Riverboat to Siem Reap

Awaking at 6:30 a.m., I groggily shouldered my bags and made my way to the hotel lobby. Waiting for the shuttle to the boat ramp, I and a fellow passenger, a Turkish-German girl who had lived in the States, bought some sweet bread from a local bakery and returned to board the mini-bus. The boat ramp was only right down the road, but this boat is a bit traveler-oriented and they insist on providing full service. Down the ramp we went to the shallow river, which was barely a trickle due to this being the dry season. I and my traveling companion for the day sat near the front away from the engine.

The river boat between Battambang and Siem Reap is supposed to be one of the highlights of any visit to Cambodia, though most people opt for the bus between the two places, which takes about 3 hours as opposed to the 6-12 hours that the boat takes (the journey is much longer in the dry season). I chose the boat however, excited for the prospect of gaining a different perspective of this place and for the journey through a protected wetland. The vessel is a long wooden thing that seems to be sort of thrown together. This particular one was painted in all blue and had an awning over the top of it.


Shortly after sunrise, we were underway. We passed riverside villages where the houses were all on stilts. The villagers, dressed in a sarong, were out bathing in the silty brown river. We also encountered other boat travelers, in canoe-like vessels with small two-stroke engines attached haphazardly to the stern. Children waved at us from the villages and passing boats with vigor and we happily returned their greetings.


We moved into a more desolate stretch of the river, which began to narrow and lose depth. The driver would floor the accelerator around the bends, trying to avoid beaching the boat, which usually happened anyways. As we became stuck on sandbars, the two young boys at the bow would attempt to push off with a giant bamboo pole, an imperfect method.


About two hours into the journey, the engine stalled and failed to reignite. We came to rest against the river bank as the driver became the mechanic and set about repairing the motor. As he spent about two hours in the engine compartment, we the passengers sat calmly reading and napping about the boat. There seemed to be little concern about whether we would ever get moving again, as the morning heat was moderate and the scenery pleasant.


Eventually we did get moving with mild fanfare, and the routine of beaching the boat resumed for a few hours until finally the river widened and we entered a marshy sort of area. This is where things got quite interesting. We began passing real live floating villages on either side of the river. The houses were made of a combination of reeds, wood, and large leaves, and they were floating on bundles of bamboo. This is pretty useful when the water level rises 9 meter in the wet season.


Life here is totally water-based. There are no roads, so all transport is by boat (we had some locals aboard our boat and as we would come up to their village, we would send out a whistle and there family members would paddle a canoe out to pick them up). They fish with giant contraptions that look like cranes, made out of bamboo, rope and netting. Food comes from the water, in the form of fish and plants that are grown in floating gardens. They even had some floating pig pens. Once they have digested the food, it also goes back into the water, though I think the marshlands help filter out the bad stuff (at least I hope).


There is also an interesting clash of primitive and modern. I never knew you could have electricity in a floating house, but indeed you can. There were even some TVs and satellite dishes. As for sleeping, hammocks seem to be the way to go.

On and on we motored by village after floating village, eventually coming into the open waters of the Tonle Sap, SE Asia's largest lake, late in the evening. This lake rises about 10 meters in depth every year in the wet season, as the Mekong river backs up into it, thus the floating villages and stilted houses. We watched the sun set, reflecting upon the large body of water, and motored on into another narrow waterway towards Siem Reap.


Just as it became totally dark, we reached the boat ramp, and I and two fellow passenger boarded a tuktuk to ferry us the 30 km into the small city of Siem Reap, base for Angkor Wat and the surrounding ruins. We traveled the dusty roads through what in the wet season would be a lake bed. Back into the bustle of a large settlement, we came to appreciate the 11 hour journey we had just completed through a place that was so different from what we in the West are used to.

After a minor dispute with the tuktuk driver who tried to pawn us off into a commission-paying hotel in a distant region of town, we checked into Popular Guesthouse, which as its name implies, is popular. So here I sit, now four days later, having become a bit stuck in this spot.

And that's the floating village post!

On to Cambodia: Trains, Tuktuks, Buses and Motos

When it was time to leave Bangkok, I walked to the train station at 5:30 in the morning and purchased a ticket to Aranya Prathet, the Thai town along the Cambodian border. I boarded the third class train, a grungy vehicle with dusty fans and hard seats, and we pulled away from the station before daybreak. It was a six hour journey to the border, passing through the hazy central plains of Thailand, full of green fields and the occasional smoldering pile of waste sending smoke into the air. I succeeded in sleeping on and off throughout the journey.

