One Week To My Next Adventure!

I've officially been at Inspired Adventures 2 months today and I am now just 7 days away from leading my first journey with them! I'll be taking 16 incredible individuals who have collectively raised just over $100,000 for Cure Cancer! They've raffled iphones, they've sold chocolate bars, they've hosted quiz bowls, and they've auctioned off some amazing experiences all to raise as much money as possible for Cure Cancer. I'm totally inspired and so pumped!

We'll be cycling close to 150 miles as well as climbing to the top of Southeast Asia's highest mountain as we bike, walk, run, float, and zip line our way through Cambodia, Thailand, Laos, and Vietnam over the course of 15 days. This is my first trip back to Asia in over a year, so I'm pretty pumped. Can you tell? I feel like I look in this photo!

Pre-departure, things are INSANE trying to get everything caught up so I can be as present as possible while I'm away. I'll be blogging on our Inspired Adventures blog as well as re-posting here, which means you're in store for heaps of great stories about these amazing 16 people and our big adventure.

If you want to read more about what we're doing, visit the Race for a Cure website now! If you want to find your very own adventure, just go to the Inspired Adventures website. More soon!

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Kyle Taylor
www.kyletaylor.com

WHY? WHY? SHOE!

The night of doom began at 10pm when we got in the taxi to catch our bus to Rach Gia, the port town where you catch the ferry to Phu Quoc, our deserted island escape. The taxi took us to a mini-mini bus depot, where we got into another little vehicle that took us to the actual bus depot. As it turns out our “night bus” wasn’t really a night bus at all. No, it was a large van crammed with fourteen seats and legroom that wasn’t even sufficient for Kyle Long (whos is 9 inches shorter than me). I should have known we were doomed as the driver proceeded to karate chop and kick and shove my backpack into the three inches of space between the last row and the back doors.

As my luck would have it, we were assigned seats 13 and 14, the back corner. Naturally, this row had the least legroom, the seats didn’t recline and there were four people on our bench seat. Mind you, everyone else on the “bus” was Vietnamese and a good eight to ten inches shorter than me but no, I would remain here.

I didn’t fit in the seat. I don’t mean this sarcastically. I literally didn’t fit in the seat. Sitting straight up my knees were wedged into the row in front of us. If I tried to slide my feet down under the row in front, I was abruptly stopped by my pesky kneecaps, that just refused to bend backwards. If I slip my legs up to my chest and rested my knees on the seat in front of me, I was halted by the stabbing pains in my lower back from the stress of supporting my body. At exactly 11pm we pulled away, all 14 seats full, everyone else talking at the top of their lungs, music BLASTING on the radio. Kyle sort-of dozed off quickly, as did the other smaller people who sort-of fit in their seats. In all honesty, no one really fit in their seats. They were too small. The whole thing was absurd to the point where I thought it was a joke. The stern look on our dirver’s face reassured me that no, this was not a joke.


Two hours later, back sore, nodding in and out of sleep in my overtly upright position, inflatable neck pillow whispering softly in my ears, “this isn’t happening bucko,” we stopped. I pulled up my eye shade to discover that we were – shockingly – at a roadside restaurant! 1am and we’re stopping for food. Most everyone piled out. I laid down to my side, looking forward to a thirty-minute nap while everyone else chowed down.

“BANG BANG BANG!” The driver pounded loudly on the outside of the van. Those three pats were all it took to bring every ounce of rage in my body to the surface. I slowly sat up, lifting my eye shade as I went. “BANG BANG BANG,” once more on the outside of the car. This time it was followed by a stream of words in Vietnamese that I did not understand. Now he was patting his knee, as if calling me to him. I was pissed. “BANG BANG BANG,” again. I pulled the eye shade off my head with one dramatic swoop and slapped my hand on the seat. “WHY? WHY? WHY?” I yelled at him, my voice getting louder and more irritated with each successive “why.” He then proceeded to bang on the car wall again. I countered by banging on the seat. Then he was rambling again and I was shouting the word why. Bang. Slap. Ramble. Shout. Bang. Slap. Ramble. Shout. It was a heated argument and neither of us had any idea what the other one was saying.

By now Kyle was up and attempting to calm me down. “It’s ok. Lets just get out. It’s ok. Calm down.” I was still yelling. A few shouts later I realized my original goal was now pointless, as I was now wide awake. Deflated, I said “ok” and started putting my shoes on. You’d think at this point he would chill out and wait a second while I fumbled for footwear. No. Instead, he started banging on the side of the car again! Now, I’m not an angry person and rarely do I explode in an irrational fury of totally absurd emotions. Still, I firmly believe that on every trip, you are allotted at least one totally insane, culturally insensitive, “foreigner” moment. Needless to say, this was mine. I grabbed my sandal in my hand, raised it in the air, shook it violently and started yelling “SHOE! SHOE! SHOE!” He countered with some additional banging and unintelligible rambling. By now Kyle was thoroughly bewildered, amused, irritated, maybe a little bit of everything? He lowered my hand down, encouraged my actually putting the sandal on my foot and subsequently getting out of the van, which I did, begrudgingly.

