What priorities do the red stripes and blue stars really represent?

What priorities do the red stripes and blue stars really represent?

On a lonely winter night we go out for coffee. “How was your day” emerges into “Did you pay the mortgage,” and finally after all the routine mundane questions are spent we exchange them for dreams of summer, retirement, and travel dreams. “Where could we go?” “We could see what people do in the farthest possible place from here!” “When we retire, we could live in some rain forest in Costa Rica!” “Or we could own an amazing community school in a village in India!” The dull winter scene outside seems brighter with our mirage of dreams.

Why let the dreams float away with the clouds? We capture them like a child capturing bubbles with a net. And we do it with one single click of the computer mouse. Just like that we buy plane tickets and our dream becomes a reality.

Suddenly in June all the “Mrs. Cavanagh, is the answer to 4 times 5 twenty?” and “Mrs. Cavanagh, can I have a band-aid?” “Mrs. Cavanagh, he called me stupid!” “He tattle-tailed!” all go on summer vacation. Students pack up their books, brains, and back packs. I go home to pack, un-pack, pack again, and double check, oops, and pack yet again. I discover that packing for a cycling trip takes precise packing since everything has to fit into two small cycling side compartments.

“Did you remember to pack the extra inner-tubes?” “How many cycling shorts did you pack?”

“Uh… I don’t remember! I better un-pack just once more and double check!”

“What about the air-pump!”

Just as I am about to fasten the cycling compartment the final time, I toss in my pair of red striped and blue stared socks. I am a proud American citizen, a community member, and a proud teacher of future American representatives. I will cycle though countries and represent the kindness and openness of an American citizen and proudly wear my bright red, white, and blue socks J

…..A day of biking…

The sun bakes my body like a cake and my sweat creates a layer of sticky frosting. My shirt clings to me uncomfortably like plastic saran wrap. I thrust my body forward, one peddle at a time, one mile at a time.

Even in the course of a couple of miles, we stop and stop again to guzzle water. We even tie a five liter water bottle to the back of the bicycle. We go through over ten liters of water in one day! The first fifty miles of the trip are beautiful--narrow roads holding hands with bridges. Along the sides of the road, there is rice laid out to dry. While on Michigan backroads, we usually find peace and quiet on the rolling hills, here in Thailand we are ALWAYS surrounded by the zoom of motorcycles. We pass nearly all of the local bicyclers riding older three speed bikes. Kids yell, "Hello!" All day, we are greeted with Hello, hello, HELLO! We eagerly yell back and people respond with a shy laughter. That is pretty much the extent of my Thai communication skills-- zero-- we rely on their one word of English and end up with a two word pleasant conversation :)

Then I am taken by surprise. “Hello!” followed by “You biking..very good!” A man on a bicycle rides beside me and beams a welcoming smile.

“Hello!” I return his smile pleasantly.

“You must stop. I invite you for lunch. I welcome bicycler to my country. I must buy to you lunch!”

I am touched by his kindness. My legs welcome the stop as we pull into an open café on the side of the road.

“Bicycler always hungry. You must eat the rice and all you want. No problem. I buy for you.”

“Thank you so much. You are very kind.”

“I guess you are from Holland. Many biker are from Holland. Where are you from?” he asks.

“I am from the United States of America,” I reply proudly.

His smile freezes momentarily as he replies, “Oh well, Bicycler very good. American people very good, but American government very bad.”

“Oh ok.” I don’t know how to reply. Thank you didn’t seem appropriate. I take a bite of rice and sort of smile sheepishly.

“Yeah, you biker strong, but American government like the war. Why the American government like to fight so much?”

I chew on my rice to give me an extra minute to think and then, “You know, I really don’t know the real reasons for the war.”

I shake his hand and thank him over and over for his kindness in reaching out to us as foreigners. He leaves me chewing on his comment for the remainder of our bike ride-- American government bad… American government like war… I am startled that people so far away from my land are so aware of our political situation.

It has been a long day of cycling over seventy miles. I am so relieved to check into a humble guest house, shower off all the iced sweaty cake feeling and become “American girl” once again. We find ourselves relaxing in the guest house lobby in the evening. I sip on a coffee with condensed milk (in South East Asia it is custom to use condensed milk rather than creamer). I enjoy the company of the fellow travelers. “Where are you from?” I ask an older man sitting on the chair beside me.

“From Spain. Where abouts are you from?”

“The united States,” I reply proudly.

“Oh yeah? We are counting down the days until Bush is out of office!” I am expecting a question regarding our travel itinerary but quickly after the short greeting I am connected to the negativity of my government.

“Have you ever traveled to the U.S?” I ask.

“Oh yes! I studied once in California and it was really beautiful and I really enjoyed it.” He replies. “I just never really appreciated Spain’s health care until my experience in the United States. You must really worry about getting sick without public healthcare.”

“Well, yeah, I guess. But we have insurance and stuff,” I reply.

“I learned from people in the U.S. that if you get really sick, they can charge you personally. I feel safer in Spain knowing that no matter what happens to my health I will always be taken care of and I will be ok financially.”

Safer in Spain?! His words sting. I always thought America was the safest place in the world. The most advanced and suddenly my pride is challenged.

“Where are you from?” I turn to the lady sitting to my right.

