Crazy Layover

Now I've had some crazy layovers in the past, one involving a missed flight and a possible extra 2 days stay in China but one of the best ones was on my trip from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap. Usually one takes a boat from the capital to Siem Reap but since it was a little into the dry season, a good part of the trip was on the bus first.

When we got off the bus at the "ferry" terminal I noticed that we had been dropped off at a village next to the river. With no announcements or anything, the bags were unloaded and us bewildered, mostly foreign, passengers watched as the bus left.

The locals, who were starting to gather assured us though a ferry would be on the way soon. So in the meantime we made ourselves as comfortable as possible and soon the game of people watching began. Here's my favorite local who decided to come on a bike to see what the fuss was about.

The King of the Philippine Roads

All this talk about nationalism and Philippine Culture made me want to post something about our Jeepneys.  Love them or hate them, our country would come to a standstill if we didn't have these little handmade marvels.

Every now and then I find myself in one of these and I have to say I love it.  People sit side by side facing the other row of passengers.  At rush hour we all get packed in like sardines and yet still manage to zone out and maintain our "private"space.  We pass our fares to each other until it reaches the driver and the people closest to the rear entrance help old folks, women carrying heavy loads or children on board.  

Aesthetically speaking the colorful exterior is sometimes matched inside but the old stickers espousing "Basta Driver Sweet Lover" and "God Knows Judas not Pay" are few and far between.  Gone now also are the blaring low grade speakers that pump out the latest street tune maybe because of a city ordinance.  If you are lucky though you can hear one or two plying your route.  I usually wait to see if I can catch the noisiest one heading my way.  I flag it down and enter it, and if I'm lucky and it's night time, that usually means you can ride along to the music covered in a red or purple glow emitted by that one bulb right in the middle of the roof.  "On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair . . . ."

In search of the Batangas Blade

I recently went on what I can only describe as one of my favorite type of trip, the road trip. Although this was hardly an epic road trip (it was just for the day) it was still very special. My friend and I recently had a nationalistic debate about the Philippines and it ended up with us wanting to buy something that was very Filipino. Although we both agreed that the Jeepney is the king of all Philippine icons (ie show a picture of a jeepney to anyone and provided they are slightly knowledgeable about the world, they'll know it's from the Philippines) we had no compulsion to go out and buy one of these handmade marvels.

Nope, our trip led us to the beautiful province of Batangas, specifically the town of Taal, and more specifically still, Barangay Balisong.

Yes, we were on a quest to buy ourselves the infamous Balisong, otherwise known as a fan knife. If you ask me, the Balisong has gotten a bad rap. Before Asian gangs started using them, before Hollywood glorified them, the lowly Balisong was a utility knife used by the provincial folk of Batangas. The ingenious design, which allowed the quick deployment of the blade with one hand, something that undoubtedly would come in handy in many utilitarian instances, doomed it to become a deadly weapon making it now illegal in Australia, the UK, several US States and funnily enough, the sale of the classic Bente Nueve (29 cm) knife is also banned in the Philippines. Banned everywhere except in Barangay Balisong in the town of Taal is seemed.

When we got there to track down one of the more reputable knife making families, the Holgado family, we were in for a major let-down. It turns out they had stopped making the knife for over ten years now. To make matters worse, no one made quality balisongs in Barangay Balisong anymore which to me seemed like a crime against the Philippine culture. If the Nepalese have their kukri, then we should have our Balisongs. As we talked further with old man Holgado he said there were a few Balisong makers he can refer us to if we wanted (and yes, we wanted) but before we left he showed us what he was making now, budding / gardening knives. We could not resist, we bought a pair for ourselves before we set off to get our Balisong. It seemed kind of poetic, the old man who made a living making deadly Balisongs has decided to turn to gardening knives.

In the end we were able to buy our knives but to tell you the truth it was bitter sweet. There are not many things the Philippines is known for and it's a shame that something like the Balisong is now doomed to be fade away.

Japan Underground

When we arrived in Kyoto, after struggling to find a hotel (yes, we were young and foolhardy and had not booked one in advance), it was time for dinner. We had printed out the addresses of some highly recommended restos but speaking with our English language challenged doorman he more or less said "Why bother going there, there are lots of good restaurants at the train station basement".

Slightly worried about dining underground we decided to check it out. We should have known better than to worry, the place was great. Not only did they have restaurants, they had specialty restaurants, one servings different kinds of noodles, another serving all different kinds of tonkatsu dishes (yup, you heard me right).

