Soon, however, I was on a plane to Rome on a quest for a perfect plate of pasta. Italy was absolutely overwhelming with good food and historic sites to see. In Rome I visited many Roman ruins including the Coliseum and Forum, as well as the Vatican. Seeing St. Peters Basilica, climbing into the duomo with it's grand views of Rome, and touring the Sistine Chapel were experiences I will never forget. I spent a lot of time wandering around Rome and checking out its many other sites, plus enjoying a wide representation of cuisine from all over the country. From Rome I headed up to the hill town of Sienna, then on to Firenze (Florence...dunno how we ever got Florence from Firenze). Sienna and its central plaza were beautiful and gothic with numerous cathedrals, and Florence was simply overwhelming. So many museums and cathedrals to see! Highlights included seeing Michelangelo's David, Dusk and Dawn, Night and Day, plus Botteceli's Birth of Venus along with his Primavera. It was humbling to stand in front of such works that up until that point I had only read about in books for my entire life. The city is soaked in so much history (not the least of which was the extended influence of the Medicis) and lore. The food was more hearty here, being up in the Tuscany region with its fine wines. After Florence I zipped over to Venice to see that famous city of canals. Once again I was overwhelmed with history, museums and cathedrals, not the least of which was San Marcos where I finally got to see those confounding spandrels I read about in Darwin's Dangerous Idea earlier in the trip. I toured both on foot and in boats on the canals all through the city, sometimes just wandering aimlessly through the narrow back streets. After Florence it was back to Rome where I caught a plane up to Ireland. Italy was a whirlwind tour and I absolutely must return someday and spend more measured time there. If anything, Italy was even more overwhelming at the sheer quantity of amazing sites -- entire hordes of what would normally be considered national treasures are relegated to second-class status because of the limited nature of the human attention span. I could spend years in Italy and still feel like I'd missed most of it. With barely two weeks of Italy under my belt, I was off to Ireland.

Ireland was fantastic. After landing in Dublin I immediately headed over to the west coast and based myself in Galway. I finally had my proper pint of Guinness to celebrate the end of my trip and found many enthusiastic and friendly people with whom to chat while enjoying a pint. For the record, a "real Guinness" in Ireland is very slightly sweeter than our versions at home -- beyond that I thought they tasted pretty similar, which is to say fantastic. Along the way to Galway I met up with a local squeezebox player who plays sessions in the Galway pubs. There are tons of pubs in Galway and sessions in just about every one, every night. Soon enough I found myself with a scattering of new friends, most of whom were session players. One unexpected result of hanging out with my new friends was attending a wonderful performance of their world famous local choir as they performed all sorts of a cappella renditions of baroque music and songs with influences from all over the world -- including mambazo. A bunch of Irish choir singers singing and dancing mambazo was the last thing I expected to see there. I took a day trip out to the Aran Islands and visited the ancient stone fort of Dun Aengus, a ring fortification dating from the 8th century perched on vertical cliffs mercilessly pounded by the Atlantic. From Galway I rented a car for a couple of days and lost myself in the countryside of Claire; along the way I saw the impressive Cliffs of Moehr, the craggy hills of the Burren with its megalithic tombs and forts, and the gorgeous coast of the Connemara with its interior of lakes, bogs, and tea-colored mossy streams. Eventually I wound back up into Dublin where I toured the various impressive sites, including the magnificent and well-presented Book of Kells and its 1200 year old illuminated vellum pages. While in Dublin I dropped in on the font of so much joy in the world, the Guiness Brewery. I toured the gorgeous green Wicklow area south of Dublin, both the coastal regions and the Glendalough valley nestled up in the mountains with its wooded and peaty trails. I cannot say enough about Ireland. Suffice to say that I loved it, identified deeply with it, and must someday return for lengthy exploration of that resonate place.

Frome Dublin I flew to London where I visited for two days with my friends Derren and Lucy whom I had met down in Indonesia. They had finished their own trip by that time so I dropped in. They were magnificent hosts and the visit was a relaxing prelude to returning home.

Eventually I boarded that plane home, though, which took me back to the U.S. about one year and two weeks after I left. The return has been overwhelming in some respects as even the most familiar of things currently enjoy a renewed aura for me. I'm sure with time this will pass, but thus far, in addition to being with Susan again, it has been a nonstop sequence of seeing old friends, visiting favorite restaurants, and simply absorbing the atmosphere of familiar haunts. None of it has quite soaked in yet.

This quick summary of the end of my trip, like the Interlude, is woefully inadequate in detail. Someday I hope to flesh out the descriptions more fully.

So what about the world and the trip? Do I have any profound observations or lessons? Of course I do; I'm sure I'll still be coming up with them for the rest of my life. I will forever be thankful that I was able to take such a trip and for the support and understanding of my friends and family, especially Susan. But for now, I'll leave you with these shatteringly profound observations:

The world is big.

Okay, well that one seems obvious, but our planet really is enormous. You might think a year is big as well, but not once you try and apply it to travel around the world. You start off wanting to go everywhere and end up realizing that you have barely scratched the surface once you are forced to dispense with plans for visiting most of the world. Perception of time is an interesting side effect with regards to the size of a year. Since I was constantly busy, it seems like only yesterday that I left -- that memory is so vivid, as is most other memories along the way. So vivid, in fact, that if I sit down and think about it I can remember every single place I slept, every night of the year. That sort of fine granularity is incredible, but normally unavailable to us since when we stay in one place we tend to stack similar memories on top of one another, in the same slot, so to speak. So time flew, but I have this fine granularity of the memories that makes that same short year seem larger than any other in my life. Large as it may seem, though, it is still tiny when you try and wrap it around the whole world. Which leads us to:

The world is indeed round.

You might think that this is obvious merely because it is what you have been told all your life. Well, as a little game to myself, I decided to assume I did not know this and try and observe facts that would allow me to deduce this on my own. First off, based on my compass and other determining factors, I traveled roughly westward the whole year and ended up in the same spot. Ahah, the world is not flat! I traveled around in a circle, the world must be round! Well, not necessarily. The world could be a big cone, with the North Pole at the apex, and I could have merely traveled around a section of that cone. Well, well, well. I dispensed with the conical theory based on two things: first, though I never precisely derived the apparent distance, the horizon always appeared roughly the same distance away, and more importantly, the same distance away in all directions. So unless I was always on some bulging blemish on the cone then I must have been on something roughly spherical. More important in my conclusion, however, were observations of the stars.

Right off the bat I noticed one thing when I stepped off the plane in New Zealand, and even more so further down in Tasmania: All of the familiar constellations appeared upside down relative to their "normal" positions on the horizon. (I came up with a joke about how the Big Dipper, part of Ursa Major, looked upside down relative to the horizon: You know, I came up with several theories as to why the Big Dipper looks upside down here in the southern hemisphere, but none of them held water. Ba-dum-dump.) Take Orion, for example, the mighty hunter drawing his bow. Down in the deep down under, he appears to be standing on his head as he arcs over the horizon during the night, as opposed to up here where he appears to stand upright. As I gradually moved further north, Orion appeared to rotate relative to the horizon, and right on the equator he appears to be lying down sideways during his nightly arc. On a cone you would never see this since there is no curved topography to traverse as you move from the base to the apex. Hence I was moving over a curved surface of some sort as I headed north. Now it is still possible, since I never personally visited the poles, that we are on some sort of spherically bulging cylinder with truncated flat surfaces on the northern and southern extremities (think of a sphere with the 'ends' sawed off). I'll have to disprove that notion at a later date -- for now, I am satisfied with a sphere as a working model; failing a visit to the poles I'm sure I can deduce the completed sphere with a series of gravimetric measurements or some other indirect method.

Now there are perhaps those of you out there than might actually call me on the limited nature of my model. Nay, you might say, simplistic assumptions such as a mere sphere in three dimensions are completely inadequate topologies for explaining how we move through spacetime! Well, I do admit that the spherical model is only a convenient frame of reference for describing our daily motions. Those of you who want to discuss the finer points of how we are actually burrowing through a spiraling four-dimensional lifeline, the projection of which looks nothing like a sphere in three dimensions, are welcome to buy me a beer and settle in for a satisfying and chewy discussion.

It is wonderful to be home.

Matt

Excerpt from the Beer Lover's Almanac: Europe is beer heaven. There were so many brands and varieties to choose from that I really had no time for a lengthy analysis of them all. Alas, though, in Spain and Italy I focused more on the wines. As previously mentioned, I had my genuine pint of Guiness in Ireland, just slightly sweeter than our own pints. I also wandered around the hallowed buildings of Shangrila, yes indeed, the Guiness Brewery itself in Dublin. Rejoice! I must say, upon my return however, that I was launched into ectasy to be given a Sierra Nevada Celebration ale by Susan when I returned. Cascade Hops! How I missed it; Cascade Hops are something America can truly offer to the rest of the beer world.

From Hat Yai I took a bus up the peculiar appendix of Southern Thailand over to Krabi on the western coast. Krabi is a popular tourist destination, one of the launching points along with Phang Nga and Phuket for the peculiar densely vegetated limestonen islands that pepper the waters of the region. These islands are Hollywood favorites, popping up in such movies as The Beach and the Bond classic The Man With the Golden Gun. Here there is a choice -- there are many islands and a variety of tours, so Leonardo fans must launch from Krabi and Connery fans launch from either Phuket or Phang-Nga. The choice was simple for me. After a day of relaxing I hopped onto a bus to Phang-Nga with visions of women painted gold dancing in my head, along with midgets and men with three nipples.

Road travel through this section of Thailand yields a preview of the amazing islands to come. Up from the green flats rise improbable limestone outcrops and pillars, amazing formations encrusted with lush green vegetation and revealing dramatically hued rock faces colored with broad swaths of yellows, oranges, grays, whites, and black stains. These same formations, remnants of limestone mountains, extend out into Phang-Nga Bay where the shoreline crust has subsided below sea level.

The town of Phang-Nga is pretty low key without too many tourists. Undoubtedly this is due to the influence of the tourist vortex of nearby Phuket, the beaches and bars of which provide the center of one of the largest tourist scenes in Thailand. Not being in much of a beach or party mood, I assiduously avoided Phuket, preferring instead to wander around the decidedly local scene of Phang-Nga. Here I arranged for a full day boat tour of the nearby islands of the bay, secretly harboring an ardent desire to glimpse Khao Phing Kan Island and the pillar of Tapu Island, which together have perhaps evermore been dubbed "James Bond Island."

Early the next morning I was off in a jeep, down to the bay. Together with several other pilgrims from around the world we boarded a long-tail boat with an upswept prow. The wooden boat, like all the fishing boats of the region, was powered from behind with an exposed truck engine that drove a propeller mounted on a ten-foot long axle jutting out from the boat. By vectoring this pole the boatman could steer the boat, always launching a rooster-tail of frothy spray up from way behind the boat. (I eagerly thought I remembered James Bond being assaulted by one of these propellers, but I couldn't quite remember? Had he? I guiltily suppressed such blatant Hollywood-based reflections.)

We launched into the river delta, an enormous maze of narrow channels passing through mangrove islands. It was low tide -- the thousands of mangrove roots looked like frozen earthen pom-poms of fireworks descending from a vibrant green sky. We slowly worked through these channels, observing fishermen along the way and villagers wading near the shores with long nets, gathering shrimp. The villages were usually up on stilts, half over the water and half on the shore. Eventually the mangroves gave way as the estuary spread out into the dotted expanse of Phang-Nga Bay, where the bounty of bizarre islands awaited.

