tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-97156142008-08-27T05:37:37.182-06:00Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comBlogger211125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-20448690526231245072008-08-05T11:38:00.005-06:002008-08-08T17:36:38.542-06:00

It was the last city in the last country I was visiting on this so-called "last big trip". Beijing, the 2008 Olympic City was spread before me as I stepped from the train at 7:30 AM on August 1st. Accommodation this time was of a form I'd not used since leaving Australia, Couchsurfing. For those not in the know, a quick rundown is that it is a website full of travelers and people who like to meet

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-91727925234161320612008-07-31T10:11:00.003-06:002008-08-08T17:37:45.438-06:00

I arrived in Xi'an by plane from Shanghai. Or rather, I arrived 50 km from Xi'an by plane and into the city proper by bus. Not far from the central area where I was dropped off is the southern gate of the city walls beside which are two youth hostels. Ori, an Israeli I'd met in Kunming, happened to be in town already and so I went to the hostel he was staying at and checked myself in. In spite of

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-73100466270721635852008-07-28T22:36:00.008-06:002008-08-07T10:12:30.024-06:00

From my remote station in Fei Lai Si I made the trek back to the relative civilization on Shangri-La (Shang-guh-li-La since the name itself is not Chinese) with a minivan full of Chinese. I, however, was beside a Malaysian-Japanese couple who were very friendly and indeed didn’t leave me alone until they were sure I was okay once we arrived. I was faced with a bit of a dilemma... on the one hand,

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-28394293217176250282008-07-21T22:18:00.001-06:002008-07-31T22:31:37.265-06:00

It was a hard slog in every way. Finally, my luck with the weather ran out and it rained almost the entire trek into the Tibetan village of Yubeng. Between trekkers and donkeys, the trail was often times a soup (with ingredients you don’t want to think about) and a largely uphill one at that. I’d gone with an Austrian couple but they weren’t acclimatized and were feeling pretty pressured to keep

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-17050893761682332802008-07-20T10:08:00.002-06:002008-07-31T22:33:01.655-06:00

We started at Tashi’s and walked to the Reringkha village proper, taking a path up to a Stupa and then veering off into an ethereal forest. The climb through the forest was at times steep but trees had mossy beards, pine needles were soft and leafy, and soon we were above the tree line. Tashi’s is situated at almost 3500m already, so it is not too far up before the trees yield to meadows. Perhaps

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-82038887813379241852008-07-19T09:55:00.003-06:002008-08-09T14:44:53.879-06:00

The best thing about staying at Tashi’s Mountain Lodge in Reringkha, about a half-hour walk from Fei Lai Si, is its owner. Richard has trekked the area quite extensively and has all sorts of unique walks in the area not to mention advice and maps. We had just arrived and were treated to a large feast for 30 Yuan (expensive for China, but not for the area) and then I was picking his brain. As I

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-26810395160631043142008-07-18T04:48:00.003-06:002008-07-31T22:35:15.548-06:00

Since receiving an email about Fei Lai Si from Dan (my Alabama friend), I’d wanted to go there. His letter was filled with such hyperbole and excitement that I unquestioningly added it to my itinerary. I had spent the last couple days in Shangri-La with Charlotte, Gerri, and Eric and now Eric and I were to head up to Deqin (pronounced Duh-cheen) near the Tibetan border while the girls made their

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-58677424947762048302008-07-17T08:15:00.003-06:002008-07-25T03:00:14.185-06:00

The van wove along the Himalayas as the sun fell behind them, lining the clouds hanging between us and Shangri-La in gold. Soon, colour fell from the earth and Charlotte, Geraldine, Eric, and myself watched the world pass by in short flashes from our headlights until the lights of Shangri-La at last lit the night. It was 9:30 and after checking in to the Dragon Cloud Guesthouse we wandered around

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-18571764615191225432008-07-15T04:39:00.001-06:002008-07-24T03:34:35.322-06:00

With three hours of sleep and a very good night behind us, the morning held less promise. I was quite tired, though thankfully excited enough to get myself moving, but Eric was downright hungover. We got a quick breakfast from Mama Naxi and grabbed our van to Tiger Leaping Gorge – Eric grabbed the bag I had my sandwich in for the road and we set off. We came across what I assume was some roadwork

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-10608293152953827062008-07-13T19:06:00.004-06:002008-07-24T00:36:22.868-06:00

In Asia, taking the first price is often taking the worst price. You try to haggle, you shop around, and then you buy. In China, this sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. Most Chinese want something simple and can’t be bothered haggling with calculators or speaking numbers slowly enough to be understood. Some would rather just avoid attempting to communicate with foreigners altogether and will

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-18315719308001328362008-07-12T00:36:00.003-06:002008-07-24T00:37:55.764-06:00

I arrived in Dali with Ori (an Israeli I'd met in Kunming) and Phil (an American we'd met at the bus station, though he had been a roommate) and as usual, the first step was finding a place to stay. After the usual place searching, complicated by balancing our three travel styles, we wound up at a hotel for 15 Yuan per night ($2) each. There was an intermediate bus change at the new Dali but now

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-56087754153316492732008-07-09T23:45:00.003-06:002008-07-13T01:07:42.679-06:00

It was a bit of a rush, though I didn’t know it yet. I was at the Vietnam-China border at Lao Cai-Hekou trying to figure out which line to enter. At last I did (it took about five minutes) and that was when the trouble began. Three of them peered over and through my passport as though it was missing something. They kept flipping and looking and a Chinese couple came behind me and the officers

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-43398586578127534422008-07-07T09:16:00.004-06:002008-07-13T00:19:15.514-06:00