So next time you find yourself in Kyoto, don't wander too far for that "special" restaurant, just go to the train station, they serve great Japanese food . . . . . or do they just call it food in Japan?

Chocolate Hills

For most Filipinos, the Chocolate Hills of Bohol are nothing new. Everyone must have seen posters of these mysterious naturally occurring hills at some point in their lives so I wasn't expecting much when I finally got to see them for myself.

I climbed out to the lookout point and was floored. First of all, these hills were pretty high, in the picture you can see them dwarf coconut trees that can grow to two storey and even more amazing were the quantity of the hills. They literally went on until the horizon.

It has not been determined how they came about but the name chocolate hills, sadly, came about because they turn chocolate brown during summer. Personally, I like the story of how they are really the tears of a heartbroken giant.

Anyone going to Bohol I highly recommend the slightly more than half day city tours, it's one of the best in the country.

Time Warp Europe

Here are a few pics from my first foreign trip with my most favorite girl friend ever (also known as my wife now). I didn't have a digital camera back then but I did have a film camera with black and white film in it. I love looking at these pictures, sure they aren't the greatest (look at how Notre Dame's top is clipped but the scratches and the monotone make it look so old, (yes I know, these are really old buildings but you know what I mean). Then again, this was 11 years ago in 1998, oh how time flies.

And to finish off, there's nothing like having your picture taken in front of the Gates of Hell in b and white. I'm still pretty scrawny in the pic and note the loose coat and hiking boots. This was before I learned the art of chic traveling . . . . the wife on the other hand, stunning as usual.

Into the Torugart Pass Part III

So there I was, heading across the border from China to Kyrgyzstan through the snowy and desolate Torugart Pass. On hand, I had my entry visa papers with a slight typo on it so I was getting a bit nervous. As is, I get nervous standing in front of any immigration officer even with all my papers in order but usually if there are problems the worst that can happen is you get chucked on a plane the way you came. Not sure what they'd do with me at this remote border crossing.

We stopped at a military checkpoint just for a cursory check of the passports and a headcount of the people on board. As I was sitting in the front passengers seat of the mini bus, I had to open the door and hand over the passport to the soldier. Remnants of the soviet system still remain in Kyrgyzstan, the soldier had Eastern European Camouflage, a fur hat with a red star in the middle and of course an AK 47 Spetznas version nonchalantly slung over his shoulder with the barrel unnervingly pointed at my belly. He flipped through the passports, looked at our faces and let us go through.

After a couple of minutes we finally get to the immigration "office" which consisted of a bare concrete room separated into two sections by a flimsy divider and a phone booth sized heated kiosk in the middle where another soldier started checking our passports. His kiosk was heated because the rest of the room was not and so we lined up in silence in a room as cold as the mountain scape outside.

I was the last in line which didn't help me with my nerves at all. I kept thinking about what I would say, how I would convince him the typo was just that, a typo, where I would run to should everything go horribly wrong and how I would live off the land.

When my turn came, I handed my passport and papers over. The officer was similarly dressed to the one who came close to poking me with his AK 47 at the checkpoint. Red star in his fur cap, full on camo uniform and his AK was propped up against the wall of his cozy kiosk.

I watched intently as he scanned the visa papers, my passport, my face, back to the visa papers, back to my passport and then horrors, back to the visa papers. He looked at something intensely and then leaned forward towards me pointing at my passport. "Oh crap, here it goes" I thought to myself. I nearly blurted out "It's all a typo, that's all, please let me into your beautiful country, I don't want to go back to China" but then I noticed he was pointing at my date of birth. I looked over to him and he smiled and pointed at himself. It turns out we have the same birthday. With a sigh of relief, I took off my glove and shook the man's hand.

Needless to say, this was the most bizarre border crossing I've had. Even without the drama of my papers, meeting the most cheerful immigration officer in China, driving through desert and then snow, getting caught taking pictures at the border (on both sides) and getting checked at military checkpoints, it was just too good to be true. It sure beats handing over your passport at the airport and five minutes later picking up your bags and jumping in a taxi.

Into the Torugart Pass Part II

To continue my "best ever border crossing" story, while still on the Chinese side of the border, we got our bus to pull over for some . . . . . bladder relief and to take a few pictures which on hindsight we were told not to do. The fact that we were on the Chinese border should have made that clear but then again, when nature calls, you have to answer.