The islands, like the formations on the mainland, also sported dense vegetation on the tops and bursting out of every nook and cranny, along with the same beautiful hues of oranges, grays, and blacks on the limestone. Unlike the shorebound formations, however, those of the islands featured amazing caves and erosive formations from the timeless efforts of the sea -- undercut overhangs, with stalactites and other features that made the rock appear to be melting and dripping like slag. There were narrow pillars of rock jutting up out of the sea, often more narrow at the base than at the top, capped with a miniature jungle. We explored hidden bays, entering narrow gaps in an island, which then opened up to reveal enclosed bays with their own beaches and caves. Some caves were large enough to enter with the whole boat, sometimes featuring beaches within the caves. We disembarked a couple of times and explored caves on foot -- one of these caves in particular opened up into a completely enclosed oasis in the middle of an island, surrounded on all sides by cliffs and jungle. All of the caves had impressive formations of stalactites, stalagmites, frozen cascading waterfalls, and dripping columns sometimes thirty or forty feet high.

At one point, in one of the enclosed, hidden bays (Koh Hong), we noted a rainstorm out to sea and approaching fast. We took the boat into a cave for shelter, a cave which opened with low entrances both into the hidden bay as well as out to sea, away from the island. The cave had a high ceiling, perhaps thirty feet high, with a small hole that opened to the sky above. From this hole a brilliant shaft of light descended into the cave, lighting the walls and interior to some degree. Once the heavy rain hit, you could see the raindrops falling through this hole and down the pillar of light. Mesmerizing.

The rain did not last long. We soon continued our exploration of the islands. Up until this point we had been pretty successful in avoiding the hordes of tourists that spill out of Phuket for similar, but larger-scale, tours. This soon changed as we visited a so-called "traditional Muslim fishing village" completely on stilts over the water. Well, there was a detectable village there, somewhere, but the boats dump you off on a dock that only connects to restaurants and souvenir shops -- there was no access to the actual village, at least by walking. What a tourist trap. We didn't stay long. Soon we were back on the water, headed for the famous James Bond Island, secret headquarters of the villain Scaramanga.

Talk about a travesty of tourism. JBI is a nightmare, spilling over with boats and tourists trying to elbow past some twenty hawker stalls and a smelly public toilet. Everyone wants a piece of that island; I was no exception. I put forth a mighty struggle to put my mental filters in place and admire the island beneath the distractions. It is a beautiful place, a small beach curving around a tiny bay. In this bay lies the mighty pillar of Tapu Island, one of the striking columns, which I described earlier. In The Man With the Golden Gun, it is from this small island outcrop which the secret phallic weapon is to be launched. It is by far the best view, since by gazing out into the bay you put the mayhem of tourism behind you.

I was simultaneously thrilled and disgusted. I mean, I suppose I expected as much, but it never ceases to shock me when I'm faced with major tourist circuses. What is it about movie spots that so captivate the world? It's not just us, there were many tourists from all over Asia and Europe, all fascinated with Scaramanga's Lair. I finally decided that it must have something to do with the psychology of humanity that deals with mythology, gods, and heroes. These days we don't seem to have a mystical mythology to help define our world, so I think all that extra energy is spent constructing a new, superfluous mythology through the medium of mass media, movies in particular. Unlike in the old days, where it was unlikely that you would personally visit a famous rock in Hades or some other famous fulcrum of mythology, these days our new mythology leaps right out of the tale into our reality. We can actually visit the abodes of our heroes! Or so it seems. At the very least, it feeds the appetite for set lore -- I myself have confessed to such many times, just on this trip alone. You see it happening with Phi Phi Le Island, made famous in The Beach. Over in Cambodia, Ankor Wat received a big boost recently by appearing in Tomb Raider. And the double-edged sword of tourism has the unfortunate tendency to ruin that which it covets. Technically, JBI is part of a national park -- not that you could tell, except for a sad little neglected sign near the concrete fixtures of the public toilet that state all the rules for protecting the environment by low-impact best practices. The buck wins, especially in the Third World.

So it was with cursory reflection and a dash of shame that I excitedly and enthusiastically took photos of myself with Tapu in the background and a shit-eating grin on my face. James Bond Island! Look! I'm on Scaramanga's secret fortress! Whoo-hoo! Very cool.

We soon headed back to the mangrove estuary, changed now due to high tide. Along the way we noted some 3000 year old petroglyphs on some of the undercut walls of one limestone island, as well as another enormous cave through which we boated and watched swallows darting around hundreds of feet above our heads along the roof of the cave.

After Phang-Nga I hopped on a bus over to the west coast and boarded a northbound night train for fabled Bangkok with the intention of securing onward visas for several other countries on my itinerary. Visa acquisition can be a time-consuming process, so I ended up staying in Bangkok for longer than I initially planned.

Bangkok is urban chaos. It is a thriving, modern city on top of terrible traffic and pollution coursing through temples, markets, shopping districts, slums, canals, bazaars, and skyscrapers. Just about anything can be found in Bangkok, cultural endeavors, cultural boondoggles, and delights both high and low. I proceeded directly to the latest tourist ghetto along Kao San Road where there were so many travelers plying the streets it barely feels like you are in Thailand due to all the catering to Western tastes. It was early in the morning; hiding from the growing heat I ensconced myself in a coffee shop and watched the various bohemians and freaks from the Asian travel circuit wander up and down Kao San. Priceless entertainment for any serious people-watcher. As for my part, I started watching pirated movies in the restaurants after taking a couple of long walks around the areas surrounding Kao San, where the Thais still go about their business and day-to-day life in their neighborhoods.

That night I got a more proper introduction to the flip-side of how locals interact with tourists -- after a significant disagreement with a "female" pickpocket, during which I forcibly reacquired my wallet, I was rudely introduced to two flying shoes from the thief in question, earning a lump on the back of the head and a scary, evil-looking black eye.

Rather embarrassed and demoralized by my encounter with the welcoming committee, I initiated my visa quest and promptly started haunting the various shopping districts which featured airconditioning (ahhh! modern invention which we take for granted), net access, and modern theaters.

Eventually trouble came to town. Chris Tarr, of Chris and Than travel fame, dropped down from Chang Mai in the north. In no time flat we hooked up at a café on Kao San and caught up on all the times. Chris looked good, lean and tan; travel had treated him well. Together we began terrorizing Bangkok.

We hit several of the pubs and bars in the area, usually hanging out with some of the local acquaintances of the highly sociable Chris. Along with his friend Kay we went to visit the sprawling and vibrant weekend market on the north side of the town, bemused by the multitude of offerings: clothing, food, pet fish, turtles, pet animals such as dogs, cats, squirrels, just about anything and everything. I think I was most fascinated with the fish in the multitude of aquariums, a variety of exotic fish with which I was completely unfamiliar. We wandered randomly about the city as well, just exploring streets.

Here's the thing with streets in big cities in Thailand. You get these strange clustering of merchant regions, where nearly every shop on a particular street offers the exact same things. So you might have a street where every shop sells the same spices, or every shop sells images of the Buddha, or every shop is a textile shop, perhaps one street with linen and another with silks. Well, in Bangkok at least, this gets taken to extremes and has some peculiar manifestations. There is no such thing as a "one stop shop" sort of mentality there. It's all about the districts. So, for example, we saw streets crammed only with shops that dealt exclusively in marching band paraphernalia and trophies. One street where Chris was looking for a guitar had dozens of shops that all dealt in guitars, keyboards, drums, sewing machines, and power tools. Every third or fourth shop would be a shop that dealt only with army surplus gear and camping supplies, sort of an "overlapping" district where the specialty shops interleave with one another. How do such bizarre combinations of goods come to be in these shops? I mean, why doesn't one of these guitar / keyboard / drum / sewing machine / power tool shops someday add, say, toasters to its line of products? Simple. Nobody would buy them, because they'd be on that street to buy a guitar, keyboard, drum, sewing machine, or a power tool. If they wanted a toaster they'd go over to the egg-beater, computer, toaster, and theatrical makeup street. Jeez, get with the program!

Actually, I have a theory as to how it happens. I think it's a rapid crystallization process that occurs once a new product hits the market for the first time. Simultaneously, several of these specialty shops on different streets might all start offering the brand new widget, say digital barometers, and at some point the shopping hordes will settle on a particular shop on a particular street as the source of digital barometers. At that point, all of that shop's neighbors must begin stocking digital barometers or they simply cannot compete in what is now also the digital barometer district -- in order to effectively compete they must look identical to the dozens of shops up and down the street around them. See?

I rubbed elbows with these shopping hordes -- with products scattered all over the city, there's a lot of transport going on. There are several methods: taxis, tuk-tuks, buses, rapid transit rail, and boats. I mastered them all.

Taxis, the most expensive option, are pretty self explanatory. Generally I avoided these unless I wanted to avoid the hassle of the other modes of transport.

The mass transit train was a wonderful way to get around as well, assuming you were lucky enough that the currently limited deployment covers the area of interest -- generally I would use this in combination with one of the other options.

Buses are by far the most popular, and cheapest, ways of getting around. You can forget it, as a tourist, unless you are armed with a bus map that details the route numbers all over the city -- it is rarely a straight shot to where you want to go and often involves switching buses at the appropriate moments. They are sort of chaotic scenes, buses, with people piling on and off while the bus rarely stops moving completely at stops. There is a keen-eyed ticket elf that patrols each bus, who somehow tracks who has and has not paid in the churning crowd of passengers -- not only that, they know how far each person has paid to go, since the price varies according to distance. The ticket elves all carry this hollow, metal cylinder around a foot long and maybe two inches wide. In this cylinder are the coils of tickets (depending on distance) that are dispensed to customers, as well as a chamber in which the cash is stashed. They walk around shaking that metal cylinder at people, making the change rattle. Everyone eventually gets a visit from the elf, loudly shaking that cylinder -- feed the cylinder! Must feed the cylinder!

That boats are a transit option might seem surprising. Bangkok is crisscrossed with all sorts of canals, once being termed the "Venice of Southeast Asia", though these canals are not used for transport as much as they once were. A few of the canals, plus the main river, still use boats for transport. I hopped on one of these canal boats once when I stumbled across one, judging by my bus map that it must lead to the general vicinity of my destination. Standing on the dock of the narrow canal, I was somewhat intimidated when this long, roaringly loud boat ominously came speeding around a bend up to the dock, causing all sorts of wakes and barely stopping as people clamber aboard, sitting perhaps four abreast on wooden slats that cross horizontally down in the hull of the boat. Once people are more or less aboard, they raise sheets of plastic along each side to keep the murk of the canal from splashing on the passengers as the boat careens through and around all sorts of sharp-edged obstacles in the canal, which varies from perhaps thirty feet wide to a harrowing seven feet wide in some places. The variable width of the canal and the various obstacles encountered in no way affect the breakneck speed of the boat. Soon enough, a sub-variety of the ticket elf comes rattling one of those metal cylinders for payment (feed it! must feed it!), somehow navigating over benches or shuffling around the outside edge of the boat as it zig-zags through the canal. My attention was divided between anxoiusly judging the competence of the insane driver and worrying that the ticket elf would get flung overboard. At one point, on queue, the struts supporting the roof all folded backwards, lowering the roof so all the passengers had to duck way down in their seats as the boat, never missing a beat, zoomed under an arched bridge with perhaps four feet of total clearance above the water and maybe a mere foot above our ducked heads. Once the bridge was cleared the roof popped right back up and all the passengers sat back up in their seats nonchalantly. Since the plastic sheet splash-guards were raised along the sides, I only caught fleeting glimpses of landmarks; finally, on a guess and a lark, I judged that I must be close to my destination. As the boat slowed, never completely stopping, next to a dock I stumbled out and climbed up the stairs from the canal on unsteady legs. Much to my relief, I had guessed correctly and was right on the money. For a random experiment, that boat ride was much more than I'd bargained for.

