Last week in Oz!

I think you should be excited right now. This post is coming with pictures!

See?? Lookie how many pictures!

The odd thing is that I don't think I have a single picture of Mildura, the spot that occupied most of my time on this continent. Oh, no- wait. I have this one.

This is Simba- the year-and-something old dog that had yet to be potty-trained. I think he was the only member of the household that didn't irritate the fucking shit out of me. His head is deceptively large. Had I gotten a full-body pic, you would have noticed that his body is horrifically out of proportion with his massively large noggin. He's still pretty cute though. So cute, in fact- that even though between the hours of 6pm and midnight, the majority of my time was spent either slipping on dog excrement, or spent cleaning it up after slipping on it--- I still didn't mind him. I even let him sleep on the couch with me every now again~ that is, until he started getting fresh. Crawling into my shirt was cute. Biting my boob after I had fallen asleep was not.

Anyway, I left Mildura on the 18th, and boarded a bus to Adelaide to visit Matt for a few days. Ohhh. Words can't describe the pleasure of sleeping on a real bed, in a real house, with real hot showers after sharing a flat with 6 other people who all do farm work and are much pushier about getting washed up after work than you are. Matt had a pretty ambitious sight-seeing agenda for me--- but the only sights I was interested in seeing were on the inside of his pantry.

After blurry-eyed goodbye at 5 in the morning, I loaded onto a plane to head north and take in the cheery faces of my Indian travel-mates. Just look at these cheery faces! As always- I had a blast partying, reminiscing, and general what-not with these two. Thanks to Pops' generosity- I've also managed to reload my wardrobe before heading on to SudAmerica. A very lucrative stop, to be sure.

So I'm here in Byron Bay- pouting about the rainy weather while munching on Home Brand biscuits. I'm wrapping up my bid-niss here as quickly as possible before going back on to Sydney to watch the Heartbreak Kid and eat my very last Tim Tams with Frase-book. I'm juiced about getting a move-on to Peru, but the very finality of my time on this side of the world is starting to sink in. I'M ON THE LAST LEG OF MY TRIP! Craziness.

Mildura, Red Cliffs, and Beyond!

The good thing about not having internet anywhere closeby is that I don't spend any time on my facebook.

The shitty thing about not having any internet anywhere closeby is that I can't do fucking ANYTHING- at all- without a computer. No banking, no flight purchases, and definitely no Skype. Also, upon actually making my way to a computer, I usually find that the flight prices have changed, the person I'm looking for is no longer online, or (in this case) the blog post I had carefully crafted longhand is NOT in my bag and I've got to re-write it as good as I can from memory.

This is likely to suck. That is my disclaimer.

So, since my last post, I've relocated to what is generally accepted to be the asshole of Australia. Mildura's an interesting little spot people still use the word "nigger" freely and unabashed. It mkes me nervous. Happily, I've been working every single day I've been here and have been raking in that sweet sweet Australian currency. While farm work is tough and has been taking it's toll on my face and arms (stupid branches!), I'm getting super buff and my butt looks amazing!

I don't want to get too into the work itself, as I reckon I'm likely bore even myself. The light at the end of the tunnel is a few days in Adelaide, followed by a few more days in Bris, one in Sydney, and then on to Peru! As I burn through my last 18 days of work, I gotta keep my eye on the ball.

OK, this was a shitty post- I promise a better one once I'm done working in this hellhole.

Working Woes

I'm broke and have no work and am starving in Echuca. Good God, what have I done in moving here?

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.

-----------------

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...