As far as his shoes will take him...

Dans! Dans!

2012-02-03T00:12:00.001+01:00

Sunday evenings were never as charged with explosive sounds as last sunday in the Arenberg @ Antwerp, where the genial musical trio from Dans Dans gave it their best. Check out their album here and make sure to get one of the limited vinyl's at one of their upcoming concerts!

The Hickey Underworld @ Park Spoor Noord

2011-11-20T18:41:00.001+01:00

Sunday matinee with the Hickey Underworld. New album will be out in February 2012.

De reuzin en de duiker zijn er!!

2010-08-20T11:38:00.000+02:00

zomervanantwerpen

Inner children awake, the giants are back in Antwerp. The diver and his gal are walking around until sunday 22 of august, and if you're anywhere near Antwerp this is a must see. For more info check out the site of zomer van antwerpen.

E.

things to come in 2010

2010-01-02T18:19:00.001+01:00

Happy and inspiring new year to you all, apart from a lot of great things that will happen in 2010 I already give you the revelation of the year in advance: The Flying horseman, started as singer songwriter with edgy blues and country influences, now a 6-headed band with a sound that would let Nick Cave dance like a twentysomething again.. Check them out at Trix on 15th of january and let the music speak for itself...

theatre of life

2009-10-02T14:14:00.000+02:00

When in Belgium, don't stick to the obligatory Bruge trip and Brussels stop, but make sure to explore that authentic feeling of Belgium by crossing the borders of language and venture inside the region of the Wallons. Of course taking public forms of transportation are highly recommended to enhance the experience. Fare well, travellers of all kinds!

Superdepuper!

2009-09-21T01:08:00.001+02:00

Well, it's not really a place in the physical world I suggest you visit, but if you want to see what happens when great minds intertwine on the crossroads of a videostore, check out the hilarious episodes on digital tv channel ACHT.

mega eroticabeurs

2009-09-02T19:59:00.000+02:00

Sometimes you don't have to go far away to end up in exotic places. The loo can be a good start. Cheers!

Bruksel Live, 25 july

2009-08-02T12:15:00.003+02:00

THU giving it's best on Bruksel Live, including the capital's iron balls and flying rubber after the climax of their finale... For more on The Hickey Underworld, check their website.

joshua national park

2008-10-27T23:03:00.001+01:00

Lost in Time

2008-07-08T14:31:00.006+02:00

If you happen to stumble upon the golden valley of the Ardens, don't hesitate to visit the tranquil ruins of Orval...

Wax on, Wax Off

2007-11-21T06:28:00.000+01:00

Ah, the circle of life...

Greetings from Koh Samui...

2007-10-28T13:58:00.001+01:00

Need I say more?

Act of Faith, Groningen

2007-09-24T06:00:00.000+02:00

Since last week this impressive NOORDERLICHT annual photography festival has started again in Groningen, this time the theme is religion, both the good parts of it as the dark parts... There are lots of smaller things to do in Groningen which are connected to the Festival, the so called satellite program, but most of those places tend to blend into one another as they are moderate in quality and depth. However some of them are quite nice, like the one in "Het Filiaal" for instance. But they all have to bow for the main exhibition in the 3der Aa-Kerk",which is not only beautifully set up for this exhibition but also features very strong works and as one walks from one group of works to another it feels like the world is slipping from under your feet. Don't miss out on that one! Be prepared to be both swept away by poetic beauty as by the horror that surrounds us...

CONTOUR VIDEO ART

2007-07-13T17:31:00.000+02:00

CONTOUR Biënnal 2007.
Starting 18th of August and running until 21st of October in Mechelen! Check it out! Some artists that will grab your attention such as Omer Fast and Tsui Kuang-Yu will be featuring video art at the third edition of this biënnal.

Basecamp Belgium

2007-03-07T11:54:00.000+01:00

Since I will move mostly along the roads between my hometown and the cities connected to it I will post things to do or see around here for a while. Hopefully you will enjoy this feeds, as they will be the main thing to see until the next big trip. Cheers!

Last Post...

2007-01-19T08:08:00.000+01:00

As I sit here, spending my last day in my favourite continent of this planet, it feels both exciting and sad to say goodbye. After a week in Chiang Mai where the slightly cooler weather prevented my sweat glands from doing overtime the hot and crowded streets of Krung Thep come a bit as a shock. But still, I'm glad to have made it. (One word of advice for the weak hearted, don't take the front seat on the VIP buses, you sit a floor above the driver and all the traffic and swerves in the road as he races downhill come at you trough the front window in a way that computer gamers only can wish for. I'd take 3 hours in a roller coaster any time if the choice is given.) So this is it, time to go home, time to say goodbye to the land of smiles and the colourful people that inhabit it, time to go back to old fortress Europa, a place by no means less colourful, only the pallet of tones might be a little different. And about those smiles, well, maybe it's not filled with smiling strangers, but that's what you have friends for... I'll be seeing you all!

Going with a bang, Bangkok version...

2007-01-01T12:44:00.000+01:00

So this is New Year... Yesterday at the end of the year the City of Angels was bomb struck, as six bombs went of around the same time at different places. The countdown at wireless road was cancelled and all Shopping Malls were closed well before closing time. I found myself at the outskirts of the city and didn't really felt like going to any crowded place to try and party, but luckily I was in charming company and together with a bunch of University students we missed out the exact first minute of the new year (everybody seemed to have their watch on another time, and on TV there was a feature about the Thai King, so it was 5 past twelve when we noticed fireworks in the distance. Couldn't have been too many people out there, as the traffic was less than light, one could say you have heavy traffic in the prominent town of Erps Kwerps during a Sunday Night compared with the number of cars and even less taxis last night. By the time I went back to the hotel I passed the ill-famed Kao San Road where many a backpacker usually can be found dumb struck and passed out, but it felt more like Belfast with police check-points and army troops surveilling the area. There was a kind tiny lady with a big speaker who calmly pointed her speaker towards small groups of beerfilled youngsters and telling them from behind that speaker in a type of English only Thais seem to master so well to kindly buzz off to the guesthouse. " Or else... Well, since they didn't actually expect any tourist to place a bomb
(unless he had a black beard and a white sheet for new year outfit draped over him) there most where just left wandering the street, trying to find either their guesthouse or a place that would sell beer under the table. All in all it was a strange beginning of the year, and instead of mourning the absence of a big crazy party I wish for the people who got hurt to recover in friendly surroundings and to find a meaning in all this. And to the bad guys, whether it be insurgents of the south or opposants of the government, may their bombs go of in your kitchen whilst your cooking up another wicked plan of chaos and terror.

No picture this time, cheers.

Going with a bang..

2006-12-28T10:39:00.000+01:00

Whilst yours truly was spending some quiet time in a little town named Champasak in Southern Laos it was made known to me that there would be a burial on one of the temple grounds in the evening. Thus I gathered myself and lo and behold, by the time of nine in the evening the temple was surrounded by devote and less devote onlookers, a shrine containing the departed one was build in the back, and people were praying and bowing heads whilst the monks chanted holy words. Despite of the fact that there must have been over a 1000 people, some say several thousands, it was a calm and serene happening. That was up until the abbot friendly asked everybody to make room, at let 10 meters from the shrine, and nearby a fire engine agreed with its short whooping siren, as to emphasize what the Abbot truly meant. And so it was, people stood up, pressed themselves into the crowd behind them and room was made. Striding in their orange robes, monks went about their business, and their business it seemed to me was to gather all sorts of arrow shaped objects and put fire to them. Sure enough, Chinese shops must have made a good profit that day, for soon the whole backyard was in flames, firework whizzing by and putting the resting place of the revered Athjaan who was to be set free that night in flames. Shrieks and screams from both the fire arrows and the crowd as a couple of fire fountains were set alight simultaneously. The effect was one that would make both the rolling stones and U2 feel like their shows were hopelessly unspectacular, and chaos ruled for a full minute as drops of fire fell from the sky and on people's heads, yours truly's camera and on the plastic covers that were erected over some donations at the side of the temple. As I felt something burning its way trough the hood of my sweater (I am so glad I decided to wear that thing against mosquito bites even if it is a bit warm at times) I decided to stop taking pictures and join the others. I ran. Maybe I also gave out a shriek yell, who knows, when in Rome, do like the Romans, as they say. And then as the shower of sparks was replaced by a drizzle of... well, probably a drizzle of pure Mekong water, as the firefighters did their best to spray the plastic covers and the roof of the temple. Of course they didn't neglect the crowd, who was eager to react with sounds of relief and pleasure, as if one found himself in an aquapark. All the while he fireworks kept banging and whizzing and by now the fountain of fire had been replaced by flowers of red and yellow in the sky as the shine was being consumed by purifying flames. What a way to go. Those monks know how to build a party. The main advantage of believing in Nirwana and reincarnation meant that their beloved Athjaan would be ascending the sky and either come back in a higher version or have attained nothing at all and thus be truly freed from any dukkha. So no reason to wail and whine, the revered man had done what had to be done in this life, all there was left for us bystanders to do was look in awe at the open air cremation and later on to enjoy the joys of the more earthly carnival that had set up behind the temple grounds. As I walked back home I could hear the local popstar giving his best while bottles of Laobeer where being relieved of their contents faster than the fire arrows had flown over our heads earlier on... When they party in Laos, they party good style, I says you. Sabaai dii folks!

Savannakhet, Lao PDR

2006-12-19T14:04:00.000+01:00

A small trip over the Mekong and one finds himself in the wonderful world called The People's Democratic Republic of Laos. Usually countries that announce rather unsubtle that they consider themselves a democracy are also the ones where one wouldn't want to brush against the hairs of the local police or other governmental institutions. And the well known red flag of China seems to be as present as the Lao flag at most official buildings. But aside from the 12 o'clock curfew and the absence of pool tables this is indeed a very democratic place to spend time in. Prices for food and accommodation are very reasonable for Asian standards, not to say that I start to think of Thailand as expensive... And ah yes, why is it again that I like the French occasionally? Is it because they have good wines? Probably. Is it because they speak in such passionate terms of their great nation? Maybe. But most certainly it is because they have spread the joys of baking baguettes and stuffing them with fresh and delicious foods that make me praise them. (Mind you, I never praise them when they are around, they might start to glow in the dark with pride, and in this parts of the world any source of light attracts mosquitoes which I'd rather not encounter...)
And as in any Asian country where the middle classes are slowly growing and people are allowed to move around, the motorbike is one of the most commonly used means of transportation. Unfortunately it is also one that is mostly involved in not so innocent accidents. The fact that the cops are more interested in getting tea money when they stop you than in checking your drivers license doesn't really help, and as such people around here start driving the motorbike as soon as they are able to get their legs on the gas and brake pedals. It seems like a motorbike is considered to be both a car and a bicycle around here, for the number of people traveling on one can extend to a small Laotian family unit, which typically consists of mum and dad with a total of three kids wrapped around the steering wheel (typically the youngest one, say anything from 17 months to 3 years old) or pressed between the parents. Five people is what we would prop together in a car in some parts of the world. Then again, the age for driving a motorbike seems to be the same as the age for driving a bike, and the same for the knowledge of traffic. Luckily these people have the good Buddha on their side and where total chaos would be ensured in say Belgium around here there is neither the right amount of traffic nor the right amount of stress to get people to crash into each other. Still the number of accidents is a bit high. Just like myself I get the feeling most people around here haven't figured out yet when to give right of way and as such I've witnessed a few motorbikes crushed under the new and ever more present 4x4 trucks in the middle of a crossroads. I do hope that sooner rather than later either the traffic lights will be enforced on people (Actually I was one of the mischievous fellas ignoring it today and as luck would have it a cop popped out of nowhere and sure enough the law had to be enforced specifically at the time I drove trough the red light. All in all damage was controlled by my bright smile and the lack of English on the law's behalf. 20.000 Kip is what seems to make paperwork disappear around here, and considering that this comes down to less than 2 euros one might feel thankful for once that not only the food and accommodation are democratic, but also the local salaries. 2 euros means three days of work to some cops, of course only if they would not use their cunning knowledge of the law to get some butter for on their baguette. I can't blame them for being creative while enforcing the law, as all in all it seems things work perfectly well in this country. And one never feels unsafe either, thanks to the thousand smiles of the people here.

The joys of rebirth and other tales of compassion...

2006-12-17T15:19:00.000+01:00

Life as a toad sucks... You get to eat only the slower of mosquito's (god knows what they had for lunch) and an occasional ant passing by, you can't even jump properly like your cousins since you seem to have a tendency towards obesitas, and your skin doesn't appeal to that charming prince who could kiss you into a state of happiness.... Luckily for you you happen to live in a Buddhist country, so what do you do? You head towards the main road near your pond and hope for a compassionate believer to pass by, or rather to pass over you, and if possible let it be a believer driving a truck filled with bricks for the nearest temple, so that your spirit gets squeezed out of this life and into the other one a little bit faster as usual. Yup, this toad would give you his broadest smile if he only remembered how... Which makes me wonder, do butchers in Buddhist country make merit by ending the lives of countless down spiraled entities and releasing them from their animal lives and pushing them towards the next level? I mean, if the cow or chicken gets it, it gets eaten, so it brings happiness to some people, thus it should gain merit and move up a level no? Maybe my understandings of Buddhism are a bit confined... In any way, I wonder what the dog is doing in this sign outside of a restaurant in Ubon.....? Or maybe these fellas are standing in line for a food handout? Animal Farm the Thai style...

Tune up and chill out...

2006-12-04T09:55:00.000+01:00

These guys just play anything from Hillbilly Gospel to Bollywood Soundtracks (preferably the 60's though, they kindly added)... But even when their music might not be the most aesthetic one, their looks certainly make up for it... As my old pal Humpty would say if his bar was in the City of Angels instead of his noir bar in C: "Play it again Siam!"

Day Seven of a seven day Fast

2006-11-26T16:33:00.000+01:00

I pity the fool who named his kid Sannita...

Well, not to much travel news I'm afraid, the last seven days I've been busy eating nothing, and apart from feeling a little light headed and wondering why I still need to go to the toilet once in a while, I've been living the good life in the Spa Resorts at Lamai Beach... No tennis stars here, or other hi-so people, as it's the kind of Spa yours truly can afford while traveling with his backpack, but all the basics are here... And the food is great, too bad I can't order any. Rumble... Grumble.
It's funny to see most people weighing themselves every day, sometimes even more than once.. I feel a bit sorry for them, as most kilos you lose during the cleansing are gonna be replaced in two weeks after you start eating again. Shit happens. A lot around here... My motto (I came up with this one after day 2, so it's no excuse for being cheesy yet) is "I'm here to lose waste, not weight". Ahem. Lost 6 kilos though by now.
Another interesting thing that happened to me was that I stopped floating. I used to be a happy floater in the refreshing swimming pool near the beach, happily drifting and watching my toes stick out of the water and a little tip of my belly as well. But after day four I couldn't see my belly anymore, and the toes went under as well. By now it's come so far I need to swim to stay above! Good heavens, next thing you know I'll be doing laps again! Well, I guess it's true what they say, "No Bloating, No Floating"... (OK, that was me coming up with that one.. but only after six days of no solid foods, so don't blame me for lacking solid thoughts as well.) I miss being able to support to the alternative energy farming though, poor windmills, they must miss me too...
Well, I'm off before I'm way off again, cheers!

What makes the Philippines a great country to discover?

