The End?

I’m writing this on the last day of my trip as I speed towards Tokyo on the Shinkansen, which is perhaps my favorite train in the world. I’ve spent the better part of the last 300 days traveling from Sydney to Tokyo, a total of ten countries and dozens of cities, posting more than 100 blog entries and 3,000 photographs. That I'm going home hasn’t completely sunk in. I’ve been taking this trip one day, one week, one city at a time, and the end has crept up on me. So it is with mixed feelings that I return to Tokyo, where I’ll spend one more night before boarding a trans-Pacific flight (my least favorite form of travel) back to the U.S. of A.

I’m excited to return to familiar territory, where I speak the language and I am well versed in the customs. I’m looking forward to seeing family and friends, to eat my mother’s cooking and watch late-night cable television. But I’ll miss the freedom of the open road, the expected pleasures and unexpected impediments that make for open-ended travel. I’ve got an itch (no, not that kind of itch), formed early in life, that leaves me restless. It will lead to more travel in the future. For now, it's time to reflect on 2007 and look to 2008.

As a final installment of Packmonkey: Asia (leaving the door open to Packmonkey: North America and Packmonkey: Europe), I offer a short summary of the good, the bad and the in-between. This is hardly a recap of my entire ten months on the road, merely a short trip down memory lane. I plan to offer a little more reminiscing once I'm back in Los Angeles.


Everything Australian: I spent nine weeks in Australia in February and March, traveling overland along the southern and western coasts from Sydney to Broome, then into the Outback on a 4WD trek from Adelaide to Alice Springs. Australia is a beautiful country. The interior is desolate, stark and remote, the coasts rugged and wild. As a whole, it is a challenging, rewarding and breathtaking place to travel. I will never forget sleeping under the stars in the Painted Desert or swimming in sea lions in the Eyre Peninsula. I also made some lasting friendships in Oz: Bernie and Kate, Dean, Elizabeth – keep in touch! Australia raised the bar for all subsequent destinations. The time I spent in Australia amounted to the trip of a lifetime. Had I returned home after the Outback, I would have been satisfied.

Monkeys and Mountains in Malaysian Borneo: I arrived in Malaysia with low expectations. I left in love with the country. The Malaysian people were some of the friendliest I encountered - always a smile for the wandering Jew in their midst - and the food unexpectedly satisfying. The three weeks I spent in Malaysian Borneo sealed the deal: encounters with the orangutans, proboscis and langur monkeys, Uncle Tan’s jungle camp and the trek to the summit of Mt. Kinabalu, which left me exhausted but marked two of the best days of the whole year.

Backpackers’ Laos: Backpackers flock to Southeast Asia, so it’s no surprise that there’s a backpacking culture in this part of the world. My time in Laos, from my arrival at the border with Thailand to my departure from Vientiane, was the ultimate backpacker’s experience. The country itself is wonderful, remote and rural, yet unspoiled by the tourism you encounter in Thailand and Vietnam or the tragic history of Cambodia. Laos had been described to me as Thailand of 20 or 30 years ago. Ten short days in country showed me the Southeast Asia I dreamed of visiting.

What made my time in Laos really special was the friendships I made. Two days floating down the Mekong solidified a bond with my French amis, Guillaume and Emmanuelle. We spent the evenings in Luang Prebang at a sidewalk bar laughing over glasses of cloudy pastis, the days meeting the young monks at the city’s temples or swimming at the tranquil waterfalls outside of town. In Vang Vieng I met Mitzi and her daughter, Miksa, from Hawaii. We explored caves and rented bicycles for a trip to the local market. At night we relaxed over cheap food and beer at the backpacker cafes. Miksa and I even found time for a marathon afternoon watching "The Simpsons." Traveling friendships are short and intense, and one of the joys of travel.

