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 served 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 really enjoyed their company, to which they obliged (staying out that is). However, there was a curveball, as they mentioned that we must pay “barter” for their time. In Bangkok, many, many women/men work as prostitutes, as I am sure you may be 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!?
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 the profession, but I do believe that the industry has serious issues and the ramifications are not worth the $. 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 we tried to go back to our hostel to hang out, they demanded that I pay a fee to bring locals into the place. Thus, making me feel like a scumbag, her like a prostitute, 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.
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
3) “What up Gangsta?” – 50 Cent
(Please note that I have over 7,000 songs on my iTunes, so I promise, these lists will be a recurring and constantly updated theme)
The fight took place in a concrete/clay circular ring and local elite sat in the front row, crankin’ smokes, intent on watching their most recent investment as closely as possible. When the birds were unleashed, they spent the first few minutes feeling each other out – a claw to the eye here, and blind-sided wing drop there – and eventually, there were going at it…the cocks were out for blood. A cock fight, according to my experiences, is not all it’s cracked up to be. Basically, these tasty beings jump-claw and side-swipe each other until (I think) one dies. We didn’t stay there long enough to see the final result, as it just became, well, boring. However, (of course) go see it – it’s a freakin’ cock fight for crying out loud! This is Cambodia, not Ron Mexico’s secret obsession.
Siem Reap was also the place in which I celebrated a birthday, and we made it one to remember. Here is how it went down:
We headed out for a night of dinner and drinks which started at a wonderful Khmer (Cambodian food) restaurant, where we had some good eats and a birthday cake!
After dinner, we hit up “Pub Street” (no joke!) and hit the sauce; I mean, hey, a quarter century calls for celebrations and delusions. We spent most of our time in this one bar which reminded me of Maggies at SU in the sense that people just got blitzed, it wasn’t much for looks and you could sort of get away with anything. That, and years of drunks from all over the world being able to write all over the walls without consequence made for some fun reading and surroundings.
Tex won’t admit it, but he’s a cheap date and passed out on the bar before long. Below was the last picture taken of him before his impromptu nap.
It was clearly time to take Tex home, so what is a good friend to do? That’s right, we bought him another shot and headed to our hostel. At this point, it didn’t matter what we fed him, so Eck and Blueberries decided to play the oldest trick in the book in which we buy three shots, fill one with Bacardi 151 and the other two with water, and cheers! Tex did the 151, we the water.
As soon as we stepped outside, it was a tough go for Tex. Wanting to document his journey, I reached for his camera and was instantly puked on. And it just kept on coming…easy-flowing streams of colorful booze and ketchup found it’s way onto my sandals and shirt. Nothing touched Eck, of course, but it soaked birthday boy Blueberries.
We dropped our wounded soldier off at the hostel and decided that it was time to take a ride around the town looking for another party, to be idiots and check out some of the local brothels (easy there, not for sex for crying out loud!). Our first stop was a very dark, deep park, as our driver, under the impression that we were gay, took us to the stomping grounds of Siem Reap’s most sought after prostitutes. Our tuk-tuk was soon approached by what looked like a 14-year-old young adult (we’ll call him “Bubbles”) and his running mate, a ladyboy with wonderful earrings (we’ll call “her,” “Laquisha”). After our driver got off his bike and discussed some business matters at hand, we were properly introduced:
Driver: “OK, here is boy!”
Blueberries: “How do you do?”
Eck: “Dude, he is red-hot…”
Blueberries: “I’m drunk, is the other one a girl?”
Driver: “You want boy? Muy gay! (insert hearty laugh) Muy gay! You like?”
Eck: “Bro - let’s go…um, driver, I am sorry about my friend, but we’re actually not gay.”
Blueberries: “Yes, we are…(cock grab…thigh touch)…”
Eck: “OK, we are. Do you know where we can get one of these?” (plays the equivalent of the air guitar, but instead of a guitar, insert a rod piece)
Driver: “Oh, you mean THIS?” (plays the worlds largest air guitar, laughs and steps on the gas.)
…and onto the next…who knows?!