2006-11-13T15:59:00.000+01:00

I can't help but feel like making up for those first reports on life in Manila. After the first three days of paranoia and actual rip offs I started to settle in and slowly but surely I started growing fond of the way life worked in this place. I realize as well I only saw some of the more populated places and as far as I can imagine from meeting people coming from different parts in Philippines, every island has its own way of dealing with life and mostly it involves a lot of smiling even if the shit hits the fan. Not that people are fond of problems here, but they tend to worry mostly over the real big ones, the ones that truly matter, making life a bit less complicated than it is for your average European, who seems to carry some illustrious stress-magnet-device that turns your regular daily in life into a day of worries and upsetting events. (I consider myself as one of those average Europeans, especially when traveling around in these parts of the world.)
So, I figured I would mention some of the things that made my stay in Manila and surrounding areas appreciate the Filipino society, even if the reasons seem a bit strange at times.
Let's start with aforementioned Alex Garland. He wrote this book, "The Tesseract", which takes place in a rundown motel in Angeles City. Well, if one reads this book it doesn't take much to feel unsafe and paranoid in the streets of Manila, turning the sunsets into backgrounds of dramatic events to come in the following night. But after adjusting to life here it seems Garland has gotten the place wrong. Angeles is not really part of Manila, it's three hours away and is much like Pattaya, but then without the crappy beach. In fact, no beach at all. No less old farts barhoppin' though. But it is like some of the more infamous parts of Manila in its seedier days, in a not so distant past. Malate and Ermita come to mind. The gogo-bars may have been mostly washed away in a tide of catholic and fatherly mayorship, but the Korea's seem to have taken over nowadays and KTV and Videokes with their assets of GRO's (Guest Related Officers, all of them female and willing to make your life more comfortable in ways you wouldn't want to mention to your mummy) pop up like mushrooms on a freshly manured damp cellar floor. I thought Old Fat Sweating Germans and Drunk Blokes From England on a Roll where good in making people feel ashamed of the male species in general, but that was before Koreans and Japanese entered the picture. What is it with Asian men and their obsession of young and brainless giggling girls to entertain and stupefy their otherwise so well organized and productive lives? And why do they seem to have such an active interest in meeting girls that are not allowed to consume alcohol even in some countries? (I mean those countries where 18 is the limit.) Anyway, I almost felt like wishing the Germans to move back in, and some English blokes on a bachelor trip. But the images of Angeles still fresh in mind, I don't know which one is worse... This wasn't my war anyway. I started writing this post to be positive, so let's move on.
One of the things that makes you feel like calling up Garland and telling him he got it all wrong is the way people here try to be helpful if they don't get anything out of it. (Actually this is a bit logical, as the people who do profit from helping you will certainly try to make the most of it for their own profit, so they are not to be considered as objective standards.) I even once was taken along by someone who couldn't explain me how to get somewhere without getting blank stares from me, so he decided to just take me there. After which he walked all the way back to his busstop where undoubtedly he had missed his bus... Or that time when I was taking a bus to Puerto Galera to go diving before leaving the Philippines. It was that or Banaue, the rice fields of northern Luzon. But since the typhoon season wasn't over yet I was suggested not to go there this time around. So anyway, I was sitting on the bus next to some old guy and smiled at him to show I had been properly raised. Of course he smiled back and soon a conversation in rather perfect English unrolled itself like the fields enrolling themselves outside the bus. (That's another plus for traveling here, in general people speak English better around here than in any other Asian country, except maybe Singapore, but that's more like a city.) So this guy turned out to be a freshly pensioned police officer. Even more so, he was the kind that didn't like to play cards or drink, as it seemed to him that to many people forgot about taking care of their families with such behavior. The light burning in his eyes told you he was adamant on taking care of his family and upholding the law. I felt suddenly very comfortable sitting next to this noble man. He told me with great pleasure how he now spend his days taking care of the stuff in his garden and playing with his grandkids when they stayed over. He lived in a place not far from Taal Volcano, and without a trace of suspicion he invited me as a guest should I ever come that way. Truth is I almost gave up on the diving trip and went along, but I realized his warm and honest invitation would also mean he had to take me in the house at night by lack of hotels around there and probably his wife would be lovingly ordered to disappear into the kitchen and come up with a royal feast for this unexpected guest. Somehow I could see all these things unraveling before my eyes as he gave the invitation, and it felt good to know that this was all possible. So I declined, and noted down his number so I could visit him another time (where I would be just passing during the day and not imposing too much on them. But events such as these are not uncommon for people who travel in this country. One really feels welcome indeed.
Another thing about Filipino people I the way they like to communicate using their mobiles as little Telex machines after than as actual phones. It is a rare sight to see a person actually having a conversation on the phone, however countless mobiles are being constant pulled out of pockets and with the speed of trained marconists people tap in message after message to loved ones or even their colleagues at work, giving instructions or passing on words of love as they send text after text. No wonder one of the bigger pictures in the movie theatres was a ghost movie that used text messages as its mayor plotline. (It seems that the Philippines are just like other Asian countries in that way, consuming one scary ghost movie after the other.)
Jeepneys and Trikes is yet another thing that makes life here so interesting. As a foreigner moving on foot in Manila means being constantly addressed to and taxi after taxi hoots the horn as they pass by hoping you will exchange the fumes and heat of the traffic jammed streets for an airconditioned seat in their (not necessarily used) metered cars. But why take a taxi if you can sit in one of the most extravagant pimped up modes of transportation ever seen: the jeepney. Stickered from bumper to bumper, painted, airsprayed, fitted with light tubes or sometimes even whole disco installations, these two-row vans are a pleasant and fun way of moving from point A to ... Well to some point. And the trikes! Think of motorbike meets the A-team meets pimp-my-ride. Sidecars are welded with various degrees of efficiency to a motorbike and then fitted with rooftops, stickers, logo's and all sort of little details to make each trike into a unique driving vehicle. Expect to overpay if you don't Know your way around here, but then again, expect also to just sit back and enjoy the ride as if you were sitting in a rollercoaster back in some themepark, but then without safety belts and the reassurance of stepping out in one piece at the end of the ride. Which adds up to the fun of course. Tip your driver and enjoy his bewildered look as he already overcharged you and almost got you killed seven times. Then have a San Miguel while listening to tagalog love songs in some karaoke restaurant.
Ah yes, the beer! San Miguel is definitely one of the cheaper and better beers around in SE Asia, except for my all time favorite, Singha, but the funny thing is that San Miguel comes in various forms lately. So you have the San Mig Dry, the San Mig Ice, and the San Mig Light. Now I ordered a Light to start with soon as I arrived in Manila and was settled down in a guesthouse. Out of healthy chauvinism I decided to look on the bottle for more info about this national beer. I noticed it contained 5 % alcohol. Hmm. I wondered how much a regular would be then... Then someone kindly pointed out that light here means less calories, not less alcohol. Bugger! That's also something you gotta appreciate them for. Indeed, what is the point of ordering a beer if it has no power? So light means that now even the types that went to fitness or were trying not to sport a beer belly could happily order their beers and still get hammered. Cheers for pinoy logic on this one!
Well, I guess there are plenty of more reasons to love this country, and I'll make sure to discover them sooner rather than later, but for now I'll have to do with Reading Garlands "The Beach" while sitting on a beach in Southern Thailand. Since Alex did actually got the Philippines right, he just decided not to spoil the country with numerous backpackers and the likes washing in on Mig Lights and surfboards. After all, The Beach was originally inspired by the wonderful islands that are part of the Philippines. Not for nothing was Apocalypse Now shot there. Thanks to Alex for getting it all wrong and doing it with style. ;-)

From Manila to Angeles, City of Fallen Angels..

2006-11-13T15:40:00.000+01:00

Before moving to Angeles to catch a plane that wouldn't leave on account of yet another typhoon passing by, I decided to see what the other cemeteries in Manila where like. I was growing accustomed on being approached on the streets of Malate by gloomy merchants of all sorts of vices by now and even having a riot gun stuck up my nose didn't bother me anymore while getting cash out of an ATM (There' security guards wearing guns in front of the bigger hotels, so a bank has to make a difference in size I guess. And anyway, rather a couple of smiling security guards waving riot guns standing next to me while I get 500 pesos out of the wall than getting some undetermined sharp piece of cutting device in my kidney from some desperate cowboy.) and even the hassle of getting taxi drivers to use their meter was more like some sort of a game by now.

After the adventures of yours truly on North cemetery I decided to spend some time on South cemetery in Manila, since it seemed to also be housing squatters. By now I was quite accustomed to moving around in Manila with my camera and I decided that reading "The Tesseract" by Alex Garland was maybe not such a good idea to feel safe in this country. After all it turned out that these people where mostly very friendly and welcoming and con artists always lurks where people mingle and congest into traffic lanes on public sidewalks, so nothing out of the ordinary there.. (Still, if a man in uniform walks up to you and demands to see your money to verify there are no fake bills amongst them, simply refuse. Uniforms are cheap here, and official uniforms don't cost more than a janitors uniform.) Anyway, I started to feel at ease in this big city and appreciate the curious melange of several non-native backgrounds. Some people might feel disappointed entering the Philippines and expecting a full-on Asian country, as with the Spanish colonial history and the less hidden Americanizes way of living mixed in.. But truth is that this country is as exotic as any other destination in SE Asia. You just had to look beyond first impressions to note how different things where here. But back to the South cemetery. I was expecting much of the same as North, mausoleums everywhere and people setting up shop in them, kids playing on tombstones and funeral cars blasting music at top volume after having dropped of very seriously their not so living cargo... But no funeral cars where to be seen, some parts of the cemetery seemed desolate, and most people here seemed to be in worse shape than on North cemetery. Cholera, Hepatitis, even TBC still roamed this place. It was not as well organized as North, one might say. Indeed, the garbage seemed to be piling up between tombstones (Not really flattering for visiting families of departed loved ones, especially if you think of the squatters main income came from "caretaker" activities... Not much care was taken it seemed, and not much visitors either...) and there was the constant smell of human waste floating like an invisible cloud over the graves. As I wandered around and noticed there where far less mausoleums here I came across a family living here, and started talking to them. Apparently the sanitary was a big problem, but water in general was a problem for these poor people. There were big jerrycans lying around everywhere near there little improvised bed, and filling them meant walking all the way to the outer limits of the cemetery, paying one of the guards 5 pesos a can as some sort of "custom tax" and outside the cemetery filling up each can for another 5 pesos. Now 1 euro is about 63 pesos, so to me 10 pesos is no biggie. I wondered what 20 eurocents could buy me back home... Maybe a chewing gum, but I don't think that would be one of my biggest concerns living in a place like this... Given the fact that those people had no official income whatsoever there only income came from being "Caretakers" of the place, and one set of graves generally made about 30 to 40 pesos. But families of deceased ones didn't always come by, so all saints day and other special days where a welcome period of economic blossoming. Except that they were evicted more often than not when lots of people came to visit, since the officials running the cemetery don't like the squatters. The whole difference with North cemetery it seemed was the surrounding area. North is in a poor area of Manila, with lots of slum areas. This seemed like a blessing in ways, as they where mostly unbothered by government and officials. But South was almost smack in the middle of Makati, the booming business district of Manila. Skyscrapers, securityguards on every corner, no punters or hasslers roaming the streets, lots of shopping bags sporting names such as Prada or Givenchy and the likes... This it seemed was making life very hard for the people trying to survive in the cemetery. They were like dinosaurs that still hadn't given in on the meteorite striking the earth. They were not really considered as a part of the future of this place. So I could not get rid of the notion that their difficult lives were being made even less easy by some hidden forces at work. The water supply, the lack of garbage disposal units taking away the garbage... Everything seemed to be aimed towards letting these people feel as uncomfortable as possible. But this is me thinking here, it's not rocket-science. It's funny yet also seems like a given fact that where rich people get richer poor people seem to be getting poorer. It was written in the garbage piling up between the brightly painted angels, it was written on the rashes and sores on the skin of people carrying their jerrycans from A to B, it was carried around in the foul smell coming from between the graves. As I said goodbye to the honest and ever smiling family I was talking with, I glanced up to see the skyscrapers towering like detached soldiers over the angels dancing on the gravestones. Even turning the corner I could still hear their warm pinoy jokes about this strange tall white guy walking in the place and exchanging jokes and buying mango candy for the kids as if it was Christmas. I wondered if any of the rich Prada people ever got around to come here and try and talk with them.. Actually I didn't wonder, not really...

I would wonder lots of things however after arriving in Angeles and getting stuck there while sporting a 38.5 degree fever.

2006-11-13T15:39:00.000+01:00

Life on a cemetary still is life..

Night of living with the dead...

2006-11-06T07:43:00.000+01:00

Wandering around on Manila's North cemetery proved to be quite a stroll. This cemetery has the size of a small village, and some rumors have it that there are around a 1000 inhabitants on this cemetery, apart from the dead that is. Children playing on top of the graves, grinning old ladies selling drinks and snacks from their tombshops, there was even an improvised church in one of the larger memorial buildings. It seems all the graves are in use, and not only by the deceased. It was very busy on the cemetery grounds, and I even had to get out of my cab and walk to get in, as there was a major traffic congestion at the entrance. Somewhere in the middle of the square in front of the entrance an ambulance was trying to be as noisy as possible but the cars, jeepneys and trikes simply had no way of moving so it just stood there, sirens going and surrounded by people who where on their way to visit their dead family members. I couldn't help but think that whoever was in that ambulance couldn't have picked a better place to get stuck in traffic. As I walked in it was crowded everywhere, and soon after I managed to walk into one of the quieter areas I found the time to take some pictures. Of course soon kids where surrounding this tall white faced stranger and they happily tried their TV-American on me. I say American instead of English because when a 5 year old pinoy kid smiles at you and then says defiantly "Hey bro, what's up?" or when a 7 year old filipina girl waves at you and then calls out loudly "Yo man, what's your problem?" I don't really think of a guy sipping his tea with his pinkie up teaching those kids... MTV seems to have found its way to the cemetery just as it seems to find its way into every other home on this planet. Like any city, some areas where pretty clean and more upscale, with tombs that looked more like the old houses in New Orleans would look, or even a pyramid erected somewhere. Other places were more down to earth, so to speak, just a little tomb with a couple of nameplates on them. Most of the time I was very aware that I was an unfamiliar sight to the people living there, but I must say I never felt unsafe. Most places felt like daytime would not pose any threats, and friendly nods and lifting of eyebrows always accompanied the stares I got. (The pinoy way of saying hi). However some of the streets did send out a sense that after dark ghosts would be the least of your worries. Thanks to Jude, a Manila based writer and very resourceful man, I will soon be exploring the South Manila cemetery, as it is also being used as living space but it's smack in the middle of a thriving business and office centre of Manila.

Scamcity beware, Mr. Paranoid is coming to get you...

2006-11-03T14:13:00.000+01:00

Speaking of small time entrepreneurs, Manila is (not surprisingly to many apparently) probably the capital city of con artists and scams are a daily risk when you are considered a walking ATM. While I was hopping from guesthouse to guesthouse and budget hotel to budget hotel looking for a clean economy room that would feel a bit safe to leave my stuff in, I came across many a reading board in the lounge areas and every time there would be a notion to be careful of this or that scam. It seemed like every place had its own warning, and I must say I did feel like getting a lot of conspicuous glares while walking with my backpack and a metal case filled with god knows what.. (I know what, but the locals don't, so as far as they know it's stuffed with dollar bills or uncut cocaine, or maybe just heaps and heaps of illegal porn discs.) Now this isn't unusual in Asia, but what is a little more unusual is that when I was just shopping later on and thus free of any attention attracting bags and all I couldn't help but notice being followed around. Now I know some of my dear friends back home think one of my flaws is that I can be uselessly paranoid at times, but around here it really saved me a couple of times already for some scary traps... Sure enough, when I stopped window shopping and decided to return where I came from, the guy who I considered to be my secret admirer (always try to keep it cheerful, no use in calling him a scary moneygrabbing thug yet) suddenly seemed to have something of interest in that same direction as well. When I stopped to check out some goodies in the windows, he did the same. Soon this was becoming something of a cartooneske chase, and I decided to get rid of him using one of the many cramped elevators in the mall. On another occasion that same day, I was walking back from having had dinner in one of the malls restaurants and as I walked past some Filipino body builder type he glanced me a smile and said "Hello Sir". I smiled back at him as I find people around here to be polite to me, but sure enough this guy wasn't just polite, he was part of a bigger game. After some cat and mouse I turned around and wanted to pass him by in opposite directions, and he tried to get a conversation again. This time I didn't smile but just did my Steven Seagal look (it's actually not difficult if you ever had a botox cure, but I relied purely on my professional acting skills of course) and passed him by radiating with a "I'm ready if you are" attitude. The good thing about being so tall and having quite wide shoulders, people actually believe I am one of Arnies cousins if I want to around here. Anyway, he followed me from what he must have considered a more discrete distance by then, probably hoping I would return to my hotel or do something else that would give him a starting point on working on me. What I did was I would just move erratically, whilst sending text messages on my phone and from time to time I would just look over my shoulder and give him a long disappointed look. After a couple of times he got the point and I finally lost him entering one of the supermarkets around. Now I had no idea which scam he was gonna use on me, it could have been any of the following ones: Stranger walks up to you, smiles and all, after some chit chat (Where you from? Oh, Belgium! Jean Claude Van Damme, he is a good actor Sir!) they will start to give you some tips and advice about where to go and what to do in Manila, and after you grow confident that they are good people, invite you for a drink in a public place or maybe offer you some candy or a snack. Truth is, they spike it with a local variation of Rohypnol, and there are numerous accounts of people waking up in a gutter or some unfamiliar hotel room (guess what, they paid for it with your money!) in some shady area of town, with no valuables left on you. Sounds like an urban legend? There are just too many people leaving messages\ behind in the guesthouse lounges not to consider this a true tale. Another popular scam is the one where you are instead invited by the friendly folks that wanted to show you their city, and if you are adventurous enough to do so, you will enjoy a rather good meal after which some kind uncle starts a friendly game of cards with the family, inviting you in. Invariable these games all end up with you losing loads of money and the friendly uncle suddenly seems to have lots of not-so-friendly cousins that accompany you to the nearest ATM. Since the police can't help here (they're not called Manila's finest around here) you always end up broke and ready to go home wit yet another story of adventure and lots of red numbers on your bank account. Now don't get me wrong, Manila isn't all like that fishy bar in Star Wars where you see all these scoundrels and thugs having futuristic beers and all, but if you are not careful you will end up getting scammed around here. The other popular scam involves a guy or girl wearing a uniform of the hotel where you stay chatting up with you about some bad luck story and trying to borrow some money. They aren't part of the hotel and that number and email they gave you is just fake. Ok, since I seem to be on a roll here let's hand out some more scams. People will follow you discretely (yeah, if you're paranoid like me no one is discrete of course) to your hotel, try to see what room you stay in by either seeing you receive your key with attached roomnumber, or by watching you from a balcony as you walk in your room if it's one of those hotels where the rooms are centered around an open air atrium. Anyway, next step is they call reception, ask them for getting connected to such and such room, and then when you answer the phone pretend to be from reception. Apparently the best way to get out of the scam is pretending you are staying with a whole lot of people in the room (say your wife and three kids, or two brothers). Otherwise they start to threaten you and try and force you to deliver a large sum of money at some undisclosed location. How they do that? I have no idea, but the hotel where I stay politely asks not to give in (splendid, I wasn't planning so) and contact them with all the information you have, so they can take action against those people. Anyways, this feels like a very farfetched one. But apparently some people get scared very easily when staying far from home and all, as it does work on some. Comfortingly to know there are also the regular scams that are going on everywhere else on this planet, like the "meter doesn't work in my taxi sir" scam (yup, even I had it happening to me when I arrived, after talking the driver into using his meter or I would get out, he relented and used it, only to press some buttons when we arrived and the magic number disappeared from the screen and some error came up, so I was politely asked for 60 instead of 40 pesos. (Which means 1 euro instead of 75 cents, so I resigned in sighing heavily while I gave him his little extra money that I would otherwise have given as tip, since the taxis here run by the distance, not by the time you spend in it
I started thinking the other day that there are probably not many ways of avoiding life's little scams unless you took some serious action. I wondered if a god fearing filipino (oh, like mexicans they are when it comes to religion) would dare ripping off a pastor if he was white, but then again I didn't feel like dressing up for the part and swating even more than usual wearing some black dress in this tropic environment... But then ust today as I was once more approached by a smiling man on his horse (they have two wheeled carriages around the tourist area and invariably they try to get you to get into them by pretending it's ust 20 pesos and by the end of the tour it turns out they meant 20 US dollars, unfortunately they always drop you off in a quite plqce where lots of fellow carriages are standing to help out if thee is trouble... for them...) Anyway, I just politely told him "I don't need no horse today Pare", trying to show off my few pinoy words, so he would know i wasn't all green behind the ears... Of course this didn't impress my smiling friend and he kept on trying to get me on the carriage. I tried ignoring him casually while changing lenses on my camera, when all of a sudden he gave me a way out... "Are you here on holiday Sir?" He asked as it is part of their little chit chats with tourists so that there is always interaction between the two parties. Now I had to concentrate not to start grinning because of the option he gave me.... I just continued attaching the lens on my big and professional looking camera and with all the cool I had on this blazing hot day said the magic words: "Nah, I work for the newspaper Pare" Now, either those words had some real magic quality to them and I just made an adult male and his horse disappear in thin air, or this guy had learned from the sorts like Batman and other ninja-like fellas that seem to appear and disappear as they please, because when I lifted up my head again after the lens was properly attached to my Nikon D200, neither horse nor smiling man were to be seen... Oh, sometimes it's ust fun to play along with the world of friendly cons... This was the moment I starte to relax into my skin and appreciate this new place I was visiting. And I'm sure more pictures like the one above will follow now that I'm adapting to this pearl of the Orient....

