It’s time to leave for India and say goodbye to SE Asia. This trip seemed very different from our last visit to the region, largely because we knew what to expect and what to do. We were a lot lazier (read: more relaxed) this time, due to the fact that we had already seen most of the big attractions.

Bali seemed more or less the same as the last time we were there, though perhaps a little bit quieter. This was to be expected, since the place was bombed about a week after we left the last time. If anything, though, the sellers seem to be less aggressive than before, and much more willing to barter, which worked for me.

Bangkok was a welcome relief after China, even though I’m not so keen on the city. In our second trip, the shopping was an excellent balm for my exhaustion and anger, and regardless of how many taxi drivers tried to rip us off or how many guesthouses were completely inept, it was still easy to get around.

Laos was almost perfect. For years, people have been telling us about how great Laos is, how  laid-back and easy it is, and they weren’t lying. I left with a deep fondness for the place, and a burning desire to come back and see more (our excuse for being so lazy—leaving us things to see the next time).

Cambodia seemed really different from the last time we were there. I still hate Phnom Penh: all the streets are numbered in a bizarre fashion, so one block will be Street 156 and the next will be Street 187. It’s confusing as hell, especially since everything looks the same. The one thing we found really different from our last visit was the number of people everywhere. On our honeymoon, it was almost creepy in the city at night because it was so quiet. Not so now. There are zillions of people zipping around on motorbikes all the time, and crossing the street is a terrifying experience. Even in Kampot and Battambang, it seemed as if things were improving (or else it’s just my secret hope). And, as always, the Cambodians more than made up for the hellishness of public transport.

Malaysia, again, was a delight. Going to KL is always great, because our friends take such good care of us. It’s almost like being on a free package tour—our accommodation, food and transport was always arranged, and we got entertaining company to boot! Because we have such a good time in KL, we have a lot of the country left to see, which we will hopefully be able to do when our British friends move there. (We are all about visiting our far-flung friends in exotic places. They always know the best food to order.)

I really love SE Asia, but I’m basically crazy for any kind of travel, so I dont know how much my SE Asian adoration really means. I think this area is growing really quickly and I’m so glad we managed to get in before it really explodes (especially in Cambodia, where we seemed to have missed the massive tourist boom in Siem Reap…ha!). I’ll miss it here.

When T and I went to buy our bus tickets, we started at our hotel. $15, the man said. Outrageous, we thought! So we trekked all over Battambang for tickets elsewhere. We went to the Phnom Penh Surya Bus Company, on whose dirty buses we had previously traveled. $13, the woman said. Insanity, we thought! So we went back to the hotel and bought the $15 tickets, under the assumption that for $2 extra per person, the buses must be cleaner and nicer than the ones we had already seen.

Ah, the naivete of youth (or near-youth). We arrived at the bus station and were promptly ushered into the waiting room, which was filled with 3 European woman and a Malaysian man. Dozens of Cambodians stood outside, waiting for buses. We waited for about 45 minutes before a man started screaming “Bangkok! Bangkok!” and waving his arms wildly at us.

We went outside to discover that there was a virtual scrum of people trying to get onto the bus, and we were at the end of the line. So much for arriving 45 minutes early. When we handed our bags to the porter and got on the bus, I almost stroked out. The bus was already full, with plastic stools in the aisles. Oh no, I did not pay $15 to sit my big badonk on a plastic stool to the Thai border. The driver pushed past me and started making the locals move. He put T and the Malaysian man in the very back row, in seats that were meant for 5 people but fit six. He pulled someone out of a seat next to a monk and tried to make me sit there, at which point the monk almost stroked out. Instead, the man sitting across the aisle from the monk was put next to him and I went into his seat. Two people in front of me were pulled from their seats and one German (or Spanish?) girl sat in there, and her friend pushed past the Italian girl who was next in line, told her “They’ll find something for you,” and sat down. And so the poor Italian girl was put onto the step at the back of the bus, in front of T and the Malaysian, sitting on the floor.

Now, I know I am prone to exaggeration, but I kid you not: this was the grimiest, filthiest, nastiest bus I have ever seen and I almost cried when I thought about how we paid $4 extra for it. I didnt want to touch ANYTHING. There was an adorable woman sitting diagonally across from me (who offered to share her seat with the Italian) who kept turning to smile at me. I would smile back, and at one point, she reached over and stroked my leg. Have I mentioned I love Cambodians? If it wasn’t for that woman, I done would have lost my damn mind. At one point, I was longing for the GREYHOUND. That is how low we sank on this bus.