Last, but not possibly least of the transit options, are the ubiquitous tuk-tuk drivers. There are seemingly thousands of these crazy sons of bitches terrorizing the city. A tuk-tuk, named after the noise the LP-powered engine makes, is a three-wheeled contraption, decked out with brightly colored vinyl and chrome, where the driver sits astride up front, legs to either side of the seat with a small windshield. The roof stretches back to the rear, where two, maybe three if everyone is small, people can sit side by side over the rear axle, which sports two wheels. These things aren't slow, gentle, pliant beasts of the roads. They zoom back and forth through traffic, typically outpacing cars and taxis, as the drivers alternate stomping on the gas and the brakes in a whirlwind path, somtimes even taking you to your destination. Actually taking passengers to requested destinations only seems to be a side hobby for these guys. Seemingly every tuk-tuk driver out there will insist on offering to take you to the best (naturally) places for women, drugs, or any thing else that even vaguely seems like it might be on the black market. They almost seem puzzled and hurt when they finally realize that you merely wish to pay them to take your requested destination. Naturally, extracting the right fare from these guys is a compulsory and extended bargaining ritual. As obnoxious as these guys are, you can't help but love their surreal and ridiculous presence on the streets. Someday I want to get a Bangkok tuk-tuk just for grins. I have since seen all sorts of three-wheeled auto-rickshaws, but the Bangkok tuk-tuks easily take the cake.

While adventuring in Bangkok, Chris and I had contacted Than's cousin Owen, who has been living in Bangkok for some three years. Furthering our adventures and aiming to see Bangkok in all of its glory, both sublime and sordid, we met Owen for beers and convinced him to take us on the Red Light Tour. Bangkok, as you may well know, is famous for its sex industry, though not so much these days as in the past. We checked out strip clubs in several areas, some more favored by expats and others more favored by tourists. On the expat side of things we visited the more relaxed Soi Cowboy, Nana Plaza, and perhaps the most amusingly named Clinton Plaza. At the end of the night we finally visited the famed Patpong district -- this last is where you find most of the tourist trade and outlandish sex acts (not as in coitus) that you might have heard exist in Bangkok. Despite the nature of our excursion, it was a pretty tame night overall.

Thailand is perhaps more famed for it's boxing. I had been wanting to see a Thai boxing match for a long time. Later in the week Chris and I met up with Owen again and attended a night of boxing. There were eight or so matches in the arena that night, of which we saw five. As you enter the arena, after having bought your ticket, you are handed a bit of cash in order to encourage betting! Each match begins with a prolonged period of jangly music where each boxer, always one in red shorts and the other in blue, sort of dance and stretch around the ring, kneeling, hopping, praying, and going through some sort of traditional (for luck) ritual for several minutes. Soon, the music continuing all throughout, the match starts and for the first two rounds of the five round match there is boxing but not too much really going on in the stands. Thai boxing involves strikes with the hands, plus blows with the legs, especially with the knees to the ribs in close quarters. After the second round ends, the crowd goes nuts, frantically waving and signaling with their hands to a cadre of bookies who ply the walkway in front of the stands, taking and noting bets, tracking the odds. This activity only intensifies during the third and fourth rounds, with loud oohs and aahs coming from the observers as one boxer scores a hit on the other. The noise from the crowd seems to die down a bit in the fifth round as people are resigned to their fates -- unless it is a particularly close match and everyone is yelling. I never could figure out the system of hand signals, even though we had someone attempt to explain it to us. The boxing was fascinating, though to be sure I was at least as fascinated watching the crowds in the stands.

Eventually my visit to Bangkok began to wind down. My visas had been acquired and Chris moved on, headed down to Malaysia and onward to Australia and New Zealand. On one of the last nights there, I had an unexpected surprise. Following a random shout of my name near Kao San, I was delighted to find my Australian friends Leon and Laura whom I had met all the way back in Bellingen, Australia, playing didgeridoos around a fire one night. It was great to see them as we talked long into the night.

My plans had changed. I had stayed longer in Bangkok than originally planned, plus I had decided to go overland through Cambodia on the way to Vietnam, since I had heard so many good things about it. In order to accommodate these plans I abandoned my plans to travel in the north of Thailand, trekking among the hill tribes. Perhaps someday I will.

Despite my rude introduction, I enjoyed Bangkok immensely. A vibrant city, no doubt with a vibrant future. Now I just have to go back and listen more carefully to that "One Night in Bangkok" song from the Chess soundtrack and see if it now has additional resonance for me.

I finally boarded a bus one morning. Despite a small delay incurred by running over a guy on a motorcycle at the end of Kao San road as he tried to cut on the inside of the bus as we were turning a corner (he was okay, just mildly scraped, the crazy nut) we were soon off through the rice fields of Thailand, on our way to the mysteries of Cambodia. A chaotic place, this border is one of the few land borders in the world where lefthand roads directly connect to righthand roads. Not that it matters -- since lanes are fairly arbitrary in practice, in both countries, formal rules are largely insignificant and the border crossing is a dusty, swarming cacaphony of freight trucks, pickups, rickshaws, donkeys, shuffling pedestrians, and maimed beggars.

Cambodia, there I was.

Excerpt from the Beer Lover's Almanac: Thailand is, along with most of Southeast Asia, predictably dominated by lagers of dubious quality, typically too sweet and too often revealing the twang of nasty preservatives such as formaldehyde. Beer Chang is perhaps the cheapest option; more palatably is Singh, which strives to present itself as more of a premium beer. And of course there are the ever present Tiger, San Miguel, etc. But miracles never cease! Much to my delight, I found examples of dark lagers in Thailand. In particular, in Southern Thailand, I discovered Black Tiger dark lager -- steeling myself for a cloyingly sweet sugar bomb, I insouciantly sipped the beer, hoping by chance to sneak up on a decent flavor. Success! The lager was crisp, with a perfect roasty balance, distinctly lacking all of the terrible hallmarks of most Asian lagers! Wonderful. Later, in Bangkok, I encountered Black Beer, by the same brewery -- it, too, was pretty good but edged more into that sweet zone which I so despise. So here's to Black Tiger, the first acceptable lager I have encountered in all of Asia.

Till next time, where I will detail adventures in Indochina,
Matt

So. I've got a lot of updating and writing to do -- and I intend to, if for no other reason than my own recollections in the far flung future. Below you will find a brief summary of where I've been, which should give a good indication of the size of the task. In the meantime, since these updates are no longer relevant, in the temporal sense, I will disable the Toadfriends mailing list that has been notifying you of these updates. Instead, if you are interested in relics of my past, you can check the site from time to time and find the updates. I will still employ the mailing list for general notifications, but there will not be many of them because I only have a little over a month left to travel! Inconceivable, really.

Actually, I have already completed the Thailand writeup; in fact, I had completed it, for the most part, when I was still in India prior to meeting up with Susan in Istanbul. What with the dillies and dallies, the update sat on my home mail server. Now it is entombed on that same computer due to some sort of hardware failure, but I plan on having access to it soon. So check back for the Thailand update in a few days.

So, oh so briefly: From Malaysia I ventured into southern Thailand in order to check out the amazing technicolor limestone formations that comprise the islands off of the west coast -- these same, lush islands have been featured in movies such as The Man With the Golden Gun and, more recently, The Beach. From souther Thailand I zipped up to Bangkok to deal with visa issues and rendezvous with fellow world stomper Chris Tarr. Together, along with Than's cousin Owen, we painted the nights of Bangkok in a frenetic burst of big city exploration including city sights, Thai Boxing, the so called "red light" tour, and night life amongst some of the most friendly people I've ever met in a big city (with at least one significant exception).

Due to bureaucratic entanglements with visa acquisition, I was in Bangkok longer than I planned, so I had to skip northern Thailand. From BKK I hopped on a bus over to Cambodia. I was stunned and awed by the crown jewel of Cambodia, the temples of Angkor Wat. I was disturbed and morbidly fascinated with the modern legacy of Pol Pot, the site of the "killing fields" where so many families brutally perished and their remains can be seen to this day.

From Cambodia it was overland to Vietnam, starting with Saigon (Ho Chi Min City). Hopping onto the tourist track that the government has encouraged, I worked my way gradually northward, reflective on the ghosts of war, the war which they, perhaps not surprisingly, refer to as the "American War" from their point of view. The people were extremely friendly and the food was nothing short of spectacular -- so many fresh herbs in everything! I checked out some of the war remnants, in particular the VC tunnels where I duck-walked to some of the labrynthine corridors in the scarred and blasted land. I particularly enjoyed the highlands around Da Lat, which provided a welcome respite from the crushing heat and humidity that is more or less inescapable all throughout Indochina. Beaches and ruins, particularly those of the Cham empire who were depicted so vividly in the friezes of Ankgor Wat in their battles with the Kmer. Eventually I made it to Hanoi itself, a far more laid back and less frenetic place than Saigon, but nevertheless choked with the same incessant horns and crazy traffic.

From Hanoi I had another brief stayover in Bangkok, Thailand, before embarking on an altogether different and unforgettable experience, brief as my glimpse was: India. Starting in Calcutta I worked my way up into the highlands towards the wonderful tea capitol of Darjeeling. After lining up the various permits, I headed up into the still restricted province of Sikkim to bounce around and trek a bit between the villages of the Indian Himalayas, where the people are more Nepalese and Tibetan in nature than "Indian." The mountains in this region are nothing short of spectacular. Being the tail end of the rainy season, however, I cannot say the same of the hungry and prodigious leeches. After several days in Sikkim I returned to Darjeeling.

I was in Darjeeling on September 11th; when I found out what had happened I was shocked, sickened, frightened, and felt very, very alone. I'm still dealing with the events of that day, as I'm sure we all are. The locals, for their part, were extremely sympathetic and concerned -- this goes for just about everywhere I showed up, but diminishing with time. This was fortunate for me, because after that day I did not see many American travelers until Turkey.

From Darjeeling I headed straight into Nepal. After taking advantages of the conveniences of Katmandu I headed up into the mountains and spent ten days trekking on the Jomsom trail. Trekking in the Himalayas was amazing, if short -- I need to come back some day and do a full month or so of trekking. The terrain is rugged, but the experience is more posh than pure wilderness trekking due the preponderance of tea houses and lodging all along the way -- the locals live in those mountains and use those trails every day, so providing for trekkers is a natural opportunity. The terrain is magnificent, from the lush lower elevations all the way up to the dry dessert climate of the Tibetan plateau. At one of the higher points I collected a few ammonite fossils from a river bed, proof positive that those mighty peaks were once on the bottom of a sea.