Pearl of the Orient, the beginning...

2006-11-03T13:30:00.000+01:00

Manila, pearl of the orient according to the guys from Lonely Planet... If you ask me, Manila is a bizarre mixture of Bangkok and Pnomh Penh, with both the feeling of a big bustling city as it feels like a rural yet moving city... It took me some time to get adapted to this place, contrary to my experiences with other cities in Asia, but once I had relented that room rates would always feel a tad overpriced for what you get (ok, I don't mind having shared bathroom if it makes for more budget accommodation, but do they really have to squeeze in those restrooms so that I'm sitting with my knees pulled up against my chin in order to sit on the seat and ehm, find relief? There's no relief to be found for a 2 meters tall man sitting on a toilet that even midgets consider as cramped. Heck, airplane restrooms suddenly feel like vast luxurious loftlike spaces when I try not to bump my knee against my chin after some spicy chicken stuff looks for a fast way out...) I slowly started to get used to this place. Walking around in Manila sure is a demanding action if you're white, people seem to consider you can help them with all sorts of stuff, mostly the kind that involves you departing with your hard saved cash. Now, I'm not the type to be shocked or irritated easily by strangers walking up to me and giving me their best impression of the "I haven't had any food in three days, please give me some coins sir"-face, but why do they keep following me after I politely have said no several times, or better yet, once they have spotted me rounding a corner they send up their youngest kids, who of course are even better at the sad looking business and all. Now don't get me wrong, these people are really poor and all, but also they not really very convincing when you look better. Giving them 5 pesos (this would be like giving a beggar back home a 2 euro coinpiece) doesn't make them happy, no, they just glare at you and make you feel like a cheapskate for not handing them over all your personal belongings... Aww well, the only times I seemed to be able to get some smiles was when I gave the same 5 pesos to someone who didn't follow me around and just sat on the side of the street looking hungry. The bad thing is I know all of them, the thankful ones and the more skeptical ones, are living a hard life, but then again I know handing out money isn't going to make a long term difference. And I'm too realistic to trick myself into feeling like a messiahs when handing out some coins, so mostly I just keep the coins and spend them at street corners on little vendors who try to make a living in this big tough city. Blame me for being an enthusiast of small time entrepreneurs...

Cimaron hits town...

2006-10-30T11:04:00.000+01:00

Sweating it out...

Due to the Typhoon Cimaron (who is classified in the same category as Katrina, aka "super typhoon") flights going to Manilla today were cancelled, so yours truly is spending some "quality time" in Kota Kinabalu, a small city on the Malaysian part of Borneo. Altough there are some great treks to be made in the surrounding area, if you only have one day all you can do is pretty much confined to staying in the city or walking the shoreline, since jungle treks to spot some urang-utangs require some more time. Anyways, I checked the news and so far the typhoon seems to have taken 10 lives, a low number considered the strength of the typhoon (compared with earlier typhoon Xangsane, Cimaron would be Goliath. ) and the fact that a lot of Filipinos where on the move to their hometowns for the all-saint festivities. Furthermore the damage to rice crops was also very low, less than 10 percent, which is good since Luzon is considered the rice-bowl of the Philippines, so lots of people depend on the crops from Luzon. (So if you compare the damage then maybe Xangsane was smaller in force but like David compared to Goliath Xangsane did a lot more damage, killing over 169 people in Vietnam and 48 in Philippines and smashing up everything in its path...) Now about the picture that comes with this post.... Hmm.. Well, I was just wondering why that boy is sweating so extensively from his lips...

2006-10-30T10:39:00.000+01:00

One advantage of being on the road is the constant possibility of ending up in places you would never end up in normally. In this case I decided to check in to the faded Niagara hotel in some Soi of Silom road in Bangkok. The place reeked of the old days when kids would still get whacked on the fingers in school and men still wore hats on sunday. All in all this place was charming enough for me to stay exactly one night, enough to have seen it and lived it a little, but I can imagine the effect such a place has on the people that decide to stay there long term... One would pick up smoking just to feel more in place with the decorum.

Pai Kabaan

2006-10-25T08:44:00.000+02:00

After a little stop in Abu Dabi Airport (charming, really, just like any other place in the united arab emirates) Read: lots of posh buildings and expensive looking cars but they all still wear a white sheet as their public dress, I mean, come on, that was hot during the Greek times, but this is the new millenium dudes! And of course there's the matter of the sand, which, as a matter of fact, there's way too much of if you ask this city slacker. Anyway, after lots of planes and sorts i arrived in my second habitat, Bangkok. So far I've been going about seeing old friends with the same old faces, old places with new faces, and lotsa food... Oh Joy to the asian bustling way of living and working on the streets, where spicy noodles can be bought at the corner of one soi and the next soi brings you the scents of pork on the barbeque. Oh, there's a foodstall passing by selling some crispy wontons, gotta go!!

2006-10-11T10:33:00.000+02:00

Well hello there people from the world! (Eh, so far I'm not considering extra-terrestrials to read my blog, unless of course they ran into me on that wicked party in the U.F.O. bar the other night) Anyways, yours truly is dusting of his shoes and packing up again, because soon this restless soul will wander the surface of the East again. So while I might be floating around on some cloud of sun-sand-ricewithchicken, I intend to keep you all posted on an irregular basis. So make sure to check in every once in a while to find out what curious and wonderful people I've ran into this or that week, or just check in to see if my pictures are still good enough to get you curious about the other half of the planet... Cheerio!

2005-10-24T02:15:00.000+02:00

Well, I wasn't really on a journey, I was working as a driver in Breton for a production company and while we didn't get much time to sleep we did get plenty of beautiful panoramic views. (This and of course trying to push away this horrible post of my formerly wrecked foot just underneath this page are the main reasons for me putting this picture here. But it's a nice sunset isn't it?)

Nocturnal memento

2005-06-22T11:44:00.000+02:00

It seems like I have laid down my hat for a while, no more nights in rented rooms for now, just me and my hometown and the homies that come with it. Feels good anyway, except of course for the quiet nights in the city, but there's a charm in that as well...
I'll be keeping my hat at hand just in case my feet get the Blues again.

2005-04-29T11:56:00.000+02:00

As far as my shoes would take me I would go, well, the shoes ran out on me one morning in Siem Reap, city of Angkor and many an ant and a cockroach. The cockroach inhabiting my shoe got ripped to shreds by some hungry ants who decided to move in after the latest squatter was digested. Flooding them out didn't work, neither did gassing them with some agent orange (nowadays it's just DEET spray that does the trick), so I decided to let the little fellas have a nice day and left my shoe behind. From there on Cambodia was to be explored by flip flop (there is something humbling in walking all those steps of Angkor on 50 cent shoes). Alas, soon those flip-flops were to be mysteriously replaced whilst I was eating in a restaurant, thus leaving me with odd-sized (Asian feet tend to be a little bit shorter) and weathered-down flip-flops from some now lucky Khmer bast... Anyways, never to give up, but what to do if the feet inhabiting shoes are no longer willing to take you any further? Right, time to settle down or go back home for some hot tea and sweet chocolate. And so, after my latest trip into the realms of Cambodia, I am soon to return. As far as my shoes have taken me, the time has come to get my ~ss back home. See you all on the next ankle-breaking roadtrip... Or maybe on one of those fabulous welcome home barbecues! (There's an idea now, hehe...)

Bubbling along...

2005-03-24T16:10:00.000+01:00

Days have been sailing by as I spent time shaping my matress into my slightly enlarged contours. It seems that my days in the east are coming to an end, and only because of me this is happening in a rather unspectacular way. In a city filled with possibilities and options, I seem to have a dull fascination for the small surroundings of my bed. Of particular interest have been: the never ending whipping noise of the fan in the ceiling, swooshing and wooshing the humid and hot air with the same determined enthusiasm as the biggest occupant of my room (me) has for rolling over to the cooler side of the bed, the sizzling sound of bubbles popping into the air as I spilled my soda on my nighttable. Actually, I was quite entranced while observing this small puddle of bubbles, trapped in warming water and determined to escape their surroundings. Their sheer willpower had a magnetic atraction on me. But all in all my days are filled with sleep and reading Von Lustbader novels, trying not to read too fast as I only have so many books to read before having to resupply myself. And the second hand bookshop is far these days. It involves taking public buses and walking in simmering heat amidst uniformed office-workers. Quite the urban adventure, these days... Anyways, I gotta go, It's lights out in the Internet-shop and Von Lustbaders latest criminal mastermind is on the run somewhere in my obscured room.

2005-03-01T15:16:00.000+01:00

Going on a visa-run in Myanmar one can't help but feel like a smuggler amongst smugglers, with 10 packages of cigarettes going for 1.75 euro's...

Moonwalking on bubbles...

2005-03-01T15:12:00.000+01:00

Lately I found myself looking at the world in an entirely different way than I was used to. Cruising weightlessly past landscapes that most of the Sci-Fi movies can only dream of, powered by nothing more than the occasional waving of a fin, I discovered that we don't need the sky to reach the limit. And some fine limits to be found under the surface of the blue-greenish waters around Ko Tao. It is amazing that in these warm waters (29 degrees!) that seemed to be filled with divers there are still plenty more exotic fish to be seen than there are bubbles going up to the surface. And even those bubbles are part of the dreamlike atmosphere down there. But by far the most wonderful experience one can have is sinking down to a comfortable depth, accompanied by a flashlight and the moonlight to shine upon sleeping schools of fish and hovering stingrays looking for a nocturnal meal. The sky was clear and thus everything was submersed in a pale and monochromic fluid light. The beams of the torches assumed X-files attitudes as our team explored the reefs and activities on the bottom. A crab walked by in it's typical sideways march and as a beam of light waved over it the legs were radiantly reddish in the otherwise pale surroundings. The only sound was that of the corals clicking and bubbles going up, and of course the hissing sound of air going in your lungs trough high-pressured tubes and devices. Darth Vader was walking with us that night, and my lightsaber slashed it's way trough the water with an ease that is only found in handling Hattori Hanzo's famous blades. But I'm drifting of here...

2005-02-22T13:20:00.000+01:00

Hi there everybody, due to some serious fun underwater I'll be in touch later! Keep on truckin'!

Year of the Rooster!

2005-02-14T11:08:00.000+01:00

Chinese New Year in Bangkok's Chinatown is not really comparable with our little local European versions. For one, not only are there far more Chinese residents in this city, the amount of Chinese descendants amongst the Thai population is quite large, thus ensuring a big show-up during the famous festival in Chinatown. To my amazement no firecrackers, altough the many red scraps of cardboard and paper with charred edges suggested that there had been quite a lot of firecrackers prior to my visit to the area. I was informed by some friendly people dressed in red (red everywhere during these days of course) that the built up to the actual New Year celebration had been going on for quite a few days already and consisted of well, firecrackers being thrown around and celebrating, slaughtering chickens for the gods and the common burning of fake money, also for the gods, because those guys sure like to party. So what was so special about today? I was soon to find out.

Lots and lots of people pressed together, trying to catch a glimpse of the ISUZU sponsored Dragon tearing trough a big paper screen and darting around a girl with a sword that had acrobatically and with typical Chinese contempt of mortal fears climbed to the top of a big bamboo pole. (As can be seen in the latest Zhang Yimou flick "House of the Flying Daggers") Meanwhile I was getting pushed and shoved by what felt like a million little Asians trying to decide where to go for a better view. And altough it is supposed to be one of the coolest months of the year, the absence of wind or breeze and the body heat generated from countless people packed tightly together (no I won't give any of that sardine-crap, that would be to easy now wouldn't it, just think of those images of Japanese commuters being pressed, compressed and beyond into the carriages of the tokyo subway.) As a result I was soon covered in the sweatstains of hundreds of people I have never seen before and will never see again. Luckily the many different smells coming from unidentified foodstalls had blocked my olfatory senses, thus saving me from this new sensation. I decided to split and let the Chinese New-Year for what it was. Easier said than done, I discovered I was roughly in the centre of the crowd and to get to any one of the side-alleys of the square I had to squeeze my way trough uncountable amounts of sweaty old grannies dangerously stretching their necks to see what was going on somewhere at the other side. It took me 37 minutes to cross a distance that on any other day would take me about 25 seconds and by now my shirt was not only soaking from the effort it took me but also from the efforts of aforementioned countless grannies blocking my path. Next year I think I'll try the local version in the Van Wesebekestraat...

Fishy business conducted during Ladiesnight...

2005-01-27T07:32:00.000+01:00

I woke up yesterday with this terrible hangover caused by lots of Margaritas and even more beer. Also I noticed I wasn't in my seedy budget room but in an apartment somewhere beyond the suburbs of KL. And there were all these good-humoured Botswanian girls running around wrapped in colourful towels... The agony! I woke up in an apartment full of students (Did I mention they came all the way from Botswana?) and I could do nothing but run to the toilet to throw up or release other toxic waste and try to sleep trough my headache sweating like a pig! (Do pigs sweat? I imagine if they do it must look like me having a hangover and sleeping it off...) Seriously, I start to believe in God again, and He is out there to punish me in mysterious ways! I normally never have hangovers when in good company, but they didn't seem to mind having this sweaty grungy guy on the premises. Well, it proves you can meet some of the more fantastic people while travelling. I remember that after the Taipussam festival we all ended up in some place were ladiesnight meant free Margaritas, and so I ordered the same for me in order to switch my almost empty glass for a fre half-full glass every other 10 minutes or so, after which they would order themselves some more free drinks. And something about a taxi-driver who didn't talk for the first five minutes and then turned out to be one of the most funny cabdrivers of KL. Reminder to self: going out with a bunch of happy students (Hey, you know, they came from this place in Africa, Botswana I think it was... must have helped in prying loose even the most tight-lipped asians...) gives you a whole new perspective of having a good time. Call it a wicked time! Luckily I recovered a little before going back into the city or my stomach would have turned upside down with all those smells coming from hawker stalls. It still did, but I didn't have anything left to give up at this point. Except my casual "I don't have a hangover" stride of course.

PS: If you know the right places, every night is a Ladiesnight in KL... The horror!!! ;-)

2005-01-27T07:27:00.000+01:00

These youngsters are preparing for the big Taipussam festival at Batu Cave, update will follow after the hangover...

Scam City, do's and dont's

2005-01-25T05:05:00.000+01:00

The more tourist populated areas tend to attract scammers of all sorts. Armed with shorts, Hawaiian shirts and a dangling video-device around the neck, one attracts more unwanted attention than George Michael in a public toilet... (Did I say UNwanted? Okay, there are some minor flaws in my reasoning, but the point is clear, no?) All the guesthouses and Backpacker-hotels in KL seem to have numerous postings in their elevators, on notice boards and in toilets, but still it seems like some visitors insist on getting scammed! Of course, the people trying to get that extra little bit of money out of your pockets know their social skills well enough to pick out the valuable targets and leave Interpol's agents on the sidecurb. Even I wouldn't fall for those kind of Hawaiian shirts if I was looking to pick up a walking ATM. A general 'Do' would thus be to wear one of those shirts, if you want to be left unharassed. (Also this tactic will work sorting out your doubts in the "Are these girls smiling at my wallet or do they really like me?" racket.)
In general the scammers are actually Scam-artists, as they have perfected the Scamming into an art. They will not approach you by asking the time or anything, because even a desperate 32 year old virgin knows this is the shortest way to end any possible social talk afterwards. No, they will look for something that makes you stand out of the crowd. (Again, not the Hawaiian shirt, and not the video-device around your neck, as any stranger pointing at your precious holiday-attribute will be quickly categorized in the "suspicious" genre.) In my case, it seems like Basketball is a good starting point. Being a wee bit longer than most Asians with my 1 metres 91cm's I do tend to stand out of the crowd. And so it begins: "Waw! You are very tall!" Accompanied with upwards glancing big eyes and standing on tiptoes while trying to get a hand at the same height as the top of my head. This is ment to stop you in your tracks, catch your attention and make you smile warily and answer something generally nice. "Yes." Is my favourite answer. Not very cunning, I agree, but at this point you don't want to make any friends yet. The next one varies, depending on how fast they want to get tjeir routine going. When in no rush, the sports question will follow ("You play basketball?") otherwise they will start assembling more facts about this particular white specimen ("Where are you from?" or "You are from Germany right?"). By now, my scam-antennaes are already doing overtime, so the need to make friends is replaced by the need to show them I'm not interested. Thus, my answers will be something like "No, I play cards in Vegas when not travelling the world." in the sport section or "No, I'm from the Filippines." when in the data-assembling alley. Both answers are short and always seem to work, as 80 percent of the scam-artists are Filippinos and Filippinas trying to make you lose money playing cards. Of course they will not put it so bluntly, they rather smoothen you up, carrying their expensive looking shopping bags filled with lies rather than Gucci-dresses or Boss-shoes. (They don't catch big fish often enough to actually go shopping in those places with their petty commission-money they get from their way more cunning boss.) "Oh, you are from Belgium? Waw, what a coincidence, we are going on holiday there next month with our uncle (aha, also known as: the boss...) Mister pipi! Club Bruges? You from Brussels or Antwerp? (Sorry people from Ghent, never heard your town popping up) "Waw, Antwerp! City of Diamonds!! (Here they try not to make their eyes watery with anticipation, also, this is were their uncle -who has even more general facts about every country in the western world- will most conveniently have a cousin working in the diamond business. Thus their little holiday to glamorous Belgium. Tadaa!) Anyway, the general idea is making you loosen your shirt, start relaxing, maybe they even walk you around a little -pointing out unimportant facts about the city, getting you closer in their net of social pressure. Once you make it into the house, unvariably the uncle will be a most warm host, soften you up further by complimenting yuor roots and so, and after a while they will start talking about this businessman that has ripped him off in some kind of deal but still seems to be a close friend as he is coming over for dinner. He will insist on you learning a few card tricks as the businessman will be cautious of his riped off associate trying to get back to him. The idea is to make the man lose a lot of money, splitting the earnings 50/50. That's the kind of uncle he is, sharing his fortune with strangers, right? Of course the businessman is i on the deal and the victim will lose heaps of money if by then he still hasn't figured things out. And every dollar will be paid off, for they even go to the bank with you to exctract the necessary amount due to them. Social pressure is the overall leverage they use, combined with the fact that they never reveal themselves as scmaaers, and it will be the guy you were supposed to scam that will scare you enough to pay up. The uncle will remain on your side, trying to calm things down, but alas, he can't help it if you lost from this guy, better to pay him, you know, he's in all sorts of unmentionable businesses. And yes, there still are people walking into this trap. One of the notices in my guesthouse came from a Canadian who ashamedly admitted on losing 3000 dollars. (I hope it were Canadian dollars at least.) Which makes you wonder why people that are willing to lose such amounts of money in cardgames are staying in 5 dollar rooms...

