Southern Laos

August 30, 2008 – 6:05 am


22 August 2008

Hey Guys

I hope you’re all sitting down because I have some VERY big news……….

I’m getting married!

Can you believe it at the age of 31 there is someone out there who actually wants to marry me?

But more of that later.

I’m back in Laos, in the south, as I really enjoy this country and I decided that I wanted to see the whole country and not just the north.

The last thing I did before leaving Cambodia was to visit an old mining town, Kuau, which has been completely lost in time. It’s amazing, there are about 500 families mining for gold with spades and buckets and ancient equipment. Arriving there is like arriving on the set of a Clint Eastwood western mixed with a scene from “Deliverance.” There are pigs and dogs in the muddy streets, and you expect the saloon doors to swing open, two guys to barge through, and a gunfight top break out. I was attentively listening out for a banjo.

This place is really remote, far in the north eastern highlands and I had to hire a bike and a driver to take me the 68km’s from the town of Sen Monorem where I was based. The name of the company who hire the drivers is called “Eezy Riders” or Eezy Lidahs” when they answer the phone.

As its right in the middle of the rainy season the roads are…well there aren’t any, and it took us 6 hours to ride the 67km’s through forests, rivers and quarries on a road that compares to nothing more than a pathway. We never went faster than 20km’s an hour.

But it gets better. I was expecting to go on a BMW 800 Dakar or something similar, and in the morning of our departure you can only imagine my dismay when my driver “Moonie”, (don’t ask) arrives on a Honda 100cc “Dreamer,” semi automatic, 4 speed, moped. Once again on my travels I became deeply religious screaming out to all the gods whose names I could remember. Actually I can’t be that religious as I could only remember one. But I did repeat it a few times throughout the journey.

I was definitely one of the first “Falang” (Westerners) to visit this place, but I wasn’t concerned with all the staring as it was quite easy to “walk tough” as I’d just spent 6 hours on the back of a moped and I was sore. Walking with my legs together wasn’t going to happen and I think that they thought I was some long lost cowboy. I just wish we’d parked the moped out of site. I did however decide to shorten my stay when I woke up in the night only to notice 4 miners standing there staring at me. I was going to fake some Kung Fu moves, but I just wet myself instead. They seemed satisfied and left me alone after that.

We left the next day….early

Moonie is the most amazing bike rider I’ve ever met. We rode through a storm that turned the pathway into a gushing river, we rode through a forest and a jungle and we crossed a rapidly flowing river in a longboat ferry. The ride back took us 6 very long and very wet hours and we only fell off 38 times. Thankfully we were only going 4km’s per hour and the pathways were muddy when we did.

But I must say that if ever I decide to ride across China or Mongolia or along the N2 highway to the airport at night, I’m definitely going on a Honda 100cc “Dreamer,” semi automatic, 4 speed …moped. They’re the berries.

Spending 12 hours on the back of a moped with constantly clenched stomach and arse muscles to stay up straight and on, automatically qualifies me as a pilates instructor. Katya has sent me my certificate and promised me a job when I get back. I’ll send you my class roster. Ek’s tight Ne!

I arrived in Southern Lao, which is partly made up of “The 4000 islands” in the Mekong River. There are about 43 islands so it is totally obvious that they call it the 4000 islands. But hey, size does matter so I’ve been told….. (Not that it’s an issue with me.)

I hopped into a longboat, (sitting down gently) which is very thin and longish and set sail for the island of Don Dhet. All of the islands have names similar to an Italian mafia, male porn star:

Don Khong (lead actor), Don Long (self explanatory), Don Hi Nyai (likes getting stoned beforehand, during and after), Don Lek- Fai (women’s’ dream), Don Sadam (Wears a turban) and Don Koy (the shy one).

Quite a cast!

Previously I mentioned that while sailing up the Nam Ou river I felt like a French explorer (with a Jewish surname), but this time sailing to the islands and crossing the mighty Mekong while manoeuvring between tree trunks and smaller islands, I really felt like a cross between the Camel/Marlboro man and GI Joe. The boat has to run across the river which is very fast flowing and they are so thin that any movement makes it feel like it could capsize at any moment. Everybody on board was quite tense and very still. We’re about 10 minutes into the trip and I’m fantasizing about being the first “Falang” to ever reach the shores and I’m wondering how the restless natives will react upon spotting their first pale skin. I’m so deep in my thoughts on how to deal with the situation and what I can offer them as a token of peace that I don’t notice the boat slowing down and docking outside an internet cafe. Nuff said!

The islands are great, so very chilled. There is only electricity from 6-10pm so it’s early to bed. I spent 4 days in my hammock on the deck outside my hut just watching life on the river hazily float by, while wishing there was a “mister delivery” among the locals. I was meant to stay for 2 days but ended up being there for 4. I Finished 2 books and only fell out of my hammock when I had to go and eat. The one inconvenience is that the bathrooms aren’t in the bungalows, but for 17 SA Rond a night, I could deal with it. I did manage to meet a few of my male neighbours at about 3am in the morning while we were hanging freely over the balcony and making sure that the Mekong didn’t run dry. Oh how blessed am I to be a boy.

The one day I did manage to get out of my hammock, I hired a bicycle and cycled around the island and Don Khong, (My brethren) which is connected to Don Dhet by a bridge. There are fantastic waterfalls and rapids, and upon viewing them you can actually see why the Mekong is the 10 largest river, in volume, in the world. The power and noise of the flowing water is deafening and once again I realised that nature has to be treated with the utmost respect. Otherwise we’re screwed!

The villages are also easily accessible and are really unaffected by the trickle of tourist that visit the islands. While cycling the 3 hours, I passed many monks (on cell phones) and took photos of the many picture perfect rice paddies. If you want a more upmarket accommodation (inside toilet) then Don Khong is the better option.

After a few days I realised what was missing….., there weren’t any cars and no honking of horns on the island. I almost went insane and knew that I had to leave urgently. All this peace and quiet was just too much.

I headed north for 2 hours by bus to a town called Pakxe. Not much happening there but there is a lot to see in the area and it’s a good place to base yourself. Hiring a 4 speed moped you can see the ancient Khmer ruins, temples and elephant rehab and training centres.

I wander why elephants need rehab and if so what they get high on and how much they need?

I can just imagine at one of their meetings one standing there and saying, “Hi, I’m Eric and I’m a drug addict.” The good news is that I used to get hammered on 6 tonnes of Marula berries a day, and now I only get tipsy on 3 tonnes. I’m feeling great”

“HI ERIC……..!!”

Laos is very well known for its hand silk weaving, so I decided to hire a scooter, yip you know what kind, and go visit one of the villages on the island of Don Kho (over circumcised porn star) and do a photo story.

Riding out of town, lost, I went through a red traffic light, which I seriously didn’t see. A cop pulls me over and says that I must pay him 50 000Kip (R 50, 00) for it all to go away. (These mafia are everywhere, I tell you) I try and explain that I’m a poor white South African and that bribing is still very new to me and that it’s only allowed if you’re a politician in my country. He just stares at me blankly and motions me to pay. Finally I agree to pay the fine but only if I he’ll write out a ticket so that I can claim expenses. ( I was working after all)While taking out the money I also take out my SAFREA card (South African Freelancers association) which has MEDIA written on it and I mention that I’m an almost award winning journalist writing for “Huisgenoot” magazine. On hearing Huisgenoot he totally flips out and tells me to get out of his sight. Which I do, quickly. Where did he learn those words from, and in such perfect english, I wonder to myself?

I reach the weaving village and find a family busy weaving.(Strange that) All the looms are underneath the houses that are on stilts and I thank my parents that I’m only 4 foot high otherwise it would have been a bit cramped. In this village the main source of income is rice farming and weaving. Whichever profession is chosen involves the whole family, granny included, and they’re amazing to watch as they go about their craft.

I’m quietly going about taking photos when the dad of the family mentions in a very broken english that he wants me to marry his daughter…………… !!!!???????

So in essence I was proposed to by an older guy who promised me a younger girl. Well that’s what I hope he was offering.

“Ok, I’m listening I tell him, what’s in it for me besides a weaving loom?”

We squat down around a pot of something and start negotiating which goes nowhere as we can’t understand each other.

I think I’m getting the daughter and all the silk sarongs I can wear.

After a while I decide I’ve had enough and got to go find a cop to bribe, but he grabs my arm and won’t let me go……

So guys, it looks like I’m getting married to an 18 year old Laos weaver. (She’s quite cute actually.)

I’m thinking of the wedding which you’ll all come to I’m sure? We can all sit around in our loin cloths or silk sarongs, getting hammered on Lao Lao whisky. (You only need two shots believe me.) We’ll have a couple of people on the boil with a vegetable or two, and we’ll have a wedding singer singing Abba and Celine Dion songs in Lao. Should be a blast. Can’t wait!

If any of you guys are looking for a wife, I’m sure it won’t be a problem to sort you out as she does have sisters. About 6 in fact.

The one thing that does concern me though is my future wife’s name. I don’t think HURIDASERTOMEPHOTI HIRSON will fit on her credit card.

