Jonny Blueberries

“You Could Disappear Out Here…” A Motorbike Trip through Central Laos

February 1st, 2008

“The Loop”

Description: A rhombus-shaped journey through central Laos via motorbike, highlighted by caves, treacherous terrain, karst scenery, large and oft-unrecognizable animals, Beerlao, mental breakdowns, Will Smith and Eddie Murphy, “Sabaidee,” poverty, jock itch, sore backs, swamp ass, sticky rice and spider herpes.

Location: Central Laos

Participants (Ruff Ryders): Jonny Blueberries & Big Hurt (a.k.a. “Tex”)

Mode of transportation: Two fairly reliable motorbikes; mine red, his green

Time: 4 days, 3 nights

Total distance traveled: 381.8 km/ 237.24 mi

Total wrecks: 2, all by Doctor Sausage, not Jonny Blues

Backstory

The wonder and draw of Laos is truly word-of-mouth. The amount of positive remarks I had heard previous to my visit were immense: “Man, Laos is the most chill place I have ever been in southeast Asia” and “It’s simply unlike any other place - just go;” clearly Laos, land-locked by China, Myanmar, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam, had a lot to live up to. And it was with this inspiration that I strived to party in the New Year in Savannakhet, Laos.

Before arriving, I had spent two weeks in Vietnam, disappointed by how touristy it was and really itched to move on. Problem was if we were to make it into Laos for New Years, we would have to endure a bitch of time getting there. The plan was this: On December 30, take an 8 hour, overnight bus from Dalat, Vietnam (where Tex nearly died abseiling a 25 meter waterfall)

This, my friends, was not a good day for Tex, seen here, hanging on for dear life in Dalat, Vietnam.

to Ho Chi Minh City, arrive in the wee hours of the morning, sleep at the airport (which we did, outside), board the earliest flight to Hue’, which is a boring city, save for the “squeeze job” I received from a beautiful local there, and then take a bus to the border of Laos at Lao Bao, finally ending at Savannakhet where we would then ring in 2008.

Savannakhet, the second-most populous city in Laos (~120,000), was a really nice place to relax, not be bothered like a tourist, and rather enjoy being entertained as a foreigner with drinks, smiles and fireworks. We decided to spend New Years’ eve with a hot-pot along the Mekong River, and then roam the streets looking for a party. Come nightfall the streets were blanketed with locals drinking Beerlao, chowing on sticky rice (pronunciation often sounds like many are saying “sticky lice”) and blasting music as loud as their speakers could go. No joke here: music is absolutely cranked in Laos, regardless of sound quality – it seemed as though they simply want their ears to bleed from the joys of having music permeate the air at its peak wattage! Hey, when you’re having fun…

As 2007 gasped its last breath, we found ourselves immersed in the energy of a teenage street party, where puberty-stricken boys, girls and ladyboys were busy soaking in the early seconds of the New Year by blasting Eminem from a stereo perched inside a refrigerator, smoking dirty cigarettes, eating fish and noodles, dancing and hugging and just loving anyone who came within eyesight. We quickly befriended them, drank their beer, and ate their food. Tex and I even sandwiched an unsuspecting, sexually confused teenager - who in addition to bring dressed in his best evening attire wore some seriously heavy make-up - with kisses on both cheeks to say “goodnight” and “thanks.” Trust me, it made his day.

A few days later, we arrived in Thakhek with an openness to do just about anything. Tex and I had both read in the Lonely Planet about a motorbike route growing in popularity amongst backpackers in Laos called, “The Loop;” almost a rite of passage if you happened to have the chance to do it. The guesthouse we were staying at had numerous log books filled with the experiences of those who had completed the journey, along with advice and hand-drawn maps of each area along the way. It was incredibly intriguing to read these accounts and it soon became apparent that we were staring at an amazing opportunity to become a part of a challenging and historic piece of backpacking lore in the face. And so, it was decided…

Day 1: Thakhek to Nakai (approx. 75km/ 47mi)

We started off fresh. How could we not be? We were living the dream: not a care in the world apart from where our next Beerlao would come from and/or when our next ballbag shift would need to take place. We bought our bikes off of a man named, Mr. Ku, who runs a monopoly for bike rentals for this particular trip. At $10 US/day (really quite expensive for a motorbike rental anywhere in SE Asia) we were expecting and really needing these bikes to be top-notch because apart from food and water, they were the integral part to our survival. I even bought a face guard (I chose a lilac-shaded purple) with straps that went around my ears to protect my nose and mouth from inhaling all sorts of dusts and exhausts. That, along with my $100 RayBans, $200 Diesel jeans, $60 Nike Oregon hoodie, $120 New Balance 990s, Calvin Klein underwear and Puma socks made the uniform of this American backpacker – though still a label whore, a centered heart and cultivated spirit (actually a Chinese proverb) has brought me to quite the place of contentment and maturity, regardless of the stitching around my shoulders. After a quick fill-up, we hit the road under a clear sky, soaked in our absolute freedom…

Jonny Blueberries, geared up, on the road during Day 1…Peace!

“ You could disappear out here,” Tex says.

“Cheers,” we say in unison, lifting the first beer of our trip about 30 minutes into the journey. The small hut at which we were drinking was flanked on all sides by other straw huts, surrounded by goats and cows and children playing harmoniously. The residents of the small village and in particular the young adults we bought the warm beer off of were taken a little aback by our friendliness. The young lady, whom we soon nicknamed, “the prom queen,” never made eye contact with us, which was not by mistake. In Laos, it is law that foreigners and locals are not allowed to be together, and so I have been left with the impression that her reaction to us was a mixture of fear - from maybe never seeing a foreigner before – and an abiding of the rules of her culture.

On the road again, Tex and I decided to take a small detour to check out a local village called, Mahaxay, which had been previously mentioned by others as a cool place to check out, stocked with caves, waterfalls and small lakes to perhaps even bathe in. When the road forked, the dusty dirt we had been riding on turned into a more gravel-y, red clay surface and I started to hit the gas and push 50 km/hr. All of the sudden, Tex flew by my left side, hit a snag and fell off of his bike. I braked, got off my bike and started to run towards him. Assuming the worst had happened, I was relieved to see that as I was approaching him, he was on his feet, limping a little, clearly in shock from what had just happened. Luckily for him, he had only gashed his lower palms and also had a few cuts on his knees and arms. He had also screwed up the pedal which was used to shift gears, as now, he couldn’t downshift.