Fortunately, it operated as a local bus in the same way as the others, and it wasn’t too long until the Italian girl took the seat of a departing Cambodian (which was good, because I was going to offer her my seat halfway through and I didn’t much fancy sitting on the crusty, disgusting floor). Halfway through, most of the people on the bus got off, including my friend and the man sitting next to me, and T and the Malaysian were able to move forward into human-sized seats.

 After about three hours, we made it to the Thai border at Poipet, which was a relief. Having said that, I should add that while this bus was nasty as, it was not nearly as painful and exhausting and wretched as the bus from Siem Reap to Poipet, along the road from hell in the bus without A/C behind the Frenchman who smelled of ripe Camembert. For seven hours.

We managed to get through Cambodian immigration with little hassle and then went to the Thai side, where it was slower than George Bush trying to solve a math problem. It took FOREVER. This is where I started to get seriously stroppy. Eventually, T reached the desk at the front and went through. I reached the desk and the immigration man looked at my passport and looked at me. Looked at the passport again and looked at me. Held the passport up to me and looked quizzically. Yes, dude. Thats me in the passport. That’s me after a shower, with clean clothes on, with makeup and A/C. This is me after 3 hours on Satan’s Own Buslines, in 90 degree heat, having waited for an hour to get to this desk, sweaty and starving and needing to pee. Give me my damn stamp already.

And then we had to wait some more, on the Thai side, with all the whiteys also wanting to go to Bangkok. For another hour. We were given giant tags that said BANGKOK and told to wear them at all times. The good news was that they had clean bathrooms there. The bad news was that when I went to go to the ATM to get us some money, I had given T my tag, and the man in charge yelled “WHERE IS YOUR TAG?! PUT ON YOUR TAG!!” and were I not so exhausted and crabby, I would have strangled him to death and done a little dance over his dead body.

Then the ATM did not work. This is a recurring theme with our American bank account on this trip, and no matter how any calls I make to the bank, they still manage to screw it up at precisely the time when we need money most. I won’t say anything bad about the bank because my uncle works there, but I will say that Hugo, please find another bank to hire you because I really, really am wanting to blow yours up.

Eventually, T managed to get some money from either his English account or our Aussie bank (this is the beauty of living in so many countries, apparently) and I was fed. T also bought some provisions (Pringles and oranges, who would have guessed?) for the road. And then we got onto the Thai bus. The Thai bus was (and always is, after Cambodia) sheer heaven. It was a double decker! With soft, cushy seats! And people who sell food to you ON the bus! On roads that do not primarily consist of potholes!

We got to Bangkok at about 10pm, having left Battambang at 12.30. As usual, there was a glut of taxi drivers standing around the bus, waiting to overcharge us by double digit percentages. We spoke to two, who said they would not take us using the meter. With the third, he tried to say no and I just walked away. I AM IMMUNE TO YOUR SNEAKY TRICKS, THAI TAXI DRIVER! I am also exhausted and grumpy and just looking for someone to kill, so I have no problem if you want to volunteer! My trick worked, as it so often does, and he agreed to the meter.

When we got to the guesthouse, the taxi fare was 71 baht. The driver had originally tried to charge us 200. That alone pissed me off and I was seething. I just wanted to go to bed and watch some CNN and sleep for many hours. We went into the guesthouse to check in. T had called the guesthouse from Cambodia and was told that he needed to email them his credit card details to book the room, because we were checking in so late. Emailing them the info meant that he needed to find their website, email them, wait for a code in response, and then check in, all of which he did. So imagine our surprise when they had the room booked for THE WRONG NIGHT.

And that is when I lost my mind. T had emailed them the correct night, but apparently that was too confusing, so they booked us in for the next night, and now they were full. This is when I started saying “JESUS CHRIST!” in very loud tones and dropping my bags on the floor very loudly. I did not quite achieve Haley rage, but I was not far off. It was almost 11 at night, we had been traveling for nearly 12 hours, and EVERYONE IS EITHER INCOMPENENT OR TRYING TO ROB US!

Probably terrified of my fury, they managed to book us a room down the road and promised us free breakfast and bag storage the next day. Thus, I crossed them off my list of people to kill. T and I went for a wander to find something to eat, but given that it was 11pm, everything was closed except for the street vendors selling chicken satay. I love me some chicken satay, but I wanted to sit down and try to regain my sanity. We passed a pizza place, but they wouldn’t take cards. Then, just as we were about to pass our hotel again, there was a golden retriever, just sleeping in a driveway. It was like a sign from God. I told T I was going to pat it and he couldn’t stop me (at that point, I doubt he would have tried), so I did and peace returned to my heart. We just went back to the hotel for sandwiches for dinner, and we checked our email and went to bed. And, fortunately, no one died, including myself. But we were close, so close.

