Honimundi's Laws of Travel - Rules are Always Created and Destroyed.

When most people go to Lombok, the small Indonesia island just east of Bali, they take fast boat from Bali and head straight for the Gilis, a trio of even tinier islands in the northwest of Lombok. Known for their lack of motorized transport and relatively easy access to naturally grown psychotropics, these little islands surely were appealing. However, when staying in Padang Bai in Bali, the jumping off point for ferries to Lombok, both fast and slow, we witnessed the droves of tourists/backpackers/travellers being herded like cattle from minivans onto the fast boat jetty, ultimately on their way to the Gilis, we resolved not to be one of them.

Rule #180 - Whenever Possible, Take the Road Less Traveled

I Hope You Die in Bali

We turned right on the narrow lane in front of our hotel in Kuta, Bali, on the hunt for some Indonesian breakfast, which, as it turns out, is identical to Indonesian Lunch and Dinner. Which brings to mind a friend of mine (what's up Hatch!), who holds that that Mexican isn't real food, but only snack food, since it's mainly just different configurations of the same 5 ingredients, just placed on various bread products (mmmm Torta de carne asada mmmm). I don't agree with him. I love Mexican(s). I love Indonesian(s) as well.

But, as usual, I digress.

Right as we left the hotel, one of the ubiquitous hawkers and salesman of Tours (Rule #28 of Travel - No Tours, if you can avoid it) and Motorbike Rentals waved us down. Since we've talked to this gentleman before, promising that we'll return, I felt obliged to enter his shop to ask him about car rentals.  

Since nowadays everyone and their grandmother has a motorbike, public transportation on Bali is lacking. Public buses of various shapes and sizes do exist, mind you, but to put it simply, they ride quite infrequently, at least compared with other places we've visited thus far, they are slow, and they are unreliable. If you want to get somewhere quickly, a ride in a relatively expensive private transport shuttle van or even a chartered driver is in order.

Singapore- A Fine City

When I was a kid, I would sometimes talk with friends about the heavy handed punishments for criminal acts in other countries. These days, rape victims being stoned to death for their "crimes" in some backwards corner of the globe are more in the forefront of my own, as well as the collective, consciousness. However, my 12 year old self didn't think of such heavy topics. Instead, we were concerned with stories about Singapore.

Back then, I heard through a friend, whose cousin's step-uncle did a semester in Singapore (I assure you that this was a reliable source), that in Singapore, if you steal something, they chop the hand off that you stole with (ouch!). I also heard that you can't chew gum (gasp!), and if you do, they cut your tongue off (double gasp!). I remember thinking what a weird place Singapore was - what a fanciful and far away place for a 12 year old in NW Chicago ...

The Orang Asli - The Original People

In our limited but hopefully increasing understanding, the many displaced and marginalized indigenous peoples of the world have similarly gut-wrenching stories.

Our travels through our home country, the United States, have exposed us to many so-called “reservations”, where what’s left of the native people are relegated to, after decades of war, coerced and reneged “peace" treaties, forced relocation (oftentimes west to less fertile or even completely arid lands), and the like. Rarely have we felt good visiting these reservations, the stigma of what these places represented too apparent in our minds. We were always outsiders, never experiencing the pleasure of being invited.

And so, when we were invited to visit some remote Malaysian tribal villages by somebody who works closely and sponsors one of the members of the clan, we eagerly jumped on the opportunity.

Afraid of dark borders

“What time does the earliest bus leave to Sungai Kolok tomorrow?”, I asked the lady at the Krabi bus station, about 3 miles north of the center of town, where we were staying. To get to the station, Agnes and I had nearly walked the whole distance, setting out a few hours earlier thinking we’ll catch a ride on one of the many local minibusses or taxis driving around, ceaselessly honking and yelling (TAXI! TAXI?) for passengers. But alas!, we took a wrong turn, ended up in no-man’s-land, until finally a local on a scooter took pity on us and told us to hop on, taking us the final half mile to the station, with Agnes in the middle and me in the back, hoping the rear suspension holds.

“9 o’clock”, she answered.

“And how long is the ride?”, I asked.

“7 hour.”