Oh well, there’s hope for me yet.

Sabadee.. (Hello and goodbye!)
Gary

By Gary Hirson | Posted in The Daily Grind | Comments (0)

Cambodia

August 30, 2008 – 6:04 am


7 August 2008

Hey Guys

I hope you’re all well. I’m in Cambodia and I know it’s been raining plenty back home, but the rainy season has seriously hit here and it’s WET!!. I think this must have been one of my brighter ideas coming here in the rainy season….very well done on my part. At least it is hot, being summer, so now when I get drenched my glasses steam up as well which is really fun and I’m sure a sight to see… a drowned rat walking into poles. Very sexy!

Up until now I haven’t felt the need to visit any reflexologists as I’m in good health so no gutter stories this time. But I might feel a bit of flu coming on being wet all the time.

I arrived Cambodia in good spirits and the first thing I do is go visit the Killing Fields in Phnom Penh. A real mood swinger that is. Pol Pot killed between 2 -3 million of his own people and there are Killing Fields and Caves dotted all around the country. The “fields” are definitely worth seeing and it does have quite a drastic affect on your mood. The thing that I struggle to deal with is that this kind of genocide continues to happen all the time….a funny bunch we are, us humans. As if I wasn’t depressed enough, I decided to go to the infamous S21 prison in the centre of Phnom Penh. It was an old school that was transformed into a prison where all counter revolutionaries were tortured and if survived then sent to the Killing Fields, nit much of an incentive that?

Of the 20 000 that were sent to the prison only 7 survived. There is more information and visuals at S21than at the Killing Fields and if I felt depressed after a visit to the “fields” I now felt about as happy as you do on a Tuesday after a rave party. But still they are a must to see.

I must just say that if I lived in a country where the leader changed his name to Pol Pot or something similar, I would definitely start exploring some immigration options.

Really feeling up for a party I downed a cuppla cups of coffee sweetened with condense milk and Iexplored my way through the National Museum which is a definite.

While I was in Phnom Penh trouble broke out at a temple in the north on the border with Thailand. Not to bore you with the details but briefly, the temple was granted to Cambodia by the world court in 1952, but the main tourist access is from Thailand. UNESCO just named it a World Heritage Site and the Thai Prime Minister agreed to this and signed some documents. Thais living in the area got pissed off and started to protest so both countries sent up troops.

So fantasising about a Pulitzer Prize winning story and maybe a medal, I changed my plans and headed to Siem Riep (which I was going to go to at the end of my trip) Once in Siem Riep I organised a taxi to take me the 4 hours to get to the town nearby the temple.

I meet the taxi driver and I’m happy to see that the car is a modern Toyota Camry. He bitches about the size of my rug sack but I explain that I need to have a bit of cover

( a hiding place) when the shooting, bombs and grenades start going off. I need a bit of protection while taking my award winning shots, I tell him He doesn’t understand a word but agrees anyway and puts it in the trunk.

Just over an hour later I notice that there are now 7 people standing around this taxi waiting to get in. So we all hop in, the driver, two in the front and 5 of us in the back.

We pull off and drive a few metres when he stops, openly bribes a policeman (Hey you gotta do what you gotta do these days, I hear it’s the norm with politicians at home) opens his door to pick up another passenger who shares his seat with him.

I now know why he was pissed off with my rug sack. It was probably taking up the space for two extra paying passengers who could fit in the trunk.

I hopped out bringing to an end what was going to be the start of an illustrious journalism career which never left the parking lot.

So I went to the Angkor temples instead, and was very happy that I did. They’re great! The temples are something that I found I really appreciated in retrospect. While you’re there, there is a lot to take in and marvel at. I walked up a small hill in very humid conditions and watched the sun setting near Angkor with about 30 000 other sweating tourists. Now that was fun! A deodorant kiosk would be a deg=finite winner.

Siem Riep is definitely a tourist town. Everything is geared towards the many tourists visiting the temples. In the town there is a “Bar” street where all the restaurants and bars are. There are Irish bars, Italian restaurants and Khmer restaurants but the vibe of the place is such that it could be anywhere in the world. There is great market where the prize of getting something cheap definitely needs good negotiating skills, but the things are cheap. Siem Riep is good, only for a short while and more expensive than most of Cambodia,.

I headed south to a town called Battambang. On first sight it looks like a city that has had the life kicked out of her. The roads are dusty and crumbling, the once well maintained shop fronts and buildings have passed their prime, but once you start exploring the backstreets and alleyways that are lined with Front shops, French merchant house, corner street kitchens, and the odd aging French house that is glamorously holding on for dear life, the feel changes completely. Early morning and the brightly cladded Monks are out collecting “Alms” where the town folk come out and give money and food to the monks for the day. The children play in the streets, hopefully on their way to school. Dogs amble past horse drawn carts manned by merchants who busy themselves unloading their bags of coal. Life doesn’t seem too stressful in this underperforming town. Here the bakeries sell such perfectly tasting Baguettes and Pastries, that for a moment you feel like you’re in a rustic French country town. This fantasy shatters when a scooter carrying four, loudly blows its horn while driving on the wrong side of the road, leaving you wishing that you never given up your nappies.

I wondered into an establishments called “Smokin Pot” and you can only imagine my disappointment when it turned out to be a Khmer cooking school. But hey… when in Rome eat something. So I signed up to do a half day cooking course. I mean what better way to impress a women than to cook and serve her skewered cat, or dog and mushroom pie. I mean, that would definitely get her going. Four hours later, cook book in hand, my culinary skills definitely up a notch and not a cooked pet in site I walked out of there planning my first home coming dinner. Lucky for all of you I’m a vegetarian. Just like everywhere else in the world we learnt how to cook chicken, pork and fish, with rice.

In Battambang there is the Bamboo Train, which is a really great way to travel. The “train” consists of a set of wheels, a bamboo floor and a little motor. Everything fits together and when someone wants to go from one village to the next, the locals at the station assemble one, you hop on with a local, and off you go. They reach speeds of about 60 km’s per hour and they run both ways on one line. If two of these carts, that can take about ten people, are heading towards each other than they stop, hopefully, the drivers decide which one is the lighter of the two and dismantle that one. So the secret is to definitely go on the train with a bunch of Americans.

While in Battambang I bumped into a girl (Steff) from Queenstown SA. It was great to speak to another Seff African and we hung out for a few days. Another girl Caz , from Ireland, joined us and we hired scooters and along with our guide “Soon” we rode about 36km’s which took about an hour and a half, to Kamping Poy, a manmade lake. Another one of Pol Pots schemes that ended up killing thousands of Khmer’s.

The funny thing about travelling is how we change the way we speak when speaking to non english speaking locals.

I was asking our guide “Soon” if he was ready to come along, only to say “You come too Soon?”

Steff and Caz, once they got up from the floor laughing, definitely eyed me suspiciously and treated me differently throughout the excursion. My fantasy of a possible north south couch rugby game, ended there an then.

While we were at the lake we spent the day just chilling on a covered deck overlooking the lake and practicing all I’d learnt about “Smokin Pot” Lying there in my hammock feeling like Huck Finn, I witnessed a storm the likes I’d never seen. At one stage there was a grey sheet of water and we could only see a few metres in front of us.

When we eventually left, the trip home took longer as the once muddy roads were now even muddier and at one stage we had to pull over as we were caught in another deluge. But hey….that’s the beauty of travelling in the rainy season. If I get sick it just gives me an excuse to visit my new found type of healer.

So that’s it from me for a while. I hope you’re all very well and getting through winter. In this kind of wet weather where large parts of the day are spent indoors, I’ve decide to go back on the “spiritual” path which is lots of vodka and whiskey each day to help with the damp depression and it does seem to be helping. Highly recommended.

Chat later and keep on writing.

Adios

Gary

By Gary Hirson | Posted in The Daily Grind | Comments (0)

Happy Ending

August 30, 2008 – 6:03 am


17 July 2008

Heya All

I hope you’re all fine and dandy, especially after the Springboks finally beat the All Blacks and South Pacific Islanders on their home soil. Schweeeet.

Since my last e mail I’ve left Hanoi and I started heading south towards Saigon. My first stop was about 90 km south but took 4 hours by train. We (I was travelling with a Spanish girl, Elizabeth) stopped at a town called Ninh Binh which doesn’t have too much to offer but if you hire a bicycle or scooter there is a beautiful ride to one of the many ancient capitals called Hoa Lu. Its 12km and a bruised arse away but the scenery is spectacular. If any of you are planning on visiting Vietnam soon then this place should be on your agenda as already there is a lot of development happening. Soon the spectacular country side consisting of rice paddies and limestone outcrops will be dotted with hotels, motels and guest houses. Of course we got lost and the 12km’s took us 3.5 hours to get there and only 45 minutes to get back. Never before have I had such a sweet tasting beer as the one on arrival in Hoa Lu.

