Things I've learned from working in an unnamed Lebanese Restaurant on King Street in Newtown.

The bread is not fresh. No. Not even then. It's not.

When employees that aren't from the developed world use the term "friend"... it usually means that they're about to totally screw you over.

The baklava isn't fresh either.

Yelling is the only means of communication. They will yell at you to "FILL THE WATER. FILL IT UP!!!" and "ANSWER THE PHONE!! ANSWER IT!!!"... but don't be confused by the notion of 2-way yelling. That doesn't fly.

I hate pan flute music. A lot.

Don't ever ask to get paid. Getting paid is not always part of the job description.

If you don't order the banquet- don't worry. That's what they'll order for you anyway.

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I'm not going to go into too much detail about the rest of the things that happened to the food there-- just... don't. Just.

... don't.

ANYWAY, on another note- I'm happily removed from that fucking hellhole of a job, and have relocated to the sunny (albeit chilly) country-side town of Echuca, Victoria. That's right- boguns, billy-goats, and (strangely) a lot of bars. Happily, that makes a girl of my waitressing experience a precious commodity. I've never had such an easy time finding work (albeit it's only been for a day or so at each place- sighs-). I've been spending my mornings sleeping in, and my nights warming myself with meat pies. It's been comforting.

Still broke, but that's not new news... wonder if maybe I should have gone to Brazil instead of trying to work. Might have made more sense. Headed to Adelaide in mid-August, then Queensland, then PERU afterwards though... suppose it's good to stay somewhere where hygiene is up to the international standard. I'm spending oodles more than I'd be in any developing country... but then again, a shitty hostel here is the equivalent of like, a 4-star hotel in Ethiopia. Suppose it's a decent trade-off.

Indonesia

As always with my posts... I haven't got much time, and I'm going to do my best to squeeze an entire country (the largest archipelago on earth this time) into one post. I accept no blame for this. Things have been positively chaotic since I set foot on this continent~ in the attempt to juggle looking for a second job with busting my ass at a restaurant run by a scary lebanese man, I've left very little time for showering/eating/changing my underwear... blogging has taken a backseat.

Anyway, I arrived in Denpasar Airport sometime on the (... holy shit, that was a really fat dog that just walked by the window. I'm getting the most outrageous culture shock here.) 24th of May, and met up with JJ for some good ol' beer slingin' down at a multi-level club entitled "Legian 61". Oh, how I wish I'd never heard of that place. $5 for unlimited beer from 5-10pm? That's just asking for trouble. I've only technically been thrown out once, though. (The other times, I was courteously asked to leave... under threat of being thrown out.) Shenanigans, shenanigans, San Diegan doctors, more shenanigans. It's amazing how much more paranoid you get about that weird rash/unexplainable bruise/dry throat when there are doctors there to look at it for you. Of course.. their wide and unparalleled knowledge of diseases-- usually involving lots of bugs and microscopic... things... --- doesn't do much to set your mind at ease.

A little more time in Kuta (mostly due to the discovery of a $2 gym and the discovery of a group of crazy Canadians), and then we were off to Uluwatu to surf, play with monkeys, and observe the almighty tourist attraction of a fire-dance. We didn't surf, the monkeys were aggressive, and the fire-dance was really strange and somehow filled me with the overwhelming desire to hire a different orthodontist... but I DID meet a cute South African that not only reminded me that there are still people that are a lot crazier than I am that still manage to function in society without any kind of court orders or visible restraints. He also reminded me that driving on the other side of the road is better done by people with no will to live. (Sidenote: My time here was also spent with destroying a rental bike... but I'll get to the another time)

As sad as I was to leave the warm arms of a gorgeous semi-pro surfer (as well as the warm pizzas of the eatery down the road) --- we were on our way to Gili Trewangan before you can say "Bob's your Uncle" and were OUT of Gili T before you can say "I'm NOT from Japan!" and on to the warm shores of Gili Air. Ohhh, I could have stayed here a lifetime. Really. Look at this shit! Could YOU bring yourself to leave?
On our first day on Gili Air, we met Lisa- a cool Brit who was fully immersed in a romantic fling with a Lombok local. Thankfully, this meant that Eful- our voluntary guide for the day, was all too happy to show us one of the best snorkeling spots I've ever seen in my life. He also clued us in to the secret of bringing cookies to the fish. They love it! It was Corn Nut's first experience, and certainly my best. 3 turtles, and positive hordes of fish swimming all about us. It was bliss....