At last we reached the small town of Aranya Prathet around noon. A gang of tuktuk drivers began shouting at the few backpackers in the train, making offers to take us to the border. Based on my reading of my travel guide and past border experience, I knew this was a situation ripe for trouble. Nonetheless I negotiated a price with a tuktuk driver to take me the few miles to the Cambodian border crossing. He drove me for a few minutes before turning off at an inconspicuous side street and pulling up to a place where the sign read "Cambodian Visa Office". This was clearly not the border and I asked to driver to take me the rest of the way. One of the "Cambodian officials"came out to greet me and asked me to step inside. "Is this the border?" I asked. He responded that it was. The discussion went on for a few minutes, as I kept one foot in the tuktuk. I calmly refused to buy into the scam and pleaded with the driver to take me the rest of the way to the border. Presumably, these people give you a Cambodian visa at an inflated price, that may or may not be accepted by the real Cambodian officials. Finally he relented, and I, feeling proud of myself for so deftly defying this scam, whizzed on to the border.

This was a frantic crossing, as it is the most highly traveled of any of the Thai land borders. I stood in a series of long lines, first to get checked out of Thailand, after which I crossed through the duty-free zone to wait and get my Cambodian visa, at which point I proceeded to another line to get my new visa stamped. Simultaneously, it started pouring down rain outside.

Finally I was through customs and into Cambodia, though now the task was to get out of the dirty casino town that is Poipet. The travelers here are smartly herded like sheep onto government-condoned shuttle buses that take you a couple kilometers to the "tourist bus station". There I purchased my ticket to Battambang at the inflated price (still only ten dollars; yes, they use the almighty US dollar in Cambodia, and for fractions of a dollar they use the Cambodian currency, so no coins). Again I managed to sleep sporadically as the bus stopped many times along the road to pick up locals and drove maniacally down the small highway, overtaking motorbikes, tractors, and trucks. I enjoyed the view of rural Cambodia and the torrential thunderstorm that raged outside.

Two hours later the bus arrived in the small city of Battambang, which is the second largest in the nation. I found my way to a hotel in the town center where for $5.00 per night, I had a large bed, fan, private bathroom, and cable TV. The rest of the evening I walked around downtown, getting a cheap meal at the market (fried chicken with rice and some soup), as I had not eaten all day, and enjoyed a bottle of Cambodia's own Angor Beer. I went to be early after this tiring day of travel, about 11 hours in total.


The next day I felt a bit adventurous, and decided to try my hand at motorbiking through the surrounding countryside. I rented a small Honda with four manual gears, and the motorbike guy gave me a quick outline of how to operate this beast. I gave him the six dollars that he charged for a full day of motorbiking fun, filled up the tank with a couple liters of gas, and was off towards some temples, 28 km to the south, tourist map in hand.

Now say what you will about the lack of wisdom in driving a motorcycle for the first time, in a foreign country where the road are a free-for-all, but this was THE WAY to see Cambodia. I followed the narrow strip of unpainted asphalt for half an hour, passing small villages with stilted homes, wedding parties with music blasting, and the daily life of the Cambodian countryside. I went to two temples in the south, one being a modest ruin at the top end of 356 stairs (I counted), and the other being a modern concrete structure atop a limestone outcropping.


Just a few hundred meters from here was one of the many location where the army brutes of the Khmer Rouge, a brutal dictatorship of the 1970's, carried out some of their executions. It is a large limestone cave with a skylight that provided a suitable place of disposal for the bodies.


Traveling back through Battambang, I headed north, this time along the river, where the villages seemed more water-based. All homes here were on stilts, which is useful in avoiding flooding in the wet season. Between the homes is lush jungle greenery. I came to another ruin, which as ruins go was not too impressive. I ended up riding around all day seeing various ruins, though the real sight to see were the villages I passed through. Here I received an unfiltered view of rural Cambodia, and aside from a moderate sunburn and some bugs in the mouth, I came out of the experience unscathed.


That night, after returning the hog, I explored downtown on foot some more and had a couple nice meals. I purchased my ticket to depart by boat to Siem Reap the next morning (where I am writing from) and again went to bed early for the 6:30 a.m. departure.

Battambang and its surrounding villages presented me with my best memories on this trip thus far, though the events of the next day would take the cake. That, however, will have to wait until the next chapter: Riverboat to Siem Reap

BKK (!)