Two days after arriving in Ninh Binh I experienced my first overnight sleeper bus ride that was going to take me further south. The sleeper buses are very comfortable sardine tins on wheels, if you’re not squashed in the back corner on the top bunk above the rear wheel, as I was. The buses have 8 bunks on the bottom running down the sides and middle of the bus with 8 bunks on top. There is an inside toilet which isn’t too dissimilar to the toilet on an aircraft. I’m still wondering what the club would be called if you managed to have shag in the toilet. “The tight, bumpy, mile an hour club? Hmmmm, tights not too bad now is it?” There is an option of an outside toilet, but I don’t even want to begin to think how you get to that one in the middle of the night while travelling at 80km’s hour.

As our stop was the last one leaving town I was the lucky Jew to get the top bunk at the back, in the corner squeezed in next to a sweaty pom. Every time I needed to go to the toilet I had to climb over him, down a ladder while kicking the person below me awake and then repeating the whole process on the way back up. Not a very popular passenger was I, especially as the trip was 12 hours long and I’d consumed quite a few beers at the guest house before leaving. I’ve recently found out that you can actually book which bed you want on the bus. Forward bottom left for me it is.

In Vietnam honking the horn is a VERY big thing. I think to pass your drivers licence for a scooter, car, minivan, bus or truck you only have to know where the horn is. To pass a roadworthy, your indicators, brakes and lights can be faulty but god help you if your horn doesn’t work. They’ll impound your unroadworthy vehicle for sure. Where I come from you only honk your horn in a case of an emergency, but here it’s out of courtesy. A driver will courteously honk his horn to warn you that he is coming up from behind. To make it even more pleasant the horns are LOUD and have different tunes.

Generally the rules of the road is that you drive on the right hand side, but over here anything 10 centimetres right of the left hand pavement is considered the right hand side of the road. So it is not uncommon while cycling around to be confronted by 4 scooters and a minivan driving abreast heading straight for you. Just as it’s about to get messy a truck driver who is 2 metres behind you will courteously let you know that he is there by honking his horn. I’ve now begun to wear nappies

So back to the bus. I shit you not when I say that the longest time between the driver honking his horn was 27 seconds throughout the night. And this I know how? An American girl who was on the bus couldn’t sleep the whole night and decided to time the silent times between the honks. I last saw her twitching uncontrollably and drooling at the mouth with a very weird look in her eyes at the bus station in Hoi An. God help the first guy that honks his horn at her. I ask you with no sleep in my eyes, what was this driver thinking? It didn’t matter to me though as, as I was at the back end of the bus wondering how the hell I was going to get to the toilet without getting beaten up. I didn’t sleep a wink and stopped short of peeing in my pants. I now fly “poor man’s” first class which is a valium and a shot or two of rice whisky.

Hoi An is a really quaint little town that is a must see. It is very well known for its tailor shops where one can get …..well, tailored clothes. The Vietnamese are quite funny in business and they definitely don’t fear competition. When you walk down one of the many streets that are lined with tailor shops, they’re all exactly the same, offering the same cuts at the same rates. I have been told that there is a difference and you should definitely buy from the shops that have a website. Why, I’m not sure.

I met a woman from Brighton, who had left her card in an ATM machine. Elizabeth found her card, and before I could work out a way to siphon some money out of the account, she had left her hotel details at the nearby shop. Alex, as her name turned out to be, rushed over to pick it up once she realised that she had lost it. When I met her she was acting like a shark in a feeding frenzy, with no Seals in site. I have officially witnessed what credit card withdrawal looks like, and it’s not pretty. Once she had her card in hand she was back on the scooter and whipping the poor driver to go faster-back to the shops. She also had a strange look in her eyes. At one of the many shops she visited she had a dress made in 4 different materials and, she was even getting a mermaid suite made, for what I’m not sure but a small fantasy did pop into my head. She ended up having to send an extra 15 kg’s of clothes home.

The travelling salesman in Hoi An are even better than those in Hanoi and very much more determined, but their maths isn’t that good and neither are they very good at identifying a relevant target market. Every time I bought something off the street, they would always short change me by no less than 10000 dong. Bugger teaching english, it’s maths they need. While sitting at one of the many restaurants overlooking the canal, drinking “Fresh beer” which costs R2, 00 a glass, and waiting for my food, a travelling salesman would stop and ask if I wanted to buy peanuts………………I think they’ve definitely missed the bus with this one.

“Peanuts, onry 10 000 dong?”

No Thanks, I’ve just ordered food”

“Onry 10 000, you eat after yoh food”

“After my food, I’m having desert”

“After desert you have peanuts with beah, only 10 000″

“Listen buddy I’m sitting at a restaurant, enjoying the view and waiting for my food, maybe you should go try a sports bar or something!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Ok, onry 5000 dong…………………..

I have now picked up an allergy from all the peanuts I’ve eaten. I would still have some on me but my rug sack is still filled with caps.

But the best is definitely their entrepreneurship. I organised a lift into town on a scooter for 10 000 dong. 3 minutes later I arrived at my destination and the scooter driver asks for 15 000 dong.

“No,no 10 000,” I say?

“5000 extrah for the helmet” he replies.

When I finally did get up off the floor from laughing so much, I left him grumbling with 10 000 dong in hand.

They’re that good.

Besides the tailors and restaurants, Hoi An is one of those places where you can get caught up in for days. The endless beaches are quiet and relatively hassle free except when one, but not too many, of the travelling saleswoman wakes you up from a beer filled doze to find out if you want peanuts. I’m so happy they don’t understand Afrikaans. I’ve recently become really fluent.

You can cycle around (wear nappies) the many little avenues and stop to drink very cheap “fresh beer.” Personally I wouldn’t be able to tell you what stale beer tastes like as it’s never around long enough to go off.

There is great architecture, like the merchant houses and Japanese bridge to marvel at if that’s your idea of fun. They have a speciality dish called “Cao Lau” which is a thick rice noodle based soup. Very tasty indeed. And as around many other towns in Vietnam there are pagodas and temples and islands to explore, or you could just laze on the beach drinking beer and eating….peanuts.

The next day I floated onto the overnight bus, my bed was front, bottom left, not that it mattered as I was completely zoned from the valium etc. Even the honking horn didn’t bother me. I actually thought it was a new release called ” Try wake me up” by the Rolling Stones.

And onto Nha Trang, a seaside city that was hosting the Ms Universe contest.

Nha Trang could be any seaside city and the only reason I went there was to go diving and hopefully to shag a Ms. Universe contestant.

Well at least I got to dive, which wasn’t anything special. But I did find a local brewery called Louisiana Prime Rib that is right on the beach and sells the best beer I’ve ever tasted, after the one in Hao Lo that is. The beer is brewed by an Australian brew master and his beer has won many awards. The establishment is situated right on the beach, is very modern, and a fantastic place to watch Vietnamese woman in bikini’s, and of course the sunset.

When I arrived in Nha Trang I was almost over my sinus attack, but I still had a headache. Not one for pills, except vitamins, I decided that I would go for some reflexology. At around midday I wandered into a massage parlour that had two big feet in neon lights on the wall depicting a reflexology establishment. The guy behind the counter says 100 000 dong (R55,00) for a full body massage and reflexology.

“Cool, I’m cured.” I think to myself

I go up to a cubicle where this woman gives me a towel, tells me to undress and lie on my stomach.

Done.

She begins to massage me.

Now I’ve had Aromatherapy, Deep tissue, Swedish, Shiatsu, Acupuncture and Sports massages and after 90 seconds of her prodding me, I quickly came to the conclusion that this ain’t a professional masseuse. As I’m thinking this she says,”tuhn ovah,” which I do.

She whips off my towel with the one hand and grabs my crotch with the other one and says,”You want mohr than a massage?” Her hands were so quick David Copperfield would’ve been impressed.

Playing hard to get at that moment just wasn’t an option

Funny how a teeny little thing like a sinus attack with a migraine quickly slips away when there are other issues in hand…………….

Just to digress. Ever since I told friends that I was going to SE Asia they’ve all been saying to me that you have to go for a massage and a “heppy ending” Since I’ve arrived and travelled through Thailand, Laos and Vietnam, and as hard as I’ve tried I haven’t been able to find such a parlour. I know, I know…useless of me. But here I am in the middle of the day in a so called reflexology establishment with a genuine illness and wanting to be cured….. and she has unconventional ways on curing my now forgotten ailment.

The good lord above works in such wonderfully mysterious ways.

I think I’ll have to go back for my sore knee, battered shoulder, in grown toe nail,……

So the scoreboard looks like this:

Scuba dives - 2

Happy endings- 9 (in 2 days)

Physical health- 100% (But I will go back for a check up or two).

I’m now ready for Saigon……..

I’m now ready for Saigon……..

I arrived in Saigon with the idea of possibly extending my visa. From the moment I stepped off the overnight bus, in a daze, I realised that I would be heading out the next day.