Food, Food, Food: Who doesn’t love to eat? Everywhere I traveled there was something new to taste: kangaroo sausages in Outback Australia, blue rice in Malayasia, chicken rice in Singapore, khao soy in Northern Thailand, even deep-fried tarantulas in Cambodia. There were also some old favorites to devour: sushi and ramen in Toyko, curry and pad thai in Thailand. Somehow, I still haven't tried durian.

Indonesia Headaches: I arrived in Indonesia with high hopes. Two weeks later I couldn’t leave get out the country fast enough. From the touts and taxi drivers oozing desperation in Bali to the scam artists in Java who took me for a ride, I was overwhelmed by the amount of ill-will I felt in Indonesia. I’ve heard reports from other travelers about good times in Bali and Java, so I will not say the country is filled with bad people and bad times. At least I left with two good memories: sunrise at Mr. Bromo and an afternoon spent wandering the ancient Buddhist temple at Borobudur. These two places almost make up for all the aggravation I experienced everywhere else in Indonesia.

Tourism in Thailand and Vietnam: Thailand and Vietnam are two of the most popular destinations in Southeast Asia. They were also, for me, two of the most disappointing destinations on my trip. In the island of Southern Thailand, I encountered hoards of westerners traveling from one beach to another. It seemed that the locals in sight were either serving the foreigners beer and food or cleaning their rooms. There was also the terror of the night of the flying termites. The beaches are nice enough, but crowded and dirty. Were it not for the energy of Bangkok or the charm of Chiang Mai, I’d have to write off Thailand as a loss.

In Vietnam, the tourism treadmill also operates at full speed. Perhaps it was because I’d been on the road for six months, or perhaps it was because I was exhausted from a whirlwind tour of Cambodia. Whatever it was, I found Vietnam to be hectic in all the wrong ways. From the overcrowded and polluted streets of Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi, where even the act of crossing the street was hazardous, to the constant haggling over prices, Vietnam was a downer.

Life and Death in Cambodia: I only spent 10 days in Cambodia, but those days contained some of the best and worst times of my trip. On the positive side was an extraordinary tour that took me into the Cambodian countryside and introduced me to the real Cambodia of today. The tour also resulted in a few of those backpackers’ friendships that I mentioned earlier. I loved drinking late into the night at a small bar in Kampong Cham and on the beach at Sihanoukville with Sally and Renee, nurses from Adelaide, Australia. And Kathe, a university student from Holland, turned into a close and unexpected friend.

On the down side was a bus accident that left two Cambodians dead and exposed the utter corruption and poverty of Cambodian society. I refer you to the impassioned blog post I wrote on the afternoon of the accident.

Return to Tokyo: I knew that I wanted to end my trip in Japan, to return to a place I lived for 18 months in the early 1990s. I did just that and I am now reminded of that old adage about not being able to go home again. In the years since I lived in Tokyo, I’ve changed, Japan has changed and the world has changed. I love the country and the Japanese. I loved taking Japanese lessons and exploring the country again. But in the end I could have done with less. I’d been on the road for most of the year and was tired, wanted to do little more than curl up with a good book and a glass of whiskey. So I spent most of my time in Tokyo enjoying solitude and rest.

My time in Tokyo was good for the spirit, but perhaps something of a missed opportunity. Perhaps what it taught me is that the next time I take off and travel the world, I’ll impose a six-month limit. For me, that seems just right.

So on the eve of my return to the U.S., I look forward to reuniting with family and friends, to starting a new chapter in my life that builds on everything that’s come before.

Some people say travel changes you. I think that’s a big fat myth. I’m still the same person I was when I started this trip. What I have now that I didn’t have before is a greater understanding of the world and my place in it. I think I’m more humble. I’m definitely more aware of how fortunate I am. My place in this world is small, but my future is unlimited. The end? I don't think so. Just another beginning.

A HUGE thanks to everyone who checked in and supported me over the past ten months. I will see you all very soon!