After much deliberation, I finally left Bangkok on March 2. I spent five nights in three different guesthouses and skimmed this city from East to West, seeing a little bit of a lot of things. As I think a chronological account of my Bangkok experience would be tedious and unhelpful, I will lay out this post thematically with thoughts on various BKK topics. First and foremost:

Food

Food, like many things here, is cheap. The way to eat is on the street, as long as there seem to be some reputable locals eating there (they know better what's clean and what's not). The standard plate of rice and curry is about 30 baht, or 1 USD. And Thai fare is beautiful; light and delicious.

I've only been averaging two meals a day due to my suppressed SE Asia appetite. I think this is due to a combination of the heat, and the basic survival instinct that kicks in when you are in a strange place. I don't think humans would have come very far if we were crippled by hunger during stressful circumstances. There must be something about being out of your element that leads you to eat less.

Lodging

Also cheap, of course. During my first two nights I steered clear of the backpacker's Mecca that is the Banglamphu neighborhood and opted to stay at a smaller place near the train station and metro that I happened to stumble upon after getting off the train. Only 180 baht/$6 per night. Complete with a floor fan, a stiff bed and a grimy shared bathroom, it wasn't the best place but easily accessed by the metro train, allowing me to explore the modern eastern part of the city. Even after I switched to the Baglamphu area and paid slightly more, the amenities were similar. Plain white walls and paper-thin drywall between the tiny rooms.

Also, no sheets are provided, nor is there any need for them. The best way to sleep I have found is to late flat on my back with all my limbs extended, the fan blowing across my face. I can't say it is the best sleep I've ever had.

Transport

When it comes to traveling, walking is my most frequent mode of transport. It allows me to wander aimlessly without having to pay, and see life on the ground. Sometimes you have to get across the city though. The first couple of days I relied on the metro system, which is as modern as your average American commuter train. The fun started when I took my first tuktuk ride, aptly-named for the sound that the engine makes. These are basically motor trikes with a small carriage for passengers on the back, painted in whatever colors and designs suit the owner.

Taking it up a notch, one day I decided to take my first motorcycle ride with a moto-taxi. I climbed on the back and held on to the rear bar, and tried not to let my awkwardly long legs get in the way of the driver or his lane-splitting maneuvers. At first this was terribly frightful, but I quickly began to feel this sensation of flying.

I upped the ante even further on a day trip to the town of Ayutthaya, which is a river island housing the ruins of the old Siamese capital. At the beginning of the two hour ride on the bumpy third-class train, I met a Chinese traveler who went by the english name of 'Chris'. Chris was bandaged up from a recent motor wipe-out he had in Phuket a few days prior. When we arrived in Ayutthaya we decided to join forces. I was going to rent a bicycle to get around the island, but he insisted that we could split a motorbike. I hesitate for a moment, looking at his bandages, before signing on to the endeavor. What a story this would make. I couldn't wait to describe to all my friends the image of me on the back of a motorbike with a petite Chinese guy driving, sporadically bandaged from head to toe, and me giving directions on the back. This leads me to my next idea:

Risk

My risk threshold increases substantially when traveling. I think this goes with the saying, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." As I previously experienced in Latin America, people in SE Asia are much less obsessed with risk-aversion than we are in America. In the States we are very orderly. Stop signs mean 'stop'. We drive on one side of the road and only one side. Red lights mean 'do not go'. Here it is different though. The rules of the road are more like guidelines to be followed, and only as they are useful. There seems to be less of a fear and a constant playful obstinacy towards life's dangers.

I will say for the record that I most certainly wore a helmet on the motos, and my prior statements do not reflect any sort of advocacy for motorcycling. Ok kids?

Homesickness and Westerners

I must admit that at times, traveling alone in a strange place takes its toll on my morale. Sometimes I feel as if this trip is some sort of self-imposed penance rather than pleasure. I thought a couple of days spent in the relative comforts of the Banglamphu neighborhood might help. I was wrong.

On my third day in BKK I decide to uproot myself and set up base in the part of the city overrun by westerners. From here I could enjoy cheap drinks, lots of fellow travelers, and some of the historic sights of the city. Upon setting foot in this part of town you are bombarded by sensory input. Loud music, white people in beachwear (where's the beach, I thought), cheap goods for sale, and lots of people eating and drinking in street-side restaurants. I checked into a guesthouse in the area and set about on foot. I thought that being surrounded by fellow travelers would make it easy to interact with people, but I was mistaken. For the most part, people seemed to be in their own cliques. In areas less-traveled by your fellow westerners, I am usually happy to see someone from "home", but here we were the rule rather than the exception.