June 7th, we were back on Gili T... just in time to PAR-TAY for Corn Nut's BIRTH-DAY. Look at the pictures. The DJ in black was one of the best I've ever partied with. I would have mowed his lawn in worship to the awesome set he delivered. Very... very good party.


A couple more days on the Gilis, and then to Ubud...

OH. I don't have a picture... but I wanted to do a small tribute to Cal- an awesome Aussie we met there. We met Cal at dinner one night-- he was sitting at the table next to us, silently chain-smoking and observing our photo session with Courtney's new floppy hat. After a few words in exchange, he offered us a free room in his villa on the other side of the monkey forest. His VILLA. At first, I was like "I wonder which organ he's trying to harvest and sell"... but after a few more hours of out-hanging... we found that he was completely legit. Like, not a scummy serial killer or anything. We then lived off his charity for the next few days--- first Corn Nut rolled her ankle and he CARRIED her through the monkey forest and down the kilometer of road on the other side to his place. He then ran about town looking for a cab for us after she was stricken down with a massive case of food poisoning. THEN, he commissioned a personal driver to take us all to Kuta-- claiming that he had to go anyway (obvious bullshit)... I think... all because he knew we were poor and wanted to help out. This guy was awesome. I salute you Cal. I salute you.

That's all. I'm going to get into my epic dash from one part of KL airport to the other... but I'll wait until a time when it's NOT 3 in the morning. Goodbye.

Trekking, Temples, and Thanakha

-sighs- I'm so happy to see my blog again. So! Happy! For some reason, the Myanmar government zeroed in on blogging and YouTube as dangers to the welfare of the state, but left CNN and the pages of every Burmese Liberation group alone. Iron-fisted military dictatorships should really do their homework about the internet.

Anyway, I'm writing from Kuta in Bali, Indonesia, after 28 spectacular days of trekking, extreme temple-ing, and falling on top of nuns (and other buffoonery) in Burma. After Sri Lanka, I didn't think it was possible to love a country any more. I thought there was no such thing as better. I was proved wrong. There is a quote by somebody whose name I've forgotten about Burma being unlike any place you've ever seen before (I've also forgotten the exact wording of the quote itself- oops!). I hasten to agree and disagree at the same time. Burma's unlike anywhere I've ever been before,... and yet it's exactly like EVERYwhere I've been before. All jumbled together. The longyis of India, with the food of Laos, the chaos of Cairo, and the piousness of Latin America. It's like the spiffy mix of everything I like about everywhere, plucked out and jumbled together and available for $13 USD a day.

A whole month is difficult to squash into one post- so I'm going to forget about trying to update on individual cities and focus on the whole.

Food - While the food in Burma is nothing to be envied- it was plentiful, cheap, and usually offered freely without any mind for payment (particularly in the smaller communities). Unfortunately, it usually consists of cold noodles mixed by hand out of a tupperware. I, happily, (and a bit surprisingly) managed to avoid getting a case of the runs- though I sometimes wonder if the bacterium are merely strangled by what I'm sure are intestinal parasites from India. I've got a stomach pooch that appears to be wiggling of its own accord at times. Remind me to get checked when I arrive in Oz.

People - The loveliest in the world. Really, the LOVELIEST PEOPLE IN THE WORLD. With the exception of a handful of sketchy moneychangers in Yangon (as well as most of the populace of Bago), everyone we met was honest and friendly. I was actually chased down the street with change for my bottle of water. The amount was roughly equivalent to 5 US cents. The panting adolescent that handed it over was wide-eyed with panic about possibly allowing me to be short-changed. Super awesome. I also managed to crush a nun while I was there- but I won't bother to go into the story. It's too embarrassing.