Tex, laughing it off…

Amazingly, there was a local hospital clinic about 100 meters from where we had been, and we biked there to get Tex fixed up. The clinic was very simple and could clearly only service very minor maladies such as the common cold, broken bones and maybe even some major lacerations.

A Mahaxay, Laos hospital room - the site where wounds are healed

I’m not sure whether or not they even had an x-ray machine. As they started to look after Tex, I decided to take a walk around the place and check it out. With his yelps from the pain of disinfecting his hands in the background, I saw a lady, barefooted by poverty and blackened by the strength of the sun (most likely due to the nature of her work) sitting with her arms around her knees, gazing into the distance from the lawn of the hospital. I sat near her and thought about what it was she could be thinking about. To this day I believe that she didn’t have much on her mind at all, except for the beautiful scenery she was accustomed to watching on a daily basis;

Observing civilization in rural Laos was a glimpse into life without many possessions; where what you have, you cultivate yourself through hard work done by your own hands. Yes, they can’t play online chess, receive a modern education, or even have asthma treated, but I can imagine that contentment there is reached a lot easier than that of a Western person where there is always a life that could be better, or made better for that matter, by something. There, life is what it is; they can still have a filet mignon, get drunk with friends while listening to blasting music, go swimming, play board games and take in world-class scenery every day. It’s just that the cow the filet mignon is taken from will be sliced by their own hands (how is that for selection?!) instead of served with sterling silver cutlery, a high thread-count placemat and a $70 price tag. The parties they attend will feature handmade booze which gets the job done just as quickly with the same great taste as a Bud Select or 7 & 7. The music will be produced by those with their hands held high and united singing in the night instead of some mp3 playlist or DJ. They swim not in pools or oceans, but rather in remote caves and waterfalls with healthy minerals covering their bodies to stave off the heat of another spicy, summer day. They play board games with stones in the dirt while watching the sun set behind hundreds of karts formations – the plantations so flat and vast you swear you can see the bend of the planet. And as I walked away from this pensive stranger, I kept thinking about how I could disappear out here, as well…

With Tex all bandaged up, though still a little in shock, we cautiously continued on course. As I started to feel more and more comfortable with my bike, Tex was just entering counseling with his. Soon the roads worsened and became an arid, bumpy terrain with regular occurrences of potholes and rocks and pebbles. We were up against it also, because the day was starting to come to an end and we were nowhere near the destination we had wanted to be at by nightfall. We soon learned that Laos was currently undergoing an enormous damn project for various purposes like potable water and irrigation, and the access roads they were using were going to make up much of what we would be biking through over the next day.

The most treacherous part of that first day was towards the end when, settling in quite comfortably, was an orange dusk, as we climbed a very dangerous dirt road up and down a mountainside.

Typical signs alone the way…

The large dam project through Central Laos - the perfect grazing area for livestock!

At this point we were mentally and physically drained and just wanted a place to sleep. We soon found a guesthouse with the help of a local who spoke fairly good English, and settled into our two-bed, heatless hut in Nakai, Laos. It was surprisingly cold that night, a fact that governed many of our decisions later on, and we were forced to sleep in 4 layers each. Squatting to poop, cold showers, shivering sleep and hand gashes bandaged by long socks aren’t exactly the remedies that keep spirits high…

Day 2: Nakai to Lak Sao (approx. 70km or 43.5mi)

We had had plans to wake up very early and get a huge jump on the day, but hey, shit happens. We were up and eating breakfast at the Friendship Restaurant by 9:30, and I had what were maybe the best scrambled eggs of my life. With an eagerness to bust out a large portion of the trip and renewed feelings of vigilant confidence, we began our search for the Konglor cave, initially the main reason we embarked on “The Loop” in the first place, and one of the most incredible natural wonders in all of Laos.

For me, Day 2 was the most enjoyable and the most arduous. The first portion of our trip was through much of the construction again; however we eventually made it out of those bizarre sites of cows being herded alongside large cranes and bulldozers, and into an area where the villages were somewhat of a frequent site. The roads were usually just as bad as the day before, bordered by intermittent huts, abandoned, sun-burnt rice stalks, and herds of animals minding their own business.

Before noon, we started to get hungry but fought it because we really had an urge to knock out a large part of the day’s journey as quickly as possible. Soon enough, we came to a small hut that seemed to double as a small checkpoint. Behind the hut was a large, neon-sky-blue-colored house where about 100 men were sitting on plastic lawn furniture under a few umbrellas, eating food with their hands, guzzling Beerlao and of course, blasting some wretched music as high as it would go; there went the quick start to our day! I convinced Tex to come, who was not in the mood for any drinking or socializing, and soon enough we parked our bikes in the trust of a young male adult with a horrible case of what looked like herpes around his mouth. I’m tellin’ ya, this was not your garden variety outbreak. This lad had gone down on the wrong vagina and his face screamed: “pick me, peel me.”

We walked towards the pre-noon lunch party to mingle with the locals and were almost instantly given seats, sauce and some food to eat. Drinking before noon is always fun; I don’t drink nearly as much as I used to, but on a road trip through Laos it is difficult to say, “no” - we’re not exactly dealing with 4-way, rush-hour traffic through Suburbia. And so we sat down for some sticky rice and took in the local culture.

The eating choices were fairly simple: bowl of sticky rice, bowl of colorful meat with spices, swigs of communal beer…hey, when in Rome, right? Rome checklist: Sticky lice in hand? Check; hand-dip the sticky lice into a bowl of mystery meat and spices, making sure to scoop up the tastiest herbs with fingernails? Check; receive an invitation to sip liquid out of a clay jar? Check; slug the surprisingly delicious liquor out of clay jar with local? Check; use communal straw after seeing lesion-boy at the entrance? Check.

This experience, along with my strong fear of spiders exuded the night before through many screams, gave adoption to the term “sperpes.” After contracting what I can only believe will be the most complex and intensely existent case of herpes since Mike Vick gave an unsuspecting female the good ‘ole simplex-2 under the alias Ron Mexico, a light buzz gave promise to the day ahead. Needless to say, the mini feast was sufficient and free, and gave us enough cultural fuel to move on.