“Germany. Nice to meet you.” She kindly shakes my hand and asks me, “And where are you from?”

“I am from the U.S.” I reply warmly.

“Oh wow! Is it true that gas there is only four dollars a gallon?”

“Only?” I think to myself. We’ve been watching in terror for the past four months as gas prices skyrocketed to an astonishing price of four dollars a month and the German girl said only. Not quite sure how to respond, I reply, “Yeah, uh, gas is four dollars a gallon now.”

“Wow that is amazing, ”She replies,“ In Germany gas is nine dollars a gallon!”

“WOW!” I reply astonished, “We think it is really expensive at four dollars a gallon!”

“I hear that America uses 25 percent of the world’s energy sources,” she states, “Are people starting to use more energy efficient cars there?”

I find myself taking a deep long sip of my coffee while flashes of sport utility vehicles that I saw gliding down the highway haunt my mind. “Uh, yeah. We do have the Toyota Prius, but not too many people can afford them.”

“Oh, in Germany many people are beginning to drive inexpensive diesel cars that get 50 miles to that gallon.”

“Well, I am sure that America will get some soon.” I state uncomfortable, feeling as if I am from a third world country waiting for technology to reach me!

“Nice to meet you all! Have a good evening and safe travels!” I dismiss myself kindly feeling somehow behind the times, as if from the third world somehow.

As I set out my cycling attire for the next day and re-pack my cycling bag I pull out my padded cycling shorts and a t-shirt advertising my community of Kalamazoo, MI. I would proudly wear the shirt from my home town. Then I pull out the striped star socks and decide to re-pack them. I begin to question what the red stripes and stars represent; Millions of dollars spent on war to secure oil supplies? America; a country with so much but yet strangely lacking the security of health care and a safe environment in the future. I am an American girl, representing the American people in my travels. My priorities are a safe environment for the future, secure health care, and acceptance for others across the world. I begin to wonder for the first time if my government really represents me. And I realize that maybe those red stripes and blue stars don’t represent the values that they used to.

Travel Log at a Glance

JUNE 16- Thank you, Gy, for driving us to Chicago. Departure for Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam with a layover in Tokyo Japan on ANA airlines. No charge for transporting the bicycles.

JUNE 17- 11:00 p.m. Vietnamese time we arrived in Ho Chi Minh City and stay at Ha Vy Hotel.

JUNE 18- Official day one in Vietnam. We put together the bicycles and went sight-seeing in crazy motorcycle traffic on foot.

JUNE 19- First day biking! We cycled in crazy motorcycle traffic to the bus station and took a bus out of the city to a small town called Mi Tho. We rode 10 miles from Mi Tho to Ben Tre. HOT weather! We cannot speak a word of Vietnamese and there is NO English anywhere!

JUNE 20- We cycled 50 miles from Ben Tre to Can Tho. Lots of construction with NO SHOULDER to cycle on and heavy cement truck traffic. Difficult ride because of the heat and the construction.

JUNE 21- We took a tour of the floating market-- local people sell fruits, vegetables, and nearly everything from small canoes on the river!

JUNE 22- We cycled all day around Can Tho- lush vegetation, small rural communities, people were surprised to see us and said "hello!" and smiled at us as we passed by. 40 miles.

JUNE 23- We were aliens landing from Mars, cycling the rural long route from Can Tho to Chau Doc, Vietnam 100 miles.

JUNE 24- Bye to Vietnam and Hello to Cambodia-- boat ride on the Mekong River to cross the border and enter the capital city of Cambodia: Phnom Penh

JUNE 25- Wander/adjustment to Cambodia. We visited the Royal Palace and cycled to the killing fields 15 miles.

JUNE 26- We cycled out of the capital city of Phnom Penh to a small rural town called Skun 50 miles.

JUNE 27- We cycled from Skun to Kampung Thom and met a fellow cycler (Charlie from S. Korea) on the road. Scenery- rice fields and lots of friendly people waving at us as we pass 50 miles.

JUNE 28- Kampung Thom all the way to Siem Reap. Lots of rice fields and a long hot day of cycling 100 miles!

JUNE 29- Relax day, wander around Siem Reap and ate Korean food for the first time with Charlie.

JUNE 30- We explored the famous Angkor Wat Ruins with Charlie and enjoyed the gentle breeze riding our bicycles around the ruins 15 miles.

JULY 1- We visited the local life fishing museum and had a rest day in Siem Reap. We enjoyed Indian cuisine :)

JULY 2- We cycled with Charlie from Siem Reap towards the Thai border and stayed in Sisophone. The ride was on a HORRIBLE gravel road bumpidy bump the entire way.

JULY 3- It rained in the night and the gravel road become ankle deep mudd road. 50 miles out of Cambodia and Welcome to Thailand and its PAVED roads :)

JULY 4- We part ways with Charlie and head south on a quiet curvy road, stopping to visit a cave. We had a tour of the cave all in Thai language and didn't understand a word but enjoyed it anyway :) 40 mile day from Wattanapram Thailand to Soi Dao.

JULY 5- 50 miles from Soi Dao to Chantabury-- our first big city in Thailand. We stayed at a cute guest house on a river.

JULY 6- 60 miles from Chantabury to Ban Phe. First time at the ocean. We stopped at a store to get peanuts and water and met a scary Italian Mafia guy.