KL, Point of Saturation...

2005-01-23T04:46:00.000+01:00

Once more I find myself seated in one of Asia's many internet-facilities filled with bleeps, bad Celine Dion songs and screams from beyond the grave while a constant rumble of gunfire fills the public space like static. I really must look for one of those places where there are no speakers attached to the computers. The concept of wearing headphones is one that raises startled eyebrows in this part of the world. "What do you mean private space? Is that something that comes with a five bedroom apartment on the riverside?" "What do you mean ear damage? Is that something that comes before or after the brain damage we inflict upon ourselves by playing games online all day?" It seems that kids here can kill monsters with three heads before they even have mastered their first words. I've seen 4 year olds playing Ragnnarok and Doom Something-something with concentration that is sometimes to be seen on the faces of the great chess minds of the twentieth century. And the older ones seem to try to defeat their opponents with the noise coming from their speakers. At least they will not be able to hear the commands the redneck-general in the computergame gives them because of malfuncioning eardrums. Right now some 10 year old kid is shooting some Muslims to the other end of the world while an exstatic voice is spurring him on. And that for a country run by Muslims... Makes me whish the crepy guy with his left hand always in the pocket of his pants was still sitting there, at least he didn't use the speakers while surfing seedy websites featuring non-veiled chubby ladies. Yup, private space is a faraway luxury in some parts of the world.
Today I found myself wondering once more what to do with all my free time here in KL. This was only moments after glancing up once more at the Petronas Towers glittering in the blazing hot skyline of Kuala Lumpur. (By the way, do real soldiers also have to play this mind-numpbing games before they are unleashed upon the world with their artificial intelligence? Well, they sure will be stress-resistant when all hell brakes loose, at least on the noisy part of the whole war thing.)
So I went to a little cemetary somewhere on my tourist map of KL and wandered around taking care not to step on snakes or hidden gravestones. I noticed there is a point of saturation when travelling around for longer periods. I guess the first (By Allah, give me a grenade so I can shut these motherfuckers with their mouse-controlled machineguns up!) signs are sleeping trough half of the day to shorten them, no longer feeling tempted to buy T-shirts saying 'the Tallest Twin Towers in the World" or "I banged my clock in Bangclock" and so on. Other signs include $#@*ucking hell co=*%$ckers Die Die Die!!! I'll bl&*^%$##@%#%7.*&^^&%$#ll out of ya ya little &%$$#@@$.....

I shall return to you all after a little meditation time in the Batu Cave, and after having supplied myself with industrial ear-protection...

Ps: look out for a movie going under the name "Kung-Fu Hustle", it's Kung-Fu slapstick taken to a new level due to the digital revolution falling into the hands of Mr. Stephen Chow. Sometimes a little bit tiresome during the fighting sequences, but the visual fun is beyond camp and the humour beyond cheesy, hell it's beyond the things the artificially inseminated spawn of Steve Martin and Leslie Nielsen would consider to be cheesy. (Check out the Roadrunner sequence between the landlady and Chow...)

2005-01-17T08:54:00.000+01:00

Taking a nap in the V.I.P. Lounge...

Forewarned hangover...

2005-01-14T10:28:00.000+01:00

Waking up around 4 pm today I realized my head was still attached in a sound way to my body. If it was sound in itself trying not to get me into trouble is another story. One that starts yesterday late evening, when I wandered into a typical pub on Lebuh Chulia (the backpackers' street of Georgetown, colorfully lined with cheap pubs, motels, oldies and fattish 'working girls' and goodlooking but not definite girlish 'working girls') Also it seems to be one of the areas of the Island of Penang where one can smoke a little bit of Marijuana. Well, I didn't bother with that, being forewarned and all about the small print on passport entries. But I ended up in this place featuring an old and sweaty Chinese guy who was trying to impress a beyond curvy-set Indian girl with his vocal capacities. Singing in Malay while on the TV-screen images of a happy Malay couple dancing in a sunflowerfield (do they have sunflowerfields in Malaysia? Or was this a big-budget Karaoke video?) and holding hands. It looked like good fun to me, and besides, the price of the beer was even cheaper in this place than in the China-Blues Cafe I just came out of. In the back two youngsters that looked like they had walked out of a VZW somewhere in the deep heart of Borgerhout were playing a game of pool on a battered and ragged pooltable. Resting on the bar was the head of the Japanese bartender, an outcast of the Samurai Island and probably the only Japanese bartender in the whole of Malaysia. With luck he was making in one year what he could make in one month back home, but back home people were to uptight, as he later confessed to me. Once the Chinese man had taken off, the place started playing Bob Marley and other Reggae classics. Another reason to stay a little bit longer.
Soon a Malaysian man with red but focused eyes placed himself at my table, leaving his pregnant wife alone in the back, where the pooltable with the characters was. He introduced himself as a man that has only just begun life, repeating regularly during our lengthy conversation that life begins at 40. (I guess that was when he left wife and children behind on the mainland to marry his second wife here in Penang and start a second family.) Being a Muslim this was no problem, he joyously added, brushing away my frowned eyebrows and trying to keep a good vibe going. With all that Bob Marley in the background that wasn't to hard anyway. Looking at the amount of beer he was consuming, I suspected that being a Muslim in Malaysia is quite a different thing than being a Muslim in, oh say, Iran... Well, after talking about world-politics (Europe cultivating frustration and anger amongst it's many settled Muslims, fundamentalists being used by the word of some God to accomplish things that benefited someone talking of that God, Thailand being such a good place to enjoy the lighter side of life (coming from him, not me) and so on) and local policies ("Oh, they can hang you even if you just posses Marijuana, no need to be trafficking Heroine at all.") I was invited to his upstairs room to smoke some herbs that could seriously damage one's health in this country. Sure, why not, I thought, listening to good old Bob singing joyously about his green-grass-revolution. So up we went, entering a drab room were one of the VZW-guys was frantically painting the walls. It turned out to be the owner of the Motel/Bar and a local supplier of Penang's illicit drug-market. (Nervous little fella, but very friendly and funny.) I was soon to be introduced to the local way of rolling and smoking. No Rizzla's here, but some kind of leaf from some kind of Bamboo-like plant growing at riverbanks. And tobacco mixed in with grass that looked like tar scraped from a sunburned highway. The tobacco, that was. It was Indonesian cultivated tobacco, sticky and dry at the same time, if you can imagine. The grass was grown somewhere on the compounds of the Motel, but this was only admitted to after I confessed not working for Interpol. (See, I told you this guy was funny. Even though I wasn't sure why a comedian needed a diver's knife attached to his right leg, patting it subconsciously from time to time to check if it was still where it was supposed to be...) Immediately after my first drag of this hazardous little smoke-stick, I could feel my hands tingle and this funny little awareness of having space behind your eyeballs. (Do we?) This was good stuff. Not like the dry rubbish in Cambodia or the light-version of Bangkok. But then again -smoking from their personal stash- I don't see why one would want to risk the gallows only because of some crappy light version of what weed should be. This was not some medical weed, relieving you from arthritis or something, this was highly entertaining grass, taking you on a cloud somewhere beyond the paranoia and overshoulder experience a milder version would bring with it. Once our little ceremony was over we went back downstairs, where the Japanese bartender had fallen asleep on top of the hifi-chain that was now playing something that could come from a Thunderdome-compilation. Talk about a change of moods. Luckily we couldn't be bothered with such futile changes of decorum, and soon the owner had to excuse himself from our table to go play pool with some very out of place characters. I thought they had just walked out of Rikers or someplace like that, but my new friend assured me it were just the local cops coming to play some pool and collecting whatever it is badass-cops collect in a place like this. After finishing my beer and trying to shake the impression that one of the cops (he looked like the local version of Danny Trejo, you know, Razor Charlie in From Dusk Till Dawn) was looking over in my direction more than just casual, I shook hands with Mr. Life begins at Forty and I walked out before sunrise, remembering the advice the owner had given me earlier while painting his room. "It is your right as a visitor of Malaysia to refuse a urine-test, exercise this right!" Well, now I only had to steer clear of the working girls whose make-up could no longer cover their five o'clock shadow and find my way to the hotel...

Is this Malaysia or China?

2005-01-13T09:25:00.000+01:00

Well, it is Chinatown in Georgetown. As I got out of the Express train into the blistering peninsular heat of Butterworth, I almost ran for the ticket booth to return immediately to good old Bangkok. This was nothing like Cambodia, Laos or Thailand. This was really south! I didn't feel like traveling in South-East Asia, I felt out of place. I felt confused. I knew it was going to be different, and yet it still struck me this was a new place, a new set of rules. A new pace as well. Although the Taxi drivers where still trying to charge ridiculous prices, they did so in a very lazy and amical way. Which didn't stop me from walking to the ferry going to Penang Island. On my way I picked up a copy of the New Straits Times, the more serious looking of the English newspapers.Dengue fever, Coxsackie, good old diarrhea... This were some of the mentioned after-effects of the tidal wave that struck Malaysia's West Coast. And Penang was no exception to the rule. I embarked on the bright green ferryboat and expected to land on a ravaged wasteland of bricks and rusted deformed steel, only to be amazed by the vast modern skyline of a 20th century city. No visual damage here, it seemed the evil effects of the flood rested in the polluted groundwater. Georgetown unraveled slowly before my eyes as the ferry cruised towards the docking area. And since the taxi drivers were no more reasonable as on the mainland, I decided to explore town on foot, saving myself 2 euros for what seemed to be a 600 meter walk. That was of course not taking in account the tropical heat, and looking at all the blathered and fainted paint on buildings I wasn't the only one suffering here...
Soon as I had to leave the shade of the ferry-arcade, I started dripping from every pore that wasn't covered by more than one layer of cloth. (All the other pores were simply pouring gallons of salty water out of my body.) I felt like a huge dripping candle to be found in presumably romantic shagging-decors,the difference being I was dripping and melting in a not so romantic fashion. Packed to the teeth with my iron suitcase filled with papers and video-equipment, a backpack filled with dirty laundry, another bag on my belly containing my guidebook and other useless cooling-aids, and of course my little shoulderbag with my Minolta and it's accompanying set of lenses. That should teach me to come prepared! But if it was because of the delirious sunrays beating on my skull or because of the many Bollywood-hits coming from colorful Indian shops, I was sweatily smiling as I felt the old tingle of walking into a new world. Houses painted in every available happy color, mostly faded and blathering off the walls, trying to get out of the heat. Indians walking around with little umbrellas to keep them from getting a tan beyond their already chocolate-colored skins, Chinese fellows smoking funny looking cigarettes (not funny in a way that we have them in Belgium, because possession around here can get you a death penalty, which up until now didn't attract many comedians testing it out.) from the shade of their one-room shops. Streets that were more like alleys, internet acces that is fast and cheap, just like back home... Which makes me want to consider to change this title into "Is this Malaysia or The Lowlands..." Because ever since I sat down in this internetshop I've been disturbed by sounds from far far away. The whizzkid running this place is compiling a playlist on his laptop consisting of songs like "How strong is the solitary cyclist", and "A little bit in love..." Translate into mellow Dutch and you get the point. Probably some kind of campy Malaysian thing, like we have this wacko Indy-songs that don't make sense but a lot of fun. And just now a pitch-black Indian looking guy (forgot to bring his umbrella?) picked up his phone after it played "They shall not tame him, this fierce, and Flemish Lion" (do I have to mention the translation-gig here?) in polyhonic orchestra-version. Maybe he used to have a nightshop or international phonebooth or both in the Van Maerlantstraat or something. But all in all looking around I would say this is a different place altogether. Asia but not Asia. At least not how I used to picture it. But they still smile a lot and have those delicious smelling dishes around every corner.
Which reminds me to get me some dinner.

Again.

Bangkok Express Train, 3 AM.

2005-01-12T21:45:00.000+01:00

Little Kookai was said to have survived the floods merely by running into the mountains on his unseparable flip-floppers...

Do they even read what they are printing?

2005-01-12T09:08:00.000+01:00

This was published in the Bangkok post on January the fifth. Lots of presumably good meant cheering up, but what is all this blabbering about bright skies? There was not one dark cloud in the sky when it happened! And they even shamelessly repeat it a little bit. Darned, these guys must have been living in their Italian-designed penthouse-offices/lounges for too long. (In which case I advise them to let their windows be cleaned, so as not too worry too much about that dark skyline anymore.) I let you guess which sweetmouthing-company bought the space...

Baiyoke Towering Buffet!!!

2005-01-10T14:11:00.000+01:00

Baiyoke II Tower is proudly advertising itself as Bangkok's tallest building, and towering 304 meters above the asphalt it sure is. Since I myself happen to be a tall guy, I thought to go and check it out. Accompanied by a sweet girl that also happened to have worked in the now closed Japanese restaurant on the 23rd floor, I felt confident I would blend in as one of the many tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of Bangkok's skyline trough the smog. No smog, but lots of tourists though. Russians, Japanese, Chinese, Germans! But mainly bulky and noisy Russians who easily win the unaware-of-your-bad-taste-contest from the Americans. I mean, who makes this shirts anyway? (If they are made in China, I'll have to give it to them for having a knack for wicked humor, and the guts for bringing it on the market, hoping there would be something like Russian tourists to buy them.) Forget about Hawaiian designs, forget about the "My Sister-in-law's-niece went to Zimbabwe and all she...". This stuff would make John Waters drool pure snot from the cavities under his tongue. (What, you didn't know he had cavities under his tongue? Well, then maybe you also didn't know he can be seen in "Seed of Chucky", the latest, well.. what do you think.) Anyways, I tried taking a picture of them but all I got was a loud scream from my camera as I pointed it towards the Russians. And then nothing. Just pitch black screen. Battery fried. That's for trying.
Baiyoke II tower. Yes. Why did I wanted to share this?
Because of this godly invention called "All You Can Eat" which in my case means "All I Can Eat And Then Some More". For 9 euros I got an entry ticket for the 77th floor featuring the skyline, and a voucher to get into the walking buffet on the 78th floor, which soon turned into a one-man marathon buffet. I did all the continents in 4 plates, saving some space for dessert. (Note: skip the following part if you are on a diet) I vaguely remember eating Teriyaki with soya-pepper-sauce, Tagliatelli with REAL bolognese sauce (most of the time they just chop the beef up in little pieces and wok it after adding some tomatoes on top), sliced duck in raisin-sauce (just like Christmas), mashed potatoes and mayonnaise, French-fries (crispy!!!), red snapper in some spicy salsa, more mashed potatoes with mayonnaise, Japanese kinda pizza stuff, salad-stuff with thousand island sauce, springrolls in sweet and sour, Hong-Kong style beef goulash (just goulash with a delicate burned aroma to it), grilled squid, again mashed potatoes with Mayo, and lots of other things that went into some black hole where some people presume I have a tummy. I'm sure I forgot to mention lots of things, but you see, it all went blurry and stuff after the elevator doors 'pinged' open to the heaven of floor 78. I do remember trying to keep a low profile by seating me and the missus next to a table of porky Russians, but I'm not sure it worked. Unless taking mugshots from stuffed and still starving visitors and printing them out accompanied with many funny red characters and even more !!!'s for their complete staff is standard procedure in Baiyoke II.