We eventually found ourselves in a barren area of dirt-filled construction roads that offered the chance to go really, really fast. I had taken the lead at that point and decided to push it a little bit, knowing that no matter how far I went, Tex would catch up once I had stopped to take a break. I made the mistake of not looking back and even hit 70 km/hr. When I finally looked in my rearview, I noticed Tex was nowhere to be seen. I quickly turned around and headed back to find him. When I saw him, his head was leaning down and seemed a little beaten up. He had somehow fallen off of his bike again! He was really shaken at this point, almost even in tears, but there was no way we were heading back at that point…

We finally made it to Lak Sao and found a great hotel that offered a very cheap room-rate for cable television, two huge beds and a hot bath. It was there that we had the pleasure of watching both Independence Day and I Spy (great movies) and having a nice bath, some beer and a good nights’ rest. Besides, we were almost to the caves!

Day 3: Lak Sao to Konglor Cave to Vieng Kham (116km or 72mi)

Throughout the day we took in the sights. Each small village looked very similar to the next: animals grazing every in which way they could and we even stopped by a local high school soccer game that was mildly entertaining. We soon realized that it was getting late and if we wanted to see the caves that day, we would have to hit it hard.

The roads to the cave were horrendous, as it took us over 2 hours to travel 40 kilometers. When we arrived, we caught the last set of boats into the cave because by the time we were to finish, (little did we know) it would be nightfall. The boat we traveled on came with two young local guides both equipped with large flashlights attached around their foreheads. The boat was really a very narrow wooden canoe, with a few horizontal planks for us to sit on. As we entered I had my camera in hand because all I kept hearing about what how amazing this cave was. Little did I know just how dark and untouched it would be, so much so that taking an even halfway decent picture was impossible.

Batman himself would be amazed by how incredible this place is. The cave, which is a portion of the Hin Phou River that worked its way through over 7.5km of solid rock, is a an experience to be had. Because it was the dry season, every 20 minutes or so, we had to get off the boat and just hang out inside the cave with water cascading through our toes while the guides carried the boat over the water. It was dark, cool, reverberated echoes and boasted amazing limestone formations, some of which had fallen from the ceiling and were blocking our path in the river. We had a lot of fun with the reverberation part, citing Hank Hill (from King of the Hill, “Bobby, damnit”), the Rock (“Ifa ya smellllll…”) and even Howard Dean (“and we’re gonna go to…eeeeeeyyyyyaaaaarrrgh!”). The guides thought we were awesome, I know it.

It is difficult to explain why it is so amazing without pictures, suffice to say that every second I was there felt like being inside a wonder of the world that had yet to be completely exploited due to its location. I have seen many caves throughout my travels, but nothing like this.

When the tour was finished, nightfall had blanketed the region leaving us with a tough decision to make. If we wanted to be back in Thakhek by the next morning, we were going to have to do some night riding, which we had planned on in the first place. However, because the condition of the road from the cave back to the main road was so treacherous and unpredictable, we were forced to make the decision to either do a homestay with a local family (a very decent option, though it meant paying a full extra day for the bikes) or take a truck that would carry our bikes back to the main road, and then drive through the night to Vieng Kham, a town about 100km from Thakhek, our ending point. Thus, we sucked up the fee and paid a local family to drive our bikes back to the main road, delighted to give our backs a break.

Once there, we filled up our tanks, put on our jackets, winter caps and gloves, and raised our socks as high as they would go. I plugged in my headphones, chose my “recently played” playlist on my iPod and lead the way through the dark, curvy mountains, 40km to our destination. It’s at moments like that when music, the environment and your thoughts all bottle up into one clear mindset and really give you a perspective unique to anything you have ever felt before. As the playlist cycled through everything from Boys II Men to Daft Punk, I could feel my goosebumps giving birth to more, and realized that this was it – I had reached the pinnacle of my backpacking adventures. There were no buckets being drank on an island, no souvenirs being bought, no tuk tuks being ridden through the dirty streets of some stopover city to pass the time. Rather, I was stark in the middle of the wilderness of Laos with my best friend, winding up and down the pitch-black mountain roads. Alone with my music, my thoughts and no one to listen to but myself and the course of nature – this was freedom.

Day 4: Vieng Kham to Thakhek (approx. 102.6km or 63.75mi)

We had spent the previous night sleeping in the same bed, sperpes and all, and even visited a local bar for a few beers. We awoke the next morning not in the best of moods. We are both passive-aggressive morning people, especially when waking up on the wrong side of bed. We started out at about 7am, stopped for some delicious breakfast soup at a local food shop that was selling these bowls for about 9 cents a pop. Eventually the mix of food, sun, speed and the prospect of arriving at our final destination brought us into a better state of mind.

Looking back, I almost wonder if we had gone temporarily crazy – we sang and sang and sang. At one point, “99 bottles of beer on the wall” became the only thing on my mind. I started thinking about how difficult English numbers were and really focused on my pronunciation, trying to Britishize by numbers by actually saying “thirty” instead of “thurdy.” Sometimes Tex and I would sing in unison and then break apart for 5 minutes, and then ride next to each other again to see if we were on the same number. Another way to pass the time was by chanting “Sabaidee” (pronounced Sah-bah-dee), to just about everyone we passed within earshot. “Saibadee,” means “hello” in Laos, and is really catchy. Try it with me now, and draw it out as though you are beginning to plead for a discount: “Sabaideeeeeeee!” This ridiculous behavior went on for a few hours until we saw a sign that read: “Thakhek, 1 km.”

We had absolutely eaten up the distance, driving above 60km/hr the entire final morning. We parked our bikes, had a hug and ordered some food. We gave Mr. Ku back his bikes, sat down for an internet session, played some Gamecube and even caught the end of a great playoff victory for the Jaguars over the Steelers, live. This reward of entertainment and relaxation at our fingertips was much welcomed.

With our stomachs full, our spirits high and mighty, and our bags packed, we headed to Vientiane, the capital of Laos, ready for another adventure. However, I am positive I will never have an experience like that again.

Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments »

Tyson’s Mao Tattoo!

December 17th, 2007

Mao Zedong, the former Chairman of the Chinese people through their Cultural Revolution, is a name and face I have become quite familiar with. A year in China sifting through the RMB (with Mao’s face on each denomination), numerous conversations with students about the wonderful misgivings they have come to embrace about his reign, along with chowing on Mao’s favorite pork dish at dinners in Mao’s hometown-only-food restaurants have brought me the sort of closeness that I can only hope for with other communist leaders.

Mike Tyson, the former and infamous WBA Heavyweight champion of the world, is also a name and face I will never forget. A convicted rapist, quote machine (to this day, I think only “W” can match the candor and idiocy with which he speaks) and relatively interesting has-been (see: Britney Spears) dons a tattoo on his right biceps muscle of Mr. Mao himself.

In 2006, Tyson took a trip to Beijing and payed homage at Mao’s mausoleum in Tian’anmen Square. Tyson arrived in a Benz wearing a Shaq shirt, and stood before Mao’s body to pay his respects. Tyson, who has read the Selected Quotations of Chairman Mao, has also been quoted by saying that “Chairman Mao was a great, strong man.”

An odd connection, yes, but somehow, it works.

Posted in Uncategorized, China, Ballin', Shot Callin', Pop cult | 2 Comments »

The Mitchell Report: Links and Initial Thoughts on its Impact

December 14th, 2007

Before we even get started discussing what I believe will become the most influential scandal in the history of baseball, the NY Times has created an incredibly informative and interactive tool to get people “in-the-know” about the Mitchell Report. (Shout out to my sis for the link)

Check it out!

This is so much larger than any gambling problem baseball has ever experienced. I would even say that it could have just as much an impact on the game, relatively speaking, as the breaking down of the color barrier. Thoughts?

A link that is sure to get a few clicks is an eBay item which features a baseball card set with the 86 players who were cited in the Mitchell Report! Sick, but great…no fucking mercy! (Shout out to E-Mar for the link) Now you too (!) can own 86 cards from the world’s foremost steroid users and idoits!

Steroid baseball card set!

What makes me angriest about this isn’t the fact that the players involved were hiding their steroid use. I am positive (get it?) that there are so, so, so, so many more current and former baseball players who are breathing a sigh of relief (until the next witch-hunt, that is). That doesn’t make me nearly as angry as I am about the fact that the game’s history will likely become so tainted: Bond’s homers; almost every pitch that arguably the best pitcher of my lifetime has thrown will now be scrutinized; Mo Vaughn, well, hey, it’s Mo Vaughn - he is, and always will be the man. Talk about a man that loves the booze and the ladies!

This will undoubtedly bring more attention to the game (which is in desperate need of PR, good or bad due to its thrifty fall from grace in minds of American-sport popularity ), but it will be that which makes people talk about the game in jest, as though it is and has been played for years by men who were and are now frauds. How long will it take before the public forgets these allegations and looks at the games’ athletes for being, well, real athletes? This will be the most talked about story for a long, long time. Between Vick and this, American sports have a long and (could be quite) boring road ahead before they put in place a system that protects itself from, uh, itself.

Posted in American-dom | 2 Comments »

Upcoming worldbeatings…

December 14th, 2007

Tomorrow, December 16th, Jonny Blueberries will begin the next stage of his life and travels. I really feel at ease about this, though I honestly don’t know much of what I will do next. This has brought me some serious contentment in my life, knowing that the world is at my feet, and the Western pressures to “produce” seems in the past. I am truly following my heart and have faith that it will lead me to continued happiness and adventure!

The plan is to travel with some friends to Hong Kong, grab visas for Vietnam, and slip down into southeastern Asia. From there, we plan to visit Laos and possibly make a few side trips in Cambodia and/or Thailand. Then, we plan to head up north from Laos into southern China and visit the wonderful area of Yunnan, China. Perhaps we will visit the Sichuan province, as well, and eat some of the world’s spiciest food!

It promises to be an exciting adventure, filled with one-of-a-kind sites, people and culture. Heck, I might even get laid! Wouldn’t that be a hoot…

You only get one chance at life (as cliche’ and self-righteous as that sounds) and I am committed to making the best of it!

For 3….YES!

Posted in Asia, Spreading Love, Worldbeating | No Comments »

Happy Endings…the “ABC Massage” way

December 13th, 2007

Ever wonder what it’s like to get a “happy ending?”

Well folks, you’ve cum to the right place, and Jonny Blueberries, who has been living in China for over a year, the birthplace (?) of the happy ending, is going to walk you through his experiences at the local massage parlor, aptly named, “ABC Massage.”

Yes, that’s right - ABC Massage.

To be completely honest, I had never received a massage with a happy ending before coming to China. The closest I ever came was fighting off an embarrassing boner while receiving a full-body massage from a masseuse my grandmother had hired. Massages have just never really suited me because they can be very uncomfortable, especially for those who are intensely ticklish, like Jonny Blues. However, my perspective on massages drastically changed upon coming to Asia, and in particular, the corner of Guxi and Tonghu Road in Fuzhou, China at where ABC Massage stays open, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year.

[Note: Massage, spa treatments and brothels (however classy or not) are very common on the streets of Fuzhou and hence, it is a part of the Chinese culture. Massage is even a very popular trade amongst blind people who often give some of the best therapeutic massages, and I can attest that. And no, I do not get rubbed-out by a blind person, that’s just wrong.]

Upon entering ABC Massage, there is a desk to your left where you exchange your shoes for more comfortable sandals, a sitting area on your right where you can crank away at some smokes and drink tea, and directly in front of you lies the table at which you specify which service you would like and select the girl you want. At the service desk, they have a small board on the wall that has numbered magnets which sit on three different levels, based upon which service you order. The numbers represent the women, and the levels go as such:

Level 1: 30 RMB (~$4); Straight-up massage, which could include them walking on your back; not bad!

Level 2: 100 RMB (~$13); Oil massage with a happy ending; well…great!

Level 3: 300 RMB (~$40); Bangin’ out; wouldn’t know.