After the three hour bus from Halong Bay back to Hanoi, there was just enough time for me to find some mosquito repellent and dinner before boarding a night train to Lao Cai, a city on the Vietnam-China border. I met a Dutch girl named Laura at the train station and was relieved that I would indeed be with backpackers until we were separated at the train station by the guide. And then I was

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-75415958975592906382008-07-04T08:11:00.005-06:002008-07-08T10:26:26.814-06:00

It was a foreboding start. I sat on the street 40 minutes after the bus was supposed to pick me up for a 3-day, 2-night tour of Halong Bay. This is not unusual in Asia, but is extremely frustrating. The amount of time wasted waiting around that could instead have been spent getting other things done (like this blog) or, more often (and more truthfully), sleeping is criminal. No bus showed up,

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-35963208347821945542008-07-01T08:37:00.001-06:002008-07-08T08:49:56.287-06:00

As my clothes were finally finished in Hoi An, it was time to start thinking about my plans for Northern Vietnam. It was already June 30, and not only did I want to maximize my time in China (I’m allowed 30 days all of which I want to use), but my visa for Vietnam expired on the July 10. As I sat and plotted, I came to the stark realization that I didn’t have time to see everything I wanted to in

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-65585837277899875242008-06-29T10:52:00.003-06:002008-07-08T11:00:27.115-06:00

The road was perilous. It writhed and undulated around mountains as though the pavement itself was trying to shake us from its spine. The irony is that out the window, this vengeful road is nowhere to be seen. Only the earth falling away below is visible, ever waiting to swallow you whole. Dalat is situated 1500m above sea level and as any physicist will tell you, that's a long way to fall.

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-44281038149754639152008-06-22T05:24:00.003-06:002008-06-29T11:15:46.630-06:00

Dalat is a small city tucked peacefully away in the southern hills of Vietnam. Four hours from Mui Ne, four hours from Nha Trang, it was an effective way of taking two sides of a triangle and leaving the hypotenuse to those more hurried in much the same way as this metaphor is an effective way of demonstrating I'm still as much a geek as ever. I arrived late afternoon, just in time to stroll and

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-60893529809100132682008-06-20T04:44:00.004-06:002008-06-29T07:09:34.537-06:00

Somewhere, five hours north of Saigon lies a quiet town tucked between giant sand dunes and an endless sandy coastline. Somewhere in that small stretch of green surrounded by blue and red, a young Canadian fellow by the name of Dean has disembarked from a bus and is speeding on the back of a motorbike towards a cheap hotel. He has arrived here rather randomly, after seeing a few pretty photos,

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-32938591311029719632008-06-18T01:11:00.004-06:002008-06-25T05:02:48.996-06:00

The small plane flew over the flood plains of central Cambodia, the green rice paddies of its western borders, and down to the sprawling city that was Saigon, Ho Chi Minh. From above, it was an interesting study in organic urban design. Streets sprawled along paths of least resistance between commons and the rest, it seemed, sprouted from those in random directions as the buildings alongside grew

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-69130869035721996002008-06-14T00:38:00.000-06:002008-06-18T00:50:48.087-06:00

Ten hours of uneventful but leg-numbing bus ride from Shianouk Ville is the north western town of Siem Reap, a city famed for its proximity to one of the marvels of the world: Angkor Wat. I had hoped to escape the rain but arrived in the middle of a deluge that had flooded streets everywhere in ankle to knee deep water. The poor soul who drove me in his tuk tuk from the bus station was shivering

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-7083330192664054072008-06-11T00:31:00.000-06:002008-06-18T00:33:29.704-06:00

Shianouk Ville, on the southern coast of Cambodia and near to the Vietnamese border was all of these things. The rainy season was definitely in swing, with lightning storms blowing across the water to soak the small resort town three times daily. I had hoped to get a little beach in, having been in city, town, or wilderness for the past two months traveling inland Asia, but instead, just

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-35213683452609808532008-06-06T23:31:00.004-06:002008-06-18T00:30:48.055-06:00

The trip from Laos to the Cambodian capital of Phnom Penh was a disaster. Oh, it could’ve been worse. Nobody was hurt, arrested, or even in peril. But, for the price we paid, it should’ve been so much better. First of all, let me put into perspective that an overnight trip on a bus with my own bed from Vientiane to Pakse cost about $20. My own bed! The shorter trip from Don Det, on the

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-83531164990177908472008-06-02T06:52:00.002-06:002008-06-05T23:28:42.932-06:00

A blinding flash of lightning off to starboard lit all but the furious clouds from which it sprang. They seemed to gather more darkness from the exchange and spilled higher into the sky as, less than a second later, an explosion of thunder drowned even the sound of the struggling motor. What probably saved us was that the rain had not yet broke; it was as though, like us, the storm was battling

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-17555480203930687082008-05-30T05:21:00.003-06:002008-06-05T05:59:45.636-06:00

I found myself standing on the streets of Vientiane, the capital of Laos, wondering where I was and where I was going. Generally, a bus trip is ended at a known locale or with everyone else at the bus station. This trip ended with a quick turn from a rather majestic looking building into a small side street. It was hardly dire straits. First of all, I knew that we were close enough to the tourist

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-54897076085360470912008-05-26T09:47:00.002-06:002008-05-29T01:34:43.276-06:00

As most of these stories start, I stepped aboard some form of transportation; in this case, it was a minibus. The trip du jour was from the Laotian city of Luang Prabang, a world heritage listed city of temples, to the Laotian town of Vang Vieng, a Lonely Planet listed town of tubing. It may not sound like much of a tradeoff, but tubing is consistently one of the things backpackers talk about

Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com