All in all it was a good evening out, and in doing so I am sure I helped the many people that have suffered from the tidal wave, since these days every business in this town is trying in some way to divert some of their profits to a helping organization.
There are many ways in which the Thais try to help the disaster-stricken locals and tourists in the southwest. At New-year's eve for example many of the Go-Go Bars in Patpong and Nana lured hordes of men in with the promise that a 100 Baht of the Barfine would go to an organization helping orphans in the south. (Barfines are around 500 Baht and have to be paid to MamaSan or ManagerSan for relieving them of one of their numerous dancers or short-skirted waitresses). Many nightclubs mentioned in their ad's that on this or that night 20 percent of their profits would go to the south. I couldn't help but wonder if this meant 20 percent of their profits before or after the local law-enforcement had taken their cut out of the pie. But even the cops where doing their best: in Kao San Road they had set up a large glass container to be filled with banknotes and coins, while a little flyer on the side mentioned the purpose. I guess about half of the local police force had decided to guard it as there stood a brown mass of uniforms all around the container, with accompanying serious looks. In doing so I think they managed to scare of most of the donators, since being stoned is still a serious and expensive offense in this country. But the intention was there.
Thai youngsters armed with a guitar and lots of off-key voices where raising money on a street corner. (Usually these groups perform just for the fun of it, or because of the level of alcohol in their bloodstreams, but today they had the ingenious idea of laying a hat on the pavement in front of them. This and a little "Help Thailand" note made up for the shrieking voices and unnerving accords stricken.)
In a pub on Kao San Road one of the many freelancers there (some are freelancers because they don't like the stigma of being a Bargirl, others because their monthly health-tests didn't please their MamaSan and as a result got sacked) proudly announced she was going to give blood for the second time tomorrow! And after saying this she sloshed (couldn't really find a more appropriate term here) her jug of Heineken down her hatch. (I'm not sure if "hatch" is appropriate, 'cause in general hatches from hootches don't make burping sounds that could make grown elephants cry)
Again, it is the gesture that counts. All in all, the Thai are all very keen in helping out, not in the least because 89 percent of them are superstitious and Buddhist, a combination that makes them believe good Karma can be bought. By donating blood, by giving part of your gray-area profits to NGO's, and so on. But all in all, most people here really feel like the important thing is just to do something while doing what they have to do anyway. Life goes on, but while it goes on and on and on, most of these people subtly and in one way or another try and make a little difference for the unlucky ones...

There's a new man in town.

2005-01-01T12:47:00.000+01:00

Welcome in 2005!! I have no clue yet where I shall go, but I can already guarantee you that there will be stories about it. So for now I just wish you all a terrific 2005 and don't forget to get lost from time to time, that's where the fun begins!

And for those of you that wondered if they have the silly hats in Asia as well.... (Guess where they are made.)

Hit the road...

2004-12-30T12:49:00.000+01:00

Well, I did it, I got my own little hub on the eastern part of the globe. I spent my first night being twenty-five far away from all my dear friends and family, but at least I got to spend it in my own bed! You should have seen me this morning. Well, it was morning in Europe, here it was well beyond morning, but after celebrating one's birthday and becoming an old-timer one is entitled to sleeping well into the afternoon. So first thing I did was pour a bottle of warm water into my system. (No fridge in my 50-Euro apartment.) Trying to keep my hangover from getting the better of me I spontaneously jumped out of bed and started to stretch my arms as I froze with terror. Luckily I froze with my arms in midair, as anything well above my head would have meant a little visit to the local hospital. You see, ceilings are high to Asian standards, so no problems there, but the hovering fan does tend to cut off pointy fingers when set to full force. I wonder if I could save expenses on my haircut if I just jump up once in a while. Well, you will be the first to know, I promise. Next thing I did was running to the toilet to get rid of all those digested (and well-fermented) foods and fluids. (I had the unfortunate idea of trying to get as many different countries into my stomach while celebrating my birthday. I started with Thai rice and chicken for breakfast, moved on to Us style tuna-sandwich with sweet onions, then some kebab in Middle-East street off Sukumvit, to top it off in the evening with more Thai and French fries, to end with the totally unnecessary but nevertheless delicious Israelian Humus and shoarma.) Aha, another little surprise: No toilet. Well, not as we know it. Instead of spending half an hour on the loo with today's paper, I will just be doing it like a girl in the woods. Squatting, that is. Yup, my toilet consists of a porcelain bowl with two footstands engraved in it. Just place yourself on top of it, make sure your tie doesn't dangle in front of your wee-wee and start applying pressure on your lower half. I've been told this way of drooping your droppings is actually quiet healthy compared to the western version. No hanging around here, and so those nasty hemorrhoids don't get a chance of popping up neither. So I've been told. Anyways, sitting so close to the things you have eaten before doesn't really do your hangover any good, so sticking around wouldn't be my choice even if I was squatted comfortably. All in all however I felt pretty proud of my new home. Next thing you know I'll be having a job for Buddha's sake! Well, actually, that might be a good thing. Keeps me from walking around too much. Because that's what I've been doing the rest of the day. Sweating and walking.

I can assure you these Bangkok pavements are not winning any contests in my book. At least not in my "places to stroll around mindlessly without twisting both your ankles" book. It's a thin book, I'll admit to that, but nevertheless it's an important one. If you like your ankles, that is. Potholes that can bring you off balance and thus making you bounce into one of the foodstalls with their boiling oil-pans, Roots from trees creeping out of the cracks of crooked tiles, tiles missing, tiles sticking out for no apparent reason apart from making non-friendly contact with your little toe, ... These are some of the things a pedestrian has to deal with walking any of the not that many pavements. I wonder if that is why everybody is always taking a taxi, motorbike or bus to get from their homes to the shop around the corner. Or is it the other way around? Since no one ever feels like sweating and thus restrain from any kind of exercise outside of airconditioned environments, there is no need to keep the pavements in good shape.
I'll have to give them one thing tough. For a country where people throw trash everywhere but in trash-bins, these pavements look pretty clean. (Not taking air-pollution in account) And for a city where stray dogs rule the streets instead of domestic dogs on a leash, I'm surprised no one ever has shit on their shoes. Actually, I've never seen a turd on the streets since I've been here. There must be some sort of highly-efficient (read "Japanese") Robot-crew out there, scanning the pavements and cleaning them up before anyone shows up to make the damage worse by flattening it out and talking it for a walk. Hrmm. Maybe this dogs are doing it in the trash-bins. Well, then they would get used after all. Everybody happy. Watch out tough for not kicking over beggars cups filled with coins. These little buggers put their beggar-gear in the most inconvenient places. My guess is they are raising their income by appealing to your feeling of guilt after kicking their cup over. I know I put a nice ten Baht in there last time I spilled the poor guys income all over the pavement and onto the streets. (No chance of retrieving it safely until the next traffic jam.) And all that is why I rather hit the road than walk the sidewalk...

2004-12-29T13:37:00.000+01:00

Wauw! Seems like the whole town has put on all their partylights just at the same time as my twentyfifth birthday! Ain't I a lucky bird! Well, I hope you guys and gals out there are gonna have a good time you all, if not today, then in say, ow, two days from now!!! And don't forget to put on your partylights...

So this is Christmas, Bangkok style

2004-12-27T13:00:00.000+01:00

Well, spending Christmas in a tropical area is not quite romantic, but fun it certainly is! The only Santa Clauses around are all having real beards and seem to speak German, sweat a lot and always have very young and naughty looking girls clutching on their bellies. Instead of saying Ho ho ho in a deep and low voice, they let the giggles come from the younger ones present, provided of course that there are presents to be handed out. Anyways, I'm not here for Santa Claus.
In Bangkok however one cannot escape the cheerfully happy Christmas tunes coming from hidden or not so hidden but ever-persistent speakers in elevators, shopping malls and even the shabby foodstalls in dark alleys. Trouble is, where's the snow? Or even the clouds of air coming out of our mouths as we walk trough the streets? No such luck here. You can try of course to stumble into a freezer and get yourself locked in there to get a little bit of the winter-spirit into your system, but then again, I've never spent Christmas between chopped up corpses of porks and cows, I spent Christmas between fellow porkies chopping up cows. (Well, my family is quite sweet actually, even when we're drunk we only swear at each other between two courses and after making sure we got our presents already safely stacked away somewhere.)
Well, no escaping the dull and stupefying Christmas songs then, but at least the local idea of luring people into stores, bars and restaurants is by dressing up the best looking girls like Suzy Claus. Yep, all the waitresses, shopkeepers and even the 7/11 staff have to wear at least a christmas bonnet. (And it doesn't keep 'em from looking hot, somehow.) While I am trying to keep from melting this people happily run around with a red bonnet and a white fake-furred rim. They don't have a clue why, but they know it is connected with all the presents everybody seems to buy these days. And their tips increase as well. Wow! This hats must have magical powers as far as they are concerned. Well, that could explain why even three days after Christmas everyone is still dressed up and the annoying songs still play everywhere. Even in the Hi-Fi shops while on all the TV-screens images of drowned people and wrecked beach-bungalows are constantly being shown. Over and over again. Try it at home, put on that cd every house has these days, full of crooners and ballads of Snow, Santa and Bells. And put on CNN. Or BBC World. But kill the sound of your telly. Okay, now haul in every TV your house has into that same room. Go to your neighbours, borrow theirs, call your family, make them help. Friends too, Christmas is about all the ones you love. Put all sets on the same Channel. Make sure it is something gruelsome. Then put on that disc. A little bit too loud. Okay, mix with some smells of noodles boiling and fish frying. Now all start walking around in that room, everyone you called, make them all go somewhere, but make sure they stay in the room. Everybody must keep moving. Never get angry with each other though, that's not how it's done here... Just make sure you run constantly in each others way, but never completely block each other. Yes, that's it. Keep the sordid-screens in your peripheral vision. Order some noodles. Pay not more than 25 cents, or the cook is ripping you off with a smile there! There you go, now you've been here. Sort of. Just like your beloved reporter here. Sort of. Merry New Years to you all!

So this was Christmas...

2004-12-27T10:56:00.000+01:00

Seems like Thai people try to make up for the lack of snow by throwing in some extra water...
(for more information, check out your local newssuplier) By the way, thanks all for your concern, but as I am in Bangkok the only disaster that struck me on the twentyfifth consisted of changing shirts twice because of sweatstains... See ya all in the next Blog!

2004-12-13T12:21:00.000+01:00

Pakbeng Harbour.. Halfway between Huay Xai and Luang Prabang.

2004-12-13T12:20:00.000+01:00

You know what they say about Lao-womenfolk: "You can take the women from the mountain, but you can't take the mountain from of the woman."

2004-12-13T12:16:00.000+01:00

Weaving silk can be a slow but beautiful activity...

2004-12-12T13:48:00.002+01:00

On the road to Vientiane

2004-12-12T13:48:00.001+01:00

Just one of many caves around Vang Vien...

2004-12-12T13:48:00.000+01:00

Thank god for French colonialism...

2004-12-12T13:47:00.000+01:00

Business as usual in Vang Vien

2004-12-12T13:37:00.000+01:00

Arrival in Vientiane..

Memories from childhood...

2004-12-05T08:08:00.000+01:00

One might be tempted to start playing soccer after all, under these conditions...

2004-12-03T13:41:00.000+01:00

Luang Prabang, population 16.000, dreamfactor set to stun..

Laos has brought itself upon us. The pace is set, the odds are clear, let the story begin...

2004-12-02T14:32:00.000+01:00

From Huay Xai (Thai Border) to Luang Prabang takes the best of two days on the rythm of the mud-colored Mekhong. The three most exciting moments were (in chronological order):
A. suitcase falls of boat because of the lack of windows near the pile of bags and suitcases. Man from Tsjechie looks angry because his socks and Kundera books are getting soaked while one of the boatsmen tries to fish the bag out of the water.
B. Boatsman falls in the water after slipping while climbing of the roof, a rush of air flows trough the boat like a mexican wave as the audience (120 crammed tourists) wonder if the stream has pulled him under or not. He emerges on shore with a sheepish grin on his face and water dripping from his cellphone...
C. Tourist with backpack and plastic bag slips from the landing plank and lands in the water before getting safely on the riverbank. After two days of sitting together like sardines in a box watching jungle -mountains and rocks slide by at a relaxing pace, only those that really know the drenched fella gasp.

Intermezzo

2004-12-01T08:15:00.000+01:00

S21 interrogation room, Pnomh Penh. This is where your ordinary traitor found accomodation before being send to one of the many killing fields..

Me and the toiletman

2004-12-01T08:14:00.000+01:00

Yours truly posing soberly with the toiletman. Maybe I have mentioned it before, but many of the better drinking-venues around Bangkok offer full-service in their restrooms. This means that you don't even have to shake your little brother dry if you would be so viciously lazy, but more often it means there is someone there to give you soap, let the tap run, close it again so you don't make your hands dirty again, offering you a steaming towel and occasionally giving you a shouldermassage while you are trying not to pee all over the spick-and-span floor from sheer surprise! Yes, for real! And it's not only 5star hotels, every self-respecting airco-pub and all the good discos have these little fellas, the more posh the more fellas, it seems...

Off to work...

2004-11-30T08:07:00.000+01:00

Sangklaburi, bridge to Myanmar...

Loy Kratong...

2004-11-29T14:59:00.000+01:00

Loy Kratong, Chiang Mai... Festival of the river and the moon, little candles floating by on the river while the sky is filled with hot-air balloons. A night when the stars all drift into space, each star a message of light..
Click HERE for another Chiang Mai story.

2004-11-26T14:35:00.000+01:00

Cleaning tools in Khon Kaen..

Fresh fish, Fresh Dish

2004-11-25T07:41:00.000+01:00

Fishing under the bridge to Myanmar...

Pattaya Short-time

2004-11-24T19:51:00.000+01:00

Het eerste wat me opviel wijls de slaap uit mijn hoofd trok was het monotone geronk ergens onder me. Dat ik het voor het eerst in uitzonderlijk lange tijd koud had, en dit zonder hulp van airconditioning. Hoewel mijn romp en ledematen niet bepaald op een zachte ondergrond lagen, rustte mijn hoofd op iets zacht warms. Ik opende mijn ogen, en zag sterretjes. En dan de maan, die uitzonderlijk snel in een boog voorbijgleed. Ik zag haren wapperen vlak boven me, en voelde de bocht die de pick-up maakte aangenaam kriebelen in mijn buik. Blijkbaar was het niet zozeer de maan, dan wel mijn bed dat uitzonderlijk snel door de nacht gleed. Mijn ontwaken was niet onopgemerkt verlopen, want nu kwam er een lieflijk lachend snoetje ondersteboven in beeld. Ik had geen flauw idee waar ik was, behalve dan zeer ruw. Men neme een wereldkaart ter grote van een plaid, en men legt de top van eenders welke duim op Thailand. Daar moest ik te vinden zijn. Onder die top van uw duim dames en heren. Bon, ik wist niet per se waar ik was, maar ik wist wel hoe ik daar geraakt was. Ik herinner me ook een jazzy nachtclub in Khon Kaen, de universiteitsstad van Isaan. (Men neme als tegenvoorbeeld Genk, als de studentenstad van Limburg. Maar dan wel bevolkt met kleurige plooirokjes, broeken met de obligate plooi in de pijp, witte sokjes boven zwarte schoenen of lederen laarsjes, gesteven bloesjes en vrolijke gezichtjes. De diversiteit van uniformepjes is hier ongelooflijk, geel-blauw, wit-blauw, wit-zwart, rood-zwart, geel-rood, blauw-rood, roze-wit, en zelfs een hele school in een uniform waar elke rechtgeaarde scoutsfanaat zonder blozen jaloers op zou zijn. En blozen deed ik, zelfs zonder scoutsmanie, want onophoudelijk was er wel een waaghals die onder aanmoediging van -meisjes-gegniffel en -jongens-elleboogstompen die een woordje engels uitprobeerde op de toevallige farang daar op de plaatselijke Rooseveltplaats. Natuurlijk meer geniffel en stompen, en nieuwsgierige steelse blikken om te zien wat de blozende kerel daar nu mee aanmoest. Net aangekomen uit grensstadje Nong-Kai en dan zo het vuur aan de schenen, potdikkeme.) De achtergrond van het podium was een schrale combinatie van aluminiumfolie dat als behang was gebruikt (deed me sterk denken aan het decor van een of andere oefening op Sint-Lukas) en een reusachtige vergeelde foto van de skyline van New-York, tevens als behang, en tevens zeer herkenbaar als decor in een of andere acteursoefening. (ps, mensen die erik blij willen maken met fotogenieke staaltjes van slechte smaak kunnen steeds decorfoto's mailen naar erik.decnodder@scarlet.be ) Er was een trio saxofonisten links naast de skyline, met gliteer en schitter van het aluminiumfolie dat vrolijk flitste onder de constante chaos van gekleurde lichtstralen (ik was al blij dat er geen blitse laser geinstalleerd was, mijn laatste confrontatie met het gebundelde licht doen me vermoeden dat A: Menig laserflitsflash-apparaat zonder benul van enige ISO 9001 norm gefabriceerd wordt, en B: Ik toch niet zo kleurenblind ben, aangezien ik nu zelfs kleuren zie als ik mijn ogen toeknijp. Ik vermoed dat de controleur van brand- en andere veiligheid dat laatste ook al eens doet.) Achteraan, naast de twin-towers, zat de drummer lekker te geven, en dan waren er nog wat gitaren en zo, ah ja, miekes met kleine bikinikes en die waren volgnens mij ook van aluminiumfolie, aan de schittering te zien. En vooraan stond er afwisselend een rijpere dame in prachtige zijde jurk te zingen. En goed. Dat was een van de redenen dat ik het naar mijn zin had, zo alleen daar in de nachtclub, dat en mijn 350 gram puur rundsvlees met peperroomsaus. En echt alleen was ik niet, want de dansvloer was gevuld met oudere chinese dames met hun nog oudere chinese mannen, die afwisselend in kopel dansten, walsten of rockten, dan weer en masse een of andere countryfolk danspas uitvoerden. Of was dat een mij onbekende aerobicsdiscipline, zoals ik er al enkele ontdekt heb in publieke parken in Azie? Ja, deze jongen had het best naar zijn zin daar in Zuid-Oost Florida. Zelfs toen een van de uit volle borst zingende dames een echte Katoey bleek te zijn die net iets minder goed kon zingen, maar de zaal des te harder deed swingen. Volgens mij de geknipte persoon om kabouter Plop en consoorten van de kaart te vegen bij de ukkies daar in Vlaanderen. Entertainment zoals Eddy Wally er goud mee schept: zonder benul van goede smaak maar wel lachen. Maar dat had nog steeds niets te maken met mij, ontwakend in de open laadbak van een pick-up. Toch maar even mijn Steak-verhaal kunnen doen.
Ik was vandaag in Pataya geweest. Dat was het! Ik had nochtans menigmaal gezworen nooit een voet in Pataya te zetten. Tenzij om een memorabele fockyoumentaire over Lou zijn Banana te draaien. En behalve mijn stoelgang had ik vandaag niets gedraaid. En om de moraalridders alvast gerust te stellen, ik had vandaag zelfs niet aan iets gedraaid. Er blijken namelijk 2 Pataya's te zijn, waarvan ik vandaag de illustere heb mogen ontdekken. Uitgenodigd door de familie van een lieftallige jonge deerne was ik achter in de pick up geklommen, ondanks het aanbod om binnen te zitten, iets wat blijkbaar menig Thais volkspersoon vreemd vind, aan de vrolijke wijsvingers en grijnzen van voorbijgangers en passerende chauffeurs te zien. Maar leg maar eens uit dat het bij ons in Europa als ongezond wordt beschouwd om in de laadbak van een pick-up te zitten, zeker als deze de zone 30 inruilt voor de snelweg. (Inderdaad was elk loszittend haarstukje snel weg.) En leg maar eens uit dat de ravotter in mij het heerlijk vindt om gespeend van enig comfort de zonnestralen en rukwinden op den bol te voelen kletsen. Gezamenlijk zaten we daar, moeder de hen met Paa, een negenjarige deugniet die plots heel ernstig kan kijken, Oi, de oudste zus, en Dao, de lieftallige deerne die ik niet zo lang voordien had leren kennen in universiteitsstadje Khon Kaen. Aan het stuur zat de vriend van Kai, een vriendin van de zussen. Vader de leeuw zat ergens in een boerendorpje ver weg peren te stoven terwijl de vrouwkes verzameld waren in de tijdelijke stad van Dao om het komende Loi Kratong-festival kleur te geven. (Menig lezer zal dit festival herkennen als ik vertel dat het gebeuren bestaat uit veel mensen die veel kaarsjes in zelfgemaakte vlotjes de rivier af laten drijven.) En in afwachting van de festiviteiten op de 26e kon een dagje aan het meer van Pataya er wel af. Zeker nu dochterlief een blijkbaar niet onknappe bleekscheet had meegetroond naar haar kot.
Het was een prettige dag, het meer was koel en het eten was rijkelijk: gegrilde vis gevuld met citroengras en dergelijke, papaya-salade met koolsla en geroosterde kiek (is er trouwens een epidemie in Thailand of niet, want ik hoor er hier weinig van). Met het water en de chips voor Paa inbegrepen kwam de totaalrekening die ik op mij genomen had goedkoper uit als wanneer ik een willekeurig bezoek aan Burger King had gemaakt. Het was wel duidelijk dat er hier nooit toeristen van buitenlandse oorsprong neerstreken. (Behalve de vriend van Kai was er niemand in de verste verte die meer dan 2 woorden Engels sprak, uw teerbeminde blogger buiten beschouwing gelaten) En hilariteit alom toen de lange witte Farang zich gracieus ontdeed van zijn hemd en jeans om lekker in het water rond te spetteren. Het was voor mij een must, gezien ik dra nog verder van de zee zou zitten tussen bergvolkeren en andere illustere wezens. Bij gebrek aan voorbereiding had ik natuurlijk geen handdoek mee, en dus deed ik wat ieder fatsoenlijk mens in dit klimaat doet als het zwem-gedeelte afgelopen is: Rap rap het water uit, gauw gauw broek en hemd aantrekken, en snel snel nog wat kiek smullen. Het was een zeer fijne dag jawel, en het enige minpunt was steeds nieuwe manieren vnden om de niet zozeer licht bedoelde grapjes over verloving en trouwerij te pareren met niet affronterende ontwijkende tegengrapjes. Het was uiteindelijk een stevig eind terug naar de stad. En zo was het dus dat ik aangenaam en opgedroogd wakker werd in de open laadbak van een vliegensvlugge pick-up. En ondanks de prachtige aanblik, kon ik mij niet ontdoen van een sluimerend besef dat een abrupte stop van het voetuig ons zou herleiden tot willoze vliegende poppetjes die ten prooi aan allerlei fysica-wetten nog wel het minste te vrezen zouden hebben van de zwaartekracht. Hoe ver kan een zak patatten eigenlijk vliegen als deze tegen een snelheid van 140 kilometer per uur wordt weggekatapulteerd? En moet je diezelfde patatten eerst nog koken om van moes te kunnen spreken?
Adios Calimeros!