Sights - While the actual "sights" in Burma are a little weak compared to the rest of the region, I was never short of experiences that left me positively dumbstruck. Mr. Food, a restaurant in Hsipaw, Upper Shan State, does beer take-a-way. You know how? IN A FUCKING BAG. BEER in a fucking BAG. That's right. As in, they fill up a pitcher, empty it into a grocery bag, tie up the ends, and send a man away on a moto with it for delivery. Now that's service!

It's already been 2 weeks, roughly, in Indo, so my memory's slipping a bit. All I can really say about Burma is that it's the best freaking country ever. Just as good as Sri Lanka. Maybe even better, and there's an English guy next to me at the internet cafe that won't shut up so I can't think any more to elaborate. I'll add pictures.

Cambodia to Burma and Why Military Juntas Suck

It's been a while since I used WordPad on a 56K connection... bear with me.

I sit here in a steamy Burmese internet cafe, rubbing my scars (bike riding never does get easier... how many days does it take to get the hang of making lefts??) and contemplating how I'm going to survive the next 3 days on 21 dollars. I'm falling more and more in love with this country as the days go by... but my absolute revulsion for the military junta is subsequently magnified. Swaggering wankers. Some asshole doodled all over my passport this morning at a checkpoint on the road to Inle Lake. ON MY FAVORITE PAGE. I'll post a photo later. You'll be enraged, I guarantee you. Since the attempt at posting photos (much less uploading them) seems near comical given the rudimentary internet I'm seated in front of, I'll expand.

I had one perfect page in my passport. Four, neatly stamped visas-- two from Sri Lanka (my favorite country) and two from Israel (almost my favorite country)... in black, neatly in their boxes, with crisp and sharp edges. Ahhh--- (considering that border guards do this ALL day EVERY day, you'd be surprised at the number who can't even use a stamp correctly.) It was lovely. Around 2 in the morning, after 11 hours of listening to Burmese pop at full volume on a bus from Yangon to Inle Lake, we stopped at a checkpoint, and I was called in to sign some forms... as usual. The guard, after asking me my name about a million times, wrote it down wrong in the booklet. When I attempted to point this out, he waved my index finger away irritably and began looking at my visa stamps. Minute after minute passed as he stared and glared at the colorful items... until he finally cleared his throat, whipped out his pen, and used my favorite page to test out the ink of his ballpoint before thrusting it back at me and, once again, writing my name down wrong in his booklet.

WANKER.

You all think I'm overreacting. Maybe I am... but even so, punching him in the belly would have made me feel better. After travelling for a while, you get to take quite a bit of pride in your passport... and when some iron fisted dictator-worshipping nob uses your favorite page to make sure the ink in his 25 cent pen is working, it makes you angry.

Anyway!

I think I should update on Cambodia considering that there's been nothing from me in several weeks... and the country is not one to be glossed over. After passing from Don Det in 4,000 Islands over the border, I made my way down to Kratie, a little town on the Mekong known as one of the last places on earth you can still see Irrawaddy dolphins. The dolphins remained unseen, even as we crept, stealth mode, with only 2 screaming motors down a stretch of river only plagued by 14 other boats full of tourists with cameras. INCONCEIVABLE! A little further out, we managed to glimpse a couple, and my camera went wild photographing the ripples left behind in the water.

One stop in Phnom Penh and I was on to Kampot afterwards to laze on the river and look cool riding a motorbike for a few days. I haven't quite gotten the hang of U-turns, but after a few minutes of rolling back and forth in place on the side of the road, I'm off! Louis, my teacher for the day, and I made our way to Kep, a one-time beach resort before the Khmer Rouge rolled in, killed everybody, and burned everything to the ground. There's not much-- but we managed to score a bag of 7 deliciously steamed crabs for 5 USD. At 3 crabs in, we were stuffed,... and it became much like hazing in a fraternity at one point-- each of us goading each other on to eat just ONE more crab. I think I was worse off after that than any frat party I went to in college. Crustaceans are not meant to be taken like tequila shots.