I cannot say that I did not partake at least a bit in the party atmosphere, but for the most part I felt like sitting on the sidelines and watching the parade of inebriation and traveler stereotypes.

Another way to deal with homesickness that I have often enjoyed is going to see a movie in a western-style cinema. Not only does it allow me to escape into the air-conditioned darkness, providing comfort and anonymity, but, if watching an American movie, it also transports me home for a couple hours. In this case, the only English language movie was No Strings Attached, starring the beautiful Ashton Kutcher, and also Natalie Portman. I was not amazed, but nor was I disappointed. An added bonus: Right before the movie started, some corny music came on with a picture slideshow of Thai people. Suddenly everyone in the theatre shot to their feet as if to leave. Quickly I realized that they were playing the Thai national anthem..... in a movie theatre. Not to feel left out, I also stood in observance. That brings me to my last point:

The Thai

The Thai seem to be very proud of their monarchy. The King's image is plastered all around and he is held in high esteem. One other time, at the train staion in Ayutthaya, they played the 6:00 p.m. national anthem. The two fellow travelers I was with were confused, as I and everyone else in the station stood up. "Don't worry," I explained. "This is just the national anthem. I saw this happen in a movie theatre one time.... just stand up."

Six days in Thailand isn't nearly enough to gain a real sense of the nation. I can say that the Thai seem to be a very happy and courteous people, and from what I have noticed in my few hours in Cambodia, much more soft-spoken. Really though, I wouldn't hazard to try to sum up this nation based on a week of experiences. I will say that I enjoyed Bangkok.

On the Road Again

In an effort to get to the heart of my trip (Cambodia/Laos) more quickly, I bought a one way ticket to Hat Yai in southern Thailand. I boarded a train departing on February 23 at 21:30. The sleeper seats were sold out, so it was a rough night of fleeting sleep in a coach about half full with Russians, chatty old Indians drinking whiskey, a Japanese hippie, a dutch guy, and even a couple genuine Malaysians! I awoke from my shallow slumber shivering a couple times, having to put on another layer to protect me from the frigid AC. I knew there was a reason for carrying a bulky sweater to the equatorial regions!

Time passing as it does on an overnight train, we arrived around 10:00 in the morning in Hat Yai, about 45 minutes past the Thai-Malay border where they checked me out of Malaysia and the Thai officials gave me a 15-day pass to enjoy their beautiful country. Upon arrival, I joined forces with the Japanese passenger, Gon, who was also heading to Bangkok. We bought our tickets to BK on a sleeper train that didn't leave until 18:45. Thusly, we checked our bags at the station and set about exploring this little city a bit.

We grabbed a quick meal of rice and chicken curry at a street vendor, with the bill coming to 25 baht (just under one USD). We ambled aimlessly after that, dodging motos and tuktuks, soon coming to Chinatown and the frantic stalls spilling out into the street from storefronts. When you have 8 hours to kill in an unknown foreign city, you will do anything to eat up time. We caught up on some internet time, stopped in for some Chang beer at a small restaurant, sat on the steps of the bus station napping and watching the young army recruits march around, then grabbed some more food (again, sticky rice and whatever dish looks appealing).

Finally we had done it! We had successfully wasted 8 hours and it was time to board the next train. Gon and I split up into separate cars. The sleeper cars were comfortable enough. What you have is banks of two seats facing each other. The seats fold down into one bed, and then another bed folds down from the ceiling. I would advise any future travelers on this route to reserve the lower berth, as you get a wider sleeping surface, no risk of falling out, and a window! As it were, I was stuck in the upper berth, which felt more like a plastic coffin than a bed. Nevertheless, I quickly fell asleep, exhausted from the night before.

Also quite interesting were the toilets, which had an added feature: when you flush them, you get a quick glimpse of the tracks passing beneath the train.

Once again, time passed quickly on the night train, and soon it was morning. We folded up the beds and I set about looking out the window, hoping I hadn't slept through Bangkok. Bangkok, however, was the end of the line, and around 13:00, I was turned loose into this bustling city, to set my bearings and hopefully learn something about myself and the world (that is, after all, why we travel of course).

And for the next installment: Bangkok (!)

