We’ll it’s that time again; time to move along, next country, next people, next language, next adventure.  I’ve been slow to get myself moving aging, after nearly a month of traveling in style and comfort with friends it’s taking a special sort of kick in my ass to get motivated again. It’s back to cramped musty rooms that smell like somebody’s basement and are barely big enough to turn around in. Then there are the “showers” which, when they do work, are barely more than a cold trickle of water.  The inevitable bus rides promising 8 – 12 hrs of bouncing along on a seat built for a pigmy, crammed with noisy people, queasy people, and an assault of smells that can only be replicated at the Sunday animal market.  Of course my favorite the never-ending negotiations with shady touts and surly taxi drivers. Sounds great huh?  Ahhh… the romance of travel.  

Well I must say just writing that down has again awakened in me that sense of challenge that helps keep me going, that and my camera never seems to tire of going strange places.  I’ve always thought of myself as the independent type, but I realize my camera has me completely whipped.  Tucked away in its clean and padded little compartment it seems to arrive fresh and ready to go no matter what we have had to endure to get to the next destination.  Hmmm… maybe I could just go to the Seychelles or some resort area in South Africa and tell my camera that this is all that’s left in Africa.  I’ll explain that we waited too long to come here and now the entire continent is built up into resorts with nice poolside bars.  Thanks to Michael Jackson’s song(s) in the late 80’s so much money was raised and it was so well invested by the smart and selfless leaders of Africa’s poorest nations, that now all of Africa is more developed than Dubai, and everyone is happy and well cared for.  All that Discovery Channel footage comes from the Hollywood back lots (right next to where they filmed the moon landings).

 In case my camera calls my bluff and twists my arm to venture into remoter regions,  I have another trick I sometimes use to get myself motivated.  Whenever my bones don’t feel like making the jump to the next place, leaving whatever familiarity we have found to navigate the confusion of the next new location I play a little game called remember the regular life.  I think back to home life where everything is so clean, orderly, simple, and at times rather sterile in comparison to developing countries. I remind myself that this style of living is only a few months away for me and I will find myself in its clutches again soon. When I remind myself of this then the dusty unpredictability of the road starts to sound better and better.  After all,  finding myself dancing on the streets to African drum beats, swatting flies off my eyeballs in remote villages, and the opportunity to photograph creatures in the wild that are elsewhere only relegated to zoo’s has been a lifelong dream of mine.  Now its here, right in front of me, I can literally smell it, so its time to go. Off in a southern direction to the tip of Africa, through countries I have never known existed before and some of which may not be on a map anymore after 20 years. 

 In particular I can’t wait to meet Mr. Douglas Anwa from Nigeria. This nice man has been writing several emails per week to my hotmail account asking for help because he needs to transfer money to America, but doesn’t have a bank account in the States.  He has been pleading with me, for the sake of his family’s well being, to send him the details of my bank account and social security number for a few years now.  Imagine how pleased he will be when I show up in person to assist him and offer to hand carry his money back to the US with me.   I know it seems like an awfully generous thing of me to do, flying all the way over here to help this man out, but after all he carefully selected to reach out to me via the internet.  His email was so sincere and honest what else could I do?  I’ll just need to explain to him that I have to make a quick stop in Russia on my way back to the US to meet Ivana Hotpot who has also been writing to me on a regular basis, she has been kind enough to offer me a free sample of some pills that promise to enhance my life.  Strangers on the internet are so generous.

 We’ll until lack of motivation and procrastination sits me down to write again I’ll say au revoir and bon chance.    

 -Pete

To see whats been occupying my time these last few weeks…ok ok months, you can check out the photos.

Pete Niesen Photography Galleries

Ok so it’s been pointed out that I’ve been a bit out of touch with the blog, about 7 weeks since the last post, but in my defense it only seems like 3 weeks to me. I blame the lost time on the Coriolis Effect, along with a lost pair of flip-flops, a bump on my head, and the smell that has inhabited my camera bag. The power of the Coriolis Effect is very mysterious so beware when you travel down to those southern latitudes. 

 Rest assured it hasn’t been all lounging on beaches and eating bacon again in Australia (….mmmmmm bacon). I have managed to do a good bit of work, both photographically and wrote a bit as well.  My editing staff is just slow to get everything online amidst the daily distractions of surfing, sailing and diving in Indonesia.  I know, I know, I should fire them all and get more disciplined people, but its not easy to find folks that don’t run away when you’re trying to board a pirate ship and travel to West Papua with a visa that runs out in 2 weeks.  Even harder when you pay them nothing and curse them every time the internet is slow (which is every time).