Lazy Sunday

I've been quite the slacker since climbing Mount Kinabalu, first recuperating in Kota Kinabalu and then whiling away a few days in Penang, an island off the northwest coast of Malaysia, with a stack of paperbacks ("The Quiet American," a few Lee Child mysteries) and DVDs ("Star Wars," "The Quiet American," "Old Joy," "10 Items or Less"). After four months on the road, a little downtime is a good thing.

It's Hot! Time for an Iced Coffee. Mmmmm....
It's now a lazy Sunday in Georgetown, the capital city of the state of Penang, the streets are quiet and I'm in my hotel room planning my next move. I have been looking forward to visiting Thailand for a long time. I will leave Malaysia on Tuesday morning and head to the Andaman Coast. Where I end up depends on the weather - the rainy season has arrived. I plan to work my way up the coast, skirting the tourist mecca of Phuket while hitting islands and beaches, then passing through Bangkok en route to trekking in the north. Anyone with knowledge of Thailand is encouraged to send along recommendations and suggestions.

I feel like I've completed another chapter, that I've wrapped up the second leg of this trip and am ready for more. The first leg was nine weeks in Australia. Over the last eight weeks I've toured Indonesia, Singapore and Malaysia. The next leg, call it my summer swing, will take me through Thailand, Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam. I plan on continuing this crazy adventure into the fall with visits to China and Japan, though I remain flexible and plans could change. In each country I've experienced ups and downs, made friends and come to know more about myself. There's nothing like travel to challenge, enlighten and entertain. I know this will end someday, but for now I'm riding it with everything I've got.

I've created a new Flickr photoset of highlights from Indonesia, Singapore and Malaysia. These are my favrote pictures from the past two months, a mix of travelogue, people and places. Enjoy!

Hey! Check out the Photoset!

A Tale of Two Monkeys

A quick post to alert you to a piece I wrote for the web site Tripmaster Monkey ("Home of Yellow Journalism"). TMM is a home-grown affair published by a friendly group of journalists and writers in New York City. It's a volunteer effort and I'm happy that they've asked me to contribute. They've branded it "Packmonkey Tales," complete with a nifty graphic. The first installment revisits my misadventures in Indonesia. If you missed those posts, here's the short version. After all, there's never been a story that couldn't be told in fewer words.

Borobudur by Bus

There’s a certain amount of celebrity in being a traveler in some parts of the world. In India, it’s common for groups to gather to watch foreigners. In the public baths in Japan, my chest hair and privates were the focus of intense scrutiny. And from my visit yesterday to the Buddhist temple at Borobudur, where I was one of a handful of Western visitors, there will be pictures of me scattered across Asia, posing with people who don’t know my name.

The main reason I came to Yogyakarta in central Java is to visit Borobudur. Built in the 9th century, the origins of this massive Buddhist temple are somewhat of a mystery. How it was built, why it was built and by whom is not really known. What is known is that the temple was abandoned with the decline of Buddhism in the 14th century, reclaimed by the jungle and deserted for centuries, then rediscovered in 1814 by Sir Thomas Raffles, the British ruler of Indonesia. (More on Raffles later when I visit the famous Raffles Hotel in Singapore.)

Borobudur
The temple was in bad shape when it was discovered, as natural forces eroded the carvings and warped the structure itself. Between 1972 and 1985, several countries joined forces to restore the temple. It is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site and Indonesia’s most visited tourist attraction.

I decided to make my personal pilgrimage to Borobudur on local transportation. Hotels and travel agencies offer package tours, and the touts outside my Yogya hotel were more than willing to take me there for about $20. Public transportation is about $2 for the round trip. But it’s not about the money; it’s experience I was after.

I set out from my hotel for Giwangang Bus Station in the southern corner of the city. A taxi driver at the information desk told me I didn’t want to take a bus because a taxi is cheaper. This was another in the long line of exaggerations, perhaps outright lies, I’ve been fed by locals since arriving in Indonesia. While looking for a hotel in Yogya with a hot shower, I was told three times that I don’t want a hot shower because the weather is too hot here. I was also told I should take a tour to Borobudur because the temple is too far from the bus station. I've also been told not to order certain foods because it will be too spicy for my delicate American palette. Or, as was the case in Probolinggo, I should get scammed because the bus station is too dangerous for me. Whatever line I’m sold, I’m suspicious of all information and have learned to trust my instincts.

