The Unexpected
So I left the island of Koh Tao, Thailand for my usual day-and-a-half visa run into Burma and back. Four days later I’m sitting in a guest house in Penang, Malaysia making a mental note of how every article of clothing I’m wearing is from a different country. My glasses are from Thailand, my shoes were bought in the states, my socks in Athens, my pants are from Prague, my belt is Hungarian and I picked up this shirt at a mall here yesterday. But I digress…
I had been told that I could make three trips into Burma before having to worry about getting a proper visa. This run was meant to be my third, but in my most epically dumb oversight to date I didn’t consider something much more important. It was explained to me as I arrived at the Thai border and handed the agent my passport. She flipped through the pages and concernedly remarked: “I think you no go to Burma today.” To which I replied, “Umm… No, I’m pretty sure I need to.” She then pulled out a scratch sheet of paper and went thorugh all the dates on the Thai stamps in my passport and added up the number of days I had been there. You see, on a US passport one is allowed up to 90 days in Thailand without a visa and I was staring down in awe at a scribbled total of “88.” Even if I did cross into Burma and back I would still have to get myself to the nearest foreign major city of Penang, Malaysia within the next two days to apply for a visa. I phoned work: “Hey uh, Heather? Yeah, I’ve got some bad news.”
After I explained the situation she recommended a place to stay in Penang and I sat around waiting for the bus back to Chumporn where I would be able to catch the overnight train to the Malaysian border. Chief among my thoughts was the fact that I was now going to have to stretch a week’s worth of wear out of a day’s worth of clothes and how happy I was that I decided to bring my laptop with me this time. The bus took me back to Chumporn, but the overnight train was booked full… For the next two days. I decided to stay in Chumporn that night and worry about getting to the border in the morning. When I got up I walked down to the local does-everything-travel agent-resturant-bar-internet-guest house-shop thing where I was greeted by the kind of guys who hang out at foreigner bars at 10 in the morning. Luckily I know that these are also the kind of people with experience in getting in and out this country in a rush so I struck up a conversation. I had my travel plans worked out and was on a bus to Hat Yai within the hour. The bus took about 8 hours, pulling into the station around 7pm and I was instantly mobbed by the usual array of room renters, taxi drivers, minibus runners etc. There were no proper buses across to Malaysia so I eventually entered one of the many travel agents across from the station.
I was told that I could either take a taxi across at 4am or a minibus at 8:30am. The man had a thin mustache and a thick gold medallion necklace; a fast talker trying to push things on me, which I never enjoy, but know how to deal with. Eventually I settled on the minibus and he tried to get me to stay in one of the “cheap room” he had upstairs. As usual I said I would have to see the room before I agreed to anything and he had one of the ladies that worked for him lead me upstairs. Most situations like what follows are genuinely harmless—as this one probably was—but I think its very important to listen to that feeling in your gut when it says things aren’t right. As I followed her up the stairs it got darker and darker toward the third floor where the lights were off. The walls of the stairwell were cold unpainted concrete and it was unsettlingly obvious that I was the only one there. I was becoming more uncomfortable with every step and when the dim lights flickered on and I saw the hallway I made the decision to bail. The doors to the rooms were made of plywood with numbers haphazardly painted on them corresponding to the key in my hand, but I quickly noticed we were on the 4th floor and that my key was for the 3rd. I motioned that I had to go down a floor and left the lady as I descended. I skipped right past that 3rd floor and pulled out my cellphone before reaching the ground floor. As I shuffled quickly past the man handing him the key and saying that I would be back, I pretended to be on the phone so he couldn’t argue and made a quick, clean exit.
As I said, it was probably harmless—rooms like that aren’t uncommon around these parts. But bad vibes like that are, so when I get them I tend to take heed. I went back to the same place the next morning to catch that minibus and everything went smoothly. On the bus there were two older Thai men, an older American, a Dutch girl and 3 guys from Somalia, one of which we left at the Malaysian border because he couldn’t get through. Upon exiting Thailand the American man noticed my passport and asked where I was from. I told him NC and he explained how he lived in SC when he was young. Turns out he was only a couple of counties away from where I grew up. As the trip went on our conversation continued and it turned out we had a few more things in common. His name was Charlie and if I had to guess his age I’d say late 50s. I asked “so what do you do back in the states?” and he only answered “Get ready to go somewhere else.” Like myself he was also ex-navy stationed in Japan, but the generational gap became glaringly obvious when the conversation shifted to women in the military. He mentioned that there were no women on ships when he was in the service and I noted in a negative tone that they still weren’t allowed on submarines. He said “Good, they shouldn’t be allowed on any ships. They shouldn’t be on the police force either.” I gave him a deservingly awkward look and he said “Think about it, if someone breaks into your home which would you rather show up: A little lady or big guy named Bubba?” I answered, “First off, I don’t think you’ve met some of the women I have… Second: Either one’s going to have a gun ya know.” “Hell, I have a gun.” “Then what do you need Bubba for?” Realizing that the exchange would go nowhere he ended with “Well, we’re obviously from different generations, like I’m a republican and you’re probably a democrat…” We found common ground again when I explained that I would rather not be associated with either party at the moment given the state of things. It seems that out of all the other Americans I’ve met traveling, no matter how different we may be, we can all agree on one thing: Our current system and government are complete trash.