 Luckily amidst all the infighting and accusations of beer stealing we have managed to cobble together a little bit of new content.  Check out Elephant Bath Time and The Great Barrier Reef – on, above, and below.

 P.S.  – Mom since your probably the only one still reading this blog don’t worry the pirates were very responsible upstanding pirates.

Let’s face it, guys. If you’re headed to Thailand, you have been undoubtedly warned you about the ladyboys – otherwise known as katoeys – to the point to where you may be a paranoid about looking a girl in the eyes. So I am arming you with a handy checklist so that you can feel confident and masculine during your sordid Asian travels to make sure you find real Thai girls.

Thailand is known as the Land of Smiles. But unless you’re armed with solid information, the only one who is going to be smiling is your Niesen pal hiding behind a cocktail laughing at your sorry-ladyboy-liking-ass. So my friend, I’m going to share with you a few ways to spot real Thai girls – not the fake ladyboy kind.

- Big hands and feet. Thai girls aren’t really known for having tiny cute hands and feet. Big hands and feet are your first sign that your new friend is a real girl.

- 5 o’clock shadow. Thai girls are kinda of like a Colt 45: Don’t let the smooth face fool you. They sport a shadow that fills in at around the happy hour.

- A wiener. I know this is hard to believe – but all real Thai girls have penises.

- Deep voice. Big girl. Big voice. How else can all of that untamable femininity be expressed?

- Gigantor hooters. If it was a guy, would he really have ridiculous-sized double-D boobies?

- Spackled on makeup. Thai girls always wear a ton of makeup, if she has perfectly laquered on foundation you can be sure it’s a real girl.

- Adams apple. Unlike girls of other nationalities, Thai girls have them – always.

-  Tall… like 6 feet tall. Thai girls are very tall, averaging at least 5’7”.  If she is getting up to around 6′ then she is a model or if she is talking to a tourist (you) then you can be sure you are being chatted up by a real Thai girl.

Yeah… I know. He hasn’t posted since the brothel incident. I could make up a great story about how he was kidnapped and sold as a white sex slave, but frankly he was too white and no one in southeast Asia would touch him even if they had a ten-foot pole.  Since people keep asking me, I’ll give you a quick update.

I left him in Hong Kong around the beginning of December. We had a killer trip… The beauty of traveling with Pete is you never know what’s in store for you. There was one night that I was sure we were getting kidnapped and I don’t even know how to write about it. What I really need to communicate this story accurately is a great pulp fiction comic book illustrator. To be honest, that was the only time I was a little nervous about my safety – so much so that I looked up at Pete and said, “If I get human trafficked, I swear to GOD I will never travel with you again.” But… there was a Chinese miracle, so here I post as Pete’s ghost writer.

I wrote a couple of stories but it doesn’t really begin to describe all the things we did and how much fun we had.

If I had to sum things up, best things were: eating mystery street food in Mongkok, hiking up to the Dragon’s Back Rice terraces, bicycling around limestone karsts in Yangshou, a sereptitious hot air balloon ride, swimming in Halong Bay, Chinese miracles trying to get to Vietnam, trying to decipher an explosion of Chinese characters, laughing at bad Asian karaoke, bumpy sleeper bus rides, getting lost in Hoi An on a moped late at night, a cooking class, Thanksgiving at Hoa’s in China Beach, finding a killer bungalow 20 feet from the beach on a southern Vietnam island, having a spectacular dinner on the beach, exploring an Phu Quoc island on a motorcycle, sticking our heads into a giant vat of pungent fish sauce, listening to bad Vietnamese guitar, eating amazing Vietnamese barbecue, drinking too much rhum and lemonade, sleeping in a tree house, riding a rollercoaster to a waterfall, shards of a peanut in the eye in a bar, snorkeling, drinking, drinking, drinking and pontificating after long days of adventuring (him, of course… not me).  Did I mention how the first English-speaking person I spoke to said to me, “OBAMA! You must be SO HAPPY!” This is the sentiment of every single person we had the pleasure of talking to.

I keep getting asked for pictures but to be honest there are so many and my ADD keeps flaring up, preventing me from organizing them. And Pete has so many and with a bum computer, it’s made it hard for him to keep the blog updated.