In Vietnam whenever you ask someone the price of something and they say

“1 Dolla,” you know you’re being ripped off. I wobbled off the bus at the bus stop which the Rough Guide to Vietnam says is 5km from the city centre only to be told that it is 1 Dolla for a ride on a scooter to my guest house. Being a seasoned, Se Asian explorer my highly tuned senses warned me that I was being scammed. It finally cost me 10 000 Dong for the 110 metre scooter ride to my very humble abode. I’m considering claiming from “The Rough Guide”

For the first time I got violently ill from the some food I ate. They were very dodgy looking spring rolls indeed, but I still went ahead and ate them for lunch. Later that evening, some travellers that I’d previously met, and I went out for dinner at the market and then to a pub for a drink or two. 2 minutes after sitting down I rushed to the toilet where I stayed for about 45 minutes expunging all I’d eaten previously. (Thank God I still wear nappies).

Later on I managed to find my way to my guest house where I occupied the bathroom for the night. I’m now writing on a bus where I’ll be for the next 6 hours on my way to Cambodia. My stomach rumbles quietly as I kick myself for not thinking of bringing my personal reflexologist to help me keep my mind off my gut.

Saigon is big, bad, busy and expensive. I did manage to squeeze in a trip to the Fine arts museum which is housed in a very impressive French colonial building. If you’ve seen things like the War museum and Prison in Hanoi then skipping Saigon wouldn’t be a bad thing at all.

The (happy) end(ing)
Gary

By Gary Hirson | Posted in The Daily Grind | Comments (0)

Hanoi

August 30, 2008 – 5:59 am


5 June 2008

Herroh from Vietnam…… !!!!!!

I hope you’re all well

I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Sa Pa (Suppa) where I’ll be for the rest of the day as I had to check out of my humble abode at 9am and have to sit around until 9pm until the overnight train back to Hanoi. The overnight train has the following options. Soft sleeper, hard sleeper, soft seats and hard seats. As I booked my ticket late I managed to only get the soft seats for the 10 hour overnight journey up to Sa Pa. I’d hate to know what the hard seats are like as only now, two days after the train trip, am I realising that I do actually have an arse. But I do have another sleeping position, which is on my back with my feet up the wall and resting on the ceiling. I’m thinking of starting a new yoga genre after all the positions I’ve found while trying to sleep on a busses and trains.

So I arrived in Hanoi which is hot , humid, crazy and I’ve come to realise that I’m by far the best looking guy that’s ever been there. Every time I walk out my guest house these beautiful, young, innocent, kind, ladies come up to me and say things like, “Hello hansum, you want massage, boom boom (which I think is double strength marijuana), anything you want?”

“Anything?” I ask with tears in my eyes, “Why aren’t the woman back home so kind?”

And I can’t be wrong because there are so many here that find me attractive.

And just for all you guys who are still wondering if Asian women are the same as western ladies (If you know what I mean) well, THEY ARE. (I just HAD TO find out for all my good friends back home who wanted to know. I mean what are friends for?)

For all of you sales people out there who are reading self help books to improve your selling skills, throw them away, book a ticket, and come to Vietnam because here be true salespeople. In Vietnam “No’ is the new “Yes”

If you so much as stop and look at something at a stall you will have a little salesman following you until you relent and buy something you will have absolutely no use for later.

And their sale pitches are fantastic. I bought a cap for 30 000 dong (R25) and every day since then I’m stopped by a travelling salesmen (They carry their wares in a basket and move from foreigner to foreigner) who wants to sell me the identical cap.

This is how their pitch goes.

“Hey hansum (you see I’m not imagining things), how much you pay for the cap”

“30 000 dong” (R25, 00)

“This one only 25000″ (for an identical cap)

“But I have one”

“This one cheepah”

“But I’ve only got one head”

“But this one cheepah”

“BUT I HAVE ONE ON MY HEAD RIGHT NOW, I DON’T NEED ONE”

“Ok, only 20 000 dong……”

My rug sack now consists of a toiletry bag and 438 identical caps, and when I get back each and every one of you WILL buy a cap from me as “NO” is my new “YES”

And then there are the scooters………………..I’m not sure of the population of Hanoi but I know that every person must have at least two because that is how many scooters there are on the road. We have absolutely no right to complain about the mini bus taxis because compared to these guys they’re pussy’s. They give a new meaning to the term organised chaos. After a few glasses of rice wine I decided to walk into the middle of an intersection to get some action shots. (The only action shots I’ve been getting lately)

I stood there for 10 minutes taking pictures, and of the 150 000 scooters that passed me, I was not hit once. Which was quite a relief.

I went to Ho Chi Mihn’s mausoleum on the back of a scooter and it was truly a testicle shrinking experience.

On that note (not my testicles) Ho Chi Mihn, or “Uncle Ho” as he is called by the Vietnamese, wanted to be cremated and his ashes spread in the north, middle and south of Vietnam. So just to follow his wishes they built him a mausoleum and his body is on display in a glass caste to tourists and the adoring Vietnamese.

Visiting there is quite an experience as for the first time you get to experience that there is a communist regime in control. From entering the grounds everything is conducted with military precision and the soldiers definitely let you know that they’re in charge.

“Hey these guys have defeated the French, Americans, Cambodians and the Chinese. Who am I, (a nice Yiddisha South African), to argue?

Everybody walks in a silent queue into the mausoleum, and there on his back is the lifeless Ho. Just like all the other Ho’s I’ve known. At least he was free.

The war museum was also good, but it would be a bit better (just a bit) if the signs were in engrish, not that I’m brave enough to tell them. There is also the water puppet theatre where they have puppet shows that take place in, water. Worth seeing, but the puppets can only speak Vietnamese. “Hmmm maybe they need a TEFL engrish teacher?”

But the best part of Hanoi are the streets because that is where it all happens and as crazy as it is, it’s really fantastic.

So tomorrow I’m back there and then head straight down south towards Saigon. I have to be out of the country by the 17th (and I will be). Probably off to Cambodia. But I will let you know as once again I have to cross a border post, and I like my testicles just the way they are.

There are some pics that I’ve taken and they’re on my website www.garyhirson.com soon.

I hope you’re all well and keep on writing.

Chat later

Gary

A few more testicle shrinking experiences:

  1. Finding out at a crucial moment that the woman you’re with is actually a lady boy.
  2. Misplacing your wallet that has your passport, all foreign currency and credit cards in it, in what you thought was a women’s apartment
  3. Realising that Dog is on the menu while eating a meat that you’ve never tasted before.
  4. Being called off a bus by military personnel for questioning at a VERY remote border crossing in a communist country, when nobody back home knows where you are.

(Of course none of the above has actually happened to me……)

By Gary Hirson | Posted in The Daily Grind | Comments (0)

French Explorer (With A Jewish Surname)- Muang Noi

August 30, 2008 – 5:57 am


Howdy Bevironi

Man I am so loving Louong Phabang I was here for about 5 days and now I’m back for another 4.

I have just added you to my mailing list but here is a story for you.

I went up to a village called Muang Ngoi which is about a 9 hour trip up the Nam Ou River. It is only accessible by boat.

I went up with a British couple, he was about 23 and she was about 34B and very perky.

The boats are small and when you get in you feel like you’re having a Alice in Wonderland kid of experience. Small chairs and thin boat with low roof does sought of keep you compact for a while. If I’d had the Opium I’m sure the white rabbit would’ve appeared.

So you head up the Mekong, at the first intersection you go right in to the Nam Ou. You can’t miss it as the intersection is very wide and on the corner is about a 2000ft rocky outcrop.

The scenery is amazing, the chocolate brown water which moves as if it is hot chocolate, but is actually just dirty, brown, water, slides past forests and hills. We did stop for some running repairs and I got a little concerned when the captain hauled out a hammer and started to beat the side.

After 8 hours we stopped off at Noung Khiew and to walk across the bridge from the port to the guest houses with a 180 degree view of sheer, brownstone cliff faces, that drop into the river and green forests, on the banks is mind blowing, velly velly psychedelic.

34 B seemed be enjoying the view too.

Over here they make the best fruit shakes. There is nothing like sitting at a restaurant at dusk, overlooking the Nam Ou River and having a good shake…. a fruit shake that is.

The next day we explored some caves and then the hour long trip to Muang Ngoi.

Further up the river I started to feel like a rugged French explorer- with a Jewish surname. I thought I was going introduce contact to the natives, but that vision went overboard when I saw telephone lines running across the river.

Muang Ngoi is a great place to just chill. There are plenty of guest houses and its really laid back. Electricity from 6- 10pm but as it is the rainy season its 7-9.15pm.

We trekked for a day and visited some cool villages with amazing people. Was really happy that there wasn’t a big pot boiling on the side. I think 34 B would be really tasty.

Trekked our arses off in the mud which was fun, but the mud is thick and at times deep. Had to flick a leech or two off. I found out that mosquito spray works on all bloodsuckers so I aim to market it to uses on politicians, bank managers and the tax man.

34B, me and what’shisname went on a fishing trip. It was cool watching how they throw the nets. A good distraction.

They BRAAI’D us the fish they caught and a meal of FRESH river fish, sticky lice and chilli, served on a tree leave is other wordly. 34B was really licking her lips….

Back to the riverside bungalows to just chill. The rooms are quite dark and while travelling back I did see a spider, the size of my hand. If that thing had to land on me in the middle of the night, I would undoubtedly soil myself. But I haven’t seen any in Louong Phabang…speaking of which, FFF………….CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!