The car ferry pulled into port at Penang and we drove into town. The driver pulled over at the last stop and I got out, said goodbye to Charlie and walked over to the place that was recommended to me. I was told that they could also do all of the paperwork necessary for my Thai visa right from the guest house which was true… except I was about 30 minutes too late to get my stuff submitted before the immigration office closed for the weekend. I got settled into my room and took a walk to the local super-huge mall to pick up some socks, a couple of shirts and some various other bare essentials to hold me over on this little Malaysian misadventure.
People who know me know I’m not a braggart, but all in all I have to say I’m rather impressed with myself right now. A few days ago shit kind of hit the fan and much like a front row spectator at a Gallagher show, I had a garbage bag ready to pull over my head. I was ready and that makes me feel pretty good—like I passed some sort of test or something. Also there’s the fact that I’ve been away on this “trip” for over 6 full months now. Over 180 days I’ve crossed 17 countries by foot, scooters, buses, trains, cars, trucks and planes. I have taken well over 4000 photographs accompanied by nearly 40 pages of text. I’m accomplishing what I set out to do and I’ve found one of the things I think I was looking for:
A way of life. One that I’m good at
-Tyler
Q&A Time
Talking with friends and strangers alike throughout my travels has yielded more questions about my adventure than I can possibly recount. Some of you might remember the tips video I made a few months back recommending things to bring on a backpacking trip in Europe and I was planning to do another addressing such questions. But, since I have no real visual aids as I did for the first one, I figured I might as well just write them. I’m better at that anyway by my—and no doubt others’—estimations. As I was asked these questions I kept a running list in a notepad file on my computer which I’m now referencing as I write. Some are simple, some are silly, some are personal, a lot have to do with money and all will be addressed. Perhaps not this time, but eventually.
How often do you do laundry?
A fair question since I gave a precise count of the clothes I had with me in the aforementioned video. On average I’d say once a week or as needed. Though the opportunity doesn’t always present itself when I need it to and I end up stretching that time-line and enacting an emergency “If it smells clean…” policy. The first day I was in Paris I strolled into a nearby, but somewhat shady laundromat to do some much needed washing. I was greeted by three Romanian guys stripped to their briefs sitting in front of the dryers. They were watching everything they’d been wearing that day—including shoes—dry. Once it was finished they got dressed and strolled out, one texting on his cellphone, as if this happened pretty regularly. I never figured out what kind of almost-certainly-wacky circumstances lead to their situation, but I really wish I had because my imagination has been working through possibilities ever since.
Has your world-view changed since you left?
I put mayonnaise of my french fries now. If that doesn’t signify a change in world-view, I just don’t know what ever will. Of course it has changed. How could it not? For one, there are infinitely more good people left in the world than I ever would have imagined 6 months ago. Genuinely caring, honest, good natured people who are more than willing to help a stranger without expecting anything in return. You will find them in abundance no matter what country you happen to be in. It seems to me that people all over the world are generally looking for the same thing. But I’m not sure which I find more frustrating: That the people who would drive between us such petty wedges as religion and ethnicity happen to be the ones in power or that the good people keep them in power out of ignorance.
How do you handle many different currencies?
A big wallet and organizational prowess. Usually before I leave a country who’s currency I know I will not be needing again I exchange all but a small amount of that cash into the next country’s money. I have at least one piece of currency from every country I’ve ever visited as a souvenir. Note: There is not a single place in the whole of Thailand to exchange Turkish Lira. Apparently.
How do you deal with Language barriers?
I once negotiated a cab ride by drawing numbers in sand. A few local phrases combined with hand signals go a long long way. And some things are just universal. Like when you really need to use the bathroom you would be surprised how clear your body language makes this fact to pretty much anyone in the world.
What is your favorite city?
That’s like asking me my favorite movie. I’ve seen so many great ones that I can’t ever really decide. But, as with movies when I am pressed to name a single favorite I will concede with Amelie, so too with places I must answer with Paris. Touristy as much of it is and cliché as it may sound: I. Love. Paris. But, there are many other places which I would place on an equal list of favorites. Galway, Istanbul, Krakow, Cesky Krumlov, Koh Tao, just to rattle off a few. I recently filled out a map of all the places I have ever been and it ended up being something like 75 cities in 21 countries. Sometimes it feels as though I am in love with the world as a whole.
I shall end with the question I get most often and on which I will spend the most time deflecting:
How much does this cost/How much have you spent?
Apparently it is no longer rude to inquire as to one’s personal finances because I get this question more than any other, by far. A sign of the times perhaps. Now I can only assume that people ask this because they wish to estimate how much a trip like mine would cost them. The thing you have to understand, though, is that how much I have spent has absolutely nothing to do with how much you would spend. I have gone places and spent money on things that you probably wouldn’t and you would spend on things and go places that I haven’t. The variables are virtually infinite and it becomes impossible to base your estimation on my costs. Thus the question itself becomes moot, lest you really are just that curious and/or prying. So to whom then must you direct your monetary queries? Find a mirror.
How long do you want to be gone? Where do you want to go? Are you traveling alone? How will you get around? Can you rough it a little? Are you willing to work? couchsurf? Farmstay? Your answers to these questions will help you to gauge your cash requirements far better than I. I am not by any means recommending that you plan everything in advance. If you’ll recall, my plans consisted of a one-way flight and single hostel booking. I did, however, do a considerable amount of reading—both online and off—before I left and this gave me a very clear general understanding of what I was getting myself into. And that—for my money—is the single most important thing to have when preparing for any trip.
-Tyler