From the mountains I headed down into the lowlands, on the fringe of the Gangetic Plain. Here I stayed for a couple of days in a wildlife camp where I attempted to spot Bengal tigers, wild elephants, and rhinos. Of these I only spotted the rhinos, but heard elephants crashing through the forests and a lion chuffing in his sleep.

I then dropped back into India and headed out in the far flung west of Rajastan. Here I took a camel safari through the dessert dunes, inescapably aware of my proximity to Pakistan while the U.S. was pressuring their government for cooperation in future military action in Afghanistan. Rajastan was an amazing province. The lowlands of India are an absolute assault on the senses, a study of extremes. On the one hand you have some of the most divine and exuberant foods, colors, and architectural constructs, absolutely divine qualities which leave the senses humming. On the other hand you have some of the most depressing evidence of poverty and abject filth you could ever fear encountering. There is not much in between. This disparity recurs throughout all levels of Indian society and culture.

At long last, it was up to Delhi where I hopped on a plane to Istanbul in order to rendezvous with Susan. Turkey, strange as it may seem, felt like home for me after my adventures in so many countries of Asia. Turkey is an interesting fusion of western modernism and Muslim tradition. We had a wonderful time hopping around the country, inspecting seaside communities, the gleaming white mountain formation of the travertine pools, the incredible "fairy chimneys" and underground cities of Cappadocia (where we lived like Trogdolytes (or as Susan would have it, cave fairies) in rooms carved out of rock towers), ancient ruins including Troy itself, and the delights of Istanbul.

Due to the aftermath of sentiment resulting from September 11th, we figured it would be prudent to alter our original plan of traveling overland from Istanbul through Syria and Jordan down to Cairo. From Turkey we hopped on a bus and headed into the mystery of Bulgaria -- Bulgaria? Who the hell goes to Bulgaria? What's there? We didn't know, but it was on a map so we went to find out. There's plenty in Bulgaria, still actively defining (or rediscovering) itself after emerging from under the Iron Curtain. We saw many lovely villages, inspected the curious architecture from Bulgarian Revival days, visited wineries, monasteries, and beautiful Orthodox churches, walked in the countryside amidst the bursting colors of Fall and grand vistas, and helped ourselves to cheap beer of excellent quality -- something that had been sorely lacking for me all through Asia (quality, that is).

From Bulgaria we dropped down into Greece, thereby completing our circuit of the old land of Thrace, components of which reside in Turkey, Bulgaria, and Greece. We were floored by the monasteries of Meteora, perched precariously as they are on the tops of enormous rock column formations. We hopscotched down to the Cyclades islands, beginning with beautiful Santorini which is the partial caldera and cinder cone of an enormous volcano peeking above the waves. Naxos, Paros, and Siros were next. We were well out of tourist season, so many times we had the places to ourselves, other than locals. We celebrated Thanksgiving in Naxos. Highlights of these islands included sampling local wines and olives, plus exploring the ancient marble mines and quarries of Paros.

From the islands we headed to the southern appendix of Greece, Peloponnese. We started of by visiting Kalamata, epicenter of one of the most fantastic olive delights on the planet -- though I must say that having toured Turkey and Greece my appreciation for the sheer variety and tasty quality of olives has shot through the stratosphere. It was harvesting season. In addition to the Kalamata olives themselves, olives intended for oil production are grown here as well. We stormed one olive oil facility and the workers, amused at our interest, were kind enough to explain the workings in broken English -- all the while we both had fresh, unfiltered olive oil straight from the spout on a big hunk of bread, dripping down our chin and forearms. We rented a car and enjoyed a drive through the countryside, inspecting castles and ruins from the days of the Venetians. Circling back north on the west coast, we headed out to the island of Kefolonia, part of the Ionian islands. Next door to Ithaki this island was part of the domain of our famed adventurer Odysseus; more recently it has featured in Captain Corelli's Mandolin. The highlight of that visit was another drive around the staggering countryside, some of which reminded me of Hwy 1 in California, winding along cliffside roads and dropping in on gorgeous beaches with imposing surf. Heading back into Peloponnese, we took a slight detour on the north coast in order to ride the rack-and-cog narrow gauge train up the vertiginous walls of Vouraikos Canyon. Continuing, we stopped at Corinth to inspect the ancient ruins and sheer walls of the Corinth Canal, which connects the Agean and Ionian seas.

Finally, we were in Athens, city on the move in its massive efforts to prepare for the 2004 Olympics. Here we made the pilgrimage up the Acropolis to pay homage to the Parthenon, as well as down to the gorgeous Sounion cape to admire the Temple of Poseidon. The weather was cold, but the ruins were nevertheless spectacular. We also rendezvoused with Ninos, family friend of Susan's, who showered us with spectacular hospitality and fed us well.

Wrapping up the visit to Greece, we hopped on a flight to Cairo in order to pick up the trail of our original tickets. We only had a few days in this ancient land, but we made the best of it by visiting the astonishing and eccentric archaeological museum (King Tut! Yes! Plus the mummy exhibition including Ramses II) and the breathtaking pyramids of Giza, Dahshur, and Saqquara. Due to the decline in tourism to the Muslim countries of northern Africa, we once again enjoyed relative calm and privacy in our explorations of these most touristed wonders of the ancient world. Unfortunately, pollution from Cairo obscured our views for the first part of the morning (the pollution can be quite shocking, even worse than Delhi), it eventually cleared up. All together we witnessed the three great pyramids of Giza (and the sphinx), the step pyramid of Zoser (eldest of all the great pyramids), and the so-called Bent Pyramid and Red Pyramid at Dahshur. This last is every bit as spectacular as the Great Pyramid of Giza (ten meters shorter!) and it was this pyramid in which we scampered some 65 meters down into the innermost chambers for a taste of what it might be like as a claustrophobic mummy.

Sadly, Susan flew home after Cairo, after an absolutely fantastic trip shared together. As for me, I continued on to Morocco. The main attraction in Morocco is the people and their activities -- primarily the medinas and bazaars whose labrynthine corridors you can wander endlessly without seeing the same thing twice. Like Egypt, however, Morocco was still celebrating the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which put a stint on most activities -- primarily eating during the day. A bit homesick and with Ramadan cramping my style, I didn't linger long in Morocco though it is an incredible place to which I would like to return and explore properly. Nevertheless, I explored Casablanca, Féz, and Tangier (of Interzone and Naked Lunch fame), my explorations consisting mostly of wandering around in the medinas, constantly reminding myself to lift my lower jaw which was constantly agape at the crush of people and offerings for sale.

From Tangier I hopped on a ferry and crossed the Straits of Gilbratar to Spain, braving Scylla and Charybda. Spain, wonderful colorful Spain, here I type.

I plan on spending Christmas in Seville, but will try to see Barcelona and San Sebastián (where I hear tell they've got some crazy festival in early January where the whole town dresses up and runs around berserk) before continuing to Madrid. From there I will fly to Rome and spend a couple of quick weeks in Italy, followed by a rapid visit of Ireland where I will finally get my true Guinness before heading home.

And there, in a nutshell, you have it. As you can see, my work is cut out for me because I have only scratched at the surface, here. It is difficult for me to gloss over so much detail and richness, but I suppose it's a larger crime to leave everyone wondering what the hell I've been up to and where I am.

So -- look for the Thailand update soon; hopefully from time to time I will finish my more detailed descriptions of the places I've mentioned above. I'll be home soon and look forward to seeing everyone again.

Tah tah,
Matt

Upon my arrival I immediately called upon my friend Jen Doran who has been working in Singapore for the last several years. Jen has a very nice high rise apartment overlooking a broad swath of the city where numerous construction cranes crouch atop buildings that will soon join their neighbors in the sky. Nearby are parks, theaters, shopping centers, restaurants, and all the perks one might expect in a modern city, especially along my favorite haunt of Orchard Road.

I don't think I ever fully appreciated the term 'unwound' until I arrived in Singapore. When I arrived I found oh-so lovely aircon, water I could drink from the taps, modern cinemas, great food of wide variety, and great company with Jen and her friends. No, perhaps 'unwound' is not quite the right term. More like 'exploded', like when you cut the tightly wound rubber bands beneath the rind of a golf ball. I got to Singapore and relaxed so hard I came to a dead stop. Jen, ever the kind and generous host, kept trying to stir me up and go see the sights, but she was hard pressed to dislodge me from my comfort-induced comatose sprawl on the couch bathed in cool, blessedly cool, aircon. Jen might have thought her friend was a stone gargoyle if it weren't for my occasional eyeblink.

Venture forth I eventually did, of course, but mostly to cinemas, restaurants, and any other air-conditioned biosphere in which I could comfortably ensconce myself while hiding from the humidity and mean rays of the sun. Mostly these stops were in between many of my "official" errands such as trips to the post office and stores for resupplies. During these "official" trips I somehow managed to see Shrek, Tomb Raider, and Pearl Harbor, the first movies I'd seen in months in a real theater rather than a pirated version on a cramped television in a bar. Shrek I found enormously funny and well done, Tomb Raider was satisfying in a roller coaster, eye candy kind of way since I was already a fan of both the game and Angelina Jolie, and Pearl Harbor was decent with some fantastically rendered battle scenes in the middle of a pretty sticky Hollywood Bermuda love triangle. The beautiful displays of Angkor Wat in Tomb Raider were particularly interesting, since I had already started thinking about visiting Cambodia -- the vivid cinemaphotography further inspired my plans. During one of my sedentary moments Jen and I rented Duets, with Gwennyth Paltrow and Huey Lewis. The movie was excellent, with more depth and dimension than I ever expected.

Despite my lump-like state, Jen did manage to show me around the town a bit. We investigated several outstanding eateries, including a set of hawker stalls where I was introduced to the tasty dish descriptively named "Chile Stingray," tasty white flesh we plucked straight from the flanks in a well-balanced sauce. These hawker stall areas are interesting places, the stalls surround general-seating tables. Your eventual meal is comprised of items from several different stalls; it eventually becomes clear that the various vendors keep meticulous track of who got what from where when it comes time to pay the bill. We enjoyed some awesome Indian food on the banks of the Singapore River; later we visited Arab Street in the Muslim quarter where I was thrilled to be introduced to the Indian Muslim dish murtabak, a sort of egg and flour pancake folded over with tasty lamb (or other delectables), onions and other seasonings. From that point on I was always on the lookout for murtabak and further along in Malaysia I enjoyed numerous examples, some fine and some bland, of that interesting dish. I think the one in Singapore was probably the best, though. For the first time in I don't know how many months I had a fantastic hamburger and fresh IPA at a brew pub (joy!) called Brewerks. Yes, the tasty food issue is well addressed in Singapore.

The nightlife was entertaining as well. A number of times we ended up out with Jen's friends and colleagues in various bars and had a great time joshing and socializing. One night I was amazed to see a very talented local band belting out some hard-edged blues, a treat for my ears. Despite one late night encounter with a vituperative and pugilistic "Buddhist" religious fanatic, the Singapore nightlife was favorable.