But I digress. The bus to Borobudur was a broken-down affair, with hard seats and the distinct smell of motor oil and cigarettes. The hour-long ride was a heart-stopping race through city and country, the driving weaving through traffic while passengers were given little time to hop on and off. A complex series of shouts and knocks from the driver’s assistant, who was leaning out the open door, somehow conveyed when to slow down or speed up. The bus never seemed to stop for passengers, just slow down so they could hop on or off at a quick trot.

This is the way it works here. There are lines on the streets, but directions are arbitrary. If a driver can make use of a few centimeters of road, he will. Two lanes become three, with kids on bicycles or becaks taking up the space on the shoulders. The death rate on the roads must be astronomical. I assume it's similar in other parts of SE Asia.

Upon arrival at the Borobodur, it's a quick becak ride from the bus station to the temple. The becak driver tells me it’s two kilometers to the temple and we agree on 5000 Rupiah (55 cents) for the ride. The distance is more like half a kilometer and should have been 2000 Rp. Again, what’s with the disinformation? Is everyone on the take in this country?

When I go to buy a ticket into Borobudur, my suspicions are reinforced. Indonesians pay 10,000 Rp to enter while foreigners pay 100,000. They are also happy to accept $11 U.S.

I suck it up and enter the grounds, ignoring the guides offering their services (“to know the right story”) and the hawkers selling pens, shirts, kites, snacks, carvings and fans.

On one level Borobudur is just a big pile of carved rocks. Or it’s an interesting religious site and a to admire ancient art. And I am intrigued by the story of loss, discovery and restoration. Borobudur works on many levels (no pub intended).

The temple itself is as spectacular as a pile of rocks can be. I slowly make my way around each of the temples levels, six square ones with carved reliefs and seated Buddha statues, and three circular ones at the top featuring stupas. My camera gets a work out as I admire the carvings for their aesthetic value rather than their specific meanings. The photos suffer from a lack of sunlight; perhaps the darkness adds to the mystery of the location.

When I arrive at the top, I take time to sit and enjoy the scene. There are clouds rolling in and I know it won’t be long before the rain starts.

Remember how I said travel involves a degree of celebrity? While sitting at the top of Borobudur I’m approached by other tourists and asked to pose for pictures. A family wants a picture. Some members of a military outfit want a picture. Others seem to want a picture but are too shy to ask.

Stupas
As I make my way down, I again take time to admire some of the carvings. I’m then approached by a group of high school girls who want to interview me. They are from a school about 40 kilometers away and are at Borobudur to practice their English. I’m more than happy to oblige and enjoy the conversation and the attention. They are delighted to find out I’m American (“We thought you were from India”) and fascinated by my past experience as a journalist. They are all smiles when we pose for photos and want me to come visit them at their school. I should have agreed immediately and regret later that I did not arrange a visit.

Students Posing
When the rain arrives I scurry for cover. After 30 minutes it lets up and I make my way outside the complex and into a large area devoted to selling souvenirs and food. Famished from my long bus ride and climbing on the temple, I find a stall and order Bakso Mie, noodle soup with meatballs. The woman at the next stall tries to sell me some ugly batik t-shirts with a terrible Borobudur stencil design. I deflect all the hawkers inquiries and engage the women in teaching me Indonesian, mostly words for food but a few pleasantries as well. The batik woman doesn’t let up though, and periodically exclaims “Oh Allah” as I keep refusing her lower and lower offers. They are a friendly bunch and the women who served me lunch says “Goodbye, my love” with a big smile when I leave. I guess you can learn English from television and movies.