I won't discuss Sihanoukville or Koh Rong much except to say that they were spectacular-- made even better by the presence of Matt, a hot Australian surfer who managed to score a couple days off work flying planes to come and get jiggy on the beach with me. (Was that the correct way to use "jiggy"? I never know) Between us, we managed to pack in a lot of miles of beach, a lot of yummy seafood, and a lot of free beer. After a night of pubbing, clubbing, and casino-player elbow-rubbing, Matt had to get back to Kratie in the morning for work, and I was left on my own to nurse a hangover and put up with a hoard of 18 year old English gap-yearers. Ugh. Then on to Koh Rong- it was awesome. The water was spectacular, and I had enough time to finally tweeze my eyebrows... for the first time in months.

Up to Battambang (wonderful place!) and then on to Siem Reap for some temple climbing. Angkor Wat was spectacular. Really... really spectacular. 13 hours on a bicycle riding around and posing with this statue and that may have killed my skin and affinity for bike riding... but not my spirit! On this trip, I've seen 5 "Wonders of the World" ... and I really think Angkor Wat is my favorite. The Taj Mahal was a snore, Tikal was overrated, and the pyramids were devoid of any shade whatsoever from the merciless Egyptian sun (although they themselves were incredible). We arrived at the Wat for sunrise and spent much of the next few hours exploring the Wat itself as well as Bayon, the center-piece of Angkor Thom. What makes A.W. better than a lot of other temples and statues is the elaborate chiseling on the walls. No part of the compound (the largest of it's kind in the world) is without gorgeous inscriptions and pictures of naked ladies. It's also so big that almost 50% of the time, Alex (my English companion) and I found ourselves completely alone to wander the ruins in solitude. I'll post photos later.

OK, well--- this post is already too long and I don't think I have enough kyat to pay for the time I've already used. On arrival to Mandalay, I'll post more about Burma...

Laos

It's been a long time since I updated anything that had anything to do with my trip, so here's some catching up... bullet-point style.

* I've decided never to again eat goat meat. Or pig meat (unless I forget- which conveniently seems to happen with bacon). Having worked on an organic farm with these sweet meats, rising at 6:30 to sweep their poop nuggets, and having lovingly gripped their moist tits over a pitcher--- I can never again look at them the same way. Look at this face. LOOK AT IT! No more goat meat. Also- having seen the pigs jump all over themselves trying to get at the heaps of goat shit we would feed them AFTER sweeping out the poop nuggets--- NO MORE PIG MEAT EITHER. Gross. Such gross animals.

* Phoudindaeng Village > Vang Vieng. I know. I know. You're supposed to go to Vang Vieng to go tubing. That's the entire point of going there. Everyone told me it's great- it's a trip maker... blah blah blah. Honestly, I just couldn't be bothered to go into an entirely gringo town to party with a bunch of 18-year old gap year kids. I'd rather sweep goat shit. (Sorry, if you're reading this Farrell)

* Not much else has happened in the last few weeks. Nong Khiaw and Muang Ngoi were fabulous, and I'm glad I went. My hideous leg lesions are BACK. AGAIN... even after 3 rounds of different kinds of very aggressive antibiotics. They think they're so smart.... with their... LESIONNESS. Fuck them. Back to the doctor's in about half an hour.

* In Pakse now. My God it's fucking hot. My God it's fucking hot. Fucking hell it's fucking hot as fuck. ERRNNNGG!!!!! I hadn't planned on staying here... like I said. I've only got 3 days now to see 4000 Islands and get to the Cambodian border... but after the grueling 8 hour ride from Luang Prabang to Vang Vieng, the 4 hours then to Vientiane, and 10 more hours on a bus down to Pakse... I just... couldn't... do it.

Strange that I'm still so tired though- I actually slept quite well on the bus. These sleeper buses are equipped with full-sized beds on both sides of an aisle for proper horizontal-type sleeping... much like modern-day, air-con slave ships. The beds aren't made for 2 big people (nobody over 5'5, I think)... but for myself and the tiny Lao woman and her baby... we made a good sleeping puddle- provided we all slept in the same direction. First, I spooned the lady while she spooned her baby. Later in the night, she spooned her baby while her baby spooned me. There was lots of spooning. There was also lots of spit in my hair in the morning. All in all, it was a very domestic ride.