Most of the economic boom in Singapore was the result of programs placed by Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew after Singapore achieved independence from Britain. In so doing they gained control over the strong trading and merchant economy the British built. With that to build on, Mr. Lee strengthened the economy further even though the government was rather strict. Mr. Lee handed over his office to new blood in 1990, though he still maintains the title of "Special Minister" and as far as I can tell still has a lot of influence over the government. The reason I bring all this up is that Mr. Lee's house (mansion?) is only a couple of blocks away from Jen's apartment and we walked by it several times. Out in front there are always two stoic guards. The guards are supposed to be Tibetan Gurkhas, a warrior class that gained Western renown during battles with the British during some Indian territorial disputes. The British were so impressed with their prowess that they began recruiting them into the British army. These Gurkha regiments still exist today. I'm not sure if it was their reputation or the automatic rifles they carried, but I always felt a little uneasy when walking by the Gurkha guards.

I ended up staying nearly a week in Singapore, partly due to my enjoying myself, and partly due to train schedules. Leave I did, eventually, grateful for Jen's hospitality and hopeful that I did not overstay my welcome. I hopped on a train straight for Kuala Lumpur, capitol of Malaysia, where I was scheduled to rendezvous with Than, on his way down from Thailand. Than, of course, was in the final phase of his own trip around the world with Chris and I had not seen him for ten or eleven months. Somewhere in Indochina Chris and Than parted ways so Than could wrap up his trip and head to grad school. So out of aircon comfort I emerged, hopped on the train, and set off to find Than.

The train ride was fairly uneventful. It was obvious that Malaysia had not prospered to the same extent as Singapore based on the condition of the towns I passed through, despite the fact that Malaysia has prospered far more than, say, Indonesia. I was shocked to see how much of the country was covered, I mean covered, with plantations of palm trees which are the source of palm oil. This appears to be a major segment of the agricultural-based segment of Malaysian economy; in the wake of logging, it is also the major reason behind the massive deforestation of the incredible jungle rainforest that used to cover the peninsula and Borneo.

In KL things are different, for it is a modern city on the move, buildings rising all around, though certainly not as squeaky clean as Singapore. I arrived and wandered around a bit before meeting up with Than. It was great to see Than; he had lost weight in his travels but appeared to be in good health. We dropped off our bags in our hovel and headed out immediately to catch up over beers. Relatively speaking, beer can be expensive in predominately Muslim Malaysia, but Than and I were enjoying the boon of a beer fund, a gift from Susan to Than and myself. The beer fund came with strings attatched, however -- I had to pass along a kiss from Susan to Than, on the lips. He squirmed a little, but I got him -- later he told Susan "Thanks for the kiss, but I wish you'd shaved first." With outstanding obligations summarily dispensed with, we talked well into the night, catching up on the times at the Reggae Bar in Chinatown.

Since we had a couple of days before our flight to Malaysian Borneo, we wandered around KL a bit. Mostly this was confined to Chinatown and vicinity, sniffing out tasty eating establishments. At one point we ventured up into Little India, which didn't really seem like a Little India, but was indeed heavily populated with Indians. On a lark we decided to go see a movie in this neighborhood, a movie that appeared to be some sort of action movie based on the imagery (we couldn't read the language) on the promotional posters. The movie was called (inexplicably in English) Citizen. Than later pointed out that it was a fine example of a formula "Tamilwood" flick from the Tamil Nadu region of India, heavily inspired by the "Hindi Films", or "Masala Movies", of the Mumbai region (i.e., "Bollywood"), as opposed to the art films that originally appeared in the Bengal region. The formula, as such, is bizarre. I have since seen a few more of its kind, but they seem to have several commonalties: a swashbuckling hero who simultaneously maintains some sort of underdog status and the ability to cry, elaborate fight scenes, some sort of social commentary, family bonding, a woman with pursuit and romance, and musical song and dance numbers. This last bit is the confounding one to Western eyes. It's not like what you would expect in, say, a musical. It's more like musical interludes, like a music video, sometimes woven meaningfully into the surrounding plot, but more often than not jarringly injected into the normal flow of the tale. Sometimes the entire wardrobes and set locations change for these gaudy musical interludes, which invariably seem like musical mating dances between the hero and the love interest who alternate pursuit with coy rejection, depending on who is singing at the time. The music is often pretty catchy stuff. These musical interludes are actually the core, the focus, of the movie around which everything else hangs. The fights are violent, and as in the case of Citizen, sometimes downright supernatural thanks to the use of wire work and instantaneous wardrobe changes. In between there is intrigue, dramatic emotional speeches, vindication, punctuated throughout with smoldering, manly gazes from the hero's lowered brow towards the love interest (who, by the way, does not have to have anything to do with the plot that produces all of the fights and conflict). There are also jarring transitions of genre in the movies, often going from comedy to romance to action to drama back to comedy, all in the same movie, but okay since it's really the musical numbers that are important. All in all, quite entertaining stuff but I'm not sure I could take a steady diet of it. I have heard that the key to enjoying the escapist Hindi films is to watch them on their own terms without any expectations based on Western cinematic tastes.

Than and I hopped on a jet plane to Kota Kinabalu in Sabah, Malaysia, on Borneo. Here Malaysia is comprised of the states of Sabah and more southerly Sarawak, both of which wrap around the tiny two pieces of the country of Brunei (nyah, nyah, we got all the oy-ell!). To the south is Kalimantan, Indonesian Borneo. We had a primary goal to climb Mt. Kinabalu, the highest mountain between the mighty Himalayas and Irian Jaya. After fueling up on some fantastic Chinese food and grabbing a few supplies, we teamed up with an English guy named Mark and hopped on a bus to the base of the mountain where we lodged for the night.

The next morning we joined up with two Czech girls, three Danish women, and our "guide." We set off up the mountain itself under a steady drizzle of cold rain. Through much of this ascent we passed through lush rain forest which gradually changed the higher we went from tropical into temperate rain forest. From time to time the vegetation would thin out on a ridge and we could be be visited with swift winds which rapidly chilled the sweat and rain we accumulated on the way up. These winds were our first taste of why the region is known as "Land Beneath the Winds". We caught occasional glimpses of the craggy granite humps and spires above us whenever the clouds opened up. Eventually, after five hours or so, we made it to the park-maintained lodge from where we would head to the peak early the next morning. It was pretty chilly up in the lodge, except inside the heated dorm rooms, but the main dining area had large windows with some nice views of clouds rushing past the slopes in the wind, occasionally, but not often, offering glimpses down the the mountain. The mountain, weather permitting is fairly approachable and not very technical. For this reason it is popular; I'd say there were nearly 100 people in the lodge that night with hopes of making it to the top the next day. Weather was not on our side, though. It was cold and grim that night and looked no better when we arose around 2 a.m. for breakfast.

Many people braved the cold, wet, windy weather anyway, to their credit. I know I wasn't exactly feeling enthusiastic about conditions, and I know Than wasn't either since he was sporting a lot of cotton and not much synthetic or wool. We joined the pilgrimage, though, and Mark, Than, and myself eventually managed to separate ourselves from the initial horde. The beginning was not so bad. It was chilly and rainy, but not so windy since we were on the lee of a major ridge. When we crested that ridge, however, things became miserable. Most of the horde stopped to warm up at a hut on the way up, after which they turned back. We continued trudging across the exposed granite faces, many times tugging on a rope that marked the trail so we would not wander off the dark slopes. The wind was howling and the rain seemed near horizontal. It was an irritating sort of cold that seeped into us, because it wasn't like the ambient temperature was freezing, but rather the wet and wind was still managing to unceasingly suck the heat out of us. All of our hands were numb, beyond feeling. All three of us suffered battery failures in our flashlights -- Mark had no replacements so he had to stumble along between Than and myself, relying on charity light. Than had a light bulb fail -- in a MacGyveresque moment we actually got to use that little spare bulb stashed in the back end of a mag light...bonus! At one point I had the bright idea of trying to capture our misery on film, but soon discovered that the cold had killed my camera battery as well. We were on the verge of turning back, and would have had my failed flashlight turned out to be a problem other than dead batteries. In those conditions we were not willing to rely on a single light. Still, we kept going and the wind only got stronger. Eventually things started to lighten up a bit as the sun began to consider rising. At one point, soon after sheltering in the lee of a large granite boulder, we encountered a couple of people on the way back down who gave us the encouraging word that we were not far from the peak. In a renewed burst of energy we climbed up to the final section where we boulder hopped to the top. Than and I took rapid turns hopping up onto the tallest boulder, from where in the howling wind we could see all of about twenty feet due to the rushing clouds, even though it was now light. Than and I nearly immediately began descending. Mark, on a quest for a view and whom I'd been encouraging with the possibility of the clouds breaking before we got to the top (but not really believing it myself), was sort of looking around slightly confused and wondering whether we could shelter behind a boulder and wait for the clouds to break. Ahh! Regretfully, I informed him that there wasn't a chance in hell that the clouds were going to break and that he would have to familiarize himself with simply getting to the top as being a sufficient reward unto itself.

We got our reward. Mt. Kinabalu, 4101 m (13,455 feet), granite edifice cloaked in loud winds, rain and clouds. I was pleased, under the circumstances. We scurried back down the mountain to the lodge, marveling at how much longer it seemed on the way down (no doubt due our being even more cold than on the way up). Our reward was enhanced once we returned to the lodge, for it turned out that of the 100 or so people that tried that morning, only around eight, including us, actually persisted and made it to the top where their grand view of boulders twenty feet away awaited in that cold wind. This weather was not very typical for the mountain; normally grand views are to be found when the sun rises. It was our lot, though, and I feel like we made the best of it. Find your challenges where you can, I say.

When we got back to the lodge we ate some hot foods and dove back into bed for a rest and a nap. Later that day we descended, remarkably, without encountering any more rain. Part way down the mountain our "guide", in a very guide-like action, pointed out a pitcher plant to us. The slopes of Kinabalu are famous for the abundance of exotic plants, including several species of pitcher plants (one of the largest of these ever found on Kinabalu had a dead rat in it!). It was the first time I'd ever seen such a thing in the wild. Just before this amazing feat of guiding, I had been snacking on some chocolate-covered almonds and had proffered one to our guide. I sort of guiltily amused myself by speculating whether or not I should say "good guide" and offer him another treat in the hopes that we would get more sights pointed out to us. Heh heh. Well, we did pretty well on our own. Once we were below the clouds there were some fantastic views of the valleys below the mountain, which we dutifully admired.

After leaving the mountain we hopped on a bus to Ranau, from where we caught a ride to Poring Hot Springs. Along the way, somewhat irritatingly, the clouds completely dissipated from around Mt. Kinabalu and offered us clear views of all the spectacular granite features of the peak...I think we were being mocked. Poring is a popular weekend getaway for the Malays, a pretty area whose main attraction is hot baths fed by sulfur hot springs. The baths were built by the Japanese during WWII and offer both hot and cold feeds (from a nearby stream) directly into each bath. The hot springs were wonderful for our aching bones that had been battered, chilled, and abused on the slopes of the mountain. That night I slept extremely well.

Most of the next day we spent relaxing. Since we were feeling pretty sore, eventually we set off to inspect some of the other sights in the park in order to stretch our legs. The first of these was the "canopy walk," a network of suspended walkways that cuts back and forth high up in the trees of some of the surrounding virgin rainforest. I didn't exactly know what to expect when I heard about this, but it was astonishing. The walkways, built like thin suspension bridges maybe a foot wide on the walkway with surrounding side nets and ropes, were sometimes 40 m (135 feet) above the forest floor. I was nearly paralyzed with vertigo in some places. Eventually I pointed this out to Than and Mark, telling them that it was strange that no matter how hard I tried to steady myself I still felt disoriented as though I were moving around. Than pointed out that it wasn't my imagination, that up high in the trees we were no doubt moving to and fro along with the treetops in the breeze. A very useful observation, since once it was pointed out to me my mind could grasp the physical explanation and I immediately felt better and more steady on my feet. Part of the original struggle was that I thought it was my imagination. Nevertheless, staring straight down over 130 feet of tree trunk is a bewildering perspective.

