OOHH NNOO.
The Year of Caroline is over - that's the bad news. In fact I can barely grasp the badness and am seriously considering extending to the Year And A Bit Of Caroline. The good news (and it's scant comfort, god knows) is that there has to be one last email so that you all didn't think that I'd finally succumbed to the increasingly relaxed scene in Laos and drifted off in my inner tube towards a never-ending sunset flanked by a couple of fetching Dutchmen.
So last stop on the last email was Vang Vieng, and by this stage Kirstie was starting to tap the timetable I'd scratched out on the back of a BeerLaos label and highlight where I'd increased our time in various cities by 2, 3, and 4 days, pointing out that we were about to spend longer in Laos (population 5.6 million) than we had in China (population 1.5 billion). [This, frankly, didn’t seem a problem to me, but...].
Anyway, we cranked it up. Hit Vientiane for a spot of silk shopping. A journey out to the Australian Embassy to vote in the federal election (Kirstie could not understand why we had to do this and we had to have a sit-down talk about how I actually wasn't going to be able to go home if that man stayed in control of the country). Admired an extremely large and shiny stupa. Loaded up on lattes and flaky pastry products and a couple of French dinners for good measure.
Then to my enormous delight we got to head down to the south of Laos on a "VIP" bus - double decker, reclining seats, in-bus movies, it was fabulous. After some minor connections on a tuk-tuk and a ferry and a wander and another tuk-tuk we spent a day in Champasak to check out the very lovely Khmer wat for a little precursor to the extravaganza that was waiting at Ankor Wat in Cambodia . Finally on to Don Kong in the Four Thousand Islands delta where we had a bungalow each for a dollar, ate the most amazing spring rolls yet, found a boutique bakery run by a NZ guy with hot banana and chocolate doughnuts, and finally got to grips with the "happy" menus.
For those unfamiliar with the concept of "happiness" in SE Asia, for a small cost uplift you can get just about anything - pizzas, drinks, omelettes - "happy"-ed up with normally marijuana, although apparently mushrooms, speed and opium are also on offer. I had to be tutored in this pretty smartly as I spent a fair while just thinking that people were being very cheery in describing the food ("a happy pizza? that sounds cute, let's get that, with the extra ecstasy option!", "Caroline, put down the drugs and back away quietly").
But finally, inevitably, it was time to leave Laos . I stocked up on many many baked goods for the trip, and we joined a minibus full of other tourists to cross over into Cambodia . It took 4 hours to travel 40 kilometers, and when the minibus itself had disappeared for 2 1/2 hours with all of our luggage, the mood was starting to look nasty. Shaun from Ocean Grove, complete with half dreads and half a shaved head, an impressive combination, took charge of the "negotiations", the Cambodian heavies appeared from nowhere, people had to be restrained, and some hours of lunatic driving later we were being fairly unceremoniously deposited in a dark alleyway somewhere in the backpacker ghettoes of Phnom Pehn. [It was like that opening scene of the Beach, the dripping water, the dodgy fan, the music, the sense that something bad was going on somewhere very close, but sadly no Leonardo.]
Cambodia was an extraordinary mix - in Phnom Pehn we had a literally exhausting and totally gut wrenching day of visiting the Killings Fields [and, honestly, I couldn't believe how close they are to the town, just 10 kilometers from the centre, and so beautiful as well, I am truly without the words to describe it. Please go if you can] and the Khmer Rouge prison at Tuol Sleng, where people still come to look at the registry of photos of prisoners to try and identify lost relatives. As we left the Killing Fields complex, the tuk tuk driver asked us if we wanted to go the shooting range - apparently this is where tourists go if they want to blow up a cow or shoot off a machine gun or be otherwise let loose on left-over firearms. At that point I really was rendered speechless.
But then, in the same country, I spent four days walking through the amazing Ankor temple complexes, all different, and with enough there to have easily filled another week. Sat on the banks of the river in Siem Reap and watched dragon boating for an afternoon with all the locals. Decided to enter the second Ankor Wat Bike Race and Rally, entry fee including a fetching very tight light turquoise cycling jersey, and at the end of which we discovered the 50 kms route had in fact only been 30 kms long (and I thought we'd done so well....). In any event with my broken chain and burst tyre, I still needed two entire changes of bike, keeping my one-legged support man hopping (sorry, couldn't resist, and he was amazing), and then as a bonus even got a prize - for perseverance :)
I paddled very happily in our hotel pool at $8 a night, broke the door of the room, and was taken into the kitchen at my favourite Khmer curry place so they could show me how they cooked their chicken amok (the women in the kitchen thought I was mental. The chef wanted me to write down the English translations for his ingredients. Everyone was very happy). Had fish and chips and ice cream for breakfast. Shopped for more silk. Had a massage given by blind folk. And quality controlled the g&ts at the Foreign Correspondents Clubs across the country.