* On the bus ride from Vang Vieng to Vientiane yesterday, I observed a couple of village kids that really reminded me of my sweet little Ethiopians. As we drove through their town (if you can even call it that. Does a cluster of 3 houses and a noodle shop count?)... I observed about 7 children playing what appeared to be baseball on the side of the highway. Not only did they lack a field- they lacked proper bases, bats, and balls. They were using a stick as a bat--- and do you know what they were using as a ball because they didn't have one? ANOTHER STICK. So they were throwing the stick and hitting it with another stick... then running to an imaginary base, which was really anywhere because there were no markings anyway. I made a diagram to illustrate my point. Fucking awesome.

On the whole, Laos is marvelous. It took some getting used to-- there ARE a lot of tourists here, and anybody that says otherwise was here years ago, before the boom... but it's still great, and I'm having a grand old time. Only three days left to go though, before I'll be on my way to Cambodia for 2 weeks. I'll report back from Angkor.

I'M NOT JAPANESE

So, every time I go home- people always ask: What is it you missed most about the states? Hot water? Chili Cheese Fries? Free STD testing? ... and I'd have to say- yes.. yes.. yes, I missed all those things... (particularly the cheese fries).... but more than anything, I missed not having people shout "JAPAN!" at me as I cross the street.

It's been 11 months now on the go... and although I love being out here, doing this... I'm really losing my patience. With the locals, it's okay- a lot of them, particularly in places like Sri Lanka and Nicaragua, have never seen an Asian American backpacker before. They can't wrap their minds around it. "You look like this... but when you open your mouth, it sounds like THIS... wha-wha-WHAT?" That's fine. It's annoying, but understandable. The part I CAN'T stand, is when morons from first world countries ask me dumb shit like "can you speak Japanese?"

NO. CAN YOU?!?

Fucking idiot.

WHY would I be able to speak Japanese? Is it because China, where I've never lived, and have nothing to do with, is next to Japan... a country that I've never been, have never lived, and have nothing to do with either? What part of "I'm from the United States" do you not understand?

I know a lot of people from the US had parents that taught them their native language, and that's fine. I just can't see why people are so damn interested in it in the first place. Even if I COULD speak Chinese/Japanese/Korean... what would it matter to you? You can't speak it either! Moreover, they're always so disappointed when I say no, and then accuse me of losing my roots. WHAT FUCKING ROOTS? I was born in Berkeley, I grew up in San Ramon, went to college in Sacramento, and now live in San Francisco. You want roots? Then YOU go to Japan and fucking get them!

I was at the gym a couple days ago (no, really, I WAS at the gym. I know it sounds like bullshit, but no- really, I was) and this French dude walks up to me and starts giving me pointers on weight lifting. Fine. Cool. He then (after a good 5 minutes of conversation with me) asks me if I'm from Japan. DO I FUCKING SOUND LIKE I'M FROM JAPAN!?!? When I say "no" and tell him that I'm from San Francisco, ... he then PULLS AT THE ENDS OF HIS EYES to illustrate to me what I look like.

Oh dear God.

Smashing a French man's face open with a 4kg dumbbell is the easiest way to land yourself in a Thai prison... I reckon. Merely telling him to fuck his mother, however, is the easiest way to get him to fuck off and leave you to your weight lifting. I chose option two. Hurray for me and my self restraint.

There's nothing wrong with being from Japan and I've met loads of super awesome Japanese people all over the world. Good on them for travelling, and bless them on their journey. I, however, have nothing more in common with them than I do the Russian guy or the girl from Germany. We're all backpacking.... and that's pretty much it. I don't see why people think I would flock to the first asian I laid eyes on. Moreoever, shouting "Other Koreans are staying here!" is NOT going to induce me to patronize your hotel. Yes... let me run into the arms of people I've never seen before, and hold them to me while they utter something in a language that is completely indecipherable. I FEEL SO AT HOME.

FUCK YOU.

Imagine that everyone thought you loved hot dogs. You don't. You don't mind them of course, they're aiiiiite, but you don't LOVE them.