JULY 7- 60 miles from Ban Phe to the mystery dot on the map, Pattaya-- that should be renamed disgusting, nasty, sex tourist sin city.

JULY 8- Pattaya rest day

JULY 9- 40 miles from Pattaya, Thailand to near Samut Prakan. A frame cottage resort in the middle of dumpsville.

JULY 10- It rained all morning and turned into a light sprinkle around noon. We cycled into dark and stayed at a honey-moon suite in polluted-nastyville. I supose that even factory workers need honey moon suites?! 50 mile day.

JULY 11- Samut Songkhram to Phetchaburi 40 miles. While eating dinner, we saw a man walk by with an elephant.

JULY 12- Phetchaburi to Hua Hin 50 miles (where the loved King resides-- he really is loved-- his photograph is absolutely EVERYWHERE and on road signs). We enjoyed staying at a guest house built on stilts directly over the ocean. I could see the sea in between the spaces in the wooden planks on the floor.

JULY 13- Hua Hinto Pranburi- visit with Thailand peace corps volunteer, Angela. We rode our bicycles to the mangrove forest. 30 miles

JULY 14- Pranburi to Prechuap Khiri Khan (quiet fishing village with Buddhist temple on a hill owned by hoards of monkeys). We enjoyed a long walk on the beach and saw a HUGE jelly-fish! 48 miles

JULY 15- Prechuap Khiri Khan to Bang Saphan 60 miles- We got lost on the beach roads and eventually found a nice bungalow near the beach! I enjoyed veggie tofu soup for dinner after a long day of biking!

JULY 16- 72 mile day from Bang Saphon to Chumphon. We took a mid-night sleeper fairy boat to an island called Koh Tao

JULY 17- We landed on the island at the wee morning hours and road a few miles to a nice bungalow called SILVER BUNGALOWS, overlooking the sea. We spent the day hiking around the island.

JULY 18- Snorkeling tour where we met a couple from Sweden on their honeymoon. We spent the rest of the evening with them for dinner on the beach.

JULY 19- Relax and hiking around the island before taking the midnight ferry boat to Suratthani

JULY 20- 100 mile long cycling day. Off the fairy boat, sleepy eyed, we started the long ride across the peninsula and made it before night fall to Phang- Nga-- a beautiful town with cliffs everywhere!

JULY 21- Island tour in Phang Nga to James Bond Island

JULY 22- 60 mile day from Phang-Nga to Phuket tourist island (a bridge connects it to the mainland). We stayed at Karen beach and met an American, Tim, a retired man who lives in Phuket with his wife.

JULY 23- We cycled from Karen Beach the viewpoint and into Phuket town 24 miles. Beautiful views of the ocean on all sides.

JULY 24- Phuket to Phi Phi island rocky boat ride.

JULY 25- Swimming in Turquoise waters on Phi Phi Island

JULY 26- Boat from Phi Phi island to Krabi (VERY ROCKY boat ride, I was SOOOOO happy to reach land again!) We hiked up 1,254 steps to the Buddhist temple overlooking all of Krabi!

JULY 27- 80 miles from Krabi south to Trang.

JULY 28- 90 miles- a long cycling day to Satun -- our last stop in Thailand before heading to Malaysia by boat!

JULY 29- Welcome to Malaysia! Boat from Satun to Lankowi island (Malaysia). 15 mile ride from boat dock to guest house

JULY 30- Cable car ride and bike around Langkowi-- Lots of beautiful breathe-taking views 30 miles

JULY 31- Langkawi to Georgetown (Penang) 3 hour boat-ride. I got worried when they handed out black barf bags... and WOW was it a rocky three hour ride. I really don't like ocean boats! Again, I was REALLY happy to reach land! We enjoyed Indian Cuisine in Georgetown and a nice hostel for the night!

AUGUST 1- Crazy mountain ride from Georgetown to Gerik! The hills slowed us down so much that we found ourselves riding through jungle roads at night! We were so happy to arrive at a town at around 9:00 p.m.! 75 miles

AUGUST 2- 80 miles on hilly jungle ride with iron legs from Gerik to Jeli! We saw yellow warning road signs for elephant crossings and saw lots of monkeys!

AUGUST 3- 30 miles from Jeli to train stop town called Tanah Merah.

AUGUST 4- JUNGLE TRAIN!!! We put our bicycles on a train and spent all day on the jungle train! Gorgeous ride and a great way to see into the local life and small villages. We stayed the night in Jerantut-- the last small city before heading into the jungle national park!

AUGUST 5- We took a boat three hours up the river to the national park entrance and we left out bicycles in storage in a hotel in Jerantut. We hiked a few hours in the jungle and took a jungle night walk/tour.

AUGUST 6- We walked on the longest canopy walk in the world and enjoyed hiking and seeing monkeys. We took a night river ride, looking for glowing eyes on the river's edge. It rained at night...

AUGUST 7- The night rain invited the leaches to come out and they tried really hard to crawl up our legs on our six hour hike into the jungle! We pulled off the leaches with salted peanut shells and enjoyed a stay in a wooden hut in the middle of the jungle spying for animals.

AUGUST 8- We took a river boat back to town from the jungle and REALLY enjoyed a shower.