Vegetarian's Day.

2004-11-22T08:50:00.000+01:00

Arrived in Nong Khai village today. Bordertown with Laos. Nothing special around here, except for lots and lots of temples and the monks wandering between them. Nice temples tough. But I fear some faded hippies and converted New-Agers have settled in some years ago. I didn't noticed at first. Until I got at my guesthouse, located in a small pittoresque soi running to the Mekong river. The soi is filled with old wooden houses in washed out happy colors. (Mom, if you are still reading my blog, now is a good time to quit) I was feeling quite good mooded, walking towards the MutMee Guesthouse, recommended by my far from Lonely Planet. All this would soon change. I was walking into a Sing-and-Heal-Trap. Or any-kind-of-New-Age-course-you-can-think-of-Trap. On my left and right posters with Chakra's, invitations to Reiki- and Yoga classes and chymes and bells tingling from doors were warning me to turn right back and forget I ever was here. But no, I was dazed from the busdrive, and kept going until I hit reception. Very well organized, as I would soon acknowledge. All kinds of flyers directing you to the right place or explaining step by step what to do and not to do were neatly stapled to the wooden wall next to the reception area. There was a basket with keys that opened locks from rental bikes, telling you not to yell if your bike should brake down in the middle of nowhere, and such and so. I noticed a sign under the counter while handing over my passport to one of the foreign managers that informed any crooks not to bring ANY lady from town into the rooms. Doing so would lead to exile. I guess tar and feathers were waiting in some corner of a tantra-classroom. The manager did his routine, explaining me how to use the logbook of my room to get the cooks cooking, the bed changed and stuff like that. Very keen, he was, making sure I would know he invented the whole system. I guess if he wouldn't be vegetarian he could have worked for McDonald's, making up rules and regulations for staff, breaking up the difficult process of making a hamburger into small, easy to handle actions that pimpled teenagers could perform. Well, he was friendly, nothing I can say about that. But I got a bad feeling about the whole place. It reminded me of some of the "spiritual meeting centers" back home, of which I saw one too many (sorry Mom, I warned you though), be it only in black on white (or yellow or orange, these were popular replacements for white)flyers, mind you. Ahem. Hey, stop mockin' me, I needed that colon cleansing. I'm just not sure yet why it was being performed during a candle procession with low-bass humming. I started to look around and I noticed the same people you would notice in any New-Age centre. Skinny white men with cropped haircuts and that typical I-may-know-something-but-I-can't-put-it-into-words-Smile, your occasional reformed but certainly not less fierce Bra-Burner, who wouldn't be smiling if they even got a fraction of my yesternights vibes channeled trough, and yes, there he was, sitting in a motored wheelchair a la Hawkins, the required minority representer. He looked like the only sensible guy around, but his conversational skills were probably limited due to the steering-straw in his mouth. He would turn out to be a real rebel actually, although I'm not sure if he knew the ruckus he caused behind him. You see, as he was trying to make his way back to his room, he had to get from the gravel ledge that looked out onto the Mekong onto the cemented pathway that connected the restaurant with the kitchen with the rooms with the toilets and so on. In doing so, he needed a little help, which one of the friendly Thai staff members took upon him. It was quite a struggle, and I wondered how he ever arranged to get to this remote corner of the country anyway. There would probably be a book about this adventure in the local bookshop, under the "everyday-heroes" section, or next to the story about the guy that had to drink his urine and chew ice on his way to the north-pole because his galvanic hi-tech sledge-ipod-tent-kitchen-radiotransistor-foot-warmer got lost in a crack of the ice. Anyway, I'm wandering off again. (something that can't be said of the guy in the... Hell, he was supposed to be the only one I kinda liked there, better get on with my story.)After the battle with the ledge, he buzzed off. (No, really, that's what they call it. It does! Buzz, that is.) Immediately after he was out of sight, the "gay" (gay as in "sort of unworriedly happy") manager, the organizer that is, jumped from behind a breakfast table and started looking for any possible damage. No, not for scratches on the buzzed-off one-man-tuk-tuk, he was checking out the curbside. While meticously scanning the curbside, he nonchalantly wiped the gravel smooth with his feet, wiping out the chaotic tracks his rebellious guest had left behind. (I wonder if he would help him over the curb on the outer gate if the rebel got expelled in the event of bringing home a fancy townslady.) He was still at it when I finished my otherwise delicious breakfast. I decided it was time to scramble, but with my laundry being hauled off to some sweatshop and my room already being paid for I had to come back sooner or later. I was provided with a MutMee Map of the town, and to my horror it was just as organized as the check-inn. It said: "Mut Mee, a Place to Stay, a Community, a Place to Eat, www.mutmee.net" Anyway, the horror only expanded as I was informed that due to some ASEAN summit in Vientiane, the border was closed for all cheapos, including me, trying to enter with a non-business visa. Until the first of bloody december! I just knew it was bad news, all this reformed hippies and the like. Trouble, that's what they are. I was gonna buy me a redneck-bumpersticker and stick it on my bumper, or any bumper, lacking personal transportation. (I knew just the kinda guy for it) Somehow I get really bothered thinking of all these Mantra-humming beings, although they are rather harmless if you stay out of their aural range. I wondered why, part of it is because I cannot rid myself of the feeling that they are little hypocrites, pretending they feel good because that's not important, so you better feel good! Or else! (yes, colon and cleansing are one of the possible answers) They walk around in Asia, thinking they know it all, only because they have been tutored in some deranged hybrid mix of occult-eastern knowledge combined with hippie-philosophy and baby-oil. Me, I know shit, I think I know maybe about 20 percent of what is happening around me, and I feel happy being lost in the other 80 percent. And I am not alone at that one. I don't know which ones I would survive longest on an island, these spiritual veggies, die-hard Money-can-buy-me-anything-but-decent-manners Farang or a troup of unleashed Israelis that just ended their tour of duty on some dusty outpost. I mean, anytime I'd prefer old Fawlty above smiling Julian, he would simply just whip that good boy out of his wheelchair and into the hospital for being so slow and scratching paint off onto his curbside. Only by using the sheer power of verbal suggestion, mind you. No, this guy waits until he thinks nobody spots him, then goes over and tries not to think bad thoughts too loud to disrupt the neighbouring Vipassana-session. But hard enough to give them the shivers. My Buddha, I'm ranting. Time to get some temples behind my jaws. They say it all started here. F*$k if I know. I just like these happy colors on their rooftops. See ya all. (Bye Mom, kiss for you...)

Udon Thani Rocks!

2004-11-21T12:28:00.000+01:00

Well, what can I say, only two days in this battered old city and already I've seen more Thai culture than in my past two months together. Sort of. The first night out, I enjoy a drink in a cozy restaurant, owned by some friendly Thai lady and her Steve from England, as some of the waitresses ask me over to a sort of bachelor's party. So after the restaurant closes, about eleven something, I jump into a 4x4 with blue headlights and ditto neon under it's frame, together with some of the waitresses and the brothers of the boss. Thai. All of them. The girls giggle and the man holler, I seem to be part of their gift to the groom. It turns out to be somewhere far into the countryside, and they ask me if I'm not scared going with a bunch of strangers to a place I don't even know is there. (this is the first and only time I feel like I should worry, but it only takes a second, as I see some hundred Thai people scattered on a field looking at a Thai Soap-series on a big projection screen. No, it's not here.) Finally we stop in front of a wooden house, and after a minute or so a man peers out of the door. Turns out they are all sleeping, since tomorrow is the big day and all. But hey, before you know it I sit inside of the house with about 17 Thai people, most of them don't speak English nor Engrish, and all kinds of delicious snacks are being presented whilst lots of beer is being served. I even get to try some Thai Rice-whiskey. Very strong, but very nice too! I seem to be some sort of an attraction, brought along to entertain the men and women just by being white and grinning as I sip from my whiskey. I didn't mind, and in the end they even gave me some good-luck charms in the form of white cotton bracelets. On the way back I realized that now would be a good time to feel scared, because our driver seemed to have trouble remembering what side of the road he was supposed to be on. But as there was no traffic, not even chickens or rats crossing, there was not much to worry about. All in all a nice outing, and the night after that I would be able to catch a glimpse of Thai nightlife that was not seedy. Country-music and Beer Leo!! Yep, the next day I was escorted by two Isaan ladies to the local countryclub. The men decided they needed their sleep, as they had to wake up considerably earlier next day. No problem for me mate. The countryclub was crammed with Thais, many of them wiggling and shaking their arms and legs while singing along with the local band. The music was quite alright, not that I understood any of the words, but these guys knew how to get people moving, and not long after my second beer I was wiggling and shaking along. Nobody seemed to notice I was trying the same moves as some the cool Hip-hoppers from Mtv do, 'cause everybody seemed to have their own indistinguishable style around here. Lots of fun guaranteed. Waiters and waitresses ran around carrying platters of food and mainly drinks, dressed in Wrangler-copied Jeans and with Krama-bandana's around their necks. Cowboy-style all over the place. If it wasn't for their Thai looks, I would have thought I was in the deep south of the U.S. of A. (Tears of the Black Tiger doesn't looks so far-fetched anymore, by the way, there's a new movie from the same director coming, and critics in Thailand are once more puzzled and baffled and try to forget they have to come up with some sort of impression that translates to a big audience) Oh, it's happy hour again, bye folks! (My hat turns out to be real sharp-looking around here)

Point and Smile, Point of no Return

2004-11-20T11:36:00.000+01:00

Today I saw the sun dawn upon Isaan, the rural North-East of Thailand. Isaan people are the salt of the earth when it comes to endurance and hard-honest working spirit. That is, if they haven't gone off to Bangkok and catched the big-city flue. I was entering a land where 80 percent of the people worked for their food, in a quite literal way; planting rice, herding cattle, grinding spices after drying them, just being busy living the farmer's life. My stop was at Udon-Thani, it's a city for Isaan standards, just like Aarschot is a city for people coming from Aarschot, I guess. I was entering an urban landscape that came as a surprise after hours of rice-paddies and scrubland. Tuk-Tuk's waited eagerly, and the few farang that got off the train instead of going straight to Lao were being scanned expertly before prices were set for fares to go to nearby hotels. I ignored the latter of them, as they seemed to speak English too well, which meant their gasoline would cost the same as it would in Europe. Instead I walked a little into the city, letting it seep into my system. It was just as the guidebooks predicted, a little hard on the eye, no temples worth mentioning in the books, no guesthouses even for the shoe-stringed traveller. No problem there, as I made it to the hotel I got a deja-vu of entering an old Perestroijka Hotel somewhere in the outlands of Siberia. But with the heat on. This building seemed to have been erected in the fifties, post-war style, and I felt my hairs stand up as i noticed the tag on the mirrors: "Union Commerciale des Glaceries Belges, Bruxelles, Vitrerie en Beglazing." It seemed to have been on there forever, a tag that would appeal to the antique-dealers at Marolles, or the few old-school ones in the Kloosterstraat. The room was only 3.50 euro's, so I guess there is no need for guesthouses in this city, giving the fact that my room was twice as big as any room I've slept in while in Bangkok. I kinda liked these battered, 'ugly' cities, last time I was in such a place was when I got sick and had to stay in the local Hospital of Chumphon. That was a different trip tough. Back in the days when I still tought I would change just by travelling. These days, I feel more like I'm dissolving while travelling. I'm still very aware that I'm still same old me, but it just doesn't matter that much around here. Not that there's so much wrong with being me, but after 24 years you get bored by being you from time to time, I guess. No, lately I hadn't been too occupied with finding a reason for being here, or with just "being" in general. It was only by looking into that mirror and at the same time seeing the familiar font and names on the little tag, that I remembered I came from somewhere.

After I catched some sleep (see the previous post) I went out in the city, strolling around, window-shopping, and prety soon it dawned upon me I was far from Bangkok, despite being in a Thai city. Almost no one spoke Egglish, and it was only after about walking around for an hour or so that I saw the first other Farang. It turned out I was just around the corner of the major shopping mall, the biggest around, and the only one as well. But before I was in Airco-city, I was on my own, with my very basic knowledge of Thai being stretched far beyond my comprehension. This was the Land of Point and Smile, and then point some more, and speak slowly but still English, point some more, and just keep smiling so as not to upset the friendly but bewildered vendors. I guessed that apart from the shopping mall with it's Swensen and Pizza-Hut and All you can Eat-Grill (boy, I didn't just save money by catching up on forgotten meals, I think I even made money eating my way trough Tuna Salalds, Potato Salads, Pork Sausages and all sorts of thick dressings.) this would be the score for the rest of my upcountry trip. I would be getting my Laos visa in a couple of days, in Khon Kaen, when the embassy opened again after the weekend, and I would be going into a country where pointing and smiling and blabbering are common pidgeon. For now I was being happy just walking around, snapping uninteresting pictures and at the same time looking to the things outside of the picture. This was still the kind of place where Tuk-Tuk's were driven by old men in old shirts and gritty pants, instead of by some young schmuck with a Ray Ben on his head and the latest white Adiads on his feet. Andd I even managed to spot some Cyclos, that were being pulled by even more battered characters, men that looked like they had been born somewhere during the Roaring Twenties, alltough I doubt if there was anything roaring in these streets those days, apart from the occasional pig on a stick passing trough on its way to some party. (yes, well, if you don't have fridges and air-cool-trucks you best keep those precious porkchops fresh as long as possible by other means; keeping it alive and kicking) This was a place where people were very proud of knowing a word outside of Thai, and theuy insisted on using it whenever they saw a white-skinned farang around. I mean, it's nice when people say hello as you walk by, but if they keep saying it when for instance you try to point your way trough a purchase of a pen it tends to get a little annoying. Or even hilarious, as they yelled it at me with a big smile and a waive coming from a big truck that came very close to running me over. These people had their hearts on the right place, as far as I could tell, so I did not try to use my Sawasdee khap's too much but instead smiled surprised and answered with a nice Hello to you. Anyway, this was a place where you had to be very carefull with your Thai, because uttering even as much as one word (being one of the 6 or so I've mastered) would end you up in a waterfall of Thai sounds, and eager looks at the pauses between one waterfall and the next. Ignoring your baffled and lost look, the waterfall would just keep running until you shrugged your shoulders quite unsubtle, held up your palms towards the sky and shook your head like a horizontal variation of a death-metal-headbanger. Just remember to keep smiling in the act. Yes, I was feeling pretty happy. Soon I would be in dusty Laos, sitting on the deck of a steamboat (or so I imagined) watching landscapes slide by in a more than slow pace, which wouldn't matter because I was in Laos, Land of the 1000 Lotus-Eaters.