Later

G

Some more pics up on my website www.garyhirson.com (pass it on)

So now back in Louong Phabang, editing pictures, sending stories and just catching up.

Later Mz B

Have a great weekend

By Gary Hirson | Posted in The Daily Grind | Comments (0)

Lazing Down To Louong Phabang

August 30, 2008 – 5:55 am


12 June 2008

 

Hi Guys.

I hope you’re all well.

I’ve crossed the border into Laos and following is the story of my trip down the Mekong.

I hope you enjoy.

Gary

Growing up watching Vietnam movies like Apocalypse Now, Deer Hunter and Platoon had left me a deep fascination of the Mekong River, and also left me with a shadow side that took years of therapy before I realised that it’s only myself I hated.

Starting in the Plateau of Tibet it journeys for over 4000km, through the entire length of Laos, into Cambodia before fanning out into the “Nine Dragons” delta of Vietnam. A long journey indeed and always right on time.

The 10th largest river on the planet, it is the life line of the only landlocked South East Asian country, Laos, and I find myself standing on the banks of this Asian river.

I’d arrived in Chiang Khong in Thailand, a town that is geared towards assisting you to get into Laos and onto the slowboat that sails south on the Mekong down to Louong Phabang .

For 950,00 Baht, very little indeed, which included the boat trip, all the logistics, assistance across both borders, and a lunch pack for the first day on the river. Rice, vegetables, banana and water, definitely not my first choice, but hey… it did fill the gap

Long, thin, window less and able to take 60 -70 passengers, which they do, these wooden boats are sleek and very low on the water. Low enough so that while sitting on my bench I could comfortably drag my hand in the river, feeling the fresh water beneath my fingers while not realising I was wetting the person behind me.

The seating arrangements are made up of wooden benches- not too dissimilar to a church pew- and can seat two people. Squeezing into them I knew I would be paying for my sins. A cushion, that is available in almost any shop in both Chiang Kong and Huoaxia, is an absolute necessity. 2 are even better.

The diesel engine started up, the boat eased out from the bank and we were on our way.

The slowboats are very stable in the water and I noticed someone had left their glass, which was once filled with beer, on the windowless sill for sometime without it falling off. Yes, she was Australian.

After a while the unfastened pew benches were packed aside and the floor became a big lounge area for us to pray, or to lounge around on. I chose to lounge.

The slowboats run daily, leaving at 11am from the port town of Huoaxia-Loas. But in Laos the term, “hurry up and wait,” definitely applies when it comes to transport, so you might have to wait around before leaving.

During the rainy season- May to October- they sail once a day and up to four a day during dry season. One can also take a slowboat from Louong Phabang and head up river to Huoaxia. But as it is upriver it does take longer. Which could be a real pain in the arse.

Soon people were continuously moving to the back of the boat, where there was a little Laos lady -LLL-.(I’m not sure of their political views.) with a small tuck shop with chips, baguettes and snacks. But more importantly there was also an ice box that was filled with beer, water, coldrinks and, beer?

After the initial novelty of the boat trip wore off, the first day did seem a bit long. And at one stage I did think of turning my pew over to have a quiet moment and ask for this trip to pass by quickly. Especially as the scenery of the sandy banks and forests high up on the hills, were unchanging. But all aboard were very sociable.

Once, we did stop off at a village only for little children to board and assertively try to sell us very western coldrinks and chips. Not much of an attraction.

In the late afternoon sunlight, the feel of the river did change and as the heat became less intense we were able to relax into the trip. The boat ambled along while her passengers lazed about, reading and chatting. I remember thinking to myself that a slowboat on the Mekong around about now isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Day 1 ended when we arrived at the port town of Pakbeng. This rustic but charming village, which overlooks the Mekong, is the half way point of the trip. We were met by many touts offering accommodation, along with porters who were adamant that they should carry our bags up the short hill into town. Guest houses placed further up the hill sent tuk tuks to collect their guests and bags.

Accommodation can be organised when purchasing ticket for the river trip, but they do seem to charge a bit more, like 100% extra. For between 200 Baht- 400 Baht a very comfortable double room with fan and western toilets is available

Even though the roads are still unpaved and many street vendors in stalls make it appear distinctly third world, the hotels and restaurants have really come to understand, in the relatively short time that Laos has been open to tourists, what service is about. The rooms are clean, comfortable, and the staff happy, always happy to assist.

Pakbeng is in the Opium belt, and on many occasions while walking the main road, I was offered to buy some. But even though it is freely available it is still illegal. Just to stress home the point, there was a sign in the guest house that read,” Smoking, using or buying opium in the streets is illegal. Please speak to the hotel staff if you want some”

Very helpful and happy are these staff.

A plate of rice and vegetables or chicken, costs as little as 1 US dollar. Rice and meat is also an option and as yet I’m still wandering what that meat might be. Come to think of it I didn’t really hear any dogs barking the whole time in Pakbeng, but then again I’ve never tasted water buffalo either

Eating dinner overlooking the Mekong, for a price that doesn’t even dent the pocket, is, well priceless,

Electricity switches off from 11pm in the evenings, but most of the guest houses do have back-up generators.

9 am the next morning, back on the boat…., waiting. We did eventually leave 45 minutes later than we should have. Another 8 hours on the slowboat didn’t seem like much fun. And my backside wasn’t relishing the thought. But an hour into the trip and everything started to change, besides the bar reopening that is. The landscapes started too vary, and instead of the sandy banks, there were now rocky outcrops and even the villages that we passed seemed closer to the waters edge. The one village we stopped at was on a small hillock only 100 metres from the river and for the first time we could get to see how the outback villagers lived.

5 travellers disembarked to continue their trip overland and one of them, while lifting his bag, dislocated his shoulder. As much as I felt for the guy, I was really happy that it wasn’t me. In the surroundings that we were in, a doctor was more than just a phone call away. Luckily for him there was a doctor among the passengers who was able to assist and re set his shoulder.

I’ve now seen a grown man cry.

Besides the varied landscapes, the sight of fishermen using their bamboo traps and casting their nets was becoming more of a frequent sight. Watching them artfully going about their craft can definitely be considered as poetry in motion- on beer.

About halfway through the second day I did witness and elderly Australian gentlemen, who accompanied by his Thai wife, get slightly disoriented and profess that we were going the wrong way. I think he might have become too friendly with the hotel staff the previous evening. Somebody should have told him that Opium could do that to you. Then again maybe he was just dehydrated.

The crew also caught a nice sized catfish. And they decided that hanging it in the toilet next to the toilet paper seemed like a good idea. Not if you have to go to the toilet, which is dark, sit on a toilet that is western but does not have a seat. Reaching for the toilet paper, while on moving boat, and hoping not to grab the fish is quite an experience.

Even though the first day seemed longer than it should have, the sights during the second day definitely made up for it. An hour before we arrived at Louong Phabang we passed by the Pak Ou Buddha Caves at the confluence of the Mekong and the Nam OU rivers. These caves store the many Buddha images that can no longer be, venerated on an alter. The entrances to the caves make an interesting landscape against the limestone cliffs.

At the point where the Nam Ou and Mekong rivers meet there is a massive rocky outcrop that is majestic in appearance. Quite frightening actually, but beautiful. Due to the time of the day, the sunlight gently bounced off the surface of the river producing quite a surreal reflective light. Everything seemed to slow down considerably and we all knew that our final destination was just around the next bend.

For some travellers this trip might not be as comfortable as they would like. But the sights on the second day, along with the amount of time allowed for introspection, reading or writing make up for the little aches and pains. This trip is a must, just for the beer prices if nothing else.

An alternative way to experience time on the river is to take one of the many speedboats that passed us on the way.

With 8 passengers and luggage packed in tightly, just in front of the noisy engine, wasn’t for me. 6 hours in an open boat under the blazing sun didn’t seem like fun. That along with the suggestion by “Lonely Planet” that the outcome of the trip is not totally guaranteed, suggested that a slow boat was a better option. When a helmet and life jacket are mandatory, and ear plugs are an optional recommendation I think sipping on a cold beer while very gently watching the world go by is a far better alternative than sunburnt arms and a dull whine in your ears.

But either way….just get there.

By Gary Hirson | Posted in The Daily Grind | Comments (0)

Second home- But thankfully I still have my first-5th June 2008

August 30, 2008 – 5:53 am


I’m dropped off outside a Wat…what? A temple. If the temple hadn’t been there I would have thought I was in a scene from “Rambo 1-9″

“Hmm, maybe I’ll speak to my yet not found agent about this place. I could see a movie here.”

The area is amazing. Trees all around, plenty of water, not surprising after that cyclone we just drove through, and total silence except for the 3000 000 cicadas that are going mental in the trees.

“Well at least it isn’t some weirdo playing the banjo’” I reassure myself.

I’m greeted by a local who takes my bags.

We walk down a muddy slope,” yip the rain again,” across a stream, with just a plank as a bridge that end halfway across the river. Why? I’m not sure but I start to cross it anyway. I’m really happy I have my own porter as I’m sure I would have seen my own arse if I tried to carry my bags across the PLANK.