AUGUST 9- We hiked into a cave and saw lots of bats! we took a night four-wheel safari and saw jungle cat, birds, snakes, spiders, and a slow monkey!

AUGUST 10- Cycled from Jerantut to Raub 60 miles

AUGUST 11- 65 miles Cycled from Raub through the jungle (beautiful ride) to Kuala Lumpur. I really expected the ride to be ugly and polluted leading into the city but it was goregous!!

AUGUST 12- Visit to the Petronas Twin Towers and walk all over Kuala Lumpur..oh yeh, also my doctor visit to cure unhappy belly.

AUGUST 13- KUALA LUMPUR, capital of Malaysia We found boxes at a bike store and enjoyed shopping and eating in Small India



AUGUST 15- Fly from KL Malaysia to Bangkok, Thailand

We plan to enjoy a couple of days in Bangkok before...

AUGUST 18- 11:00 p.m. our flight takes off to Chicago U.S.A with a layover in Tokyo, Japan!

Malaysian memories

We cycle the last six miles in Thailand from Satun to the ferry dock where boats depart Thailand for the Malaysian island of Lankawi. I wear my knee length shorts and a conservative shirt instead of my usual tight-fitting bike short and tank top attire. Beads of sweat slyly expand into puddles. The sweat becomes a wet layer of Elmer’s glue and my shirt becomes a sheet of saran wrap clinging uncomfortably to me….

I was worried about cycling Malaysia. I had never been to an Islamic country before. Would the people judge us and not accept us? Would I have to cover myself and cycle in 90 degree heat fully covered? I shouldn’t have wasted the time to worry or write the previous sentences. It turned out that Malaysia was my favorite country out of all our travels in Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, and Malaysia.

Memories that sparkle in my memory that are meant to be savored to the last drop, the last moment….

Witch costumes-- Will I have to wear one while biking? I see some women wearing long black robes, long black head scarves, and even long black scarves that cover their entire faces except for their eyes. I wonder how they eat and spy on a woman on the street corner stand slipping her spoon underneath her face cloth. I never see her smile, nor her curved nose, nor her curved body- just the blob of her burka that resembles a Halloween witch costume. However, men that accompany the women, wear typical western attire (shorts, tank-tops, t-shirts). It seems strange to me that only women cover themselves so carefully, but that men look just like men from the United States. I worry that they are offended by my hideous bike attire (tank-top, tight bike shorts). We spend our first nights in Malaysia on the island of Langkawi at a guesthouse owned by a Japanese/Iranian couple. The Japanese lady seems modern-- dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and always greets us with a smile and advice on the best cheap local restaurants and markets.
”As a tourist, am I offensive for not covering my body like the women that wear all black?” I ask her.

“No problem!” She replies kindly. “The women that wear all black are tourists from Saudi Arabia with a different more strict form of Islam. The Malaysian women usually just wear scarves that cover their hair and often wear just jeans and t-shirts or skirts. You will be safe and comfortable anywhere you go in Malaysia. No worry!”

Sea sick on the Indian Ocean- I sit calmly on the seat of the ferry-boat ready to write in my journal about our island adventures on Langkawi island. I imagine writing stories and stories and stories more during the three hour boat ride from the island to the mainland of Malaysia. At first, the ride is calm, smooth, gentle. I write about the Islamic attire of the women and am deep into my thoughts when a man begins to distribute black plastic bags. A wave breaks our determined forward route and shakes us sideways, then another wave, and another… I look out the window and feel terrified as I see monster hungry waves trying to swallow the boat. The boat bounces between them, surfacing after each one. People begin to use the bags followed by gagging sounds that I will save my reader from experiencing. I do not like boats, SAM I AM! Not in the Pacific, nor in the Atlantic, Nor anywhere, SAM I AM! I like the land, yes I do!

The never ending night jungle bike ride

Steve sinks in the sewer- We make it up the never-ending mountain in the lowest gear 1 and finally are overjoyed to see the warning fast decline sign… down, down, down, carefully in the pitch dark with just the small glow of our eternal light flash-light… Yes! Finally there are street lights signaling civilization in the distance. Then, the street lights welcome us as we cycle underneath them into a small town. We look up at the buildings for any English clues for “Hotel” or “Guesthouse” and BOOM! “OUCH!” I look behind me to see Steve’s leg caught in a sewer hole. The grate is just wide enough for his foot to slip through and his knee thick enough to catch his fall. Several people seem to pop out of the store fronts. “You needing help?” “We bring you to hospital?” “You ok?” “You leg broken?” One man picks up Steve’s bike. Another helps him up. We all watch eagerly as the evil sewer hole lets go of his leg. We let out a deep breath of relief as he takes a first step forward. A swollen knee, a few scratches, but nothing is broken. It was a moment that showed us the hospitality of the culture. People are people and they came to our rescue!

Iron legs and enjoying it! Southern Vietnam is mostly flat. Cambodia is flat. Southern Thailand is flat with a few gentle hills. Malaysia must be flat too. FALSE! We bike UP, UP, UP winding hill roads which reward us with beautiful views, lots of monkeys, and iron legs!

Jungle train inside the life of the locals

Trekking with the loved leaches- We thought leaches only lived in standing water, but they hang out on the jungle floor and join us on our six hour hike into the jungle and snuggle in between our toes. YUCK!