The ride back to Yogya is just as harrowing, if not more so because of the driving rain. If there are speed limits on Indonesian roads, they are not observed. The bus driver must have been in a hurry because he refused to slow down if not necessary. At one point an old man gets on the bus and starts singing for spare change. He’s got a creaky old voice and the song sounds out of tune, but I give him a 500 Rp coin anyways, probably because of nostalgia for the New York City subway.

The day complete, I eat dinner at a padang in Yogya and settle in for my first night of good sleep in about five days.

From Bali to Worse

I left Lovina on an overnight bus to Probolinggo in East Java with the intention of catching a ride to the volcanoes at Mount Bromo. An afternoon spent trawling the Internet for information about Java turned up an interesting thread on the Lonely Planet discussion board about the most popular scams in Indonesia. The most popular scam is shortchanging tourist when they change money. But what caught my attention was a devious little trick carried out on passengers arriving in Probolinggo. A number of posters warned travelers to make sure they are deposited at the bus station in Probolinggo rather than at a travel agency, where nasty nasty people will them extort exorbitant fees for onward travel.

Armed with this information I boarded the 7 pm bus and settled in for the ride. The movie was terrible, a rather garish and, frankly, racist, cops and kung-fu movie from the late 1980's. I was served a snack and there was a stop at a restaurant after crossing to Java on the ferry.

All was going well until we reached Probolinggo, at about 1 am. I don't like to arrive in a new town at night, but in this case I really wanted to get out of Bali and the only transport from Lovina was the night bus. I was told I'd arrive at 4 am, a reasonable time for a traveler willing to sit back in the bus station for a few hours until the workday starts. This, like so many other things I've been told here, was not true.

We pulled up in front of a travel agency and the bus driver and his three (yes, three) assistants told me we were at the Probolinggo bus station. They grabbed my bag and hustled me outside the bus. I knew the scam was in progress and told one of the bus employees that I wanted to go to the bus station. His reply was that the bus station was too dangerous for me. The other bus employees all swore up and down that this was the bus station and that I should go inside a place called Mahabarata Travel and talk to the man behind the desk.

After making it clear that I didn't believe them, that this was definitely not my destination, I realized they had formed a barrier between me and the bus and I was now snared in their web.

Before I go any further, I have to make clear that I never for an instant felt like I was in any danger. These people have practiced and perfected this scam on countless travelers and wanted nothing more than my money. The hour I spent in their presence was more a game than anything else.

I paid the tourist premium for the ride up the mountain to Bromo. This morning I paid about an eighth of that price for the ride back down.

The headline on this post, From Bali to Worse, isn't entirely accurate. Once I arrived in Bromo (actually a small village called Cemoro Lewang, but Bromo sounds cooler), I immediately ran into a Swedish couple who had also been scammed in Probolinggo. We joined forces at one of the town's hotels and decided to rent a jeep together for a ride to the top of the tallest peak to watch the sunrise. If it were not for Joel and Lena, I think I might have gone insane with the rising sun. The hotel's facilities were beyond spartan and I was in no mood to walk around to look for something better.

We haggled with a jeep driver, settled on another exorbitant price, spent 20 minutes looking for fuel and missed the sunrise. Still, being on top of that mountain, looking down on two active volcanoes and a handful of dead ones, made up for the sorrow of the previous 24 hours. Once the sun was well into the sky, we hopped back into the jeep and headed to Mt. Bromo itself, one of the active volcanoes. A grueling hike up to the crater's rim for a view into the abyss rounded out the morning.

Matt and Gunung Semeru
Gunung Semeru, rear, and Gunung Batok
The Steps to the Crater Rim at Gunung Bromo
The ride down the mountain delivered my first taste of local, Asian travel. The minibus was crammed to the gills with travelers and locals, everything but chickens. I met a few more travelers and enjoyed being on the road.