The first time I went to ABC Massage was with my friends, Fast Jimmy and Tex. It was still my first week in China (and I didn’t know much Chinese at all) so we all went for the regular Level 1 massage and each received our massages in beds next to one another in the same open room. I can remember that there had been no way in which I was going to change into the linen garments they supplied because poppin’ wood was not something I wanted to do with my new friends around, so I stuck with the jeans. Somehow, Tex, in all his glory, got it done with only the linens on.

The significance of this first visit was that it was the first time I met #31. When I asked what her name was (with the help of Fast Jimmy’s Chinese), she replied, “San Yao.” And so for weeks, as I paraded around Fuzhou under the impression that I was the man for getting this girl’s name, in reality, she had only given me her employee number - ouch! Regardless, it was enough to bring me back for more…

On my second helping of ABC Massage I had had only one thing on my mind: get the happy ending. I don’t necessarily remember what I said to request the service, but I think I simply did a lot of nodding - and though I thought I knew what was going on, I think I had felt better because I wasn’t exactly sure, so if anyone ever asked me in the future I could just say that it was a completely innocent misunderstanding, and that by the time it was happening, it was too late to stop! (Oh, the internal moral checkpoints we humans make for ourselves…)

And so here is how it went down and goes down:

Once the service has been agreed upon, you are given the option to put your belongings in a locker room where you can also take a shower. I elect to do neither as I feel the best place to keep my possessions is in my pocket, and I am usually pretty clean to begin with, so a shower is unnecessary. After the shower you can also put on the linens.

You are then brought up a staircase by a manager who smiles at you because you are a foreigner and its as though he knows something you don’t. You are shown to a room which has a couch, massage table, nightstand and television. It’s dark, reddish and well, a little dirty; typical. The couch has a rather grimy-looking white covering on it, and the place where you can sit on is as long as a proper bed. So you can imagine what goes on there.

After a few minutes, a (usually) beautiful female Chinese employee comes to your room to begin preparations. Because you are a foreigner, they usually show either excitement because they get to see some proper, white rod-piece or they give you a nervous smile (both suit me just fine). She will then cover the small window on the door with a piece of cloth so that nobody can look in. Since I know what I like, I usually keep my clothes on until she comes into the room. That way, when she offers me the linens, I can change in front of her and give her a preview of what is to come. This is really great and is a highlight of the experience (yes, I know what you are thinking: pervert!), but hey, we’ve all got our vices; for some it’s smoking, for me, it’s giving a show to an unsuspecting masseuse! [Note: After a going a few times, per their request I didn’t even put on the linens because it just seemed like a waste of time. Ah, the joys of being a regular at ABC Massage!]

First, you lay on your stomach with your shirt off and shorts still on, and they will give your back an oil massage which usually is pretty mediocre. I can imagine that this is because men clearly go there to get the happy endings (which is true) so the part where a real massage comes into play isn’t really all that important. So, when it turns out to be pretty good, it’s a bonus. After about seven minutes of backrubbing, the shorts come off while you stay on your stomach. This where it starts to get interesting…

They then take the bottle of oil and get generous with it, spreading it all over your legs and ass. Sometimes they will just unload a huge spritz of baby oil right onto your butt-crack and let it slide into yet-to-be explored regions which is always fun and helpful for those types of excavations. They will then softly massage your tush (which feels great), and thus the game begins to figure out what you like and are comfortable with, and what they like doing to you and are comfortable with. Sometimes I am in the mood for some exploration, sometimes not. Either way, it’s a fun ride that only gets better from there on.

#31 has this move where she squats on her shins on the table behind you while you are on your stomach and put your shins on her thighs (draw it if you need to). It’s like being in the spread eagle position on your stomach, with your legs slightly elevated. This way, she can milk your rod-piece from behind, massage your tush, and play with your “nugget briefcase” all at the same time - It’s really great. Really, really nice, good stuff here. She can get into this area where your inner thighs and grundel (a friend of mine at Uni used to call it your “nifkin”) meet, and it is just sweet.

At this point, you are really to blast off, and it’s as if they can feel it coming (cause they can, literally), and you are promptly put onto your back. Each girl seems to have a different method for getting the job done. Some hold off and give you a chest massage (pointless, I know), some play with your nipples, some massage your arms, and some just go for the gold. Sometimes when I am drunk I will vocalize directions on what to do and when, but usually, I just buckle-up and go.

The Chinese call a hand-job a “da fei ji.” In this instance, “da” means “play or shoot,” and “fei ji” means “plane.” And let me tell ya, these woman are pretty good at shooting down planes. In fact, I think that the “hand job” is an underrated act of passion in any instance. I know friends who swear that they despise getting one from a partner, and that they can’t even come from it. That is straight up poppycock! Bring it on I say…

Once you have finished, it isn’t awkward at all. They will do their best to clean you up and soon return with scorching-hot towels to clean every crevice and curve of your body. Usually, I would share a cigarette with them and sneak in a quick Chinese lesson before heading to a local noodle shop to reflect on another desperate yet thoroughly enjoyable attempt at intimacy.

And so, if you are ever in Fuzhou, please give the wonderful establishment of ABC Massage a visit! And if you happen to get #31, make sure she has washed her hands - and #27, 30, 15, and 9 for that matter!

Posted in Uncategorized, sex, sex, sex!, China, Fuzhou | 7 Comments »

Kate Hudson Condoms!

December 11th, 2007

Something that you can count on when visiting foreign countries with a love for English and Western culture (i.e. China) is their misuse of, well, the English language and/or Western images. Here, Kate Hudson is the victim of having her head “photoshopped” onto a robust body, and instantly becoming the Western face of a hologram condom box found in many convenience stores throughout Fuzhou, China!