…Vines are braided like a little girl’s hair. Leaves are bigger than a giant’s head. Tree trunks tower majestically above our heads reaching to Jesus, Zeus, or Buddha. I take in the pure virgin forest air. My eyes trace the trunk up, up, up and hang on the canopy leaves above. “What is that?” Steve’s voice interrupts my focus above. He stares at a small slimy creature catapulting up his shoe. We stare at it in unison as it magically disappears through his sock. “Yikes!” We freeze in amazement and pull back the sock. Within thirty seconds the hideous creature (leach) catapults onto Steve’s shoe, slithers through the microscopic pores in his sock, and sticks its suction cup mouth onto his ankle. “I can’t pull it off!” “It really has a grip on me!”

“Salt!” I remember. “We need salt!”

“Where are we going to get salt in the jungle?” We look at each other, completely defeated by the small evil leaches.

Then, it dawns on me. “I have salted peanuts in the shell!”

I pop the shell open, eat the peanut inside, and place the salty shell on the head of the leach devouring my Steve. It detests the salt and lets go as Steve grabs it using a leaf and tosses it on the ground. We are saved by salted peanut shells and rainforest leaves!

Night jungle treks, safari- The strong glare of the flashlight temporarily paralyzes snakes, monkeys, birds, butterflies, spiders, stick bugs, sloths, wild cats and all sorts of jungle critters. Their shiny eyes glow and reflect from the flashlight beam.

Is this really the way to the capital? We saw more monkeys cycling to the capital city of Kuala Lumpur than while trekking in the jungle!

Kuala Lumpur, the capital city of Malaysia- A mosaic collage of people together create a piece of beauty

Malaysia welcomed us with adventure, culture, friendly people, and mean leaches! We flew from Kuala Lumpur to Bangkok, Thailand—Capital city hopping until catching our long flight homeward bound!

Made in Thailand...

MADE IN THAILAND

What is Thailand like? The travel guidebooks describe Thailand as the most developed country in South East Asia: a beach lover’s paradise, exotic fruits, and kind spirited people. This is only a part of Thailand. On bicycle we see EVERY corner. We feel and conquer every mile of the back roads and interact with the local people beyond the hotel fronted tourist boulevards.

While Pattaya gave us an eye opening experience into sex tourism, the ride from Pattaya around the Gulf of Thailand staying south of Bangkok taught us what “made in Thailand” really means. Industrial polluted stink grey concrete expressway. I felt like I was riding through Gary Indiana headed from Michigan to Wisconsin trying to avoid Chicago. While the ride was disgusting, it gave us a real picture of what Thailand really can be for many of its people beyond the tourist trail.

Getting dark around 6:30 p.m., we begin to worry. No hotels in sweatshop world.

“Hotel?” Steve asks a local outside a 7-11 store, holding his hands by his head as a form of sign language. The man nodds his head yes to our relief and points forward.

“How can there be a hotel anywhere near here?” I ask myself doubtfully. We cycle another ten minutes and nothing- only large shabby factories.

“Hotel?” Steve asks again, this time to a man parked on his motorcycle.

The man smiles and motions once again ahead.

“There must be something!” Steve says, “Everyone points us ahead.”

Dark, with a just a few dim street lights guiding our way. My butt hurst from the seat in spite of the hideous bike shorts and then bright flashing lights take away all my aches and replace it with hope. “Paris,” the sign reads.

“Maybe it is a hotel!” we pull our bicycles off the road.

“Hotel?” I ask the guard in front.

“Yes! You want room?” the guard replies with a smile.

I turn around to look at Steve and say, “Welcome to a luxury honeymoon suite in the middle of dumpsville!” The bed is circle shaped. The room is painted red and purple. We are served rice and stir fried vegetables in bed for just a few dollars on a silver tray! And the biggest irony…

“You wanna know something funny?” Steve asks after taking a cold shower.

“What?” I reply.

“My boxers say: MADE IN THAILAND on the tag.”

A dot called Pattaya

Have you ever been driving along on some long road trip desperate for a bathroom break, rest stop, or maybe it is nearing dark and your eyelids are heavy and it is time for a hotel. Whichever the occasion, you pull out the map and your search for the closest little dot in route indicating a town.

The dot labeled Pattaya

The sky is a flawless coat of baby blue—no splotches of white clouds. The sky is like a clear window… the sun has a strong heavy eye and it glares at us the entire day. I can feel the sun’s stare as it slyly turns my skin pink. At times I can see the ocean through the rows of palm trees to my left! My legs begin to complain about each rotation of the pedals. We stop at one of the many 7-11 general stores abundant in each town. A yogurt, a pack of peanuts and a large bottle of water provide petroleum for the body. A few more miles.. We look at the map. There is a big dot just a few more miles up on our route. It even looks like it is on the ocean front. PATTAYA labels the bold dot and becomes our destination for the day. Riding a bicycle through the country, I see and feel the changes in the land. I feel as if I have ownership over each mile. I pedal it, with my own power, and I conquer it. Yesterday’s ride, north, was hilly green and more remote. Suddenly in the last few miles, the hills are no longer riding with me. The two lane road multiplies into four lanes. Small humble bamboo huts on stilts have been replaced by massive luxury resorts and skyscraper condo buildings. We pull over on the gravel shoulder, sip some water. “Maybe this place, Pattaya, is actually in our guidebook,” I suggest. Steve pulls out the lonely planet guidebook.

