying to convey, but from that moment on I realized how hilarious the situation actually was. Poor Tubby was there, everyday to greet us 'Mr. Stinky'(s?) and yell at us in Khmer until we were out of earshot. Which is less effective then he obviously thought. Not once was he out tuk tuk-ing. Harassing us daily as opposed to driving customers didn't seem like the best business plan, to me. But then again, maybe he is as rich as he claims. By the end of the two weeks we smiled and waved our goodbyes to him like we were old friends. He didn't wave back. I don't know about him, but we were going to miss his daily entertainment.

What made Siem Reap even better was a chance run-in with our friends from New Brunswick, Abbie and Dalen! We were wandering down the main tourist street and we so surprised to come upon their two familiar, smiling faces. We had met Abbie and Dalen way back in Malaysia and they had celebrated our 100th day with us. It was so great to catch up with them and hear how their trip had been since then. By now they will very close to heading back home to the Bay of Fundy for another great season of kayaking. With any luck, the next time our paths will cross will be on the water!

Life and Hope Angkor

Our current volunteering venture is with the Life and Hope Angkor organization at Wat Damnak, in Siem Reap. Life and Hope Angkor is 'an education-focused organization run by the monks of Wat Damnak. It is committed to breaking the cycle of poverty by providing loving support and access to education to the poorest and most vulnerable in Cambodia...' Again, we will be teaching English, only this time our classes are mostly comprised of adults and older teens. We are teaching three classes, from 4-7pm, every evening. Most of the students attend school or work during the day and come to the evening classes because they really want to learn English. So far, they are pretty entertaining and provide us with at least one giggle worthy statement every day. I say this in good humour, not to make fun of them, the same way everyone laughs when I try to say 'goodnight' in Khmer, which must be coming out something like 'I love to eat boogers' judging by the way they laugh when I make what I think are the correct noises. For example, on the first day, one of the boys wrote, 'It is exactly in the midle of the dessert,' which is funny because dessert is supposed to be desert, and he was meaning to say the the Marrakech market was 'exactly in the middle of the desert,' which is still funny, I think. Then another boy decided that you could buy and espresso at a pharmacy, which is probably what people who drink espressos try to use as medication anyways! haha

We are teaching beginners to pre-intermediate levels. In every class, I introduced myself and told the class a little about myself and Canada and then opened the floor to questions. Without fail, in each class, a cheeky boy would stand up and ask me how old I was, what my favourite colour was, and if I could cook. That was a new one. Could I cook? haha Was I filling out an application of sorts, I wondered. Was I passing?

Our routine in Siem Reap is getting comfortable (which is solely based on the air conditioning in our room). We get up early and bargain with a tuk tuk driver to take us to Angkor Wat or some of the surrounding temples for a few hours in the morning before the heat becomes to unbearable, then we come back to our wonderfully cool room for a few hours to admire our shower curtain and make our lesson plans for that evening before heading out for some cheap eats at our favourite restaurant before class. After class we meet friends for dinner, or wander around the fantastic night market to practice bargaining with the smiley Cambodians. If it wasn't forty degrees outside, we might just have found it hard to leave...

More on the absolutely magnificent temples of Angkor soon...

P.S. Happy birthday, Frank and Jodie!

Ode to the Shower Curtain

When people ask me what I miss most about home, besides my family and friends, of course, I always blurt out 'Maple Syrup' enthusiastically, without much thought. There are many other things that we find ourselves longing for, from time to time, but they always seem to elude me at the crucial moment when someone is awaiting my response. Shower curtains, for example, is a luxury that I completely take for granted at home. The fact that there is a specified area in which to shower, cordoned off by an aesthetically pleasing curtain that keeps all that water and soap inside the designated showering location, where it clearly belongs, seems to be the most obvious thing in the entire world, to me. Apparently most of the rest of the world doesn' t really agree, and in fact, we have not seen a shower curtain since we left Australia.

This may seem trivial, so let me paint you a picture of my curtain-less woes. The typical bathroom we have encountered has been approximately the size of a closet. In these closets-cum-bathrooms, there is scarcely enough room for a throne toilet, (when we're lucky), a sink (when we are really lucky), and an electric water heating box on the wall next to a small shower head (when we pay for it specially). The water heater and shower head hang somewhere in the one square foot of spare floor space between the toilet and the sink. There is no such thing as a 'shower' the way you are thinking about the definition of the word. As in, there is no special place in which to 'shower'. As long as you manage to keep the majority of the water in the bathroom, you can consider yourself successful. A 'shower' here simply means a hose from which water is able to flow onto your head (or chest, if you are over five feet tall). The 'problems' with this set-up (for me) are plentiful. First, there is the PSR (Pre-Showering Ritual) you need to remember before you can even begin to consider stepping under the water. This involves scowering the entire bathroom (ok, so there is a benefit to the tiny weeny bathrooms) and remove any toilet paper, waste bin that contains toilet paper (which they all do, because you never ever EVER flush even a single slice of TP down the toilet or it will surely cause a very embarrassing clog not only in your toilet, but probably in every toilet in the hotel, somehow. Believe me. We know (J: Kristen loves having the 'toilet paper excuse.' We like to learn things the hard way- it's more fun)... anyway, you remove towels, clothes, anything, ANYTHING that can't get soaked (besides the electrical outlets, which can't be removed, and apparently prefer a good dousing in water?) Thomas Merton famously died by electrocution when stepping out of a bath in Thailand. Being here, it is too easy to picture how that could have happened...especially to someone as absent minded as Merton. Anyway, why the ritual? Because everything is going to get wet. This includes the floor (more like a permanent puddle, really) and, horribly, the toilet seat. Midnight toilet runs become very frustrating when you have to somehow locate your sandals in the pitch black, fumble to find the light (which always seem to be located on the furthest possible wall from the bathroom) in your fifth different wet bathroom in as many nights, remember not to actually sit on the toilet seat, all while trying to keep your pj bottoms out of the floor that is now a puddle... and then, as you are reaching with your one spare finger for the toilet paper, you remember that you forget to return its rusty nail home after your shower!! EERRR!