Hobo

2004-11-19T13:05:00.000+01:00

I have always preferred trains over buses, and last nights experience didn't change that any. I was waiting in line at Bangkok's main train station, when it occurred to me it was a Friday evening. I had chosen a bad moment to travel. Everybody likes to go somewhere in the weekend, and indeed, when I tried to order my ticket to Udon Thani, all second class and even first class sleepers were occupied already. I could however take the express train 45 minutes later, leaving at 20.45 and arriving at 08 in the morning in Udon. Provided I was willing to sit in third class. Why not, I was supposed to be traveling low-budget anyway, why pay 10 euros for a bed in a train if I could get there for 3.50 euros on a wooden bench? I didn't regret it. It was long, indeed, and sleeping was not an option, apart from a minute or 5 here and there. I was seated between real Isan folk, people that know about the hard life and smile compassionately when thinking of that life. I was being spoken to in Thai and Thai-Lu, the north-eastern dialect of thailand. People were mocking this strange bird amidst them, indeed, I was the only farang in the whole third class compartment. I guess they are not used to see a whiteskin sitting it out on the bleachers seats for a small 11 hours. I didn't mind being the main subject off small-talk for the first hour of this trip, as most of them seemed rather friendly minded about my presence. I was offered all kinds of suspicious feats, from dried fish-skins to warm beers, but I managed to dodge most offers without offending them. At last I had to eat a bitter tasting fruit that looked like a potato and had the inner texture of an apple. I was relieved when I got off the train that I didn't get the watery sheitsers on account of the potato. It happened before, so don't mock me. And toilets in third class ain't really in my book of "rest"-rooms. Anyway, after they had inspected me and my strange book (many of these people can't read Thai, let alone English) their curiosity seemed satisfied and I guess they started talking about the reunion with their families in the morning. Working in Bangkok's sweatshops, as taxi-drivers or tuk-tuk drivers, playing security-guard at underpaid wages, these people all came to Bangkok dreaming of making it, or at least being able to scrape together enough money to support the family back home. (I will leave out of account the many freelance girls coming from Isaan, as they tend to take the airplane home ;-) Pride was in their pose, and it suited them, honesty shining in their eyes. These people didn't like complaining and bitching about the small inconveniences of daily life. Instead they looked forward seeing their 'kin again. Later, around 3 in the morning, when I quietly went to the toilet, I was almost moved to tears by the landscape of sleeping couples, mothers holding their children in their sleep, sometimes three of them at the same time. Everywhere I looked I saw unison. I guess I missed my hometown a little, but more than that I was just reminded by the importance of havong each other, of knowing you don't have to stand it all alone. Back home I liked to pretend I was a loner, and in ways I am, but I guess I am also a little of a romanticus, and seeing these people that were living hard but honest lives holding each other in their sleep (they would never do so in public when awake, unless it was brothers or sisters) just made me feel we (we, as in the west)were getting it all wrong. All this bravado and made-up need to show our independence, afraid of being let down. I think I was afraid of being let down just because I have so much. These people have nothing to loose but they are willing to fight for it. They have one another to build on. Me? I have my internet and my camera, I can hide a little more while watching other people making a living together. And I can't help but feel like I just got carried away, because I don't feel I have a right to complain, as most of my fondest memories from back home are those in which I was part of something, be it a loony filmcrew or an even loonier youth-movement. Maybe I am spoiled, being born in Belgium, but that doesn't mean I'm lost. There's more great stuff to do while I'm here, and I sure hope it envolves lots of people and lots of hard work, say standing up for more than 10 hours in the cold night while looking at yet another take of shot such and so. (As long as there's catering, there's a happy crew-member tagging along ;-)
Anyways, I feel kinda exposed right now, so I'm gonna hit some happy-hour beers. See ya all.

Sangkla Buri and the Three Pagodas

2004-11-18T12:49:00.000+01:00

This bridge close to the border with Myanmar leads to a small but pittoresque Hmon village, where people spend their time looking other people walk by and smoking cigar-like cigarettes that look like Bob Marley has rolled them and are being smoked with the wide-side in your mouth.

Trip to Kanchana Buri, "railway to hell"

2004-11-16T09:01:00.000+01:00

Well, Kancanaburi is where the famous Bridge over the river Kwai is, so that's why this is called the railway to hell. Apartt from that I can just say it was a very boring, tour-operated town, so off I went to the exotic bordertown of SangklaBuri, bordering Myanmar. The view as the bus drove around the last hill before showing SangklaBuri was stunning, especially after two weeks of capital Bkk. Yes, this was a good place to breath in some fresh air: a big lake runing across the border, and hiding some traditional tribal villages along it's banks, mountains older than Roland Lomme's second chin and everywhere monsoon-forest, being gren at this time on account of the ending of the rainseason. Looking across the lake was like looking at one of these Japanese paintings from lakes with mountains disappearing behind each other and into the ether. But then in full colour. I decided to give the eco-trekking a try, and next morning we set out in a longtail boat across the lake, enjoying the scenery pass by.

Later I enjoyed a pleasant form of sea-sickness as I sat on the back of an elephant, cruisin' the jungle and wading trough rivers. I felt like the late Mr. Genghis Khan, marching towards yet another victorious battle, trying not to feel sick and look ferocious.
After the elephant ride (I'm still not sure if Genghis Khan ever actually rode an elephant) it was time for some picnic, and then on to the Bamboo-rafts and into the river. It got pretty wild from time to time, but all in all it was a relaxed ride down the river, nothing close to Deliverance, apart from the apparent inbreds that populated the river's banks and seemed happy to sit there all day, fishin and grinning at no one in particular. We made a small stop on our way back to the longtail boat, and at first I wondered why this was done. Just a rocky riverbank with nothing to see or do. But then, as we set foot on the rocks, a school of butterflies swarmed up into the sky and fluttered all around us, mainly two schools I guess, one sticking to monochrome yellow, but a happy yellow none the less, and the other in stylish Black and White. After some snapshots we continued our rafting-adventure and arrived back at the longtail-boat.

Some locals were smoking odd-shaped cigarettes, and playing a local form of bowling, consisting of small flat stones being placed in grooves in the earth, and trying to topple as many as possible in one strike with another flat stone. These tribes rocked! Playing bowling and smoking what looked like huge spliffs but then backwards! Later, when we were on our way back to the wood and stone bungalows that seemed like they came from some Alp and had been mixed with a stone-rock house from the Pyrenees, we saw an artefact hidden under the cool waters of the lake; a drowned stupa. This place felt like magic. The weeds in the water moved like in slow-motion, and I felt like sirens were singing to me to join them in the waters. I stayed put however, knowing very well that soon I would be in Bangkok again and there would be more than enough sirens to be enchanted by.

Actually, it didn't take until Bangkok, and no, this isn't yet another tale of corrution of the morals, rather a celebration of it. As I climbed in the back of a pick-up truck, I joined a gang of locals looking eerily at this cowboy joining them. (I was boldly wearing a white hat that was on my head mostly for it's protectional capacities than it's appearance, altough I kinda got attached to it pretty soon.) Before I entered the pick-up, I had exchanged short glances with three schoolgirls crossing the street. They climbed aboard the old vehicle as well. I felt like a sixteen-year old teenager, blushing under my white Stetson (Okay, not a real one, more like a Setsun or something) trying not to get caught looking at the tallest one of them. She was doing the same thing. We couldn't help but blush and try to keep from grinning. It was all pretty harmless, and apart from being a little bit too old and a little bit too foreign I think our children would have been the most beautiful little angels running around on this planet. No, that's just the butterflies talking in my stomach. It all ended after a couple of long minutes when her friends got out and she followed them, looking over her shoulder one more time before I disappeared into the sunset. The old woman with the missing teeth across from me gave me the eye as I sighed, and I started humming quietly, feeling complete and utterly content with all of it. I'm a poor, a lonesome cowboy...

Potverdoemme!

2004-11-10T15:11:00.000+01:00

Awel, duzend bommen en garnaten, morgen komt de nieve wong kar wai uit in bangkok, dienen dingen, alle, twieduzend46 awa! ik zen een beke van men melk, want de laatste filmkes die ik hier gezien heb waren ni echt al te vrolijk (Cellular; vermijden tenzij je een ugcpasje en een oceaan van verveling ter beschikking hebt, en Dodgeball; ja, moet ik daar nu echt iets bij verzinnen?) Potverdikkeme, ik blijf nog wa plakken wa, morgen gaan ik naar de cinema, hoera hoera! Engelse ondertitels of ni, ik gaan lekker rillen in den bioscoop! PS als iemand van ulder nog fijne scenarios of filmstuff heeft gemaakt, mailt da dan naar erikdc@gmail.com, zo kan ik mijn kwaliteitsleven wa upgraden alhier. Da rik.

Carpe Diem

2004-11-09T19:26:00.000+01:00

So, I was supposed to stand in front of a classroom filled with eager smiling little Siamese kids, but a dangerously cocktail of Malaria-medication and Thai Whisky voted against any such plans. I went out yesterday evening, bought my first teacher-uniform and all, two neat shirts and two black pants, and tought I would just drop by good old Hole in the Wall, a sort of Kassa4-Barracuda-BarTabac in the heart of bloody Khao San Road. Anyway, by the time I got back home, I was way past my schedule, and I vaguely remind putting my alarmclock about 2 hours later. I can do this, I remember telling myself, I can do this. I even found strength in the memorie of one of my good old friends in Belgium, who is specialised in waking up adfter two hours of sleep and with still enough inflammatory liquids in his system to get pulled aside. I was thinking of the bravado with which my dear friend would stagger of to work, and to succesfully perform whatever devious duties lay ahead of him on that day. And so I fell into a coma, only to wake up with a screaming headache, a burning liver and a slightly irregular heartbeat. This had happened to me two weeks ago, and I knew I wasn't going to show up at my first day of work. Iwasn't even gonna make it to the nearest 7Eleven if I ran out of soda and aspros. Which happened eventually, six hours of vomiting agony later. I allready had warned my boss, who was sweet about it, since I only told about the being sick part and not the night before, so now I only had to warn myself never ever to mix my Lariam with suspiciously cheap whisky again. (5 euros a bottle.) Somehow I remember dragging myself 5 flights down to get in the burning blistering heat of the 2 o'clock tropical sunny asphaltos, and by the time I had gotten in the airconditioned 7Eleven, my shirt was soaked with rancid hangover-sweat. I managed to carry my supply of water up the stairs, and after another encounter with mr. Loo I sank into a sweaty afternoon nap. Later that day I kindly returned my schoolbooks to my boss, who told me to get well soon (no acting required for calling in sick when Lariam is working on your hangover at a 200 heartbeats a second.) and also that she had high hopes of me becoming a teacher. I couldn't believe it. Only in Thailand! Seemed like the impression I made in class the other day erased any doubts about my capacity of going to bed in time. So, I kindly told her I was going to call her if I was back in shape, but also that chances were big that I would spend the next three weeks in laidback Lao. She gave me a kind smile, and wished me luck, and told me to keep her number for when I was ready to settle in buzzy Bangkok. Amazing, Thai etiquette is just not what I expected it to be. I guess my days of learning are far from over...

back in town...

2004-11-08T10:20:00.000+01:00

So last week I was spending a night in some Cambodian bordertown, one of those places where you can get two girls for roomservice, quite expensive, tough, so I skipped on that one.(Really guys, you must believe me! Especially you, Mr. Gozin, you must know I wouldn't dare stealing other people's dreams for a mere 20 dollars) Skipped on the "Blast-A-Cow" funpark as well, one cow is said to be sold for 60 dollars, and one shot from a rocket launcher will cost about the same, so it goes. But I'm not such a skilled sniper, so I would probably not get any steak out of my adventure anyway. Ahem, so, after being stuck in some dogtown at the border, I was in Thailand again, smiling way too much according to local norms, but still being smiled at, so I knew I was in friendly south-east asia allright. Funny thing happened, I was sitting on a bus that would take me straight to Ekkamai, Bangkok, not so far from a "friend's" appartment. But after waiting about half an hour somebody came to us and told us the bus didn"t go to bangkok. We had to take a slow bus, going to the Northern terminal of bangkok. After friendly inquiring why this state-run bus didn't go, the ticketlady told me that the driver was sleeping, and she smiled this typical I-can't-help-it-please-don't-make-me-lose-face-by-getting-angry-or-asking-embarrasing-questions-like-is-he-drunk?-thank-you-smile. You get to see this smile quite a lot when things go not exactly as planned, but I tend to smile back, say my Mai-pen-rai ("No Problem" works the same in Jamaica, so it goes) and change bus. Ending up on the other side of bangkok 5 hours later, i didn't feel like holiday-boy. It felt like coming home, or no, actually, it would feel like arriving in Brussels after a die-hard weekend of Antwerpian pubs and parties. It's not home yet, but it could be. Anyway, I prefer Bangkok above Brussels as far as my daily portion of Asian chaos and impressions requires from my system. A ew days later I had set up my camp at the ekkamai area, a little bit like Borgerhout in Bangkok, being densely populated with thai muslims. Well, okay, not like Borgerhout, because you can smile to people and not worry about insulting them while smiling. Hmm. I guess I say this because it's true. Because I seem to be addicted to smiling. I can just grin idiotically at anyone here, 8 out of ten I get a smile back, be it sometimes for other reasons. (sweat pearls dripping from your earlobes and nostrils is a good reason for giggles I guess) And 1 out of ten I get laid for a smile. (And 10 out of 10 with a smile) Ahem. Yes, i was saying? Bollocks. Anyway, being slightly bored because my roommate wasn't coming back until the tenth of November, I just started to stroll around in my 'hood. What I like so much, apart of the trade in smiles, is that you can be walking a big and busy road, like Sukumvith Road (one of the main arteries of Bangkok, lined with businesses, banks, international schools and other, less serious time-consuming businesses) all stuffed with traffic and commuters and foodstalls selling 50 cent dishes, and you just turn left or right in almost any sidestreet, and all is quiet again. There is still traffic, but considerably less. Then you can walk into another sidestreet on this sidestreet, and all will be even more quiet. But walk deep enough in this maze of sidestreets, past linnen hanging out to dry and street dogs trying to get some food out of the garbnage-bags, and you are most certain to hit upon a hidden village, mostly foodstalls catering to locals and beergardens filled with men drinking their hard works' paycheck, looking at the waitresses being busy waiting. Bangkok is filled with enclaves like this, and the more thai you speak, the more welcome you find yourselve.
It was on one of my outings, that a lady came over to talk to me. She spoke decent English, and was dressed decent, so I frowned a little because this was new to me. Anyway, to make a long story short, 2 hours later I was in some suburbian part close to the airport standing in front of 20 eight-year old kids in neat uniforms. Didn't sweat, thanks to the airconditioning. Did gave them an introductionary lesson on ordering Spaghetti and expressing satisfaction after having a belly full of bolognaise and pasta. "Mmmh, that was good..." Yes, these little fellas sure knew how to order Italian. I'm supposed to show up at 8 o'clock tomorrow, so I gotta do some shopping (Mr. Tie and me have never been good friends, but for 60 eurocents a tie one can't complain about the unnecessary high expense I guess.)Gonna get me some decent white shirt with a crease and a black pants with a crease as well, while I'm at it. If you're gonna do something, better do it good. It'll keep me busy for some time, keeps me from getting bored, and from going broke on Happy-hours...

Moving on part II

2004-10-31T11:45:00.000+01:00

When you find yourself speeding against traffic without any change of heartbeat, when you notice you consequently cross roads without bothering to look left and right, assuming there will be a warning honk if you are in the way of something bigger and faster than you, it just might be about time to get your bags and move on. And so my visit to Cambodia nears its end. Halloween was over before I even knew it was there. I wonder if Christmas is going to be the same? And where I will be around that time of the year. I'm gonna miss this place, where the expats look like they just walked out of a 3rd rate gangster movie, and where a sloef of cigarettes (Marlboro indeed) costs only 7 euro's. Not that I smoke. But it's nice to know that it wouldn't cost me that much if I did. And in some cruel way, it's even more funny to know that those of you that do smoke, are paying way too much for it and don't even bother revolting against the governments and tobacco-companies for giving you all such a hard time. Hrrmph. (No, that is not the sound I make when I go to the toilet these days, as to be honest, most sounds that my body sems to make these days are the same for any kind of nature's call, big or small. Like Niagara waterfalls. But without the view. Still breathtaking tough, view or no view.) Hrmmph. (Ah yes, there it is again, it must be the sound of me objecting my mind for wandering off to far.)
Soksabai folks!

Depression

2004-10-30T16:37:00.000+02:00

It is very very difficult to feel depressed in a country where smiling is a national sports! Just the notion that one has merely to point the corners of the mouth in upward direction, however faint, to make people give you their shiniest, glowing smiles! Try and feel cynical after 20 uch bypassers. Prozac will go bankrupt if they move their headquarters to Pnomh Penh. There's just no point in feeling bad to profoundly. Look at these people, butchered by the millions, smiling like on some super-high cloud, and oh so real all the time. Makes you wonder where we went wrong. (Actually, it doesn't, because when you smile, you don't feel like wondering about what went wrong. Content. Happy and content. That's the key to ban Prozac.) By the way, I do feel a little deranged lately, I'm not quite sure if it is because of my Lariam (Malaria-medicine) or because of this vague fever I've been having the last cuple of days. It sure must be tiring, smiling when one feels sick to the bone.