“Pattaya is not in the index.”

“Let’s just go towards the waterfront. There are sure to be a strip of hotels and restaurants there!”

The countdown of the road markers is over. We are there. I feel a sense of accomplishment. I glance at the watch: 5:15 p.m. “By 5:45, I will be clean and showered,” I tell myself, eager to find a hotel. I search the signs and buildings for English words like, “hotel, hostel, or guesthouse. I see English letters and they spell, “Go-go Girls” and “Go-go Bar.” I see a foreigner. My first thought is to stop and ask if he knows of a good cheap hostel. He is an older male white foreigner—not the typical backpacker. Then another foreigner, and another. I look around to my right, my left, and behind me. The street is full of foreigners—all older white men and many of them are accompanied by young short beautiful Thai women. I glance down a side street. “Hotel” pulls at my attention. Two very sexy Thai young girls sit outside of the hotel in mini skirts.

“Maybe not.” I mumble

“Go-Go Bar”

“ “Girl Dancers Tonight!”

“Lady-Boy Bar”

“Night Dream Hotel” (all in English)

I feel as if I have somehow left Thailand and entered a different country. The road stops at a T in front of the ocean where it joins with a plam tree lined walkway. Beautiful palm trees, peaceful waves and sea, sexy young girls, and old wrinkly white men. I stand there leaning on my handlebars, surprised, shocked, a rude welcoming to the dot on the map: Pattaya. Little did we know that it was the sex tourism prostitute capital of Thailand! A wrinkled white hand reaches down and squeezes the butt cheek of the little Thai girl next to him as they walk around me. I am disgusted. In the moment, I hate Thailand. Lustful old white men, greedy girls, no integrity, anything for money…We stay in a cheap hotel and like every other hotel, there are sexy girls sitting in front advertising “massages.” We tell ourselves that it is just for one night. And the biggest irony: Steve would get sick in the night and we would be stuck in Sin City: Pattaya.

I walk to the English book store across the street from the hotel and a title, “My name Lon, you like me?” grabs at my attention. I read it while looking out of the hotel window, watching the strange white men interact with the beautiful Thai women. The book helps me UNDERSTAND (not to be confused with accept) the prostitute life. The white men are generally social outcasts, unattractive, lonely, or divorced men, yearning for love. The Thai women are better paid than any other job in Thailand. They make enough money to provide for their entire families. Parents even encourage their young beautiful daughters to become prostitutes so the family can have T.V., siblings can go to school, and the rest of the family can live well. Sometimes the white man wants to “rescue” the prostitute, marry her, and take her to his own country, but the nightly money is not the same. Some Thai women chose to stay in the prostitute life for the money. It is sad. It is complicated. I wish the world was just a long beautiful bike ride through lush green palm tree scenery for everyone.

Mud covered, we made it to Thailand!

I am way behind on my writing! I have been living in the moment and the world finds me in a small town of Thailand called Phang-Nga. I imagine going home and friends and family will ask, "So, where in Thailand did you go?" I will look back wide-eyed, take a minute to pull out a slur of strange letter combination from memory and finally, "Wattanaprong!" or "Hua Hin!" or "Pretchapuri-Khan!" will explode out of my mouth. It sounds like gibberish, and that is exactly what the Thai language is to me still- gibberish. I have learned only a few words such as Saw-wa-di-kah for hello if a girl is saying it. If a boy is saying hello, the ending on the word changes forming saw-wa-di-krap.

Unlike in my travels in Central and South America, here I have not a prayer of pronouncing anything. Wattanaprong is the first dot on the map into Thailand from crossing over the Cambodian border. "We can make it there in a day if we leave really early," I encourage Steve and our fellow biker, Charlie.
"The road line on the map is a dotted line. Maybe it is not paved," Steve wonders.
"Of course it is paved! It is one of the primary border crossings from Cambodia to Thailand!" I state boldly. We look at the map closely. All the other roads we have been on are marked by solid lines. Indeed the line marking the road from Siem Reap, Cambodia leading to the border of Thailand is dotted.
"Maybe it was a misprint. Or perhaps the map is out-dated." I state hopefully.
At 6:30 a.m., we meet Charlie in front of the mini-market. He is easy to pick out miles away with his six packs to label him as super-man world biker! We jump into the mini-mart quickly for some peanuts and yogurt energy and then we are off. Feet hammering at the pedals. I get a steady rhythm going and keep my pace steady. On the way out of Siem Reap, we pass luxury hotels, fancy restaurants, and just a mile further little bamboo hut dwellings. The road is gentle, smooth and paved. For the first half hour of our ride I think that for sure the dotted line for the road was nothing. And then all at once it happens. The strip of luxury hotels is behind us. The pavement is like a royal carpet and just beyond the royal tourist hotel ville, the paved road ends and we are greeted by dust that flies up to hug our faces. I hold firmly onto my handlebars, keeping myself steady on my bicycle as the dirt bumps threaten to throw me into the ditch. My eyes are glued to the road playing I-spy with the huge pot-holes. I swerve around them. A huge cargo truck passes, tossing dirt up like confetti. It plasters my hair and clothing. I click my gears down to the lowest number one. We slowly crawl like a line of turtles and we feel each and every kilometer in our legs. With each curve, we convince ourselves that it is the last gravel patch and just around the corner the gravel will unite once again with asphalt. However, Cambodia fights us the entire way as if it does not want us to leave.