Posted in Uncategorized, sex, sex, sex!, China, American-dom, Asia, Fuzhou, Pop cult | 1 Comment »

A Trip of a Lifetime: Beijing, Fuzhou, Bangkok, Cambodia, Kuala Lumpur

November 12th, 2007

Beijing:

The first of many trips-of-a-lifetimes started in Beijing. I was to meet my friend, Wanda, who was flying to China from New York City, in Beijing. It was great to see her because she was only the second friend I had seen since I had left the U.S. (the other was my buddy, Suren, in Hong Kong while getting my work visa). The best part about being in Beijing was, by far, our trip to the Great Wall. We went to a very unkempt, almost 700-year-old section of the Wall called Simatai. On the way to the Wall we were packed into a small minivan with travelers who were very similar in age and seemed just as ask curious and liberal-minded about experiencing culture as we were. The climb to Simatai was pretty difficult, as Wanda, who had just run a marathon, was even struggling. The most incredible part of the Wall is the scenery—not that you needed anyone to tell you that—and cracking a dollar beer with friends at the top of a ruined, historically battle-tested watchtower, atop a section of a 2000 year old wall, is quite a moment to be had.

Atop the Great Wall…
the ‘Cuse shirts were her idea, and I happily obliged!

We also visited the Summer Palace and Forbidden City—both “musts” on a trip to Beijing. The Forbidden City, and all of its history, was more of a half-assed museum with lots of open space for its visitors to see the current renovation efforts. Home to centuries of Chinese emperors, Wanda and I searched long and hard for a place that used to be living quarters to former Emperors’ concubines, and really, we just wanted to see it because it seemed like the only smidgen of interest in a rather boring place. Nevertheless, we couldn’t find it, decided to leave. There are only two things I can recommend about it, though I am not sure it would sway you one way or another. The first is the huge-ass portrait Mao outside the front entrance, which I was forbidden to take a picture of by a guard. Rather ironic, because his face is on every bill of money in the country, and it is placed for all to see at the entrance of one of the world’s most frequented tourist attractions. Oh, well. The second was the Starbucks in a popular corner of the City. That’s gone now, along with their rising stock price! So it goes without saying, that I do not suggest paying the expensive entrance fee.

The Summer Palace, the summer home, and I am sure rendezvous point for former Chinese emperors, was very beautiful, and is worth the visit. Apart from the massive hangover I was battling all day, its scenery, unique foliage and terrain, and ice cream stands at every corner make it a enjoyable trip during which you can slowly amble along the banks of the lake, paths leading to various buildings and temples, and really feel as though you are in a dreamy park with a backyard feel to it, all while mowing on some red-bean ice cream.

(Note: If you are looking for a hostel to stay at in Beijing, sleep at the Beijing Jade International Youth Hostel. It’s clean, the staff is helpful and up all night, the food is very good, it’s modern, and feels just like a hotel. They have a bar with cheap eats and beer, a few large flat-screen televisions, and it was just an all-around good experience. They will also organize your Great Wall trip, along with many others that you may wish to embark on. It is located right next to the Forbidden City/Tian’anmen Square.)

Fuzhou (Fujian Province, China):

Wanda and I then flew to Fuzhou, where we spent a few days exploring its streets, marinating and watching Season 1 of Six Feet Under, all while drinking some of the shittiest beer ever created. [Since then, I have finished Six Feet Under and I must say that it is probably the most severely intense television show I have ever experienced. It contains some seriously difficult themes to digest, addicting characters, and always takes it to the limit: a veryveryveryclose #2 to The Sopranos.]

Tony, Sil and Chris - you are missed already!

Not only does most of the beer in China contain below 2.8% alcohol, but it tastes like stale, distilled carbon-water with an aftertaste that resembles the smell of urine and cinnamon. I have gotten used to it, as palates will do [feed me peppered crayons and goobers for a year, and I am sure I’d get used to it]. I have heard many reasons as to why Chinese beer is such shit: People have told me that the Chinese are physically very small people, so therefore it is easier for them to get drunk, hence, why the alcohol percentage is so small. I say, why not just bring in the good stuff and get hammered? I have also heard the Chinese say that beer makes their cheeks red, and that is a no-no. Guess I’ll never fit in here…as a former student of mine, Betty (Yu Can-pronounced “You-Tan”), once said, “I like your cheeks, they’re red!”

“I like your cheeks, they’re red!”

The morning Wanda left, that same night, my friend, Eckie, flew into Fuzhou from New York, as well. Eckie and I have been friends since our days at Syracuse University, and we owe a lot of bad decisions to each of our abilities to bring the extremes out of the other. That and we are both perverts with a love for the sauce and both had 4 years of delusions at the same fraternity. Eckie and I spent a few days in Fuzhou, and then headed off to Thailand, the last place where two people like us should go alive. However, before we left China, we drank;

The night before we were to leave to a nearby city to catch a flight to Bangkok, we decided to get loaded. After leaving the bar, we ended up getting a nice massage, accompanied by an ending you see coming [get it? I will soon write more about the famous “happy ending,” and it will be my pleasure to share my desperate attempts at intimacy in China with you…]. In leaving “ABC Massage” (no joke, here), we walked down the street looking for a restaurant to throw back some food and beer. And just when we thought there was no hope, we suddenly spotted a light coming from a back room of a restaurant and we walked in, hoping for service. What we walked into looked like an after party of a high school prom (just without the dress clothes) where teenagers were throwing back shots of beer, while eating snake cooked 10 different ways. Snake, for the record, is surprisingly delicious, and Eckie and I ravaged whatever food was left while the paying patrons stared at us for looking so foreign; especially Eckie—that kid is about as interesting looking as they come. He has the look of a homeless runway model who “doesn’t run in dress shoes,” drinks pickle juice and the mild sauces at Taco Bell, and makes his gambling decisions based on the fact that he would have the chance to root for teams called, “The ‘Stons,” “The ‘Boys,” or the “The Lake Show.”

Eckie (below), going from a “shady gigolo” to “Hitler!”