I was sad to leave Pete and Hong Kong; however, right after I left, his brother Chris showed up. I’m not sure I want to know all of the details, but they pretty much wrecked Thailand and Vietnam with things that involved things that included shooting guns, Thai ladyboys and teaching natives how English would rhyme with things like “go duck yourself.”

Then in January while Pete was unsupervised, he experienced a series of unfortunate events inthat included a cyclo accident, his computer totally crashed and worst, all of his camera gear, credit cards and ATM cards were stolen right out of his room ten feet away from him. If you feel sorry for Pete – think again. He’s still living a life of leisure and as he himself will tell you, we’re still the poor suckers that are stuck here with a shite economy slaving away for the man.

He spent some time in Laos and right now is back in Thailand working with monkeys trying to get his visa for India. Of course, these are all long stories really short. The good thing is that his new cards (along with some American candy and toiletries that will make him smell slightly better are on the way to him with his friend Bob – who I met briefly through email. I can’t wait to meet Bob someday because his sense of humor is decidedly more warped than mine if you can imagine that. I know… don’t even go there.

So that’s the update. If you think about it, send him an email and ask him about how to tell real girls from ladyboys.

- lisa

There are things in America that we take for granted. Like toilet paper, for instance. In America, it’s pretty much assumed that when you walk into a bathroom there’ll be toilet paper. So I knew from other travelers that China didn’t typically provide this American convenience so I came prepared with TP in hand. Check. <smug smile.>

But you have to also be prepared with a repertoire of questions in order to negotiate the right place to sleep. Questions like: Do you have a toilet? Is there hot water? Is there water? Then there are other times when a tout will approach you and entice you – the weary traveler – with a statement like: “My guesthouse is at the highest peak for the best view and its just 60 Yuan.” 

This was the case when we arrived in Longshen to see the Dragon’s Back Rice Terraces – a spectacular feat of human engineering. We got off the bus after a marathon bus ride and of course we’re in China so the first thing we’re trying to figure out is if we’re even in the right place. That’s when an English-speaking local woman approached us to help us figure out our bearings. With no plan for a place to sleep and dusk approaching rapidly, she baited us with an easy solution, a friendly smile, familiar language and an offer of the best, “most highest” guesthouse view of the Dragon’s Back Rice Terraces.

I don’t know about you but the first thought that comes to my mind is “Of COURSE I want the best view for eight bucks.” <smug smile.> But what we forgot to ask is, “What exactly does it take to get to this guesthouse with the best view?”

We loaded up into yet another bus and an hour later, minority village women were clamoring to carry our bags to our destination. “We got it. It’s no problem.” But we had one big bag and figured that three bucks worth of help might be worth it.

Next thing you know, we’re following a tiny village man who is carrying our 70lb. pack up a hill to where we thought the guesthouse was. We stopped about seven minutes later and thought, “Oh. That wasn’t so bad.” And we started to unload the packs from our backs. “No…” he pointed up further. He was in a rush because it was getting dark. We carry on, hiking stone steps, straight up, one-by-one. And we keep going. More steps. Darker. Higher. <jesusHchrist when’s this gonna end?!> Steeper steps. This goes on for nearly an hour. An HOUR. Straight up. To the highest peak. With loads of gear on our backs. And one tiny village man kicking our asses all the way up the mountain. It was cold in Longshen but by the time we got to Jian’s place, we were sweating, tired and ready for a beer and the reward of the “most highest” view we’d worked so hard for. But it now it was dark… so no view.

We woke up the next morning to rainy, brown rice terraces. Not exactly the fresh green landscape we saw in the brochures back in Yangshou. Beautiful, nonetheless. Later that day we trekked our way back down slippery stone steps with the help of our minority village man. The trek was less exhausting, but we were still grateful that we had round-trip help with our giant bag.

So next time you’re negotiating a place with the best view, don’t forget to ask what it will take to get there. Because the answer in this particular case was: One tiny minority village man, about 60 Yuan, 50 minutes, good night vision and a hope to god you didn’t smoke too many cigarettes the night before.

Well I’m not really sure how to start a blog, but I’ve put it off long enough and I figure it’s time my self important verbal minutiae joins the millions of others detailing whatever it is that’s going on in the world. So I’ve supplied myself with a few cold beers, a view of Peace Ave. in Ulanbataar and afternoon to bang away at the keyboard.

Another blog is born, Strangerview.com the travel project.

Grammar police look out.