After 12 days based in Siem Reap, we finally tore ourselves away (the hotel managers waving us off merrily, they'd thought we'd never leave) to make the final hop down to Thailand, bikinis and the beach, dodging the quite scary male staff in Koh Lanta ("What you do today!" "You come to party tonight!"), worked on the tans, and dived headlong into the Thai food, and even further into what I understand to be Mekong whiskey, but honestly could well have been metho mixed with cough syrup (still tasted good with soda).
And, finally, the last overland leg (at this point you just need to imagine me wiping away tears with one hand and typing with the other) - an eventful night on the overnight train to Singapore with two 50-something Frenchmen, two very loudly Home Counties British girls, a very earnest German engineer, and a nice Malaysian man who kept complaining loudly that the Thais couldn't speak English, and I was very, very ready to get to Singapore. So I was a little sulky when the conductors announced that because of the "flood", the train was stuck indefinitely on the Malaysian side of the causeway. Now it rains in Malaysia and Singapore every year. Belts it down in fact. And being organised people, you would think they'd have factored that all into their track system. But no, it was all a bit like the English trains derailing each fall because of leaves on the tracks (those damn trees, who would have thought they'd continue to shed their leaves every year...).
Eventually we crossed, and spent the next 3 nights in a Navy complex courtesy of some of Kirstie's relatives. I cannot describe the drinking that went on in that community as (a) it makes me sound like an alcoholic and (b) I can't remember how most of the nights finished up anyway. It was scary. But those Navy folk are very friendly indeed, and the pure joy on the faces of American sailors, who have not been allowed to have a single drink for months at sea, when they arrive in the "store" and were confronted with slabs of beer, was enough to bring a tear to your eye.
So with not much time left except to sample a few very good dumplings, have a wander through the Orchid Gardens, and spend some time admiring Aaron's Santa cut-out holding a VB can, it was time to hit the Qantas Club and get on that plane.
Oh god. End of the trip.
No more strippers on trains, gallivanting around to temples in tuk-tuks or camel-spotting in disco jeeps. Very sad.
No more living out of a bag and jumping up and down on dirty clothes in the shower. Not quite as sad.
An end to the worldwide tasting of dumplings. Almost unbearable.
But I did get the limited release Duty Free Disco Absolut bottle complete with hang-up-able bottle-shaped disco ball. This helped me deal with the dumpling deprivation a little.
And as I sat waiting to board at Changi I realised that over the months of travelling I had developed a habit of talking out loud to myself. So now the other 500 passengers flying back to Melbourne that night were also familiar with my views on coming back to Melbourne . That cheered me up a lot.
So that's it. You've all done very well to keep reading these emails and if you've made it right through to here, that's just excellent. You deserve to hear what has gone right up on the Top 5 List of Toughest Tests of the Year, along with dealing with terrifying Russian train ticket ladies, wading through the fermented milk meals in Mongolia, keeping that just-stunned-not-dead ant salad under control in Laos, and making sure my luggage was under the totally unreasonable 23kg limit for the flight home.
So, for number 5 – Trying to Answer Questions Asked by Small Children To Which There Is No Answer
I had been home for a week, and it was time for a few days at the coast. I was dressed as Suzie Quatro for the Rock Gods NYE (and just as an aside, really, don’t do this at home, I'm still trying to get the sand out of my high heeled boots). Trying to get dinner to the table for 25 friends I've known since school. And then one of the deeply cute kiddies start in with the interrogation style questions that make mothers such brutal negotiators -
"Why are you wearing a band aid?"
"I cut myself"
"Why"
"To tell you the truth, Zoe, I was drinking with one hand and wielding a very sharp knife in the other"
"Why?"
"Well basically, because I'm an idiot"
"Why?"
"............."
Happy Christmas. And New Year. And Happy Birthday to me. And thanks to everyone for keeping me up to date during the year, providing beds, meals, sympathetic ears, encouraging emails and regular facebook status updates. I can't wait to catch up with all you Australians. And I can't wait to see everyone else who has promised to come and visit (and yes, I know who you are).
xxc
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"For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move."
Robert Louis Stevenson