"I must walk my bike," Charlie states, "All the bumps are breaking my bicycle pack. I have too much weight to ride this safely." We stop for some ice and tea at a corner hut. Our five minute break slyly becomes 10 and then twenty minutes. We all act buff, but really none of us are a match for the hot relentless sun and her partner in crime, the dry dusty bumpy gravel road. Finally, Steve and I agree to pedal ahead to the next small dot on the map for lunch and we will wait for Charlie there.
My sweat creates a layer of elmers glue and the dust, like glitter, sticks right to me. It just doesn't make me very pretty. I feel disgusting, but I keep on pedaling. My fingers even feel a bit tingly from clinging onto the handlebars too tightly. Little hut/stalls form a market in front of us, each selling strange Asian fruits like dorian fruits, dragon fruits, and leeches. Then there is a building with plastic tables and chairs. "That can be our lunch break!" Steve says.
I "unglue" my bicycle helmet from my head. It feels good to sit below an awning in the plastic chair. "cafee? ice?" I state slowly.
The lady smiles and repeats, "cafee, i?"
I nod my head and a minute later I devour the ice cubes in the coffee. The overly sweetened condensed milk doesn't even bother me. I just enjoy the cold drink on my parched throat. We attempt to order lunch by pointing to the vegetables on the cart and the rice in the pot. The lady smiles and indicates that she understands. We wait anxiously. We always await our food, never really knowing what we are going to get. Sometimes we manage to communicate well and are pleased with servings of stir-fried vegetables and steaming rice. Other times, we end up with a plate of pork on top of fried rice. Even though we are able to clearly communicate "vegetarian" in the language, sometimes it is too unbelievable that a white person could possibly not eat meat. As always the local people are really sweet and really want to please the foreign guest. The best way to please the foreigner is to serve them the best meat. The lady places two plates of fried rice mixed with onions and cabbage in front of us. At least it is not meat. Regardless, the food serves as our cheap gasoline. One more iced coffee. Then we look up and a small brown dot in the distance comes into focus. "Charlie!" He is bathed in his own sweat and coated with dirt. I glance at the watch. It is already 2:30 in the afternoon and it gets dark around 6:30--completely dark at 7:00. We are only a third of the way to the border. Cambodia will keep us as hostages one more night. Steve and I agree to move onward, biking another three hours or so to the next town. We will find a guest house and then call Charlie with the name of it so he does not have to waste time in town looking for one. Maybe the road will improve ahead. Nope. Cambodia fights us to the end. I begin to worry that we will be stranded on the dirt road in the dark. I push hard on my pedals, grip the handlebars. "I am tough!" I tell myself. "These bumps cannot slow me down." The road becomes an obstacle-course of a game. At five o'clock, we see buildings in the distance. At five thirty, we are coasting slowly in front of the buildings looking for any English words such as "hotel" or "guest-house." There are about three of them in a row. Simple concrete buildings with English writing on them. I pick one where there is a family sitting by a table outside of it. I smile at them as I approach. "You have room," I say. I put my hands together beside my head to indicate sleep. The girl gets up with a smile. While Steve holds my bicycle, I follow her up a dark corridor with only a figurine of Buddha lit up in the entrance way. She leads me up a flight of concrete stairs and opens a door revealing a simple room with two twin beds and a separate door inside leading to a shower head and toilet. "Yes!" I state with a smile. Really, it didn't matter. I was so tired and so relieved to hide for the night from the dirt road. It felt so good to shower. After biking all day, we appreciate the water even if it trickles cold from the spicket. I always shower with my sweaty bike clothes on the floor and sprinkle laundry detergent on top of them. I stomp on them while I wet my hair as if I am stomping on grapes making wine. We shower, wash our dirty clothing, and rest on the bed, and no Charlie. 6:58 p.m. The night swallows the daylight in one quick bite. "I am worried about Charlie riding out there in the dark." I state.
"Hey guys?!" I hear Charlie's voice from the stairs.
"Charlie! Yeah, you made it!"
"Great work, Charlie!"Steve greets him.
"Man! That was the worst road I have been on yet in my entire year of travel!"

Safety zone. One more plate of rice and fried vegetables and a million prayers to Buddha or God or Ala for better roads tomorrow. Just maybe the road tomorrow will be paved?!

JULY 3, 2008

Buddha wants to make us even stronger! Cambodia fights us with its horrible road to the very bitter end. With a little bit of rain to add to the excitement, the dirt road becomes muddy road. A moment to remember-- Charlie glances at his GPS on his handlebars and then looks up at us, "In 10 kilometers we will be out of this country!" We bike through ankle deep water. We stop in the mud-puddle holes called towns for iced coffees or rice. Finally, muddy, stinky, sweaty, sun-scorched under the noon sun, we cross the border and stand at the line for immigration. Our passports are stamped. Thailand welcomes us with PAVED ROADS and wide shoulders. I look up at Steve and at Charlie, "Welcome to Thailand Steve. Welcome to Thailand Charlie!"
Charlie looks up at me. "Welcome to Thailand, Teresa!"
"We made it!"