After the canopy walk we set out in search of a couple of waterfalls that were rumored to be up on the surrounding slopes. Our legs were barking at such rude treatment so soon after Mt. Kinabalu, but with the exertion came some relief as our muscles loosened up (I can't say the same for the knees, however). First was a small but pretty waterfall, soon followed by some caves that were really gaps formed in the crevices of a pile of enormous boulders. There in the lush rainforest these green boulders lay, and we amused ourselves by climbing around in them for a while. They also serve as a home for a small bat colony, a few members of which we disturbed in our explorations.

We still had not made it to the main waterfalls and were beginning to wonder whether we would have enough daylight to actually make it to the falls and back. I was the only one with a flashlight and its battery life was dubious after the mountain. Mark turned back at this point, mostly because of fatigue I think, but also because he had no interest in walking back through the rainforest at night. Than and I kept going, setting for ourselves a deadline where we felt we could make it back while still light. We promptly ignored the deadline, of course, because we kept getting tempted by what seemed to be good waterfall terrain "just around the corner or over the rise." Alas, after eschewing one turnoff in favor of trying to bag the higher, but rumored to be more impressive, waterfall, we did not make it. Eventually we had to admit that there was no time left and we headed back down the mountain. We decided at that point, in light of the less-than-desirable conditions of Mt. Kinabalu that we made the best of, that we weren't in actuality going for a waterfall, but rather a beautiful walk through pristine rainforest. So after retroactively redefining our goal, we had a dazzlingly successful hike, making it back to the springs on the cusp of darkness.

Along the way I noticed an itch and discovered that I'd picked up a tiger leech on my abdomen, an interesting dark brown sort of leech with jagged yellow patterns rising on its sides. They are one of the few species of leech that, not only do you feel, but slightly hurt when they commence their grizzly feeding. Rather than strike at the ankles like most leeches, tiger leeches like to hang out on vegetation about waist level and hitch a ride from there. Since I had no leach removal kit (salt) I left my friend on until we finished descending. While Than was preparing a couple of the baths with hot spring water I detoured to the nearby restaurant to borrow some salt. The leech, by now, had grown quite fat. I gleefully doused him with salt and he plopped onto the ground where I buried him in a pile of the stuff. Pointing out the pile of salt covering the leach, I said to Than something along the lines of how it was fair to say the leech was suffering from a salty battering.

We spent a couple of nights there in Poring. I have to say, there appear to be two sorts of nights. "Big bug" nights, and "small bug" nights. The first night we were there we saw an astonishing array of enormous bugs, most of which were the flying variety. Beetles, with and without elaborate horns, buzzed around like alien hovercraft, frenetic wings supporting bodies that were as big, if not bigger, than an average humming bird. There were huge, exotic fat wasp-like things that looked like they could sting, one of which commenced to do to the hapless table cloth after we had trapped it beneath an upturned glass. Perhaps most interestingly was a huge relative of the cicada. Built exactly like our cicadas, except around five inches long with bright colorations of green, red, yellow, and black. This was an entertaining night for the naturalist in me. Mysteriously, though, the next night was strictly a "small bug" night. I didn't see a single oversized bug that night, but there were swarms of smaller bugs flying all around. Little moths, fly-like things, normal-sized praying mantises, as well as some sort of winged ants or termites who might have been relocating their colony or sending out a new generation of queens to fend for themselves in the lush, bountiful but unforgiving rainforest.

From Poring Than and I parted ways with Mark and headed to Sepilok. Here we visited the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Center. In an increasingly rare reserve of virgin rain forest, the center is a gathering spot for orangutans forced out of their habitat or orphaned by the encroachment of the ever-expanding palm oil plantations. When they get the baby orangutans they hand feed them and eventually put them with foster brothers and sisters during their rearing. Over time, they reacquaint the orangutans with the jungle in stages, taking them out to platforms set in the reserve. As they mature they go to farther and farther platforms until finally they are left at the farthest area. Here there are daily feedings, but the orangutans are free to come and go as they will. Some come back on a regular basis, some come back only sporadically. Oftentimes female orangutans that were raised at the center will come back with their babies for a quick bite and to show off their progeny. It is these feedings that also generate funds for the center by offering tourists the chance to see the primates in action.

We set out to see a morning feeding. To get to the platform you head out on a long boardwalk through the jungle. This walk offers some fine views of the surrounding trees and it eventually widens into an area where there are a few benches and wider spaces for standing. Near this area is a feeding platform set away from the boardwalk, and there are a series of ropes strung between trees leading to the feeding platform. We immediately spotted a couple of orangutans lazing around in the trees, no doubt waiting on their food. Also prevalent in the tree tops were big sleeping nests which orangutans build every night out of sticks, a woven platform of sorts in which they lounge at night. Eventually a ranger appears on the feeding platform with some bowls of milk and a bunch of bananas. The orangutans come from all over to get the goods. The youngest ones cling to their mothers all along, sometimes venturing out on their own but not for very long. The slightly older ones are more adventurous, but are still terrified of the largest menace around feeding time: the greedy macaques. The macaques are ever-present on the periphery, nicking bananas whenever they can. Sometimes it's just scraps, others it's the direct result of intimidating the smaller orangutans and stealing the food. They give a wide berth to the larger orangutans, who seem to barely notice the pesky scavengers.

The orangutans are amazing to watch. They are so human-like in many of their mannerisms that it can be disquieting. On the other hand, they regularly perform such graceful maneuvers while brachiating with those long arms from tree to tree and along those ropes, using their legs as often as arms, you can't help but notice how different they are. It was always endlessly amusing to me when one of the little ones would hang upside down with his feet, or one foot and one hand, and sort of idly look around, seemingly without a care in the world. They do, of course, have cares in the world. The macaques are not discouraged because it is part of the rehabilitation, learning how to deal with such things. There was one sad moment when a young orangutan was right below me on the edge of the boardwalk. She got shanghaied by a group of marauding macaques after she had darted away from the platform with a bundle of bananas for a little private feast. The macaques swiped the bananas and she started crying, like wailing, nearly human sounding but not quite. She continued the whining keen the whole time she scampered back to the platform in the hopes of getting more bananas. Unfortunately, at that point there were no more bananas so she had to content herself with finishing off a bowl of milk.

There were lots of tourists watching all of this. So many that it was sort of uncomfortable, but I think it was nevertheless worth it. Seeing those orangutans was one of my favorite bits of Malaysia; once you start watching them you hardly notice anyone around you anyway.

That night at our guest house, Than and I were invited to a birthday party of one of the long-term residents. Sepilok is host to researchers of all sorts, including a research center dedicated to entomology. The research centers, aside from the researchers themselves, also attract graduate students of all sorts. This crew was a group of such students and volunteers. They mostly were working the entomology angle, but some were soil specialists. As a group they were very interesting, certainly not they typical sort of crew you meet on the road. Over shots of homemade rice brew we had many interesting conversations about life, dirt, bugs, schools, and the tropics.

The next day Than and I set off for a "jungle camp," a featured attraction in the area, an activity that purports to give the traveler a real sense of what it's like to camp out in the deep jungle and spot native wildlife. We were going with long-time operator "Uncle Tan" who was one of the first to set up such excursions in the area. "Uncle Tan" is a real guy, an older round-bellied gregarious fellow who loves to talk. In town, at least, he delights in cramming you full of food as well. Uncle Tan has stories, many many stories, all of which he will eventually tell you, sometimes multiple times. They're not bad stories, they're actually pretty interesting, but there is also this sense of how he seems to toot his own horn. Anyway, Uncle Tan likes to characterize himself as a bit of an unconventional environmental activist; most of the stories typically involve this theme. When we met him he was apparently recovering from his second heart attack, so lately he has not been personally supervising the jungle camp itself. The camp is advertised as a bare-bones experience, out in the thick of it, and it is.

We headed out in a bus to a village on the bank of the Kinabatangan river, largest river in Sabah (second largest in Malaysia), which winds its way through a huge flood plain and forms numerous oxbow lakes which teem with jungle and wildlife. At the river we hopped into a boat and enjoyed late afternoon wildlife spottings along the banks as we cruised towards the camp. There is a lot of critters along the banks of the river. In part this is due to how much of the river is the only bits of jungle left, strips of jungle left over from the palm oil plantations. The wildlife gets pushed closer and more densely around the river. Along the way we spotted macaques, many varieties of hornbill, and perhaps most remarkably man sightings of troupes of endangered proboscis monkeys. The potbellied proboscis monkeys, males in particular, have these huge, dangling, bulbous, semi prehensile noses that are really quite improbable looking. Perhaps predictably, it is because of these protuberances that the monkeys are hunted an eaten because they are rumored to enhance the virility of he who consumes the monkey. This, combined with severe loss of habitat, are the two primary reasons the proboscis monkey is endangered, despite their being a protected species. All in all, it was a quite pleasant boat ride.

The camp was indeed basic, consisting of little more than a set of open-walled shacks with some sleeping pads and tattered mosquito netting. The camp is operated by a group of young guys who may or may not be various relations of Uncle Tan. It's hard to say. There were around fifteen or twenty guests staying there with us. Theoretically, guests are entertained by going on 'safari' walks and boat rides, all aiming to spot wildlife. In reality, especially with that many people stomping around, the walks are sort of noisy and any wildlife with any sense of self-preservation has long since vanished by the time people stomp into the vicinity. For this reason, Than and I avoided these walks and ventured out on our own a couple of times. Other than some monitor lizards, birds, and butterflies, we weren't much more successful. At night, though, we at least got to spot some curious beasts around the camp. First, the huge and comical looking bearded pigs. These look like big hogs, but with generous, bristly sideburns and jowl hair covering their faces. More rare, we saw a Malay civet nosing around, a sleek looking critter with round ears and marbled with white and black splotches. While lazing around camp we saw all sorts of insects and, delightfully, a couple of pygmy squirrels, no larger than my thumb, darting around on the trees, rumored to be one of the smallest mammals on Earth.

Unfortunately the camp was suffering a bit from lack of oversight, mismanagement, laziness, or all of the above. Things just weren't "together". There were no actual "guides" while we were there, who were supposed to lead the walks, things such as water were not provided as promised, there was typically not enough food, and the whole camp simply lacked any sense of order or anyone being in control of things. The situation was just sort of sad because it gave me a sense of Uncle Tan having completely lost his edge and his enterprise going to hell in a hand basket. He has plenty of competition, now, so the situation will either improve or Uncle Tan will fade.

Despite the operational glitches, I enjoyed myself, especially the occasional wildlife spottings and socializing with the other campers. We did manage to get another boat trip up the river, largely similar to the trip out but at dawn rather than dusk. We saw more examples of some of the wildlife I noted, as well as some impressive crocodile sightings. Than and I departed the camp that same day, passing by our friend Mark (from the mountain) who was on his way in. Later we heard from Mark that there was a big argument amongst the camp staff and the cook quit, and the one guide who returned from vacation as we were leaving was also considering quitting because of poor pay. C'mon, Uncle Tan.