Malaysia

On the morning or February 20, I was nervous and not exactly sure how I would complete all the immediate tasks at hand (get money, call host, get to train station, etc), but I soon had an ally. I was met by the Hanjin port agent on the ship. I bid farewell to my companions on the ship and I disembarked onto the chaotic loading ramp. This friendly Malaysian guy drove me over to customs, where he insisted that he handle the "negotiations" with the immigrations official. He had no problem securing me a 90 day free entry into Malaysia, which would turn out to be about 86 more days than I needed. Next stop was the grungy township of Port Kelang, which was about a twenty minute drive from the actual port. I was able to change my money into Malay Ringgits and purchase a cheap ticket for the KL Komuter train, though for the life of me I couldn't figure out how to use a pay phone to call ahead to Jon, the Couchsurfing host that I was set to stay with.

I thanked the port agent and found a seat on the nice air-conditioned train (I've learned that in this region, it is never not sweltering and humid). Riding for about an hour towards the capital of Kuala Lumpur, I watched the scenery change from dirty villages lined with banana plantations (reminding me of Guatemala) to the suburban condominiums and finally to the skyscrapers of modern KL, the apex of the skyline of course being the Petronas Towers, the tallest "twin buildings" in the world.


A bit past downtown KL, I got off the train and followed the directions I had scribbled down in my notebook to Jon's house. He was a bit surprised to see me but within a couple hours he was accompanying me downtown for a tour of the city. At this point, a description of the city seems futile. It is after all, similar to any modern city with an international population. There is a Chinatown, a metro train, tall buildings, shopping malls, and lots of traffic.

What is however interesting about this place, is its people- rather, its peoples. There are the Malays, or the natives, though in fact some of the other ethnicities have roots going back nearly as far in this land. There are sizable populations of Indians (which itself is divided into Tamil and Punjab), Arabs, Persians, Chinese and other SE Asians. Throughout the heart of the city, you will see Mosques, Buddhist and Hindu temples, and even some churches (a holdover of British colonial days). You will see women in headscarves, and even some in Burqas. While the country is Muslim officially, and by a slight majority, it is relatively moderate.

Being an English-speaker here is a breeze, as English is taught in all public schools and most people can speak it at least basically. This is effectively a bilingual country, with most people speaking Malay as well, which uses the roman alphabet.


So in my four days in KL, I explored the Batu caves, formed in a large limestone outcropping in which a Hindu complex has been built. I walked around downtown, ate Indian, Chinese and Malay food, went up the KL Menara tower (and saw the lay of the land), and met up with a couple other couchsurfers for some drinks. I ate little but I ate well, and I walked miles (or kilometers, as they call them here) everyday. All in all, it was a pretty, pretty nice time, though I soon felt the travel bug again and decided quickly to catch an overnight train to Thailand (where I am now). That chapter will have to wait though.

Cheers from Thailand!

Dispatches From The Sea

Traveling across an ocean by boat is a strange thing. Despite having traveled about 7,500 nautical miles in two weeks, there is a certain feeling of unchangingness; no landmarks or points of reference. While we traveled through eight timezones, or one-third of the Earth's longitude, I did not have much of a sense of the distance I traveled until Day 15 as we rounded the Malay peninsula and saw land for the first time (aside from a small Japanese island on Day 13). Nonetheless, here I am in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia and I haven't even left the surface of the Earth.

On Thursday, December 3 my parents drove me to Terminal 55/56 at the Port of Oakland. There I passed through a minor checkpoint and was driven by a port worker to the ship. Up the gangplank I went onto this hulking mass of a ship (although I'm told that vessel is relatively small). There I met the captain (German) and the first officer (Russian). I was shown up to my cabin, a nice place complete with bed, table and sitting area, bathroom, and TV with DVD player (where I could watch whatever movies past crew had left behind, not always in English. For a while I watched the giant cranes loading and unloading containers before I got bored and went to bed.

At the captain's instruction, I awoke at about 5:30 a.m. the next morning to watch the ships departure from the port. I walked up three flights of stairs to the bridge where the Captain and officers were assembled with the pilot (a local person who gives directions in navigating the ships out to sea). We had just pushed off from the pier and I stood in the back and watched as the pilot directed the captain to near Jack London Square where we turned the ship around to head back out into the bay proper. These would be the most difficult maneuvers of the entire ocean crossing, I was told. By the time we got turned around, the early morning twilight was just casting its glow in the East. As we neared Alcatraz the sun rose over the Oakland Hills casting a surreal glow on San Francisco and the Golden Gate; a beautiful last view of the city.