Ok, so back to the actual adventure of showering. As you are standing there, trying to avoid touching the toilet with your bare legs, because that's just gross, you also need to keep your eye out for pesky mosquitoes, which thrive in the damp, constantly wet conditions. Water is flying everywhere and all I can think about is how wet the toilet is getting. We've tried to remedy this issue by leaving the toilet seat up while showering, and when that didn't work, we tried covering the seat with the lid, which was also to no avail. We've even tried to turn the water off while we lathered or whatever, and hold the small movable shower head so that the water could be more easily controlled. And while this method did lead to a significantly less wet toilet seat, it also led to more mosquito bites, more soap in the eyes and, really, have you ever tried to shower with only one hand? It's annoying.

So. You can imagine my joyous shock when we were checking out rooms in Siem Reap and I happened to glance in the bathroom and see the coveted shower curtain. I dragged Jonathan into the bathroom and closed the door behind us. 'Do you see this??!!! A special little designated showering area WITH a shower curtain!!' If he was excited he certainly did a good job of hiding it. Men just don't get it. 'We are taking this room, so you better get a good price!' I hissed as I appreciatively wrapped the damp, dank, but not yet moldy, dollar store (or riel store) curtain around me like a silk scarf. He rolled his eyes. 'You are absolutely nutso,' he said as he dusted himself off and opened the bathroom door to a very confused (and perhaps a little frightened) guesthouse manager who was still standing in the doorway waiting for us to decide whether we would take the room from her or not. At this point, she was probably hoping we wouldn't take it. I came out of the bathroom 'Ten dollars sounds good. We'll take it.' 'Ummmm, ok, good?' The manager asked herself. Then she turned in a dime and practically ran back down the stairs to the lobby.

Needless to say, we'll be hanging out in Siem Reap for a few blissfully dry toilet seat days!

Coming Soon...to a blog near you

Flying not-so-high with Lao Airlines

We arrived in Cambodia in style: via an airplane! We had a fantastic time at Sunshine School, but other than that, after a month (and one day) in Lao, we were ready to high-tail it out of there. We wanted to stay until Friday of our second week at the school and so we had to extend our Lao visa for one extra day. This involved a trip to the dreaded Immigration Office at which we were bounced around in typical Lao style to pay one fee at this window, fill out this incomprehensible paperwork at another window, pay another fee in a different currency at another window, redo the paperwork, pay another fee at yet another window and so on until we walked out of the Immigration Office with significantly lighter pockets and an insatiable urge to hop on the next bus out of town. Instead, we skipped our afternoon classes in favour of a trip to the travel agency where we purchased two very expensive plane tickets from Vientiane to Siem Reap with Lao Airlines.

I was pretty nervous about flying, especially with Lao Airlines and especially on the tiny 60 seater plane that was flying the route. I was telling friends at the school how nervous I was about the whole thing and realized how ridiculous I must have sounded to people who have never and probably will never, be on a plane in their lives. 'This plane is too small for me! I want a bigger plane!' Ok, Goldilocks. Either way, the distance was barely a few hundred kilometers, we had a stopover in Southern Lao, and the whole trip was going to take at least three hours. In the end though, I was pleasantly surprised. Other than the fact that my carry-on bag didn't fit in the overhead compartment, nor under the seat and therefore ended up under my feet.. that is allowed here, apparently. The flight was smooth, the service was great, and, they even fed us! Twice! Who are we trying to kid? It was the food that won me over. The first flight was about an hour, we flew low, probably because this teeny weeny propeller plane couldn't push us any higher, but it was nice to be able to watch the landscape unravel below us. They fed us breakfast, which included dessert. Yes! We landed in Pakse, Southern Lao, were run through exit Immigration and directly back onto the plane. There were only about ten of us on the second leg of the trip and my bag was able to have its own seat in the adjacent seats (J: believe me, it needs its own seat!). They didn't even go through this-is-how-you-buckle-your-seatbelt spiel on the second flight. As soon as we were on board, the engine roared to life and we took off down the runway. I guess you don't have to wait for an opening when you are the only plane in the entire airport. Then they fed us a 'snack' which again, included a dessert. After my heart, this Lao Airlines is. We landed a little after 9am and I had eaten two meals already! At least we arrived in Cambodia on a full stomach!