All things I read about the area indicate that the wildlife we actually saw is a tiny slice of what actually exists. I personally talked to other people who spotted orangutans. There are persistent reports of rare elephants, rhinos, and otters. It's a bird watchers paradise -- I soon found myself envious of the binoculars some of the birders had brought out to the camp. Than and I returned to Uncle Tan's headquarters intending to impart all the problems his setup seemed to be suffering from, but as soon as we arrived he stuffed us full of so much tasty food and good stories that it took all the wind out of our sails. I think he's good at that. We decided to leave the complaints to a couple of ornery Australians we knew would be returning the next day from the camp.

So we left and headed back towards Mt. Kinabalu to a village that rests in the shadow of the mountain, where we stayed at a comfortable enough guest house run by, of all people, a redneck from Jackson County, Florida, who had gone native in a big way about eleven years earlier and was currently raising a family. The next day we embarked on a long series of bus rides, from Ranau to Tambunan to Keningau to Tenom. The most remarkable aspect of these rides was the countryside through which we passed -- for once, it appeared to be some large expanses of jungle (perhaps secondary, though, post-logging) rather than endless palm oil plantations or rubber trees.

Tenom was a relaxing town. Than and I splurged on a room with aircon and promptly headed out for some food and exploration. The next day we had to kill some time before catching our train north, so we headed to the Tenom Agricultural Center and Orchid Center for a few hours. This is a huge complex where they carry out all sorts of agricultural research and development in the region. The publicly visible portion of this takes the form of landscaped acreage distributed around large ponds. The gardens tended to be ornamental in nature and in many cases the gardens were dedicated to a specific species of plant. For example, there were gardens that specialized in beaugenvillas, lilies, hibiscus, cacti, and perhaps my favorite, carnivorous plants. All were well done. The cacti garden was a bit surprising, in the middle of the tropics, but the representative plants were diverse and apparently healthy. The carnivorous plant garden heavily featured pitcher plants, many species of which were found right there in the region, especially on the slopes of Mt. Kinabalu, as I mentioned earlier. Other plants on display with predilections for proteins included sundews, bladderworts, and venus flytraps. The ponds in between all of these gardens were interesting since many of them were filled with enormous lily pads around four feet wide. Each pad had an upturned lip around the border around two inches high. I saw no frogs on the beasts, but they seemed capable of supporting some monstrous frogs.

Orchids were the real specialty of the center. There were two Orchid centers, one for native species and one for hybrids. Unfortunately, the orchid centers were closed when we were there. Apparently visitations are by appointment only. No matter. Than and I at least managed to sneak into the native orchid center. Lushly landscaped around a moat with all sorts of overhanging green canopies, this center was nothing if not verdant. However, there were hardly any blooming orchids to be found. I don't know if it was out of season or what, but there just weren't too many in bloom. The ones we did find, however, were beautiful in that orchid kind of way. I don't know about you, but when I look at orchids I vacillate between admiring a pretty flower and suspecting it is the visage of some sort of alien organism. Orchids just seem so creature-like with eyes and expressions, sometimes, rather than just a flower.

We then hopped on the train back to Kota Kinabalu. Two trains, actually, with a change in Beaufort. The first leg of this journey is well known for its views of the jungle as it travels down a valley in between jungle-encrusted mountains. These days the jungle is perhaps not as lush as it once was, since a decade or so ago a big fire swept through the region. You can still see the bleached trunks of the old primary growth jutting up through the new, surprisingly established, greenery along the way. The river had several sections with some tasty looking rapids in it, making Than and I wish we had kayaked down. Most of these observations were from the back of an open, flatbed railcar since we were chased out of the first windowless car by a constant plume of diesel exhaust.

About midway to Beaufort the train stopped and we all had to hike about half a mile up the tracks to wait for another train. The reason for this was a derailment of another train from a couple of weeks earlier. The derailment occurred on a bridge over a shallow ravine, where we could see the engine mostly fallen off the bridge, near-vertically rammed into the ground at the bottom of the ravine. The back of the locomotive was resting up on the bridge, mostly sheared off of the rear wheel transom. The bridge itself was quite damaged and the tracks were extremely warped and twisted. There were large earth-movers on the scene, constructing an enormous earthen ramp from the top of the valley down to the ravine, presumably so they could eventually bring some cranes down to drag the heavily damaged locomotive out. The locals claimed it was the first such derailment to ever have happened on those mountain tracks, but I have to wonder considering the rough ride we had up to Beaufort. After sweating in the heat for over an hour, we caught the companion train. We then switched to a larger train in Beaufort and had a long, uneventful ride back to KK, where we promptly descended back on our favorite Chinese restaurant beneath Ang's Hotel.

The next day we flew back to KL for a rendezvous with old friends. In the bar below the quaint Coliseum hotel (nearby the theatre where Than and I saw the Hindi flick) we met up with Rich Garfield, Sid Jones, and Jen Doran, fresh up from Singapore. What a crew. That night was packed solid with catching-up, shooting the shit, drinking, eating fine Indian food, and stomping about KL. Than and I opted to crash on the floor of the posh abode of our friends that night, crusty backpackers enjoying the patronage of our gainfully employed friends.

The next day we rode out to Mersing, on the east coast, and caught the last ferry of the day out to Pulau Tioman, one of several tropical island getaways off of the Malaysian coast. The ferry was an extremely rough hour-long ride on a catamaran that left me a little woozy. The calm of the island village of Kampung Salang was a welcome relief.

The funny thing about these islands, full of slopes and jungle and surrounded by beautiful beaches, is the zone in between the beach and the jungle. Often times there are tidal creeks that drift lazily down from the foliage, without much native current at all. What current they have is easily overwhelmed by the actions of the tide, alternating between flowing outward and drifting back inward. The further inland these creeks go, the less dramatic the influence of the tide, and therefore the more stagnate the water gets. Our hotel was surrounded by such a creek. It was not ugly, not at all, nicely landscaped and clean. There was just this limp water surrounding the place, with a correspondingly limp aroma clinging to the air around it. I found the creek to be quite fascinating, because there was always something going on. The creek was host to some two dozen huge three or four foot monitor lizards that would lazily patrol the water with their heads held up above the surface (unlike a crocodile). Most of the time they would just patrol, but several other times I saw two lizards engaged in amorous synchronized swimming, sort of twisted side-by-side with heads up pointing in the same direction. In addition to the lizards there were numerous needle fish and mudskippers. Yes, there was always something going on in that creek.

Of course we did not spend most of our time hanging out by the creek. We spent it on the beaches and in the ocean. The first day we took a snorkeling trip out to some nearby satellite islands and rock formations. It was some choice snorkeling. Critters abounded, critters such as blue-spotted stingrays, sea cucumbers, anemones and clown fish, turtles, and perhaps most surprisingly, schools of young and juvenile cuttlefish. The green sea turtles were a pleasant sight. I saw at least two, one perhaps four feet in diameter whose shell had been nicked by a boat propeller, and one younger one around three feet in diameter. I dove down to get a closer look at the younger turtle and we just started spiraling around one another. Upside down I spiraled perhaps four or five revolutions around the turtle and it around me, as though we were tracing out a double helix. The turtle was inspecting me the whole time; at one point I reached out and touched his shell. Eventually, I ran out of breath and had to break away and surface from that wonderful experience. Rich saw the tail end of this episode and later accused me of "scaring away the turtles." Fie on he sayeth I!

We spent a lot of time merely relaxing and doing a lot of reading and book-swapping. Jen and Rich took it upon themselves to hike over the top of the island one day, and later that same day Than, Sid, and I hiked through the jungle over a nearby headland to a picturesque and deserted beach on Monkey Bay. The whole crew, except for Sid and myself who tagged along for snorkeling, went scuba diving one day as well. Nights were mostly spent, perhaps predictably, inspecting the fine offerings of the handful of area restaurants and bars.

All too soon, however, it was time to move along. The buds had run out of vacation time and it was time for Than to head South and for me to head North. It was a fantastic, lazy visit, just like vacation should be. Our friends with jobs were extremely generous with us poor backpackers, and it was much appreciated. I certainly feel indebted to their kindness.

After mumbling our goodbyes early the next morning, I headed back to the mainland and caught long bus ride north to Kota Bahru. In the heat and dust, I straightened my backpack and walked two or so miles and through various checkpoints while the sun blazed above. After passing through these checkpoints, abodes were suddenly more dilapidated and I could no longer read any signs, as they were in a strange script I'd never seen before.

I was in Thailand.

Excerpt from the Beer Lover's Almanac: Tiger tiger, burning bright. All through the region, Tiger beer reigns supreme, though it is not anything special, yet another SE Asian lager. There is ubiquitous San Miguel, YASEAL, from the Phillipines, as well as Stellar Artois, imported from Belgium which is not half bad. That last aside, all are unremarkable pilsners.

Till next time, where this kind hand will detail adventures in Indochina,
Matt

One of my favorites: "Why does everyone always overgeneralize?"

"He that is wounded in the stones, or hath his privy member cut off, shall not enter into the congregation of the LORD."
-- Deuteronomy 23:1

The metric system is the tool of the devil!! I get forty rods to the hogshead, and that's the way I likes it!!

Someone had to put all that chaos there!
-- Greyfox (nride@uswest.net)

I love vegetarians -- some of my favorite foods are vegetarians.

"Today's forecast calls for sprinkles of genius with a chance of doom!"
-- Stewie Griffin

The truth does not set you free, it just makes everyone irritable.

Which is worse: Ignorance or Apathy? Who knows? Who cares?

It's pretty funny, actually. It all started when I thought that inflammable was the opposite of flammable...

From a signature line at the end of every message:
[Drink Coke] [Army - Be All You Can Be] [This ad space for sale! Contact the author for current rates]

"You can't have everything. Where would you keep it?"
-- Steven Wright

A computer without a Microsoft operating system is like a dog without bricks tied to it's head.
-- dieMSdie (steve@spam-is-bad.xtn.net)

"Science is like sex: sometimes something useful comes out, but that is not the reason we are doing it"
-- Richard Feynman

This is a UNIX email virus. It works on the honor system: If you're running a variant of unix , please forward this message to everyone you know and delete a bunch of your files at random. Thank you for your cooperation.
-- pjl@patsoffice.com

Error: Cannot find file REALITY.SYS - Universe halted, please reboot!
-- NoSpam_Jonathan_Bayer@bigfoot.com

It's sad to live in a world where knowing how to program your VCR actually lowers your social status...
-- rhopkins-at-crosswinds-dot-net

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this post are not necessarily mine, as I've not yet had my medication today.
-- jmblant@clemson.dontsendmespam.edu

When I have to develop under Windows, I spend long, frustrating days where mis-handling of a pointer causes BSOD, not a core dump.
-- Gen-GNU

"Linux is a beautiful thing, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and we're geeks.