Soon in a theatre nearby!!

2004-10-30T16:08:00.000+02:00

Nuages

2004-10-28T14:23:00.000+02:00

Life on a motorbike can be quite stressing, as the traffic tends to come from all directions. But one does get some fine thrills riding his ridiculous 100 cc trough dusttown. The idea is to play cool. because 90 percent of traffic consists of 100 cc's. But you are not 90 percent, because you are a white caucasian wheeling between hundreds of Khmer. Yup, it's quite some fun, banging the horn before speeding by a motorbike crammed with people (with a maximum of 5 up till now. Fairness obliges me to say that one of five is a less than 4 year old. mostly these little fellas just stand in front of the bike, holding the steering wheel as if they are driving the darned thing! Another nice feature of driving in Asia is the many nice looking and Amazone-style seated Asian women and girls, they just have this extra quality, this aura of subtleness and refinedness around them, even on the most bumpy roads, they just sit there, straight backs, proud figure, fine curves. Ahem. Well, let's just say these are some fine mirages to see passing by when drying out on some dusty road somewhere between no places. Ahh, the elegance of these creatures. And with the sun comes the sunshield, in case of the white and blue uniformed schoolgirls it comes in the form of a book, in case of the fruit-sellers it comes as a dish that otherwise is situatd on their heads instead of in front of it. But they hold these sunshields with such grace. And they never have their arms around the driver, to make it even more perfect. They just sit there, galloping trough the bumpy and crazy wild east almost unmoved As the landscapes pass by their toned faces they just look asd if they are sitting on a porch, waiting for the bus. But waiting with elegance. Maybe the prince could pass by. (Maybe they wouldn't even twitch an eyebrow, just to keep their distant elegance.) One could sit on a balcony by the side of the road for hours and not get tired of drifting off, just like kids laying on their backs looking at the clouds going over them. Such bliss, thank god for 100 cc's, and thank Khmer mothers for bringing such fine visions to life...

2004-10-22T08:56:00.000+02:00

Life on the road. Sayonara.

2004-10-22T08:54:00.000+02:00

After crossing the border with Cambodia, one feels like entering a new story all together. Mind you, crossing the border is quite an experience, with many touts and hustlers trying to separate the adventurous traveller from his precious money. The area between the Thai Immigration post and the Cambodian Immigration post is like some sort of a free-trade zone, it's like the wild west in the south-east, magnificent! Take your dvd of Star Wars, or rent one, and view any chapter in which our heroes are stranded in one of the many freezones, Jabba De Hut (Is that spelled correctly? Do I actually care) and friends all over the place. It is a very thriliing experience, with all kind of goodies for the less moral traveller. In fact, there are some no-mans-land hotels and casinos in the small strip between the two borders. Legal or illegal doesn't count here, as there is no authority to question it. And once past the Interzone (Naked Lunch does come close to the experience), it is amazing to ride at a maximum speed of 40 kilometres an hour to Siem Reap, some 180 kilometres from the border. The road is a legend amongst many scammed travellers, as there are potholes that could make entire cars disappear if not avoided. Somehow the road is not being improved, even tough many other roads in Cambodia are improving at a high rate. Probably some bribes from local guesthouses are helping in keeping the road in such a bad condition. It allows them to make the exhausted travellers stay in their overpriced guesthouse, instead of arriving fresh and at an early time in Siem Reap. Travelling in Cambodia is quite a different experience all togehter, until three years ago nobody ever went faster than 80 kilometres an hour in this country, not because of some law, but simply because of the roads. I don't know if it is such a good idea to improve them, as yesterday I saw the meter go beyond the 140 kilometres an hour. This is the Highway from Pnomh Pen to Sihanoukville, 1 Lane in each direction, and no potholes. Many shabby motorcarts packed with sometimes 20 people, and all kinds of unnamable means of transportation crowd this road. At dark, and with tractors and the lot not having any lights, i felt rather nervous. I didn't know if I had to be happy because the experience would be over in less than 2 hours, or if I should wish the old days of bad roads back into this part of the country. Anyway, the drivers in general seem to be more cautious than in neighbouring countries such as Vietnam and Thailand. Thai drivers are a lot cockier, frantically driving at any maximum speed their vehicle and the traffic allows them. In Cambodia, people seem to have more time. Maybe they lost too many of their friends and relatives for the wrong reasons during their tumultuous past. It does feel safer to hit the road here. Another funny thing is the crossroads. Many people seem to be oblivious of the meaning of these funny lights above their heads. Red light doesn't slow them down. Somebody explained to me that indeed, many people driving a car or motorbike just buy their license, if any, and the practical side of traffic will follow by experience. If they do stop for the red light, it is because they see it for the first time, and wonder about it's presence. Same for the other colours. Indeed, the police seem to be very patient and when my driver once drove into a one-way street, he was stopped to be explained that the red signpost with the horizontal white line in the middle of ot meant that he could not enter this street. (there is only a couple of them in the capital anyway.) No fine was given, just a little lecture in traffic-signs. Wonderful.

2004-10-22T08:19:00.000+02:00

The famous Durian, praised for his potency, feared for its rotten smell. Forbidden on all aircon-buses to be transported. Available at your local green-hatted street-vendor.

2004-10-22T08:17:00.000+02:00

Chinatown in Bangkok, just another day of overload: sounds, smells and people...

Day and night

2004-10-15T14:56:00.000+02:00

In the day everybody is smiling and the dogs are lazy. But in the night a dark alley will become a real adrenalin rush as you step into the darkness and wonder what lays ahead. One alley seemed to be never-ending as I heard a mean growl coming from behind, so the only opyion was on into the darkness. Towards what I hoped to be a door or a corner that would lead me out in the bigger streets of Banglamphu. Every step I took I seemed to piss this hellish beast off more, according to the volume and intensity of the growling. Except for the sounds of his paws on the asphalt, I couldn't make anything out of it's position. But it seemed too close and too unhealthy to wander around wondering if it would be a nice pink little poodle. Boy, that was the longest minute in Thailand, as I Realized sitting on the nice seat of some Cambodian chair, tapping away on the computer. Here, monkeys are my main concern. But they seem to be incomprehensive of my Flash, for now it holds them at safe distance...

2004-10-15T14:55:00.000+02:00

across the river there is this scientifically approved museum where medical students and tourists (say, Japanese and some lost reportes) can examine the bodies of strange but real phenomenae.

Subtle signs of decomposing behaviour...

2004-10-15T14:54:00.000+02:00

When one stays long enough in the seedy nightlife of Bangkok, one gets the feeling that there is allways a new experience awaiting behind the bitter taste of the last one. While going out in the Irish pub on Koa Shan road, the one with the live band, one does not want to know what other surprises to expect after the lead singer starts her wolfish interpretation of the Cranberries. (yes, that song; "Oh my Head, Aargh my heaejiejhead") Well, like most things in this city, beauty and horror are going hand in hand. The Thai band seems to play a numerous covers of coldplay, Red Hot chilli Peppers, and Maroon 5's latest and only hit, "This Love". Whitch they play between every other song, by the way. Now, the band plays quite fine, I admit, and the aircondition is helping to make me stay as well, but the intriguing voice of the singer is really making me wonder if everybody is drinking because this is an Irish pub or just because of her. At one moment she has the voice of an angel, crystal clear and steady as my heartbeat. Hmm, steadier. But then, without warning, and without any major changes in the vocal requirements of the song, she sounds like the processed diet lavements while hurrying out of Koen Crucke's not so pittoresque exit-..
It doesn't stop people from dancing tough, and surely not from drinking. That this might be an unwise thing to do in Bangkok was becoming clear when one of the enthusiastic front-row dancers, a drunk English fella that consistently removed his shirt after one of his accompagning ladies put it back where it belonged, started to put a "No weapons" on his head. Quite soon, say, about three seconds after the sign was on top of his head, a Thai bouncer stood beside him. Well, bouncers in Thailand invariably are smaller than all present foreigners, but this doesn't ever seem to bother them from looking malicious into the drunken crowd. I've never seen one fight either. They tend to take care of things without Americanized bloody and punchy violence. Tonight I saw why this guys never start sweating when the next oversized drunk hamburger is making too much nuisance. As he politely pointed out that the sign was a no-touch/no-play sign, he subtly moved his upper body so that whilst talking to the unnoticing Farang, his gun would show under his shirt. Off course everybody noticed excpet the one that should have gotten the point, and the ladies allready started to sweat like no air-conditioned lady has ever sweat. (It is rumored that they don't sweat even when taking on a full-sized, locked-and-loaded rugby-squad, provided they have their airconditioning running. This however should be another story, and not one I'm willing to be part of.) So sure enough, not even one minute after the bouncer was out of sight, the sign was back on the red swollen head of the Englishman. Again, in no less than three seconds the bouncer was back at his side. Looking a little bit annoyed because of the short time memory of this boozing chap. Not sure if he had gotten the point last time, this time he did his trick a little bit less subtle. By this time, one of the ladies had managed to make the sign disappear before it fell into the hands of their beloved ATM-machine again. Love conquers all, they say, but that again will be an entirely different story and so far it doesn't include me...
When I left a little later, no blood was spilled, no faces lost, and time had slipped by again. Three o'clock in the morning, one would say by the sounds of the undistinguished animals that lived on the nearby temple-grounds. As I was enjoying my late night walk, I suddenly found myself standing in front of a very explosive spectacle. Two seemingly drunk Thai men where performing a strange ritual. So it seemed. Many other Thai and some waisted Farang stood by on a safe distance. Unshocked. One of the two had acquired a pole of some sort, maybe a parasol, and was trying to hit the other one on his head. I think he meant to go for the head, as the other body parts were spared considerably. The other one had found himself a plastic seat, that seemed to crumble bit by bit s it took the blows from his foe. I gathered from the bystanders body-language and facial expressions that this was a normal thing to see at three o'clock in the morning, so I decided to pass. I had to slip past the two odd-dancing figures, and while trying to slip past them, I could hear the pole swooshing as it went over my head. The audience gasped, and some thai vowels where shouted to the men. Sudenly, the chair became useless for the defendant, as the agressor dropped his pole and went up close to strike some uncontrolled blows on the defendants head. "How considerate", I remembered thinking,"these two chaps are having a disagreement of some sorts and instead of making me go around the block they just drop their zulu-weapons and fight like proper drunks, barefooted and bare-handed. All this not to hurt the bypassers. My my, some fine fella's they are indeed." Anyway, as I was moing on, I heard the spectacle was climbing to a highlight, and sure enough, from around the corner people started showing up to see the best part. Funny thing is, they all seemed to have been around that corner somewhere all the time. Because there wasn't much of a place to sit, drink, or eat in sight. And while they ran past me, they ran past a little spirit-house, and sure enough, even at this time of the night, while 7 metres further somebody was getting a red nose and blue eyes, these litle quiet people would make a Wai for the spirits, as not to upset them of course. Amazing Bangkok.

Chao Praya cruises

2004-10-15T14:53:00.000+02:00

Life in Bangkok is chaotic though organized in some subconscious way. What's my point? Hmm, yes, no point, I just wanted to put some pics here, unedited, so here's a pic from a man sitting on one of the many boats that carry the river's excessive sand to a better place. And if one stays in Bangkok and wants to move around by day but still relax, one should do like this fella and take a boat on the river, or in one of the Khlongs (canals) that run trough Bangkok. It's smooth, swift and will get you at your destination in a reasonable timespan. (well, close enough to grab a motorbike and freak out while sizzling trough crazy traffic until the final destination is reached.) Beware for possible drops of not so fresh (read: "open sewer") river water. One drop will make you dizzy for a good three hours, toothpasting included.
Sayonara..

The nights in Bangkok...

2004-10-05T10:13:00.000+02:00

And hello again dear friends... Seems like it's finally slipping into my system, the feeling that I'm somewhere far, far away from Home.. Well, it's not such a bad feeling now, it's more or less a vague reminder that this time I'm in it for the three month-package. At least I'm adapting to this simmering heat that you can only escape by going out for a bite or some shopping in the many malls this city has.
When you start going out without your map of Bangkok in your pocket, you know you are getting adapted to this city and it's strange rules...
And when you wake up one morning on someone's couch instead of in your guesthouse room, you know you are getting more than just a taste of this city..
Well, if you wake up in a big house where all is quit and you notice a big box full of happy grass next to that couch you never saw before, maybe it's time to pack your gear and get going...
Nevertheless I couldn't help myself but go up he stairs and get a little peek. First floor, a happy couple is sleeping trough their hangover and the bruises of last night's wild ride. I remember the girl had a big bruise on her head when we entered the house, and she explained she had shattered a plate from the household on her head, because she was angry with her boyfriend. A friendly Irish boy, currently teaching one of many English courses in the Thai industry. When asked for a reason, she explained she could not hit him on the head, because then he would be in pain and maybe get himself hurt. She didn't want that to happen... Guess she wasn't mad enough to hurt him, but crazy enough to proof her angry feelings. The boy in return had a bruised index-finger, and claimed he too had suffered because of their dispute. He had gotten his finger in the fan by accident and got pissed off at the fan so smashed it. Thus leading to the smashing of the plate, as the owner of the fan wasn't too happy with is course of action... Now everything was settled tough, and as I swa them snoring, arms and legs mixed in a tender noodle-style, I went off to the next floor. I expected to get a glimpse of what is known as nearly every healthy man's wet dream: 2 girls curled into each other nakedly and uncovered. Alas, seems like they hadn't kept their promise and had slept in their evening gowns. No problem, close but no cigar still gets me smoking... Alas again, one of the two girls was obviously missing.. She must have slipped past the couch without me noticing. Not too difficult a task as you consider the amount of Lariam and happy grass mixing in my system.. But still, there was the little girl that looked 16 but was allready a full 25 years old. The one that made me end up in this sleepy house of happy disorder. Mind you, she never forced me to do anything, unless smiling innocently and dancing so ferociously sensual that Mata Hari herself would blush is considered forcing...
She lay there, unaware of this big hairy Belgian with his 5 o"clock shadow and red eyes whom were resting on her... THey way she calmly snoozed her way trough the first part of the day was quite a happy sight, and to make this memory last longer I decided to leave unnoticed and on to my dampy hot guesthouse. Apart from a little breakfast set-up in their kitchen I left no sign of my visit to their house, and just sat smiling foolishly on some public bus that took me not even near to my point of origin. Well, who bothers?
Sanuuk dii khap!!
Soon I will be boarding the train to Kanchanaburi, where the ill-famous Bridge over the no less famous river Kwai lays. Several thousands POW died here, laying the hands on a trail that should eventually have led to Istanbul.
Greetings...

HELLSINKI-BANGKOK

2004-09-29T13:41:00.000+02:00

I was walking down Thanon Charoen-Krung as suddenly the sky reminded me
fiercely that it is still rainy season in Thailand. But does that take the
heat down? Exactly, not at all. So off for an airconditioned and dry
internetshop and on with the blogging! I'm sitting at this 10 dollar desk
with a huge lack of sleep, as it is. Just arrived in the City of (fallen)
Angels and allready in need of something. Sleep. Lots of it. Finnish people
are supposed to be tall and long-legged, but when it comes to transportation
they seem to have a gift for folding together very neatly and stay in that
position as long as their bladder allows them to. Try sleeping in your
mothers dirty laundry-basket for a night to get a hint of what I mean. Being
folded like I was, it was a good thing the toilet was so nearby. Hmm, I
stand corrected, every time somebody used that toilet the door would touch
my right knee. That's how close it was. If I wouldn't have been in this
folded position, i could have just pissed in the toilet from my seat. No
such acrobacy this time. Another thing I didn't suspect was the
persistentness Finnish people lay aboard when thirsty. One man, well in his
fourties, insisted that he wasn't drunk. I guess hitting five people on the
head and kicking several unsuspecting feet on his way to the loo was due to
the local airbags. After some nervous glances from the stewards and
stewardesses it became clear that the forementioned Finnae couldn't get more
booze. Well, he could still order it, and when that didn't got him his
precious free liquor he resolved in Mahatma Ghandi's praised method of
pacifistic protest. Thus, blocking the hallway for unfolded and crumpled
fellow Finnish men, and the regular passing stewardess. Slowly he bumped
towards the "bar', where he smelled victory and thus could not been moved no
more. Aye, a fearsome sight he was, that Finnae with his bloodred nose and
dangerously flatulent belly. Afer some humiliating pleads he got what he
wanted, the crew had probably decided it wasn't worth heir precious air-time
and sent him off with three airplane-sized bottles of various wines. Fifteen
minutes later he was sound asleep and snoring away while dreaming of
whatever his needs dictated his troubled system. I watched Harry Potter run
away from his fears in the Prisoner of Balkan, or something alike (My
Siamese isn't what it used to be) and landed safely at 13.33 O' Clock in
Bangkok. Smoothly. No ripples in the water. No screeching sounds on the
tarmac. And strangely, no applause. Must be a local thing.
But here I am, in the middle of Bangkok, getting ready for my little
adventure. 75 days of SEA. See ya all!

_________________________________________________________________
Xbox: nu slechts Â 149,99! http://www.xbox.com/nl-BE

2004-09-28T03:01:00.000+02:00

Hello dear friends and welcome on my travelBlog. Feel free to drop by from time to time, as I will post some of my adventures in full technicolour and with a splash of Dolby Surrounded ethno-noise. Well, I'll be lucky if I can get some text online, but that won't stop me from sending out reports from daily life in SEA.

2004-09-22T04:37:00.000+02:00

This Blog will bring you news from the East on a week to week basis. Launch estimated around 29 of September, from Banglamphu area..