I was dropped off at the bus station (the real one this time!) and encountered a genuine travel agent who treated me with respect and seems to be completely on the level. I've booked another overnight bus, this time to Yogyakarta, with drop off at the hotel of my choice. And I've come out of my shell a bit, exploring an unknown town, Probolinggo, while waiting for my bus to Yogya.

Travel has its ups and downs, sometimes hour to hour. The last 24 hours have shown me that pushing through the hard times to find the good is the only way to go. Hopefully I've gained some more confidence and a little trust. If nothing else, I had fun today. That counts for a lot.

If You Don't Have Something Nice to Say...

I know I've been harping on Bali for the past week. While I feel justified in my frustration, I think it's only fair that I write a post explaining why Bali may be the way it is.

There was once a booming tourist economy in Bali. Then, in October 2002, terrorists set off bombs in a nightclub in Kuta, killing more than 200 tourists. Three years later, twin bombs went off on the beach in Kuta, again causing loss of life. There was also the tsumani, which killed hundreds of thousands of Indonesians in northern Sumatra (very far from where I am now). Add to this, at least for Americans, State Department warnings of political unrest, and you've got myriad reasons for travelers to skip Bali and head elsewhere.

Where does this leave the thousands, perhaps millions, of people who depend on tourism for a living? It leaves them with few options. I'm sure many have turned to other businesses, or adapted in ways that still service tourism but in other ways. But there are still those who depend on tourists for a living. And with fewer tourists there is more competition for tourist dollars (Euros, Yen, etc.).

In my week in Bali, I've spent my dollars on hotels, food and clothing. I haven't purchased everything available to me, but neither have I cut corners to save a buck here or there. I would spend more but for the hassle I've detailed in my past few posts.


There have been bright spots: good food, friendly people and some pictaresque locations. Just today, I went to Warung Aria, a small outdoor restaurant, for a plate of stir-fried vegetables and rice, and discovered the spicy food I'd heard about, exquisite little red chilis (cabe rawit - bird's eye chili) that packed a perfect punch. Yesterday, I topped off the credit on my mobile phone and had a good conversation with the woman behind the counter, her pudgy baby sleeping peacefully behind her on a carpet. Two nights ago I sat at a cart next to the beach, drinking Bintang beer and munching on peanuts while chatting with a local musician while the owner smiled at everything I said. At the impecably clean Internet cafe Bits 'n' Bytes (where wireless acrcess actually costs less than using their desktops!), ex-pats exhange friendly greetings with the staff while taking care of business.

There is a genuine culture to be discovered here. It's too bad terrorism has turned the world off Bali. Everybody, locals and tourists, would be better off if things were different.

The Joy of a Hotel Pool

On my first day in Bali, I decided to escape the hellish streets of Kuta by taking a stroll though one of the bigger resorts on the main street. As a foreigner it was easy to walk by the security checkpoint and into the five-star facility. I walked through the grand lobby, all carved wood and fresh flowers, passed a few people eating snacks in a small café, down some stairs and into the gardens. I walked further, finding the surrounding both peaceful and manufactured.

After a minute I found myself in the pool area. Ranks of deck chairs held sleeping, sunbathing and reading tourists. People splashed around in each of the many pools, including a shallow one just for young kids. There was even a bar in the middle of the pool, with drinkers arranged on stools submerged in the chlorinated water.

Why on earth would anyone spend his or her time here when there’s a whole country outside waiting to be discovered, I asked myself. I would never take a vacation just to sit by the pool drinking pina coladas.

I walked clear on through to the beach, where it was high tide and I was forced to return the way I came. Once back on the public streets I was again harassed by calls of “transport,” “massage,” etc. It seemed I could not walk more than a few seconds without another touts yelling in my direction.

I left Kuta for Ubud a few days later, where I found the same treatment. It wasn’t as bad as in Kuta, but bad enough to make walking around unpleasant.

After a few days I left Ubud for a small beach town on the north coast called Lovina. Lovina is a sad little place. I’m told in July and August it is packed with Australians on holiday. Today it’s a dirty beach, rows of empty hotels and restaurants and hundreds of desperate Balinese trying to make a buck off he meager tourist trade. When I arrived in town, a pack of touts on motor scooters followed the bus in order to intercept passengers when they disembarked.