We stood there for 40 minutes at 1am while everyone else ate. One of the 20-something Vietnamese guys in our van came up and asked if we’d like to join he and his friends. “They think you are mad because we are all talking a lot and the music is really loud.” I said nothing. We did not join them. Quite honestly, I am not sorry, which might be bad. The whole experience was totally absurd and I was so freaking angry. Had I not exploded then, it would have just continued to bottle up inside, saved for a later date and time. “Wow, I’ve never seen that side of you,” Kyle told me the next day. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that side of anyone.” Don’t mess yo. Don’t mess.

Saigon – Iced Coffee Same Same, But Different

We said farewell to Cambodia in true Kyle (Taylor) form – I thought we left my crutches (that I no longer needed) in our shared taxi from Siem Reap, which put Me, Kyle, Graham, Stacey and her guesthouse receptionist on a good thirty-minute wild goose chase, only to discover that they were in fact leaning against the fence. Super.



Our bus to Vietnam left bright and early the next morning, which meant saying farewell to Stacey (who was heading on to volunteer at an orphanage just south of Phnom Penh) and Graham (who was staying in Phnom Penh to do some incredible NGO work on educating people through national and community radio). Now, this bus had all the bells and whistles – curtains, breakfast, A/C and a host that acted as trilingual tour guide THE ENTIRE RIDE. “We are now entering Blah Blah Province of Cambodia. This province is famous for…” First in Khmer, then English then Vietnamese. It was like a 7-hour book on tape that a parent or grandparent made you listen to in the car when you were a kid.



Per usual, we stopped at a roadside restaurant just before the border. The Cambodia side moved as smooth as butter. The Vietnam side took forever, and they were charging an outrageous $2 for a packet of M&Ms! Anyway, now crutch-less and on the mend, we decided to take Saigon by storm and – for the first time in a few weeks – do it on foot. We found a super-lux hotel for $12 and proceeded immediately to the closest Pho (Vietnamese noodles) shop (We stayed in a non-book hotel, which meant an in-book restaurant, per the arrangement Kyle and I made).



The next morning we went directly the War Remnant’s Museum. I’ve always had mixed emotions when it comes to Vietnam. I know Vietnam Veterans who – to this day – still are not comfortable talking about what happened. I’ve read about public opinion during the war and heard stories of how terrible veterans were treated upon returning to the US. Vietnam has been both demonized and victimized in my mind for the last decade, and I couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for coming here, much less enjoying myself. At the same time, the past is the past and, as Vietnam is now an emerging market-based economy it seems that in the end, it all came full-circle. Either way, it seemed at the very least, an extremely important place to experience and understand.



The War Remnant’s Museum could not have been more telling of just how terrible war is. The images, video clips and stories were quite honestly, devastating. With so much death, destruction and violence it seems that no one really “won.” One I found most fascinating was the special exhibit – a collection of painting completed by kids from a local elementary school with the prompt of “Peace On Earth – All People, All Places.” There were doves, kids of different colors and backgrounds and places playing, holding hands and smiling. That image set against the backdrop of remnants of war, while seemingly out of place, was a welcome respite to the sadness, death and destruction. Lets hope that attitude carries into adulthood.


We spent the afternoon wandering the market, old town and new town, which was lined with designer stores like Louis Vuitton and upscale hotels like the Sheraton and Mandarin Oriental. From what I can tell, this is a very different Saigon. Before getting our night bus to the coast (yes, another bus – that makes one on Friday to Phnom Penh, one on Monday to Siem Reap, one back to Phnom Penh on Tuesday, another to Vietnam on Wednesday and yet a fifth in six days to Rach Gia from Saigon on Thursday. Can you handle our pace? Woo!) we actually met Graham for dinner! Yes, he was in Saigon with a friend for a little weekend holiday. What are the chances? Thankfully, we hadn’t exhausted all possible political issues to discuss, which made for another lively evening before the night of doom. That’s next…

Most Perfect Place On Earth

I am addicted to Southeast Asian coffee. I have never in my life actually enjoyed coffee until this trek. Of course this probably has something to do with the fact that it doesn’t taste like coffee. No, coffee in Southeast Asia tastes like heaven. 50% Coffee, 50% Condensed Milk, 100% Magical (On ice, of course).




We arrived in Vientiane (the capitol of Laos) with no expectations whatsoever. Everyone I’ve ever talked to who had been to Vientiane said it was enchanting. Intoxicating. Perfect. I couldn’t agree more. The town’s population (it is in no way a city, which is a good thing) recently passed 150,000. This is the biggest city in the country. The downtown is 4 blocks wide and 3 blocks deep. That’s 12 square blocks of “downtown.” The entire city is nestled right up against the Mekong river, which is lined with stilted thatched-roof restaurants and corrugated steel-topped homes. There are no buses, no large trucks and certainly no subway routes, which makes this place even more perfect. The guide book labeled it “sleepy,” which fit perfectly. Bikes and small scooters dominated the roads. The three street signals in town were being strictly followed despite the lack of traffic (in fact, it is road law in Laos that the car closest to the Mekong has the right of way at stop signs, leading people to get out of their cars and discuss who is, in fact, closest the river).