“I wonder if his tip can come out of the donation?” I question myself. “We’ll cross that plank when we get to it.”

Once across the river we walk up a short hill. Now I’m really ecstatic I have my own private batman. And on the top of the hill is “Second home”. If I was carrying my bags I would have dropped them there and then. I’m thinking,” F…k this for a joke I want my first home, or flat, back in Vredehoek , with my own little mountain and a proper bridge. I don’t care how amazing the views are you can’t expect me to stay here. What times the next bus, or pick-up, or donkey for that matter, I want out of here!”

After coming down from my second hyperventilation incident for the day, I take a second look and realise all isn’t so bad.

The main building of Second Home is made from cobbing with wooden poles that hold up the leaved roof. There is a kitchen, a lounging area with a bamboo floor strewn with mats and cushions to lounge on. There is even a TV and DVD player and plug points to recharge mobile phones.

Everything is very rustic but looks quite comfortable and I think to myself,” I could get quite comfortable here after about an 18 week forced stay. “Thank you lord for electricity, I’m sure they’ve got all 9 Rambo’s which will keep me busy for a while. Geez, they might have even shot the movies around here it looks so alike. I’m sure ol’ Sly Stallone probably has a holiday hut nearby to help with his mid life crisis and post steroid come down”

I’m greeted by the monk, shaven head, as all monks are, small and thin. With a broad smile he welcomes me warmly

“Hello Gally.” He chimes you are the first Aflican to visit. I feel like Neil Armstrong, and this place is so not what I’m used to, it COULD be the moon.

While his greeting me, I’m thinking of the weight loss programme that he must be on because if I could get my hands on it and take it home, sell it, I could retire, fat….fatter on ……Roman Abromovitch’s yacht before the end of next month.

He is a small man, but then most Thais are. But he is strong and this I can tell by the grip of his hand.

“Oh… Kay,” I think to myself,” Don’t mess with this little geezer, and listen to everything that he says. He want me to meditate, I meditate.’

Chinawoorn has a sense of peacefulness about him with a touch of warmth and kindness. It has been his dream to start a project like Second Home for a while. As his whole line of ancestry is from a nearby village it was a natural choice to build it here. He considers himself a monk of the world and everybody, from all walks of life, are welcome to his oasis on top of the wet, muddy hill.

He wasn’t always a monk and only converted when he became disillusioned with life in his twenties. At the time he was working at a hotel in Chiang Mai and was drinking, partying and screwing around.

“Ok, so what’s the problem with the last sentence I think to myself. I was also drinking and partying, and if I was getting some in my twenties, the last thing I would do is become a CELIBATE monk. I hope his got all is marbles, especially that I’m going to be here with him in a place where nobody understands any english.”

He shows me to my quarters, which is an open ended “A” frame hut consisting of a bunk, a mattress and a mosquito net. In a word, open plan and tiny. The only reason there wasn’t a TV was because they probably couldn’t fit it in. But the views are fantastic but there’s also no water and electricity.

“Yay, I can lie on my bed-because that’s the only space there is once my rug sack is in, and marvel at the views. At least if I stretch my arms and legs at the same time there’s no walls to get in the way.”

I shove my things into the corner and take off to have a look around the place.

There are 8 of these open planned units dotted all over the farm which is about 7 Rai or 2800 square metres in size. The layout of the farm runs across 3 small hills and the vegetable garden runs through two small valleys and over one hill. It all sounds very big, but it’s not.

If it could be described as a women, she would be very petite, lying on her back with a little patch….of garden, just about where her legs would meet.

“Hhhmmmm celibacy remember”

There is a running shower with, once again, amazing views and, yes, to my pure and utter delight a western styled toilet. I’m happy.

When I arrive there are 4 other volunteers already working there, and it is fantastic to speak to meet english speaking, likeminded people. Enlightened, that’s what we are!

I’ve got a bit of catching up to do, but after 5 days I’m sure I’ll be way ahead of them, I chuckle to myself”.

As I arrived late in the day and I’m still coming down from my trip up here, I have a quick, absolutely no meat dinner, and head off to bed.

I squeeze my way into my abode, cover myself with my mosquito net and quickly fall asleep in the absolutely pitch black night.

Halfwa y through the night I wake up to go to the toilet, which is as far as I can aim from my open door, and I’m confronted by what I think is “Close encounters of the, I don’t know what kind”

In front of me are 1000,s of little lights flying in every direction. Thinking that it’s those Cicadas attacking , I’m just about to dive inside, when I realise that the lights are tiny little fireflies. For a moment I just stood there, while I dribbled on my foot, and stared in wonder at this amazing sight. The last time I saw anything similar was at a psychedelic trance party while trip……, well a while ago.

The next morning I wake up, shake myself, and out of bed. Have a shower and then head for breakfast, which consists of fruit, rice, egg, nuts coffee, and vegetables. Absolutely no bacon in sight.

We start at about 9am with whatever chores are needed to be done. There is a small field that needs to be cleared for rice planting and it is full of stubborn weeds. Chinawoorn tells me to go get a hoe, and for a minute I get really excited. So I pick up a ho,…hoe and off I go. Ho, ho, ho.

Now let me tell you there is not much that beats toking on some strong weed, and the satisfaction of tugging out a stubborn weed comes a close second but this is back breaking work and after about 15 minutes I’m thinking that maybe we should uplift the local villages, get them over here ,and get them to start a garden service. I mean hey this is self sufficiency we’re talking about but a little bit of good old capitalism ain’t going to hurt anybody.

After about 2 hours, some working harder than others, we take a break and are finished for the day.

Dropping off my ho..e, I say “Thank God, otherwise I’d have to rethink how much I was going to donate.”

For the rest of the day we pretty much chill and if we want to learn about Thai cooking we can help Chinaworn, who prepares all our meals. He is more than happy to, and always available to ask questions about cooking or anything else for that matter.

“Not me,” I say.”For 60 bucks a day I don’t want to know what’s going on in the kitchen and I plan to be served, looking around for the little bell.

Thinking about it now, I should have asked him how to get those f…..g weeds out.

“Maybe I should suggest poison.”

Lunch is served, and once again no meat, but I’m starting to get used to the idea by now.

Everybody sits around and chats about from where they’re from. The local villagers that work for Chinawoorn, but don’t do weed, join us and lots of fun is had as they don’t speak much english. But somehow we all get by while nibbling on our cabbage, rice and chilli. And Chinawoorn’s project is benefiting the locals as they are employed- one of the volunteers is building his own, two tiered A frame on stilts and he is employing the locals to help in build. When it is finished he will donate it to Second home. You see He is trying to stick within the norms of Buddhism and doesn’t want to become too attached to it.

“Well hey buddy, I’m more than happy to detach it from you for a while,” I think to myself while slurping up a noodle.

The afternoon everybody just lazes around, some go back and do a bit of work, but I just laze around.

And then the rains come and it is a sight to behold. From the safety from under the leaved roof, and I Do have a new found respect for leaves, we watch it bucket down all around us. And along with the rain comes, what I’m sure is the Thai pet- as there are 100’s in each household-, the mosquito. And it is revered in Thailand and applauded, well that’s what everybody does when they start appearing, clapping. I still don’t know why. I

Can someone please tell me why are they here really. What the hell do they do except piss us off.

And being true to the Thai politeness, these mosquito’s don’t want to disturb so they’re very quiet while they ‘re busy sucking the last drop of our life force out of us. Like thieves in the night, they come take and go, while we left scratching ourselves raw.

Chinaworn is often invited to villagers houses for dinner, and at times prey for them for one thing or another. On two occasions he was invited to prey for new houses that had been built by farmers. When these times arise he invites us along to go with and observe and when we go he usually takes us on a scenic route, across rivers, up hills, down valleys through forests and across fields. The last time I went on such strolls was when I was doing 12kilometre route marches in the army. Well at least this time we don’t have back packs. A bit of rations would help to keep the sugar levels up although.

The country architecture is quite basic and not very varied, obviously there is one architect who is making a killing. The wooden houses consist of an entrance room, which also doubles up as the eating area, with the bedrooms and bathroom running off the back end of the house. As Thais are brilliant squatters , there are very few, if any, chairs. The rooms are uncluttered, with maybe a cupboard, or chest of drawers and everything is left natural-wooded-,EXCEPT the linoleum covered floors which comes in a range of eye catching colours, beige, light brown or muddy brown. But somehow it all works. I do however think that there is definitely scope for an interior designer who has specialised in linoleum, preferably one who can differentiate colours.

We all sit on cushions and once the prayers and blessings, which consist of humming and aahhing, we begin to eat.

Now for someone who has had two knee operations and isn’t too supple, about 47 seconds into the meal, my legs have a tendency to let me know that they are not enjoying the position that they are in. As well as, the cushions that we are sitting on, designed for Thai backside, thin and light, are of absolutely 52 seconds later my arse starts to scream, even louder.” Listen buddy, how about the left cheek for a while. Ok that;s enough how about the right cheek. I tell you what how about a chair, even better yet why not a fucking Lazy Boy!”