I checked into a rather nice hotel by the beach, air conditioning, swimming pool, hot water, the works. It is centrally located and just steps away from the rather dirty beach. What I didn’t know when I checked in is that touts hang out on the street outside the entrance and badger anyone who walks by. In addition to the repeated cry of ”transport, transport,” I’ve been offered massages, shell and beaded jewelry, Balinese calendars, fresh fruit, dolphin and snorkeling cruises, haircuts, hot springs and waterfalls, sarongs and t-shirts, wooden statuettes, polished sea shells, motor bikes, push bikes, prostitutes and drugs.

That hotel pool was starting to look pretty inviting. Who would ever spend their time sitting by the pool when there’s a country to explore? Me, that’s who.


I spent yesterday relaxing in the water, swimming a few laps, lounging poolside with a novel and book of Sudoku puzzles (addictive!!!) and eating a bag of mangosteens that a wonderful young woman from the hotel picked up for me at the local market.

And last night, I had some fun. I met a Dutch couple, Rene and Margriet, who are here for two weeks and we had dinner at a nice Thai restaurant in town. We ended up chatting for hours about travel in Asia, the role of tourists in local economies, the usefulness of a sarong, and, of course, the pleasures of a hotel pool. I ordered to my heart's delight and the total coast was less than one beer at home. Also, Indonesians will often tell me that food will be too spicy, but I've yet to taste anything that has made me sweat.

Tonight I board a bus for East Java and a change of scenery. Stay tuned.

Bali Blues

I've tried not to be negative on this blog. But there's no time like the present, so here goes...

No trip, especially a long trip like this one, is without setbacks. I've been told that travelers hit a wall around two or three months, when questions like "What the hell am I doing" are answered with "I have no idea." I think I've hit that wall. Perhaps it's the culture shock. Perhaps it's me. Either way, I'm not having fun. I find Bali oppressive and depressing. What should be a paradise strikes me as a pain in the ass.


I can deal with the heat. I can deal with the beggars. I can even deal with a little food poisoning. What gets me is the constant pestering by taxi drivers, merchants and touts. I understand tourism is down. I understand people need to make a living. But I also think that if I wanted a taxi, a painting, some jewelry, a massage or that thing that looks like a box of poison-tipped skewers, I would ask for one. Has anyone ever said yes to the offer of "transport" or actually bought that cheap statue of Buddha? I'm not disparaging the country or its people. I'm fed up with the way tourism presents itself here.

How about letting tourists just look at the goods in your store, or sit in your restaurant, without hovering and making them nervous? I know they need to make a living and I'm a source of income. But the hard sell doesn't work here. It actually makes me turn inward and shut off to the country I'm supposed to be opening up to. Like I said, maybe it's me.

Here's a good example. Today I paid a visit to the fastest Internet connection in Ubud. A few emails later, I logged off and paid the bill. The owner of the business asked me what I thought of his service. I said it was fast and thanked him. He then tried to sell me on a package deal for 10, 25 or 50 hours, at a discount of course. I told him I was leaving town soon and he assured me I could transfer the hours to a friend or use them when I return to Ubud. I have no friends here and no plans to return. What happened next convinced me I'm in some kind of alternate universe. He then picked up a brochure from his desk and tried to convince me to buy life insurance. Life insurance? All I wanted to do was check my email!

I know travel is a way to learn firsthand about other cultures. I know there is a vibrant and interesting culture to explore here in Bali. And I know there are Balinese who could teach me a thing or two. Unfortunately, as a foreigner I'm treated as an other and I've so far been unable to see what's so special about this place. Sure, the people are willing to ask me where I'm from and how long I will be here. But they are also rather circumspect with information and hard to trust. I don't feel like I'm being outright lied to, but I don't feel like I'm being told the truth either.