We checked in to our windowless room and headed immediately for the Scandinavian Bakery. Years of French occupation have led to an abundance of baguette, fromage, croissant and other bready deliciousness all set in front of a charming backdrop of French colonials and Buddhist Wats (temples). Two cinnamon rolls and a chocolate chip cookie later we rented a scooter and cruised the streets, first to the Independence Monument, then the Mini Arc do Triumph and on to the Main Market. There are zero multinational chains here. No Starbucks, no McDonalds and no Carrefour or Target. Instead, there is a central market made up of roughly 200 stalls that each sell one department of a Target-esque store. It’s totally brilliant. Everyone specializes, every need is met and everyone has a livelihood. Loved it.



We finished night one at Sunset Bar, watching the light drift past the horizon over Thailand (located just at the other side of the river). Of course, that was after a three-course dinner of salad, rib-eye steak smothered in Roquefort cheese and French fries on the side; all for a whopping $6. It was perfect.





Day two welcomed two Americans and a Brit to our circle of fun for a half-day cooking lesson in several Laos specialties. Before heading to the bus station we stopped off once more on the river to take in a delicious cocktail (which I helped make behind the bar), followed by a stock-up trip to the bakery. Overnight bus meant provisions were necessary. Next stop, Pakse.

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Kyle Taylor

Not So Hustle, No So Bustle

“The hustle and bustle of Kuala Lumpur may be overwhelming to those seeking a quiet escape.” That’s how our travel book described our first stop. The writer had nearly been to China. Compared to Shanghai, Kuala Lumpur felt like a deserted island. On at least a dozen different occasions Kyle and I asked ourselves and each other, “where are all the people?” 1.5 million people is pretty darn big, but not when you’ve just come from 26 million in Shanghai. We were in heaven.


What made it even better is that everything seemed to function perfectly, without any useless bureaucracy. Our flight was on time, customs was a breeze, our bags were already on the carousel, the bus to the city was waiting outside, the monorail was running on schedule and our hostel was expecting us. Could it get any more refreshing? It seemed, however, that we were still taking baby steps into the high and mighty depths of Southeast Asia. The overwhelming popularity of Famous Amos cookies (sold in fully branded Famous Amos stores) and 7 Eleven stores on every corner meant we weren’t exactly “roughing it.”



The adventure began with the most delicious India food I’ve ever tasted (minus Gunjan’s) and a trip through the corner shop to check out all the interesting, bizarre foods and beverages. One of the best ways to really “see” a place is to go shopping in local hotspots just to see what’s available. It definitely gives a far better sense of what it’s “like” to live somewhere compared to massive shopping malls or tourist attractions. It seems that in Malaysia local favorites include Dunkin’ Donuts, McDonalds, Starbucks (yeah globalization), “Whatever” soda and “Everything” juice. Yep, they’re actually called “Whatever” and “Anything” and the ingredients listed include “Whatever” and “Anything.” How did they taste? Eh, whatever. Like anything, really. And welcome to the first inside joke of our trip. “What do you feel like,” I’d ask. “Anything sounds good. Whatever,” Kyle would respond. We thought it was hilarious.


Beyond aisle surfing in super markets and corner shops, we did manage to do some more touristy stuff as well. It poured rain most of the first day, which found us enjoying the indoor venues. From the 600-year old Dutch Town Square to The Planetarium that still referred to Russia as the Soviet Union (slightly outdated) and the National Museum that told the whirlwind history of European Imperialism (first the Dutch then the French and finally the Brits, who got them driving on the let side of the road), the fascinating blend of religions, cultures and traditions really enthralled both of us. Walking the streets you could easily pass a woman in a burka, a young girl in a mini-skirt, a man in a white muslim cap and a baby running around in diapers in a matter of seconds. The breadth of languages spoken – Malay, Mandarin, Cantonese, Hindi, English and even some French – was equally fascinating. And yet, despite all their differences these were a peaceful, respectful people, honoring the right of everyone else to live their life however they saw fit. I couldn’t help but think about how many lessons we might learn from them.


Our time in Malaysia closed with a trip to Melaka, where it all began in terms of Malaysian history. From the first tribes to the signing of their independence, Melaka was home to more than 2000 years of cultural relics. The churches, mosques, governor’s mansions and winding streets of Chinatown were the perfect juxtaposition to the otherworldly Petronas Towers that were – until 2003 – the world’s tallest buildings. Soaring 1200 feet in the air, the identical towers are connected on the 41st floor by the world’s highest two story bridge. Home to the national oil and gas company (Petronas) the buildings may very well be the most gorgeous skyscrapers I have ever seen. We were able to meander across the 41st floor bridge as well as do a mini photo shoot of the silver gems (I mean I did the photo shoot and Kyle tolerated me for the full 30 minutes).


We closed out our stay by looking for a place recommended by Lonely Planet that was, naturally, not there. This the first of many ordeals involving the satanic Lonely Planet. More on that to come. My advice: travel with “Let’s Go.” Onward to Vientiane, Laos!

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Kyle Taylor