But sticking with Thai custom of politeness, I finish my food in about 18 seconds and look expectantly at everyone else to hurry up so we can at least stand the fuck up.

The whole episode only takes about 20 minutes and soon we are on our way back home- via a shorter route thankfully.

On most nights when we weren’t trekking and squatting out for dinner, we would all eat together and then either sit around and have a discussion of a spiritual nature, no not alchohol or ghosts and then we would wander off to do our own meditation, or whatever ever brought us to a personal climax.

On the 5th and final day of my stay, all the other volunteers have gone on their own personal journey’s and it is just Chinawoorn and I.

“I wonder if I let anyone know that I was coming here , and I wonder how long it would be before they realise that I’m missing?” I think t myself.

That day I left the weed alone and Chinawoorn and I sat around talking about.”WHY THE HELL DID HE GIVE UP SHAGGING TO BECOME A MONK!!” Not about mediation and the philosophies of Buddhism, which was why I went there in the first place.

It was all very enlightening especially when he mentioned that all thoughts are uncertain, we are all connected and there is no self. Something I should tell my bank manager the next he phones to tell me I’m overdrawn.

“Hey bru, just chill, I’m connected, somebody else will sort it out.

On the last night we were hit with a massive storm and as I was leaving at 6am the next morning, Chinawoorn suggested that I sleep in the main house, on stilts and without walls. So after slipping and sliding down the hill to get to my , built off no plan, teeny house, and inching my way up the now quicksandish side of the hill. I settled in for the night.

About an hour after I fell asleep the rain stopped. And how do I know this?….because when the rain stops all, and I mean every last m…..f…..g frog decides to wake up and croak. One frog sounds like those wooden clackers that we used to shake up and down that made a totally un-useful noise.

Well just imagine a continent packed, sardine style, full of frogs that are right under the floor of your stilted house and all wake up at the same time.

Words fail me to describe exactly how quickly I stood up and exactly how far my arse puckered up, but I thought if this is enlightenment then I’m out of here

After realising what it was and lying awake for the rest of the night listening to this deafening noise while wondering what I could do to these amphibians, along with the mosquitos. I realised that they’d make great alarm clocks with and added bonus…If you get to lick their backs you would think you were Alice in wonderland with your own personal drummer.

Sitting on the”bus” heading back to the city, tired, I really felt enlightened after my stay there. About 5 kilos enlightened after the meals without meat.

By Gary Hirson | Posted in The Daily Grind | Comments (0)

The Road To Enlightenment- 2nd June 2008

August 30, 2008 – 5:33 am


After wandering around Chiang Mai for a few days I picked up a flyer that advertised -

Come and visit “Second home”.

A place where you can come and stay for as long as you like, learn about and practice Buddhism, meditation, organic farming and authentic Thai vegetarian cooking. All meals included.

Don’t pay, donations welcomed. Suggested donation 250 Baht (R60,00)per day.

Contact Monk Chinawoorn on 845673….

“This is exactly what I’m looking for,” I thought to myself.” I can become enlightened in a few days on the cheap and because I’m saving money it will lengthen my stay in Thailand. Cool, become enlightened and save money at the same time…this is for me”

Just as I’m dialling Monk Chinawoorn’s mobile number- already having my doubts- “since when were monks allowed mobile phones?” I ask myself .That fleeting thought passes through my mind without any attachment as so happens with people on the road to enlightenment, “when I have a minor panic attack. “What do I call this guy? Monk ? Mr Monk? Sir Monk, holy man Monk….what? Shit I can’t stop myself, I definitely need a bit of meditation as I’m obviously more attached than I think.”

“Monk Chinawoorn here, hello?”

“Well that sorts that out.”

“Mr Mo..” I catch myself saying.”Monk Chinawoorn?”

“Call me Chinawoorn,” he politely answers.

I like the guy already.

“I would like to come to your place tomorrow and become enlightened if you have space?”

“Yes, yes,” he answers.” All you do is go to the Samoeng bus station which is one block nohth of the Wolalot Maahket, and take the yellow bus via Samoeng to the Pung derm village. The tlip only take 3 ohwers and costs 100 Baht. Theh is anotha monk coming up, so I tehl heem to look foh you. The bus leave at 11am shaap.”

“See you then,” I say, switching off the phone

With all the details written down I have time to kill and ponder over the thought of a happy ending. It would still be my first one as my last one was interrupted by the start of my acting career.

“No can do, I’m on a spiritual path,” I remind myself.

The next morning I’m up sharp and hail a tuk tuk which is right outside the guest house.

“40 baht too bus station,” I’m told

Wondering how a 4 minute trip to the station can cost 40 Baht while a 3 hour trip on a bus can only cost 100 Baht. I consider bartering the price down but then realise that soon I’m going to be on a comfortable bus, probably with an air-con, on my way to the countryside and Nirvana”

“Forget it” I say and hop in.

After an uneventful, very short, journey we turn a corner into the “bus ” station and in front of me are about 20 “yellow busses” -which are actually closed pick-up trucks with seats running down the sides of the back- called sawngthaews.

With the thoughts of my “comfortable, air conditioned bus” quickly going out the nice comfortable busses window, I proceed to ask anybody who understands a little bit of english where the ‘bus” to Pang Derm village is. After about 6 shrugs and 8 blank stares , the travelling monk, spots me and calls me his way.

11 am comes and goes as does 11.15 and 11.30. But I’m not concerned as I’m on my road to enlightenment and nothing is going to piss me off. Just after 11.30 a very hungover, 20 something year old city slicker hops on the bus and grabs his place on the bunk closest behind the driver.

He opens up a bag of fresh fruit and nuts and starts munching away.

At 11.45 the last passenger arrives who is a teenage girl, about 16, dressed in a purple thin sweater and matching purple shorts. How I come to remember that I still don’t know as I don’t have a clue what the city slicker was wearing. The monks easy to remember, he had an orange, or brown, or mustard…. or maybe a beige robe on.

So at 11.48 am sharp we’re off.

There’s a monk, a Jew and a hungover city slicker on a bus…..!, who by now I‘ve caught more than once leering at the very nice young girl, leaving for the country albeit 48 minutes late.

What Chinawoorn didn’t mention is that the “bus” also doubles up as a courier, delivery, animal transport vehicle. So instead of leaving straight for my spiritual haven we drive around Chiang Mai picking up more people, including another two teenage girls, which really gets the city slicker going. As for me I take no notice as I’m considering abstinence.

“One step at a time,” I tell myself as I glance slyly through my sun glasses.

After about 84 stops which included picking up parcels, letters, bags of maize, and a two door cupboard -which went on the roof-, and a stop at a lotto vendor- on the side of the road- we’re on our way. My two concerns were that we would be stopping to pick up a goat or pig and that we’d only get to my destination once my two month visa had expired.

Being a “farang,” the 3 girls keep on glancing over at me and giggling. I’m thinking that maybe they’ve seen me starring in my movie debut and maybe they want to get it on with a hot, young, well, actor.

As my fantasy is about to start turning sordid I realise we’re leaving the city and starting up into the forested highland of the north west of Thailand.

Instantly the air becomes fresher and the views breathtaking. A low mist has settled in the valley below us and it’s simply a surreal site. The further we get from the city the easier I breathe and the more I relax. The narrow, double lane road, wide enough to squeeze two cars past going in different directions, meanders onwards and upwards around hairpin bends. While I’m enjoying the views I’m thinking to myself,” Why the hell does he have to use both sides of the road, especially while going around blind corners.” During my minor panic attack it starts to rain…really ,really hard, Instantly I have flashbacks, which aren’t drug related, about my arrival in Bangkok. The only difference now is that if we float off the side of the road this time we’ve got about a 500 metre drop. In Bangkok I was scratching for a life jacket under the seat, this time I hoped that maybe we’d picked up a parachute on one of the many stops.

Just then I see a sign that says “Mae se waterfall” And for a moment I thought I was back in Cape Town.

Between my deep breathes I notice how beautiful the rain is with the forested valley and the mist as a backdrop. If I wasn’t shitting myself so much I would have been able to let go of my seat and take a photo. It probably would have had a bit of camera shake…but hey with photoshop these days anythings possible.

About 15 minutes after it started and about 1 minute before I started hyperventilating the rain stops and once again the sun shines through the clouds.

The city slicker arises from his slumber and instantly gives ALL 3 girls the once over.

“I definitely know what he’s going to be doing before he goes to sleep tonight. Not me, I don’t do that anymore, and if I did that would make me a dirty old man” I think to myself. Yeah right

3 hours, about 112 stops, and one near death experience late, we arrive at what will be my home for the next few days.

By Gary Hirson | Posted in The Daily Grind | Comments (0)

War Story From The Toilet

August 30, 2008 – 2:05 am

Sitting by myself waiting for the train that is going to take me to Chiang Mai I realise that this is where my adventure begins.  For the last week or so I’ve been staying with a South African friend and her Thai partner and if any time I felt like it, or was feeling lonely, I had them to talk to.  Now it is only me by myself that I’m with, and from here on in I have to accept all, enjoy all the adventures and confront any of my worst fears that come my way.