At the next place, we actually felt unsafe. Outside were neatly-parked motorbikes with their owners still on them, rippin’ cigs while taking a gander at two drunk Americans looking for a better time than the paradise they were already drenched in. As we parked the tuk-tuk, we looked across the street and saw a long hallway with a pinkish/red light bulb and a woman sitting on a plastic lawn chair guarding the entrance to the love palace. This was clearly the place of horrible decisions and transfers we were not willing to make, and we agreed it was time to stock up with some beer and watch HBO back in our room. Clearly, an enjoyable rub-and-tug was not in the cards on this night.
As I walked into my hostel room, I instantly realized that something wasn’t right because of the puddle of thousand island dressing-looking smoothie on the floor. Tex had been let loose too early, and it was Jonny Blueberries that had paid the price. We found him lying naked in the bathtub, unit in one hand, the other on his forehead. He had puked all over the bathroom, including my toothbrush, and then proceeded to puke on my bed, and my bed only! When we dragged him out of the tub, his words were: “Not to worry…” He flipped by bed, and, well, whadyagonnado? Goodnight!
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia:
After Tex left us to head back home to China, Eck and I decided to fly to Kuala Lumpur. We had 3 days before we needed to be in Hong Kong for our flight to head back to NYC, and Malaysia became our best bet based on price, and we went in blind, not knowing what to expect.
During our first night, we decided to head out on the town and get a feel for what the city was all about. As we sat at an outdoor restaurant eating shawarma and puffing on a large grape-flavored hookah, we observed a diverse and relatively quiet city: though Kuala Lumpur is a predominantly Islamic city (most women wear a jilbaab which covers all skin apart from their eyes and bars are not heavily advertised around the city), there was a rich amount of foreigners and backpackers alike who took in the sights.
Probably the most popular attraction in Kuala Lumpur is the Petronas twin-towers. Eck and I ventured in (though we didn’t pay the fee to go to the top) and settled on taking a few pics outside. I mean, when you’ve been living in between middle-class China eating Pig stomach and watching cock fights in Cambodia, skyscrapers were maybe the last thing I wanted to see. And so, we headed to the zoo…!
On the way to the zoo, we embarked upon what turned out to be a great swindle by a taxi driver with an A+ personality. I mean this guy summed us up in one look and just played to us in order to take our eyes off of the growing fees. Jonny Blueberries is a traveling vet (and a somewhat cocky one at that), so getting ripped off is something he should have been able to spot a mile away. This guy hexed us from the get-go. His car was tricked-out with all of the local disco music, which played perfectly as the backdrop to his stories of the beautiful women he had lined up for us and also his empathetic stories of underprivileged family members–the scam was on! This man had absolutely the most agreeable and intoxicating laugh; imagine the classic “hyuk” combined with an horny Indian accent, repeated over and over again at high decibels. His laugh carried us into heavy traffic, unwarranted “do you want to go here?” stops, and eventually, the zoo. The zoo was, well, a zoo. The best part about it was that there weren’t many people there, and Eck and I soon realized that we were on a date as we stared at giraffes who were eating shrubs. It was time to move on…
The next day, we decided to do something more “cultural,” and visit the Batu Caves (which turned out to be Eck’s favorite part of KL). These limestone caves are a sacred place for Hindu’s in Malaysia and all over the world. Blanketed by monkeys at every step, the caves represent a once-a-year celebration called the “Thaipusam Fesitval,” where almost 1 million devotees visit the caves to become “one” by exhibiting a significant “burden” which usually pierces the skin, cheeks or tongue in order to live in-favor of their Gods. The festival takes place during the tenth month of the Hindu Calendar, which usually falls at the end of January. We climbed the almost 200 stairs, ripped Red Bulls at the top, and took in the beautiful caves which were covered with dew and bats. We were both blessed with a proper Hindu tilaka on our foreheads and really enjoyed our time there.
{Interesting note: At one point, while strolling through the Kuala Lumpur streets, Eckie and I heard the “whurs” and “schreeches” of street-race cars in the distance and before we knew it, we were soon taken aback at the sight of a proper street race that was being filmed from the back of a pick-up truck. We asked some local onlookers what we had just witnessed and they promptly retorted that crews had been shooting The Fast and The Furious: KL Drift on location for a while now! So, perhaps, maybe, for an instant, you will see us in the film - that is if you even go see it}