We looked at each other and nodded. That would put us in Sungai Kolok, a town in Southern Thailand on the Malaysian border, at around 4 o’clock +/- (in all reality, only +) 1 hour, which was still a few hours before sunset, giving us enough time to catch a taxi or bus to Khota Bharu, our next stop on the Malaysian side of the border. The dark gives any locale, especially an unknown one, a mysterious and sometimes frightening air. Both of us were unwilling to cross a border, especially one requiring walking and a change of transportation, after dark.

We left the next day on time at 9 in the morning, heading south towards Malaysia. The hours ticked by, and when we arrived at Hat Yai, which I knew from studying a map to be around the half way point, at 3pm, I knew there was no way we were making the border at the time we thought we would.

Cats

Thus far, Thailand seems to be a haven for (sometimes not so) stray cats. There are cats everywhere, some of them very sickly and emaciated. Others, it seems, are 1/2 adopted, sporting colorful collars and having a dish of dry catfood to come "home" to in front of store fronts.

As we know, populations of species will naturally align themselves to the available energy of their environment. Barring any external influences, such as natural predators (or as we'll see, sterilization programs), if a species' numbers get too high, their population will collapse, only to grow again, and collapse again, ad infinitum.

(Incidentally, Honi Mundi once attended a NPS ranger talk about the subject in Rocky Mountain National Park, where the lack of natural predators forces the park to cull and sterilize the local caribou population)

Luckily, on Ko Phi Phi, the Lanta Animal Welfare organization periodically sets up shop to remove the uteri and testicles of unsuspecting cats.

Garbage Monkeys

Upon arriving  at the main pier at Ko Phi Phi, visitors are immediately herded through a impromptu toll booth where the government extracts 20 baht (~70 cents USD)  per person. The justification for this is to keep Ko Phi Phi clean. Having seen otherwise beautiful beaches and tropical paradises ruined by litter in other areas of the world, we were OK with paying this fee. Nonetheless, knowing how government bureaucracies work, we were a bit skeptical as we passed our crumpled and damp bills to the uniformed official.

The moment we needed to throw something out, we realized that our incredulity was not unfounded.

First few days on Ko Phi Phi Don

Getting to Ko Phi Phi, an archipelago just east of the resort town of Phuket (which Honi Mundi wouldn't touch with a 10 foot pole) was quite a journey, consisting of a 12 hour overnight bus ride ...

... during which a tire blew ...

... followed by 3 hours in a Toyota Commuter van packed full with sweaty backpackers and their oversized backpacks ...

Will Smith likes it dirty

... like thousands of red hot ants crawling all over  ...
... like being immersed in a pool of vibrating ball bearings ...
... like an appendage waking up after having fallen asleep ...
... like a light electric current coursing through your body ...

2 Tourists, 1 Toyota Commuter

The Van

If you've ever been outside of the United States and Canada, you've seen one of these:

It's a Toyota Commuter Van. Like a Tijuanan hooker, while it serves a legitimate purpose, you don't want to spend too much time in one. Only tourists, masochists, and their friendly guides/drivers/dominators would ever submit themselves to spending an entire day bouncing around in  the back of one, knees by your ears, ass hurting, feet and forehead sweating, all the while cursing the operator who sold you the trip. How did we end up in one you ask? Well, we're tourists (maybe closet masochists?). Allow me to explain.

Russian, Wat?

After an over-stimulated first day in Bangkok that left us down and jaded, we woke up refreshed at 3AM after 9 solid hours of sleep on Monday morning with nowhere to go. We creatively killed some time, strapped on our sandals, and headed towards the river to start our day by catching a ride on the commuter ferry.

We found $00.50 USD at IST!

After several days of hectic packing and generally being at each other’s throats, followed by a tearful farewell with family, friends, and Felus, we find ourselves  sitting here in Istanbul's international airport, drinking our first international cocktail: a home-grown $1 dollar mini Evan Williams and $5 Turkish can of Sprite, 10:50AM Chicago time, 6:50PM local time (piwo z rana jak smietana).

Upon landing here in Istanbul, we decided to roam around the airport a bit, not looking for anything in particular, but just to stretch our legs and kill some time during our 3 hour layover here. We got to a dead end next to the Turkish Air VIP lounge, and just as we were contemplating how the hell one gets a ride on  one of those airport taxis that get dangerously close to running over people’s feet while honking incessantly through airports (this must be universal), lo and behold, we see ...