Having a bit of a deep moment and just before I was about to burst into tearsI tell myself that there is nothing to fear and I will probably be in the same compartment as a group of Swedish female nurses, on their way to an erotica convention in Chiang Mai. Quite likely, yes I know.

I board the train and as I’m travelling overnight I’ve booked a sleeper coach. Unlike in SA the sleeper coach consists of double bunks that run along both sides of the coach. When you want some privacy you close the curtain that hangs over your bunk. At the end of the coach is the toilet.

Instead of the Swedish nymphomaniacs there are 8 Thai women in their 60’s who are probably going to a Majung convention. ‘Oh well, almost’ I say to myself.

An hour into the trip I feel my stomach start rumbling. I’ve heard about the possibility of having an upset stomach while travelling in Thailand but I’m not too concerned as I haven’t been eating too much and the toilets  so far have been westernised and not starting blocks.

I walk past the 8 women, all who smile at me as I make my way to the toilet. I open the door and my worst fear is realised. Instead of a seated toilet, there’re starting blocks.

 Now the one thing I absolutely hate is having to squat when going to the toilet. It is the most uncomfortable thing for me to do. After 2 knee ops it is just the worst. But my stomach is really letting me know that something has to come out.

So I squat down and am hanging on for dear life on the one rail that there is provided  I’m very aware  of where I’m aiming as I really don’t want to hit my shorts  while trying to keep steady as the train  rocks from side to side.

All is good and the mission accomplished. Very proud of myself I stand up. Now just to digress, it seems that in every toilet in Thailand there is a hose with a shower head that one uses as a douche. They have a tap that you switch on and off but this one has a pedal and as I stand up I step on the pedal and water shoots out all over my shorts. Instantly I think of the 8 Majung champions I have to walk past.

(Read on if you dare as now it becomes very explicit)

I go about washing my behind and the effect of the water loosens something inside and I realise that there is more to come waiting on the horizon. So knees creaking, arm straining, thighs screaming and the vein in my head throbbing from all this physical torture I squat down. I’m struggling to keep my balance and I’m swaying from side to side while going about my business. If anybody had to walk in at that moment they probably would have thought that I was some crazy madman trying to redecorate the floor with a new painting technique.

Finally my ordeal is over. My whole body is sore and the vein in my head is pulsating so much that it feels like it’s bopping to Michael Jackson’s ‘thriller’

I turn around to assess the damage , and as I bend down to pick up the hose my glasses slip out of my pocket and plant themselves in the middle of it all, perching themselves  just like the flag on the moon. I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

15 minutes later everything is clean and I mean….SPOTLESS, S-P-O-T-L-E-S-S. I study my glasses thoroughly before putting them back on.

Standing in my underpants, wet shorts in hand I gingerly open the door hoping that there isn’t a queue waiting to come in. I step into the aisle and embarrassingly walk past the 8 women.

As Thai people are very polite nothing is said but I can see from the look on their faces that they know exactly what is going on and they turn away quickly.

I hop into bed, close the curtain and pretend I’m asleep. (To the sound of muffled giggles in the background)

 

So my trip so far looks like this:

Ripped off by taxi drivers – 3

Been approached by lady guys-1

Almost drowned in a rainstorm-1

Happy endings-0

Confronting worst fears-1 (Still trying to work out if I came out on top)

 

 

By Gary Hirson | Posted in The Daily Grind | Comments (0)

A New Star is Born

August 30, 2008 – 2:03 am

Hey Maja

 

I hope you’re well.

You’re going to love this

 

After a long day walking around Kho san road, bartering with store owners and eventually buying nothing. I do think I left a lot of pissed off store owners in my wake and will never be welcome back even if I really wanted to buy something. I settled down for a quiet beer and Pad Thai ( which I eventually paid the full price for.)

 While sitting at the sidewalk noodle store, minding my own business and thinking about a happy ending, I was approached by a casting director who was looking for “farangs” to act as extras in a Thai move. As you know  I’ve worked in the film industry in Cape Town for the last 10 years and I had thought I had escaped the whole industry bulls….t.  Early call times, endless egos, late nights etc. But Pang as he was called was a very good salesman…just stopping short of “I love you long time,”  he managed to convince me otherwise. So there I was at 5 am the next morning waiting to be picked up to be taken to set.

Along with myself were 19 other “farangs”. I was the last to arrive and knowing how the day would pan out, lots of waiting around, plenty of takes, more waiting around, lunch, even more waiting around, I smiled inwardly as I knew their excitement would soon turn  to frustration and eventually pissed offness. Shortly after my arrival breakfast was served and instead of bacon and eggs, muesli, muffins, biscuits and anything else one can imagine eating for breakfast which is what I was used to on a film set, we were presented with chicken broth and rice. Not worrying too much as I knew there would be crisps, biscuits, drinks, fruit etc to follow,  imagine my disappointed when that was all we were going to eat until lunch time. As it was only 6 am I wondered to myself how else I could gain 2 kg between now and lunch.  Besides the very healthy, probably slimming breakfast , we were served instant coffee with nothing short of 6 spoons of sugar, probably to hide the taste of the coffee.

The PA asked me,” You want me to stir the cofeee?”

 

“No, thanks,I don’t like it too sweet.” I replied sarcastically.

 

Shortly thereafter the speed and volume of the conversation definitely stepped up a notch and soon every extra was known by name. Actually we stopped just short of hugging each other…which is another whole story entirely.

 

I quickly became the most popular extra on set when the director found out I was from Cape Town. They all want to go there to shoot as they hear it’s the next best thing to Hollywood. Milking it for every bit possible, I am now the man to contact if they ever come out…which I doubt.  By the time I was finished with them, they thought that I single handily started  the industry and along with being a director, I have a production company, Hair and make-up agency, casting and model agency, studio and camera  and lighting hire company.

 

If there was a throne they would have sat me on it and bowed down to me all day.

 

The movie is called ………wait for it, THE HEADLESS FAMILY and I can’t believe my acting debut is as an extra in a movie where aliens can take off their heads are trying to convince us locals on earth  that they are human.   The scenes were so strong and the plot so detailed and exciting that I think if this movie was released in time it would have knocked Indiana Jones off the top spot worldwide.

 

But it gets better…….

So there I am as an extra acting as part of an audience while these characters are being interviewed on an Oprah type of show. We have to clap, cheer and laugh when instructed to. They are filming us when the lead actor says to me, “Hey you aah an aahlite acta”

“Thanks, I’ve worked on a lot of films sets and I know how it works ” I explain to him,” and as nobody knows me here I don’t mind acting  like a dickhead.” By the look on his face I can see that the obvious humour went straight over his head. He just pats me on the shoulder and replies,’ velly good kally on”

 

“Thanks buddy, for the vote of confidence” I say to the Thai equivalent of Mo from the 3 Stooges. But a very cool guy indeed who has an obvious eye for spotting raw talent.

Later on after an appetising lunch of vegetables, noodles, countless cups of more coffee and absolutely nothing else, Pang calls me over away from the others for a quiet meeting. By now my possible weight loss is becoming a serious concern and I’m hoping his going to offer me some sweets on the side. He quietly says to me,” The main staah thinks you a good actah and because the uthah actah not available he wants you to leed his lines”

 Basically what he was saying was that there was a part where a talk show host is meant to stand up and goad these talented aliens, who can take their heads off to actually take their heads off in front of an audience of which I was previously part of.

 

So now from a mere extra,  earning 800 baht (R200,00) a day, I’m now trying out for a featured role for the total sum of 1000baht (R250,00) a day.

“Wait until I get my hands on my non existant agent, I’ll show her a thing or two about negotiating. “This is no way to pay an upcoming star….. I refuse to work like this” I think to myself.

 

“OK,” I say to Pang.”But I demand some sweets and biscuits as payment.’ Taking on the role of a spoilt star.

 

I’m handed the short script which goes something like this:

Line one: “ We don’t believe you can take your heads off, you’ve been lying just for the publicity”

Iine two: “ Oh my god, look, they’ve taken off their heads, can you believe it?”

 

What I can’t believe is that my acting debut, which is sure to turn into a glorious career filled with hot women, parties and fast cars, probably not my own,  is starting out on a movie called “The Headless Family” in some back street studio in Thailand.

 

Geez, thinking about it this smacks of a snuff movie.

 

“What actually happened to the guy I’m replacing?” I ask to no one in particular.

 

 After 3 takes in which I tried to impersonate, Gene Hackman,  Jack Nicholson and Justin Timberlake, the last one to  see if I could  really act, they called it a wrap and I’m sure that is where my acting career ended.

 

But I do think that if ever you are able to get your hands on a copy of what I’m sure will be a blockbuster cult classic, it is definitely not one to miss.

 

 

So now I’m in the market for a reliable agent with strong negotiating skills who is able to up my rate from 1000 baht (R250) per day to a sum that we both  agree to.

 

And if ever I’m booked as an extra (international