Cheeseburgers, bat caves and jackboots

Regardless of your politics or your shirt color, you can't deny the Bangkok riot police wear some kickass boots.

I've been staying in the Bangkok area for the past week and a half or so, waiting for some riots that so far have failed to materialize. Nothing was happening other than a lot of talking. I got bored waiting, rented a motorbike (a Honda 200 cc Shadow that is OK, but, well, it's just OK), and rode 150 kilometers or so north into the mountains of Khao Yai National Park, and I'm so glad I did, because Bangkok was driving me nuts. Perhaps it was more that cities in general were driving me nuts. Phnom Penh for four long, long weeks, Saigon, Hanoi, Saigon again, back through Phnom Penh, then Siem Reap, and Bangkok -- it's been nothing but cities.

No riots, no riots, no riots, so I'd had enough and left. Thailand's highways are nerve-wracking, I'll admit, riding a motorcycle, but they are a relief compared to Bangkok. Bangkok and New Delhi -- it's a tossup, I'd say, as far as how difficult it is to bike.

I was actually surprised I found Khao Yai, since few people here speak English, and all of the Thais I consulted in Bangkok advised me to take the bus. The highlight was after we'd toured the bat cave and rolled around to the backside of the mountain just before sunset to see them come out for their nocturnal forays.

We waited at the foot of the mountain, nothing stirring but the wind rushing through the trees that lined it. The sun sank lower, and we began to hear the chirping of two million bats as they developed a consensus on when to leave the cave.

A gray hawk diving from a tree above the cave gave the first sign that the bats were beginning to emerge. The hawks had been circling for close to an hour, black ones silhouetted against the darkening blue sky above the mountain and lighter ones in the trees, all waiting for a meal on the fly.

The chirping became a whirring rush of wings as the bats spiraled out of the cave. The column undulated over our heads, curled over a hilltop behind us, and swirled into the valley below. It appeared that the bats collectively functioned as a single living being. They flew into the wind, as bats do, like a horizontal Wizard of Oz cyclone, fluttering and swirling in response to changes in the air flow.


Then it was back to Bangkok. And, yes, I do eat cheeseburgers any place I find them.

Bangkok

A Thai filmmaker last night invited me to play Buddha in a flick he is putting together involving the major characters from the various major world religions having romantic time together. He wanted me to be Buddha, and to make out with Jesus on a park bench.

"We already have Jesus; he's staying right up there," he said, gesturing to a hippie lounging on a balcony above us. He did have a nice beard.

It's because I'm bald, isn't it? But, no, to answer your question, I did not use this opportunity to launch a career in film. Well, I didn't use it at all. No, I did not make out with Jesus!

I moved to a sort of artists' colony yesterday. My little house opens right onto (as in, 6 feet from) the Chao Phraya River. Waves slap against a three-foot concrete wall, and barges rumble up and down the water.

It's one of the cheapest places in town, and pretty eclectic. A Belgian couple is working on a photography project on ladyboys. A faux-hawked Uruguayan juggles clubs and plays the recorder. Guests are invited and encouraged to paint their rooms any way they like.

Anyway, I am here to report on the demonstrations staged by the Red Shirts, supporters of a guy who was ousted while facing corruption charges. Still need to get a wide-angle lens.

Oh, so these boys were playing on the dock that floats about 50 yards from my little house. The kid doing a backflip was fearless. He would jump off of anything.

Angkor Wat: the pride of the Khmer. And other stuff

Money to burn

Saw this family on the street in Saigon burning money. I asked around, and it seems it is traditional to do this to honor ancestors.

Snake farm!

I had been out all day taking photos at the Moon Bear sanctuary, about two hours away from Hanoi, and rolled into my hostel about 7 p.m. This Finnish couple was waiting up for me.

Turned out the timing was perfect, because the taxi was waiting for us to go to the snake restaurant. Well, apparently I had forgotten committing the previous evening to go to this place. The taxi took us through a winding series of Hanoi's backalleys, which are pretty horrific, but at least it was dark.

Somebody was slaughtering a dog when we got out of the taxi. That's what it sounded like.

We walked into the courtyard and this guy thrust an eight-foot cobra in our faces. Tossed it down on the ground repeatedly and snatched it up by the tail just before it got to us. I'm guessing its teeth had been removed, but I could be wrong.

Juno was talking about how snake's blood and heart was supposed to boost your libido, which I understand was the principle draw. I am not sure why someone would want to boost such a thing, but that's yet another story.

The second snake they pulled from the bag would be our dinner. They made each of us hold it before finding our table. It was probably five feet long, although it was hard to tell, with it winding around our wrists.

They brought out the snake and cut out its heart on the floor in front of us, drained blood into three shot glasses and presented them, accompanied by shot glasses half full of something alcoholic.

Well, I've eaten goat brain in India, and had no problem with that, but this threatened to turn my stomach. Snakes just don't look appetizing in general.