Thailand:

The next morning, we scrambled to collect our belongings, pack, and catch a bus to Xiamen, a city 4-hours-drive south of Fuzhou, in order to board a plane heading to Bangkok, Thailand. When all was said and done, we arrived in Thailand, stocked with Panda Cigarettes. [I have since quit smoking, going on almost 3 months now. Panda cigs, by the way, are lored to have been smoked by Mao himself, along with other important Party members. They are de-friggin-licious and I miss them, as well as a proper P-Funk, like crazy!] And so, Eckie and I began our trip in Thailand, with a hunger for lewd, spiritual, random adventure. We originally had had plans to go to Bangkok, and then head up north to possibly check out Chang Mai, or head to the islands and hit up a half- or full-moon party. Well, we never made it out of Bangkok, and though I can’t tell you exactly why, I will let you know that much of the trip involved eating and temptation. This is to, or not to say, that neither of us engaged in any lewd behavior, but we did look, a lot. The first time I was in Bangkok, I had gone with a bunch of my friends to the two (in)famous stripping/sex districts of Bangkok, “Soy Cowboy” and “Nana Plaza,” and saw it all. In one particular club, (I believe it was called) “Playskool,” the women were men, the men were women, and all, were mysteriously and undoubtedly attractive. Needless to say that it became increasingly difficult to distinguish between the two. At one point, I witnessed the boss of the place (picture an albino Warren Sapp wearing stubble and a moo-moo) kissing my buddy Jimmy on the lips [note: he did not object] while I was fending off a ladyboy who was enjoying her time by attempting to shove a Barbie doll through my jeans and into my ass.

Petting an elephant while in one of the most infamous hooker districts in the world. Hey, at least this beautiful beast gets to stare at some hot Thai tail all day!

During my first trip to Bangkok, I had befriended a local girl named and stayed in touch in between my two trips to Bangkok. Upon my return, I contacted her, and Eckie and I met her, and her friend, at pool bar in which they both worked at for lunch, where they fed us not-on-the-house shots of whiskey and rum-and-cokes for a few hours. That night, we met them out at a GREAT backpacker/hookah/live-music/dancing bar called, Gazebo, and hit the sauce. However, as the night rolled on, we were told by our beautiful female friends that they had to go home, because they must work in the morning and wanted to get some sleep. We pleaded that they stay out, because we were both hoping to get some ass, to which they obliged (staying out that is). However, there was a curveball, as they mentioned, we must pay “barter” for their time. In Bangkok, many, many women/men work as prostitutes, as I am sure you are well aware of. Moreover, even those that aren’t must utilize their precious time and turn it into money. Let’s call it “culture.” Their explanation went something like this: “If you want us to stay out late, then we won’t be able to go to work tomorrow, and so, you must pay a “barter” for our time, so that we can pay our boss the next day for our absence.” Ok, made sense, sort of. Except these girls weren’t prostitutes; they were simply friendly locals who were making an honest living surrounded by those making a different type of honest living. So needless to say, we were paying 1000 Thai Baht (about $32) for their time, not sex.

This is a rather unfortunate part of the culture of Thailand, and in particular, Bangkok. The entire city is drenched in the sex industry. I am personally not opposed to this. I believe that every person has the right to do what they want with their body, and that includes using it through sex to make a living. I won’t get into specifics, but your body is the one thing you own, no matter what you are told and, well, do with it what you will. Ironically, Thai people in general are a very conservative people; most don’t even swim without being fully clothed! And yet it is very unfortunate, that when I tried to go back to our hostel to chill, they demanded that I pay a fee to bring locals into the place. Thus, making me feel like a scumbag, her like a whore, and further exploiting the sex culture that streams through the city. She is a friend, and not a prostitute, and it must be humiliating to constantly be viewed as a prostitute. I understand that these sorts of things are the realities of living and working in a city like Bangkok, but some don’t have the means to know any better, or if they do, to get out, and I now know this first-hand.

Eckie and Jonny Blueberries with our Thai friends!

I am a firm believer that when traveling, you must go about each day as you would any other, with a willingness to explore new options, places, people. In other words, follow your curiosity and heart, and do as you want, and not what others impose. Something that I love to do, wherever I am, is attend sporting events. Seeing that there isn’t a Fenway Park in Bangkok, the closest thing we could find to a big-time sporting event was Muay Thai boxing, the most popular spectator sport in Thailand. Muay Thai boxing often represents an individual’s chance to make it from the countryside to the big city, perform under the lights and make some cash. Muay Thai boxing involves two, (usually) rather young men (around 13-18 or so years old) boxing and kicking and kneeing one another in a ring similar to that of a boxing ring. Before each match, the fighters perform a ceremonial dance called the “Wai Kru,” in order to pay their respects to their teacher and the sport, I presume. During all of this, including the matches, there is a funky band of people playing all sorts of odd instruments that together make up the rhythmic twang, the undertone of music, which runs through the open-air stadium all night.

Eckie and I decided to purchase front-row seats for the action at the Lumpinee Boxing Stadium (Rama IV Road, Bangkok, Thailand). The kicker for buying these “premier seats,” besides the obvious draw of anything “front-row,” was the fact that the brochure used to advertise the place boasted pictures of three famous past-attendees: Nick Cage, Steven Seagal and Jean-Claude Van Damme. Yes, three of the world’s biggest perverts/studs/awesome/worst actors/cradle-robbers had been there before, and this was enough to warrant the $20 price tag for us. Nick Cage alone would have been enough because he is, well, the man (have you seen “Face Off”?), but throw in Mr. Under Siege himself, as well as a man who is reputed to proposition every woman within a few meters of him (and also boasts a great cameo on “Friends”) and you have yourself a deal! These guys are the epitome of the American ass-kicking celebrity, and it would have been a shame had we not shared butt prints with these fine gentlemen.

(Clockwise): Seagal, Van Damme & Cage - need I say more?

As we were showed to our seats, we realized that we had to settle for the 2nd row because they had oversold the front row seats and complaining had only made us look like assholes. As most boxing matches go, the lower-profile fighters/matches appear first, and we were treated to a what looked like two very well-trained 11-year-olds sparring for the hand of the babe who sits in the back of class with pigtails. Match after match the monotony started to pour in, and we decided to pass the time by gambling a beer on each match (which of course was a great idea; more so because I ended up in the money). After making a scene by knocking over an ashtray in the smoking section, we settled in for the final match, smiles aplenty. This was to be our last stop before a crazy night out on the town, before we headed to Cambodia!