As we we passed under the Golden Gate, mild ocean swells began, causing the ship to pitch up and down. This would be a constant theme for most of the journey. About 10 miles out to sea, the pilot made a risky transfer to his own much smaller boat and we were on our own. And this is where the monotony began. About an hour outside of the Golden Gate we sailed past the southern-most Farallon Island and an hour later we were totally out of view of land.


For days we took a northwesterly heading towards the Alaskan Aleutian Islands. Believe it or not, on our "direct" voyage from Oakland to Port Kelang, Malaysia, we traveled all the way north through the Unimak Straight of Alaska. This is not as out-of-the-way as it sounds (for info, please refer to The Great Circle theory). We took this more northerly route to avoid a storm system in the Pacific. During these early days I did not venture out on deck for more than a few minutes, as it turns out that winters in the North Pacific are quite cold. We even got a bit of snow near Alaska. During the early morning hours of February 8 we passed through Alaskan waters and the route began to slowly curve to the West and eventually towards the South.


So how was daily life at sea?, you might ask. Well it was a bit boring to say the least. I did manage to fill the time reading (I finished three books), writing, planning my trip through SE Asia, listening to music and watching movies. I also used the sauna on several occasions, though this seemed unnecessary as we traveled further south and I could get the same effect just by going outside.

I ate three meals a day at the captain's table, along with the captain's wife and the Chief Engineer (the only Germans on board). I would listen dumbly to their conversations in German, and then eventually either they or I would find a way to turn the dialogue into English. They were all very hospitable though. The meals were usually decent and large and I managed to have a big appetite despite engaging in no physical activity and experiencing slight nausea at times.

I would go to bed early and rise early (breakfast was at 7:30 a.m.). I would also sit in my cabin for hours on end and just think. When the window in my cabin was clear, I would look out upon my narrow view of the ocean, which alternated between deep blue and gray depending on the cloud cover. At times the oceans were rough and I would lie down to avoid motion sickness. Other times the wind would blow from the aft (rear of the ship), which for some reason causes a slow rolling back and forth to Port and Starboard. On these days you would slide around in chairs and nearly fall out of bed. Usually though, the swells were mild and the motion bearable.



Around Day 11 or so we began to enter warmer waters south of Japan. The captain gave me free reign to move about the ship. I would walk the 200 meters to the bow of ship at this point and spend a couple hours a day just watching to oncoming ocean. Up at the bow, the noise of the engine and the refrigerated containers faded away and you just heard the ocean.


For a couple days we were joined by some black and white seabirds. They would glide easily along with the ship and follow us all day long. At first I thought they were just being social, until I walked up to the bow one day and saw their true, selfish reason for following us: As the hull of the ship would cut through the water, scores of flying fish would suddenly burst forth from the water to avoid us. Yes, fish that can fly- or glide, really. As the six-inch-long fish skimmed just above the surface of the water, fluttering their wing-like fins like dragonflies, the birds would dive down and attempt to scoop them up. We were basically a hunting party; we would flush out the pray and the birds would make the kill. This provided endless entertainment for me, so we were both happy, the birds and I.

Very quickly, the nice tropical weather turned into the sauna-like steam bath of the equatorial regions. Soon it was February 19, Day 15 at sea. Late in the morning we caught our first glimpse of real land, with the Malay Peninsula visible barely visible on the horizon. Ship traffic began to increase seemingly exponentially as we neared the narrow passage of the Straight of Malacca. As the skyline of the city-state of Singapore came into view early in the afternoon, we had Indonesian Islands on our left and the Malay Peninsula on our right. We began to head north through the straight towards Port Kelang.



And I swear you could smell the land. It smelled sweet and musty, a combination of dirt and fauna and the smells of civilization. I felt like I could even trace the scent of food cooking. I spent some time just inhaling deeply through my nostrils. After two weeks at sea I felt like my sense of smell had been reborn.

I went to bed that night knowing that we would be berthed at the port by morning. I tried to enjoy my last night at sea, though the knowledge that I would soon be thrown back onto the land and into a strange country top fend for myself was causing me some stress. This is where the adventure begins though.

Disembarkation

Good news: I just arrived in Kuala Lumpur and have so much to tell you! Unfortunately you will have to wait a few more hours until I have time to make a more detailed post. Feel free to email me though.

Love,
Brett (in KL, Malaysia)