Our guesthouse in Nong Khai, Mut Mee, was right on the banks of the Mekong overlooking Laos. The staff was very friendly and warm, and the restaurant was lovely. Also, they had free internet. For these reasons, Mut Mee was delightful. On the other hand, we had a tiny room (which is fine) with a squat toilet (which I can stand) and no sink (which is just icky).

The main problem with Mut Mee was that it appeared to be populated mostly by pretentious wanktards, creepy dirty hippies and drunken American sorority girls. Dirty hippies I can deal with—usually, I even like them, but there was one couple in particular that was constantly groping each other and the girlfriend got really drunk one night and started talking about 30 decibels too loudly, and I wanted to poke her in the eye. Drunken sorority sisters are much lower on my tolerance list than dirty hippies, especially the ones who were staying at the guest house. They were all like, you know, totally! And he’s super into you! And ohmygod, this wine is like, so good! Totally! at the top of their lungs. For hours. I wanted to set them on fire, and given the looks they were getting from the other visitors, I was not alone.

Lowest of all on my tolerance list, however, are pretentious wanktards. And oh mama, was there a doozy at Mut Mee. I first noticed him when we arrived and he swanned in, wearing nothing but black. I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and assumed he was just eurotrash, but then he started talking—he was either Canadian or an American trying to affect a British accent (which I suspect was the case). There was an older man staying at the guesthouse, some kind of writer or literary historian or something, and the Man in Black took to him immediately. As T and I were trying to eat our breakfast, MIB approached the historian and started telling him all about his linguistic studies and talking all about his “scholarly weight.” The historian responded by telling him stories about early 20th century writers (I’m not sure what this has to do with Pali studies), and the conversation worsened from there. It actually got to the point where the historian recommended a novel to MIB and MIB responded with “Oh, I only read nonfiction. It’s my literary myopia.” I swear to God, I threw up a little in my mouth.

Apart from the wanktards, the hippies and the Delta Delta Deltas, things were okay at Mut Mee. Nong Khai is an interesting town, in that it appears to have an inordinately high percentage of middle-aged, flabby white dudes hanging out with young Asian girls. Not in the Phuket kind of way, but in the all the pictures of couples in the local photography shop are of white guys and local girls way.

Most of the time we spent walking around town or using the internet while overlooking the river, but one day, we rented bikes and rode around town. We went down the riverbanks to a local wat, and then rode out into the country to look at a local sculpture park. We didnt realize until we got there that the sculpture park was clearly an important local attraction, full of tour buses and souvenir stalls. It was worth it, though—some of the sculptures were enormous, and there was a pretty rad one of giant snakes.

From Nong Khai, we left Thailand for Laos. This meant we took a tuktuk to the border, then went through Thai immigration and customs, then waited for a bus to take us across the Friendship Bridge, then went through Lao immigration. Going through Lao immigration means you hand in your forms and photos at one window for the visa; then wait for ages for them to appear in another window; then you go through immigration, during which they ask you no questions; then you go through customs and then you pay a 10 baht (30 cent) entry fee. Ah, southeast Asia. Thanks for making it simple.

Once T drags me kicking and screaming we leave Cambodia, we’re going to go back into Thailand for a few days. Mainly, we’re going to eat. Actually, I’m not sure if T knows this. Let me rephrase: mainly, I’m going to eat. You know, massaman curry and pad thai and a thousand other kinds of curry. T can eat too, as long as he doesn’t get between my mouth and my plate.

I’m not sure where we’re going or for how long. Everything after the housebuilding until our flight to KL is up in the air.

After leaving Kunming, we get a flight to Bangkok, from which we will immediately leave to go up to Laos. We had planned to go on a bus from Kunming to Luang Prabang intially, but T really wanted to go to northeastern Thailand, since we missed it last time. Given that Ali The Wonder Travel Agent found us a flight to BKK, it seemed like a better idea to go through Thailand.

So we’re going to jump straight on a bus and head to Nong Khai, just across the Friendship Bridge from Vientiane. I guess I’m excited to go back to Thailand…I did love it last time, but it wasn’t my favorite place on the trip. That said, northwestern Thailand was stunning and I’d go back in a second. So, maybe I am excited after all.

According to my research, Nong Khai is one of those places where people plan to spend a day, but end up leaving after a month. We have exactly 14 days to get from Bangkok into Laos and down the Mekong into Cambodia, so we won’t have a month. Too bad, because I could easily spend a month eating massaman curry.

I take it back. Suddenly, I am thrilled to go back to Thailand!