The environment was very barren, a kind of a rocky desert type of landscape but that would soon change dramatically. Before we got back on the bus, I took a picture of a bus overtaking us (the one in my previous entry) only to belatedly notice that sitting in the front was a Chinese People's Liberation Army officer looking at me through my lens. Needless to say his bus stopped, a few harsh words were spoken and we were all herded back into the bus to continue our journey.

Soon, the dreary landscape made staying awake too hard and I found myself sleeping on the bus (wow, finally got to use that). Before falling asleep I remember feeling the sensation that we were going up.

Before long I woke up at the border. We needed to change to our Kirghiz bus. As I stepped out of the bus I stepped onto snow. The difference couldn't be more dramatic. I bundled myself up in my cold weather gear, hauled my backs over my shoulder and kind of slipped and shimmied over to our Kirghiz bus.

Luckily I wasn't totally stunned and was able to ask my travel mate to take a picture of me at the border, again something that may not have been too wise. True enough, right after the shutter was clicked, the border guard, completely dressed in battle dress uniform - camouflage with an AK47 slung around his shoulder asked to see the picture. I obliged and he said it was okay, whew. I guess I didn't get the secret minefields or the under ground missile silos in frame. Strangely enough, other travelers that posed where I had were forbidden to have the picture taken, I can only guess that I didn't actually step on the monument while they did but what the heck, I wasn't about to ask.

We bundled into the mini bus that had waited for us and headed off to the Kirghiz immigration post. This is where I started sweating a bit, I heard the horror stories of travelers being refused entry because of a technicality which meant they had to find their own way back down to the Chinese side. Also, I noticed that the documentation I had on hand for my Kirghiz entry visa had a tiny spelling error so despite the cold and snow, I was getting a little hot under the collar.

Picture notes: The two pictures in this entry were taken just a couple of hours apart, stunning contrast.

Into the Torugart Pass Part 1

I was going to do an entry on funny, weird, exciting immigration adventures, you know, the kind you have when you get into a new country, line up and everything goes eerily weird. For most of us, this doesn't happen anymore, what with travel being so easy and airports and immigration staff used to all kinds of scenarios. But what happens when your first call of port isn't an airport? As a matter of fact, when was the last time any of us ever crossed a border on land (and no, crossing countries within the EU does not count).

Here's a weird and wonderful tale of my border crossing into Kyrgyzstan from China. It's a bit lengthy (which is why it's broken into parts) but bear with me, it's both entertaining, slightly Twilight Zone and could only happen to me.

My trip across the Silk Road ended it's China leg in the city of Kashgar, the border town and in the past known to be a bit of a wild west. This is where the "Great Game" between British and Soviets played out complete with all the trappings of an Ian Flemming novel. We took a bus from here and headed into the Torugart Pass, only one of two passes that would allow us to move in our westerly direction. From the small town, we stopped at the Chinese Immigration post for our exit stamp and a good inspection of our luggage. I was kind of nervous thinking my reckless impulse buy of a knife in the Kashgar cattle market might land me in some trouble but I guess they were looking out for more valuable contraband (like Ming dynasty vases). Here is my first Twilight Zone moment.

Still stunned, I bundled into my bus and headed off to the pass. The countryside changed dramatically, there were no more houses, just rough mountainside and in the distance I swear I could see snow in the peaks. One more stop for a quick check at the last Chinese outpost and here there was none of the cheerfulness nonsense, just soldiers checking our passports. Before we knew it we were off into no mans land.

Mount Kilimanjaro

Having recently had to pass on a trip to Nepal to do the Anapurna Trail, a friend who lives in Africa, maybe out of pity, invited me to go climb Mount Kilimanjaro with her.  Not wanting to strike out a second time I said "Yes" even before I got my clearance from the wife nor having an inkling as to how to fund the trip.

Epic trips nowadays come by far and few between so passing up on this one was out of the question.  Then reality set in.  After having shot off my mouth I googled Mount Kilimanjaro only to find out the actual trek takes 6-7 days, a sobering find considereding I've never really been on a multi day climb, except for Mount Kinabalo and we all know how that turned out.

Couple that with the fact that altitude sickness is apparently common and I had to take a step back.  I think it's safe to say that I have lived all my life at sea level, sometimes even below it (considering how often our house used to get flooded).

Still, the thought of climbing my second foreign mountain and actually taking pictures of this trip is just too good to pass up.  So I thought I'd blog every now and then about the preparations, the heartaches, the pains and the eventual triumph of this epic trip.  So watch this space, all I know for sure is that the trip will take place in November of this year.  Lots of time to get into shape. . . . . (watch out for my "One week before d-day fitness plan entry".