Angkor Wat Temples, Cambodia

I had seen pictures of Angkor Wat in National Geographic magazines and in the World Wonders Travel books at Barnes and Noble. I had biked with Steve and our newly encountered Korean friend for three days from the capital of Phnom Penh.
Finally at 5:30 a.m. on July 1st, we meet with Charlie in the center park in front of the large Buddha temple. The day before at our hotel a Tuk Tuk (motor-cart) driver told us that biking to Angkor Wat would be "sad tour" because the bad Vietnamese come with large clippers and steal any bicycle. We had showed him our multiple U-bolt locks and he said that the bad Vietnamese clippers cut any lock. Only with him in his Tuk Tuk could we have a "happy tour." "I give you discount for only 60 dollar for happy tour. No bad Vietnamese and no lose your bicycle with happy tour," he said. We smiled politely. Now at five-thirty a.m., we meet Charlie in the park, ready to see the famous ancient ruins ourselves, ready to fight off any bad Vietnamese! In comparison to the crazy traffic in Phnom Penh, the traffic leaving Siem Reap is relaxed with a wide shoulder. Biking without the extra weight of the packs on the side of the bicycle is easy. The road is flat, the sun is still resting, but my skin still glistens with a light layer of sweat. A row of vendors parked outside of the town hospital provides us with a chance to buy a few snacks to prepare for our adventure. Charlie and Steve buy some bread and I buy a bag of peanuts for just under a dollar. We pedal in silence, each one of us taking in the scene, photographing the details in our minds. I remember the barefoot children running along side of the road with baskets of bracelets and postcards. Men pushing carts full of pineapple and mangos. Women behind carts of steaming rice and chickens steaming hot on rods. The children yell out in English, "you buy from me, sir! Three for one dollar! Postcards, you buy from me, one dollar!" Last night, a lady approached me cradling a baby boy. She looked up at me with her deep pleading eyes shaking her empty bottle. In Kalamazoo, a good test is to offer food to the begging people. Most times, they refuse and demand money. Here, the people accept the food. I motioned for her to follow me into a corner store and offered to buy her a can of baby formula. In Cambodia, everything is fairly expensive in comparison to the wages that people make because nearly everything is imported. Just a small can of baby formula cost seven dollars. She was so happy and thankful for the formula. However, when I left the corner store, a pack of beggars were waiting for me. Apparently, they had seen me help the lady and thought that I would help all of them too. I felt overwhelmed, sad. I smiled at them sheepishly and walked away with all of them following me until I could hop on my bicycle and escape. Cambodia really overwhelms me with the extremes of poor and rich. So we keep on biking on the first of July until we reach the official entrance booth of Angkor Wat. While driving/riding on the road around and up to the ruins is free of charge, there is a twenty dollar charge to carry a photograph card in order to actually enter and explore them. While we hope that the twenty dollar charge goes towards preserving the ruins, it is quite possible that it actually goes towards the corrupt fund to buy government officials new Lexus! The paved road is narrow and the towering trees hang over the road providing us with welcomed shade. Then all of a sudden, there it is! The scene depicted in so many photographs.. the main temple of Angkor Wat is in front of us. Fat monkeys climb on the rock walkway, aggressively approaching the people, like stray dogs, they beg for food scraps (with preference to fruits rather than meats). Their bellies are like inflated balloons from being overfed from the hoards of tourists that pass through each day. We use the map to guide us from temple to temple and surprisingly it is quite a distance in between the temples ranging from two to five miles! If we hadn't brought our bicycles, it would have taken us too long to walk between each of the temples and we would have had to pay the expensive taxi/tuk tuk rate! Tucked behind trees, ruins and more ruins and each rock is intricately, delicately, carefully carved with lions, elephants, people... We park our bikes by a tree and lock all three of them together. Time of the present is lost while we explore the time of the ancient, climbing up and up the rock stairs. While I enjoy being able to see and touch and feel the ruins as close as I wish, I feel that allowing each tourist to climb with freedom all over the ruins will destroy them. I remember exploring Chichen-itza (spelling?) ruins in Mexico and also Machu Picchu (spelling) ruins in Peru and all had wooden stairs leading up to them or ropes at least blocking people from actually touching the carved details. Here, people can just touch anything as they please. Nature boasts its strength as the tree roots overcome the rocks. It becomes a war with nature and man's creations-- nature winning as the trees slowly strangle and break up the carved temple. The expansiveness of the Angkor Wat leaves me without words to paint a picture. From five thirty a.m. until six p.m. we wandered the maze of the ruins and only saw a portion of them. Carved rock temples built to tower over the jungle are like dots spread out across a page. A modern paved road connects all the "dots." Along the road, there are vendors and children selling everything from rice, to spicy/sweet curry soup, cola, post cards, bracelets, tea, and coffee. Children climb the temples and pop out of each and every nook and corner, "you buy from me post card?"

And I end this post with a question to you.... "you write to me email?" We love touring, experiencing, feeling the world and all the people, cultures, tastes, smells, temples, details that it has to offer. And we equally love the simplicity of hearing from our friends and family...