Cambodia:

Though I have only been to one city in Cambodia (Siem Reap), it will always hold a special place in my traveling heart. As Jonny Blueberries, Eckie and Tex (he met us in Bangkok) headed on to Siem Reap, we had had no plans except visiting Angkor Wat, an amazing site, especially at sunrise. Angkor Wat, outside the ex-pat circles of Asia, is a little known place, in (comparatively) an infrequently traveled country in the middle of Southeast Asia. Built over the span of four centuries, ruled by Kings and leaders of many religious heritages, Angkor Wat is much more than the main temple that most have seen pictures of. In fact, the Angkor Wat area is where much of Tomb Raider was filmed, and there is evidence of Angelina Jolie presence in a bar/restaurant called the Red Piano on “Pub Street” in downtown Siem Reap. In fact, it has been suggested that her experiences demining fields in Siem Reap while shooting Tomb Raider is the reason why she started to become an activist/philanthropist in the first place.

Jolie, at her best…in Cambodia, no less!

Angkor Wat at dawn…

The moment I stepped off the rickety plane, Siem Reap had a good feel to it. Almost instantly, as we stepped out of the airport with our passports donning brand new visas which had been issued upon arrival for a small fee (~$25), we were approached by a soft-spoken man who asked to be our driver during our stay in Siem Reap. His name was “Chea,” and it seemed that even though his hands had been deformed from birth, he was a man who knew what we would want to do, even if it meant being our alarm clock. Chea would be the most important person we knew on that trip, as he brought us to cock fights, pointed out the ladyboys to stay away from and also woke us up at 5 am in order to visit Angkor Wat at sunrise, its most-viewed moment. Angkor Wat is really a nice place to be. It’s calm, interesting, almost completely scalable and much of it remains covered by jungle. I hear the French government has commissioned renovations over the next few years on it (though I could be mistaken), and you can see that the town has really rallied around its most prized “possession.” There, empty 5-star resorts await the moments when Angkor Wat will become a larger tourist destination; it’ll have to wait at least a few more years, because the only way to get there it to fly, which is doable, but those wanting to travel by car or bus will have to endure a very arduous, bumpy ride, lasting almost 11 hours from Bangkok. Ask my 6’4’’ buddy, Hurt – I’m sure he won’t be doing that again.

Surprisingly, the main currency in Siem Reap is the U.S. Dollar. Though all places accept the Cambodian currency (the Khmer Reil; pronounced “ray-al”), they are clearly trying to jump on the U.S. dollar—smart, though not recently! Quick anecdote: When we arrived, my buddy Eckie wanted to change $2500 to Riel. The people at the exchange desk laughed at him, and said something politely along the lines of, “how about $250?” But he didn’t want anything less; he wanted to ball and eventually received 9,939,375 reil. And so, within 20 minutes of landing in Siem Reap, he was almost instantly a Cambodian millionaire.

When we weren’t trekking through the blistering heat around the Angkor Wat temples, much of our time was spent in a wonderful Mexican restaurant [note: when you’ve gone over 6 months on a diet of msg, rice and oil, I was entitled to gorge on non-local food when a fajita rears its beautiful mug!]. We also had the chance to meet the owner of a small, but very homey bubble tea shop where we played Jenga with some local kids who knew more English than most children their age by consistently speaking with the fleeting cast of foreigners—never underestimate a kid’s power to learn!

My fat fingers (nicknamed numerous times as “hairy sticks of butter”) posed no threat to these local children, though I was still able to talk shit.

By far, the most incredible place I have ever experienced in Asia thus far happened during a boat tour of a “floating village” on the Tonle Sap River. Chea, our driver, drove us to the bank of what seemed like a wide, murky stream, and we boarded a covered wooden boat and set off in the blistering sun. What was to come was an amazing array of floating huts, school and offices; children all around us bathed and played naked in the smoothly-colored brown water, catching their lunch or just washing their clothes as we drove by witnessing their daily rituals. At one point, we passed a three-story, floating school with a basketball court on the ground level. We docked, got out, and played some basketball with local kids on a river in rural Cambodia. Hurt will tell you that he whooped me, but hey, even Paul Pierce has bad days at the office!

As we continued on, I took some of the best pictures of my life. The scenery was majestic, as it was as clear a day as you will ever see.

As in most third-world countries, or any country for that matter, you will see or experience occurrences that you must work through. The source of income for this village is the visiting tourists, so there is a floating shop as you reach Tonle Lake where the three of us got off our boat to explore the goods they were selling. On this particular raft, there was also crocodile farm, where we fed some nasty looking crocs some fish grub and enjoyed being where we were even more. However, the locals use their children as salespeople to sell food, as they shoved their way through the water to reach where we were, begging over and again for money. Unfortunately, the only food they had to sell were old, sun-burnt bananas. It was really heartbreaking to witness the lengths these people went for only 1 dollar on their small, packed rafts, as I presume we represented maybe half of the visitors that came by on that particular day. Yet, this is the harsh reality that you face when traveling: some people are forced to live their lives a certain way and are never given the chance to know any more than the surroundings they were born into. I have been engaged in countless arguments with people who might say that “this is all they know, so let them be,” but I refuse to believe that spending a lifetime peddling rotten bananas to foreigners is the best way to live a life; these people did not look happy. This instance was one time where I didn’t think it was a matter of a “western” train-of-thought trying to affect and influence an untouched region. These people need an education, money and an outlet for the talents that lie at the core of their hearts that will forever stay dormant unless given the proper mediums through which to be exercised. So please, visit Siem Reap, Angkor Wat, Tongle Lake and the wonderful people of Cambodia…

…And while you are there, give our driver, Chea, a call (his cell phone # is: 012604452, really!) and go see a cock fight! We mentioned this idea to him in passing, and before we knew it, we were on a dusty road, heading towards one of the local cock-fighting “stadiums.” When we arrived, the preparations were being made for an upcoming bout. It was a little awkward being there, as this was clearly a local get-together, but we did our best to fit in with the crowd and observe the calculated and apparently ritualistic measures that were being taken to ensure the best performance by each owner’s cock: Feet were being taped, mouths were being fed [with what I can only imagine was Cambodia’s best rice], pep talks were being given, thirsts were being quenched [with what I imagine was either Perrier or Evian]—but, sadly, there was no entrance music. I knew this guy in college who always played White Zombie’s “More Human Than Human” before he started playing NHL 2003, and I always thought that was the coolest thing ever. If my life ever necessitates the use of entrance music, and boy do I hope it comes to that, here are my top three choices:

1) “Robot Rock” – Daft Punk

2) “Stop Being Greedy” - DMX