Be nice to your friends. If it weren't for them, you'd be a complete stranger.
-- Yamao

5.72 MOhms across my tongue... should i be concerned?
-- MrResistor

"Why does everyone always overgeneralize?"
-- p3d0

If at first you don't succeed, try a shorter bungee.
-- leonbrooks

Any attempt to brew coffee with a teapot should result in the error code "418 I'm a teapot". The resulting entity body MAY be short and stout. [RFC 2324]
-- Eric Green (eric@badtux.org)

The Internet interprets advertising as damage and routes around it.
-- Paul Crowley (slashdot-paul@cluefactory.org.uk)

There are two kinds of people in this world -- Those who divide people into two groups and those who don't.
-- YogSothoth (jdumas9@z3eh.com (s/[0-9]//g

The Christian Right is Neither
-- cbuskirk (cbuskirk@yahoo.com

Inertia's what makes the world go 'round.
-- rana

If you are angry with someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes... then you'll be a mile away from them, and you'll have their shoes.
-- hobbit (hamish@nutshell.SPAM.freeserve.SPAM.co.uk)

Fruit flies like bananas...Time flies like the wind...
-- DanBari

Who is General Failure, and why is he reading my hard drive?
-- mcelrath (mcelrath+slashdotcomment@draal.physics.wisc.edu)

"One World, one Web, one Program" -- Microsoft promotional ad
"Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Fuhrer" -- Adolf Hitler
-- Wakko Warner (wakko@qwerty.bitey.net)

"'Tis some script kidd3z," I muttered, "tapping at my server port--Only this, and nothing more."
-- Barbarianconanford_please-no@spam-yahoo.com)

The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.
-- warpathwarpath@the-cantina.com

-o-"Warning: You are logged into reality as root..."-o-
-- Munky_v2email_me@www.dialug.org)

There are three types of people in the world; those who can count, and those who can't.
-- Uruks2mdalle@titan.vcu.edu)

All generalizations are false.
-- The_Messengerkmfms.com@drew)

A theory: Women do not, snore, burp, sweat or fart. Therefore, they must bitch, or they will explode.
-- m0nkeyb0y

Why is it that it's a penny for your thoughts, but you have to put your two cents in? Somebody's makin a penny.
-- Steven Wright

I've lost my faith in nihilism.
-- hey!mattleo@treehouse.acrcorp.com

Being a geek means never having to ask, "Paper or plastic?"
-- Loligoljm@delete_this.fc.net

"Ah yes, the Tomahawk Cruise missle... the rich country's car bomb."
-- Rand Race (helixp@nospam.bellsouth.net

I am hypoallergenic, dermatologist tested, and dishwasher safe...
-- ecliptic_1 (ecliptic_1@spamsux.bigfoot.com)

The problems that exist in the world today cannot be solved by the level of thinking that created them.
-- Einstein

There is nothing more odious to me than an expensive church.
-- brogdonandrew(at)imagersoft.com

"Bill Gates is just a monocle and a Persian Cat away from being one of the bad guys in a James Bond movie."
-- Dennis Miller

Every night, tired dyslexics around the world look forward to 8 hours of peels.
-- sirinekbillHATESSPAM@sirinek.com

"I do know I'm ready for the job. And, if not, that's just the way it goes."
-- G. W. Bush 8/21/2000

A friend of mine has a barcode on his arm. He rings up as a $.35 pack of JuicyFruit.
-- NecroPuppy

Preserve Wildlife -- Pickle a squirrel today!
-- HydroCarbon10synth903@hotmail.com

You know lately I've been thinking recently about the sig system. I really think that 120 characters seems a bit restr
-- Valar nospamyalusers.kungfoo@linuxstart.com

"Don't anthropomorphize computers. They hate that."
-- poiu

5 out of 4 People have problems with fractions.
-- fjordboy noneofyourbeeswax@noneofyourbeeswax.com

Never miss a good chance to shut up.
-- Aleatoricrsanders@webzone.net

Give me ambiguity or give me something else
-- seanmeistersubsynthesis@subdimension.com

The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side.
-- Hunter S. Thompson

If at first you don't succeed, it is quite certain you will give up skydiving.

Sponsored by: Chork Lite - Because having an active lifestyle doesn't mean you have to give up jellied meat.
-- Towertwrau.p.dueirml@eo

I'm in search of myself. If you found me before I arrive, please have me wait.
-- jsse

"Time's fun when you're having flies."
-- Kermit the Frog

...A no smoking section in a resturant is like having a no peeing section in a swimming pool...
-- SGDarkKnight

Swearing is the crutch of inarticulate mother fuckers.
-- xodiakbrad AT geeknet DOT net

If Bill Gates had a nickel for every time Windows crashed... ..oh wait, he does.
-- Nate Fox (slashdotatdafox.org)

That's it!
Matt

Labuan Bajo, Flores, seemed like a pinnacle of western comforts compared to the relative scarcity in the rest of Flores. This trend continued all the way to Bali -- everywhere more and more comforts that I had previously taken for granted were available. This was instructive, moving up this ramp of western comforts, as I headed towards the more touristed islands, because when I encountered tourists heading in the other direction it was obvious that they were seeing our shared surroundings with different eyes -- the eyes of comforts deprived, rather than the eyes of comforts, normally taken for granted, reinstated. Along with the increased numbers of comforts and tourists came more frequent annoyances, such as hawkers. It was not long before I longed for the days of mere "Hello Mister" irritation I found in Flores. Though the "hello mister" cult abruptly ended off the western shore of Flores, other Indonesian peculiarities remained. For instance, the greetings and comparisons: throughout all of the islands thus far I was commonly greeted with "Hey Long Hair" (in Flores, of course, this was only during the rare circumstance of some greeting other than "hello mister"). I think due primarily to the long hair I was typically compared to Antonio Banderas, Lorenzo Lamas (shudder), or, due to the Indonesian preoccupation with all things football (soccer, second only to badminton), Italian football star and super-defender Fabio Cannavaro. The Antonio reference is not a new one for me, nor is the general Italian reference. I am generally assumed to be Italian unless I have my Tilly hat on and people assume Australian, and in Indonesia they seemed to hone the reference further with the Cannavaro association. But Lamas? Ugh. It seems clear that the Indonesians are struggling to find someone as good looking and modest as I am in their comparisons.

Another interesting feature was the response variety when I told the Indonesians my place of origin. My statement in that regard was usually split about half and half between Texas and Alabama just to see what sort of response I would get for each one. More often than not, when I said Texas, I would get "Hah hah! Texas Fried Chicken!" accompanied by an incredibly excited look on their face. I'd just smile and nod, assuming that they were confused with KFC, which is by far the most common fast food restaurant in SE Asia. As it turns out, up in Denpesar, Bali, (and other cities) there is a similar chain called Texas Fried Chicken. Fancy that. Their responses to the Alabama answer usually involve references to the song "Sweet Home Alabama", which has apparently achieved thorough world-wide fame -- the various members of Lynyrd Skynyrd probably had no idea at the time that it would be so widespread. To be fair, occasionally the responses to Alabama would include references to Forest Gump, but these were more often encountered when dealing with fellow travelers rather than locals -- and more often earning a grimace from me rather than a grin in response to the appraising look that usually followed their summoning of that particular cultural icon. Most would not fully appreciate the reference when I sometimes added with my best slow-Hanks "My momma always said that boy was a travelin' fool."

From Labuan Bajo I hopped on a boat that was to take in many of the sites between Flores and Lombok over the course of a four-day trip. There were seven other tourists on board, companions for the next four days on the boat where we would eat together and sleep on the deck -- punctuated by periodic stops for snorkeling or island excursions. The first stop was nearby Rinca, sister island and dragon habitat of Komodo. The dragons are mostly limited to these two islands, though they do make temporary and periodic forays over to neighboring islands. In the course of the trip we stopped at both islands, each of which are part of a national park set up to allow visitors sightings of the famed reptilian beasts. The setups are similar: the boat pulls up to a small dock where the passengers disembark, run a gauntlet of locals selling carved wooden dragon figurines, and stand in line while everyone fills out ludicrous amounts of personal information in the guest register. (This is where you would normally pay the park fee, good for both islands, but this was included in the boat trip for me.) There is a complex of huts where visitors can lodge for the night if they so choose; around these huts are some enormous lizards, sunning, slowly strolling, and giving the impression of being well-fed. I imagine these dragons around the complex generally are fed regularly from kitchen scraps, presumably, just to ensure that people do have a dragon sighting when they land on the island. After waiting interminably for the registration process, everyone departs on a safari walk led by one of the park rangers, on a two or three mile loop. Though the days are long gone (due to tourist outcry I believe) when regular scheduled feedings of a live goat to the dragons in a large earthen pit used to astonish stunned groups of tourists, there is still a steady population of dragons on the islands and plenty of opportunities for sightings.

A Komodo dragon sighting is a vivid experience. You can tell yourself that they are a huge lizard before seeing one, and have some familiarity with that abstract concept, but when you finally come face to face with one you can't help but redundantly and helplessly say "Damn, that's huge." The largest ones I saw, perhaps four or five I saw of this calibre, were over ten feet long and around three or four feet wide across the belly. They immediately invoked a fight or flight response in me, perhaps appealing to my ancient embedded reptilian brain deep within my skull, momentarily interrupting its steady administration of glands and heart rate. The feeling was only momentary, because I quickly noticed that these enormous lizards do not move very much -- at least not while they are sunning themselves. There is no doubt that they are aware and watching, despite the black reptilian eyes, because the head will slowly turn as the lizard keeps tabs on its surroundings. The eyes are open most of the time, but every now and then they will blink. Not a quick blink, but a slow, considered blink of constant and deliberate velocity that merely adds to that aura of them knowing you are there. The dragons are so big it makes you wonder if they can actually move, but they can indeed. Occasionally one would nimbly heft that bulk and casually, but slowly, execute that sinuous lizard-stroll where each fore leg is synchronized with the opposite hind leg as the body alternately arcs back and forth.

Apparently they can be quite fast, but not for great distances. When embattled they are quite adept at using their tail as a arcing whip-like club. The younger dragons, which look like a fairly typical monitor lizard, stay in the trees because their older, ground dwelling, relatives consider them just another snack. Even the mid-sized lizards have to be careful of being devoured -- I saw several missing lengths of tail, apparently sacrificed while fleeing a hungry cousin.

Also on the island are wild pigs, water buffalo, macaque monkeys, and all sorts of birds. All of these are preyed upon by the dragons, though only in scavenger mode for the larger animals. Both walks involved sections of thick jungle and dried streambeds, after which we would ascend into the surrounding grassy hills where we could gaze across the beautiful hills and canopy to the ocean below. I did see some wild pigs and plenty of macaques, but no water buffalo. I saw a megapode, the squatty black, orange-legged bird that digs out large earthen nests five or six feet in diameter, covered with rotting vegetation. This rotting vegetation generates enough heat to incubate the eggs. Dragons like these nests also because they can dig up some free snacks -- and occasionally leave eggs of their own. Another bird I spotted was a Green Imperial Pigeon which looks like an enormous green dove. The jungle on these islands is teeming with life; the Komodo dragons are a healthy and well-adapted piece of the tapestry.

Other excursions from the boat included several excellent snorkeling opportunities in the areas within the Komodo sea and off the north coast of Sumbawa. Some day I would like to return and properly visit Sumbawa, but I merely saw if from the sea on this trip. At night, after dinner, I would usually hang around up on the bow of the boat, stretched out under the absolutely brilliant stars, visible from horizon to horizon, sharing sips of arak and conversation with some of the other passengers.

One day after sunrise and breakfast we put in at Pulau Satonda, an island off the north coast of Sumbawa.