Now imagine that every day for the rest of your life, everyone asked you why you loved hot dogs so much, and brought you hot dogs as a tribute. They're being nice and mean no harm- if anything, they're just trying to get in your good graces... but no matter how many times you tell them "actually, I don't like hot dogs THAT much", they wave it away as ridiculousness. "HAH! HE SAYS HE DOESN'T LOVE HOT DOGS! Have you ever HEARD such lunacy??" After a while, you're sick of eating the hot dogs to be nice. After a little MORE time, you try to stress that you don't like hot dogs at ALL. You're SICK of hot dogs. You can't STAND hot dogs. You USED to like them okay... but after years and years of hot dogs, you can't eat another one.

But everyone believes you like hot dogs. People you've never met before make the hot dog eating motion at you as you walk down the street. They shout "BRING THIS MAN A HOT DOG" even though they don't know you and you're not in the mood to eat at all, never mind eating a hot dog. Wouldn't you want to punch the next person that offered you a hot dog in the face? Wouldn't you want to take that hot dog, and jam it in his ear until the weiner was lodged so far into his fucking head, he couldn't even hear himself scream?

And other people say... "(_enter name here_) ... they're just CURIOUS about why you love hot dogs so much... they don't MEAN anything by it- have a sense of humor!" THEY, by the way, cruise down the street unmolested... tasting this, tasting that. Noodles today? Perhaps a muffin? Maybe, maybe not! ... while all day long, you are abused and accosted by hot dog sellers and fans. Now you HATE hot dogs. You try to stress how much you like hamburgers, or pumpkin pie... but the only thing people care about is you and your relationship with hot dogs. "WHY don't you like hot dogs anymore?" they cry. "WHAT is wrong with you, that you won't eat hot dogs??"

And you try to say you NEVER liked hot dogs. That you don't eat hot dogs at home and don't even know the difference between wheat and white buns. ... but they don't believe you. They WON'T believe you... and you're left trying to find someone... ANYONE who you can spend time with that won't bring up the hot dogs.

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... that's what I feel like.

Other than that, my trip is going great.

Sawadee KAAAAA~!

Keeping it short as I only brought 30 baht to the internet cafe, and I think I've already run over my time! Got the 'India Photos' section handled though (2 months late)... if you fancy a visit.

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Funny how I only know two things in Thai (hello and thank you), but I seem to mix them up on a constant basis. Shopkeepers are quite puzzled when you insist that they greet you long after you've already purchased something and are in fact, in the process of leaving the store.

So let me finish up on Sri Lanka. Emil left sometime on the 16th after a successful run of 2 months of travel, and I found myself not having anyone to threaten or torture with the pulling of chest and/or kneepit hair. I forgot that ordinary people don't like that. With only a week left in Sri Lanka at that point, Danielle and I made for the hills- spending 2 blissful nights in Ella before continuing on to Dalhousie to climb Adam's Peak for sunrise. Here's a cute little girl that boogied our way from the top of the hill down to where the road snaked left and we lost sight of her. A natural, if I ever saw one!



Adam's Peak (right) is maybe the hardest physical thing I've done since volcano boarding in Nicaragua. 5,200 steps straight up, and quite the queue once you get there. Adam's Peak, or Sri Pada, is a remarkable sight for two reasons. For Buddhists, the sacred footprint left at the top of the mount is said to be Lord Buddha's last step on earth before ascending into Heaven... for Christians, it was Adam's first step out as he was exiled. Whatever the case, there's certainly a very long line of pushy pilgrims. 3am hikes make for some grumpy devotees!

A day here, a day in Kandy- one 6-hour bus ride and a questionable "egg" sandwich later.. I was on my way to Bangkok. Not sure what I expected... but this wasn't it. Skyscrapers, air-con buses, and loads... I mean... LOADS of tourists. Heavens, me! After teaming up with an impulsive South African, I was on my way to Chiang Mai for party and pleasure. I won't post too much except to add this photo of Ben with a purse. We met Bobby, a Coloradan that had been living in Thailand for 4 years or so- and he introduced us to Fone.... a Thai native that insisted on driving. Ben was ousted to the back of his scooter, and a designer purse was hoisted onto his shoulder as Fone took the reigns and sped us off into the distance. Chiang Mai was fun- and was without a doubt, the best partying I've had since Goa... but I left to pursue a cooler climate, and people with long necks in the hill country bordering Myanmar. More on that later.