That's enough whining for now. I have three more weeks in Indonesia and will plow on, continuing north to a beach called Lovina and then west to Java to see the Buddhist temple at Borobudur and perhaps on to Jakarta. Getting away from tourist centers and seeing some of the real country will be challenging. I accept the challenge.

By the way, if I were in the mood to post something positive and upbeat, I would write about the food. It's the best thing about Bali so far. Have you ever tried a mangosteen? They are delicious.

Down and Out in Bali

It's my third day in Indonesia and I'm happy to say day three has been much better than days one and two. I arrived in the country suffering from a mild flu, not bad enough to knock me off my feet but enough to make every waking hour uncomfortable. I had the easy life in Australia for two months and arriving in Kuta, Bali's tourist mecca, knocked the wind out of my sails.

I feel like a neophyte traveler all over again, unsure of myself at every turn. New sights, smells, tastes and sounds assaulted me during my first 24 hours. The sensory overload was so much that I hired a guide to show me some of the island yesterday. It was nice to get out of Kuta but the guide spoke only fractured English and was unable to answer my most basic questions (e.g., when was this temple built?). The saving grace was satellite television in my hotel room. A few solid hours of The Amazing Race, Seinfeld, MTV, ESPN and CNN did wonders for my state of mind.


I'm now in Ubud, a town in central Bali known as a center for the arts. The pace here is much less hectic than in Kuta, with only a fraction of the touts and tourists. I am staying on Monkey Forest Road (how could I resist?), about 50 meters from Monkey Forest. I've booked myself a bungalow overlooking some rice fields and hope that some of the aforementioned monkeys make an appearance in the morning. I think if I leave food out on my balcony they will sniff it out.

The bungalow is very cheap by American and Australian standards but a bit steep for Bali. I've never been much of a haggler, and while I was able to get the price down from the initial offer, I could have taken it even lower. Three days in country is not long enough to hone these essential traveler's skill, so I'm not going to kick myself too much. However, any suggestions on the art of bargaining would be appreciated.

So Long Australia, Hello Asia

I'm sitting in the international departures lounge at the Darwin airport. The sun has not yet broken the horizon and I'm not quite awake yet. My last day in Oz was spent sick in bed, my first bout with illness on the trip. At least I booked myself a swanky room with a television and air conditioning.

I am on my way to Bali. What awaits me in Asia is a mystery. Nevertheless, I'm excited about starting a new chapter in this adventure. I'll post again, and send along some new photos, when I've sussed out the situation. For now, thanks to everyone in Australia who made this visit memorable, and everyone at home who's been following along and lending support. You make it all worthwhile.

+++++

A few hours later and I've arrived in Bali. The heat and humidity are more oppresive then in Darwin, a fact I find unbelievable but true. What's more, there's a sense that I have truly arrived in Asia.

The sedate streets of Darwin, where I could walk undisturbed with anonymity, have been replaced by the hectic narrow lanes of Kuta, the tourist mecca of Bali. The taxi driver from the airport took me to the wrong hotel, a sister operation owned by the same company as the place I'm staying. This snafu was fixed in short time, but was not a pleasant way to start the day.

My defenses raised, I checked in at the Green Garden Hotel and set out on the streets. In addition to the taxis and scooters, a thousand touts, though it seems like a million, are there to assault all tourists with offers of "transport" and discounts. A stroll down the main strip of backpacker hotels (out of curiosity) led to offers of "massage" from young women who would grab my arm or shoulder. The touts who managed to get close enough to whisper to me once I'd turned down the offer of transport were there with an offer of a "young lady."

I will not judge Bali, or Indonesia, by this morning's adventure in Kuta. I understand this is the worst of the worst, where a million tourists have come and gone. This is why it's the site of terrorist bombings in 2002 and 2005. What it does give me is a reminder that I'm an outsider in this country and there are customs and procedures that I need to pick up before I go wandering around this beautiful island.