Anyway, I did it. Then they brought out five or six dishes, different iterations of snake, snake and more snake, fried, covered in soy sauce, wrapped in seaweed. The morning after, it just sounds nasty.

Well, it pretty much is.

Saigon hookers

So many mopeds here in Saigon! Traffic is pretty crazy. I took the above photo through the front windshield of the bus I took from Phnom Penh. We'd been rolling right along for seven hours or so, and then came to a full stop. Everywhere we looked were these little helmets, people jostling and swarming on their mopeds.

(I'm not actually writing about hookers. I just wrote that so you would read this post.)

Saigon's are possibly as aggressive as New Delhi's, especially after Phnom Penh's. I don't think you have to be an anthropologist to figure out why, though. Look at the numbers:

Vietnam population 86,210,781
Square miles: 128,379
People per square mile: 672

Cambodia population: 14,699,885
Square miles: 69,898
People per square mile: 210

India population: 1,139,964,932
Square miles: 1,269,221
People per square mile: 898

I would venture a guess that if you go to a country with a denser population, you're bound to receive more elbows to the ribs, or more dents to your moped mudflaps. The disappointment to me is that Saigon seems to have about as lame a motorcycle selection as Phnom Penh. No, I don't want a moped. I don't want tiny wheels, and I sure as hell don't want a basket on the front. At least they don't push you to rent pink Hello Kitty bikes like in Phnom Penh.

While I research for several different projects, I'm going to explore a bit. I am hearing that getting your divers certification in Nha Trang, off the coast near here, is the cheapest in the world -- $155. A friend was telling me she just got her certification in Cartagena, Colombia, for $400 or so.

Below I am posting photos from Phnom Penh. I'll put up captions or explanations if you want.

Cambodia

I arrived in Cambodia Jan. 8, the day after the 30th anniversary of the fall of the Khmer Rouge, an absolute nightmare of a regime that murdered as many as 3 million Cambodians.

So with this as a general news peg, we are taking a look at various aspects of human rights in Cambodia, trying to examine how human rights have progressed during the three decades since Pol Pot's fall.

On the surface at least, this country is beautiful; certainly from a visual perspective it is. The people are sweet, the motorcycle and tuk-tuk drivers (you can hire a motorcycle driver just like you would a taxi in the States) don't try to rip you off too badly, they rarely honk their horns and hardly ever litter. And beggars are relatively rare as well. Oh, and for me the most important aspect is that the climate is amazing here this time of year. Temperatures have been running in the mid-20s Celcius (or late 70s Fahrenheit), and humidity was pretty bearable for the first week, although it has risen considerably in the last few days and rained. It's still very much an Asian country, and I hope this doesn't offend any of my Indian friends, but from a Western perspective, it feels like an India Lite.

But, even so, there are really, really horrible things going on here, juxtaposed with some really great efforts by individuals and non-governmental organizations (NGOs). You have child trafficking, landmines, you name it. The other day we went out with volunteers with an NGO called Korsang Khmer who distributed syringes and condoms to intravenous drug users (IDUs), saw them cooking, shooting up, playing with their children.

Talk about a ridiculous assignment for me. First, I go up to the Indian Himalayas to write about a village that produces the world's best hash, and I can't even smoke a cigarette without half dying. Then, I go to Cambodia to watch heroin addicts shoot up, and I can't bear the sight of injections. I once passed out in a hospital in Maine while interviewing a cardiac surgeon who was merely DESCRIBING an open-heart surgery -- one second, I am taking notes, next, I'm feeling cold floor tiles on my face. Anyway, I did get a little woozy watching this woman inject her friend's leg with heroin in an abandoned lot. He no longer had arms, because he had gotten on the wrong side of a street gang in Thailand, and so depended on his friend for his high.

I am excited to be here, but I’m still feeling a little off. The only piece I’ve written since the police beat me up in India was the one Tehelka commissioned about the incident (which they still haven’t paid for). I hadn’t really thought about my lack of prolificacy until last night, when Jodi was playing with my phone and came across some photos of my face in the aftermath. She asked if I had written about it, and I realized I hadn't written anything about anything since the Tehelka piece, at least not for publication.

This is not meant to be an introspective blog, but this is all I can write at the moment, and I need to get back to writing, so I might as well put it down and get on with it. Just so I have a record of what’s been published about my trips, by myself and others, here are links to articles about the incident in: Outlook India, Some Weird Petition Site, Huffington Post, The Independent and The Guardian. Maybe a few others, I guess. I never did hear any feedback on the NDTV news spot where the woman interviewing me had me strip down to my underwear on national television. Ha! One of my life's ambitions! (It was to show the bruises, gashes, etc.)

Of course, my 'off' feeling could have something to do with that fact that I have been living out of a backpack for almost a year now. It’s a freeing feeling to carry so little, but it also would be great to eventually find a place to settle. I just don’t know where that place or time will be. The world is so big. I think it will be a long time.