So You Want To Go To... Portland, Maine

Welcome to the first in a series of travel recommendations for my favorite spots around the globe.

As a frequent traveler, sometimes I can't help myself when a friend posts a call for help on Facebook.  "Hey friends, have you been to [place]?  Any recs???"  Why yes, yes I do have some recs.  It's one of my favorite things about travel: sharing my experiences with friends and hoping they are smart enough (ha!) to take my advice.  [Thanks for the push, Kyle K.!]

Since I find myself typing them up -- over and over and over again -- I thought, “Why don't I just make a pdf of my recommendations and send that out?"  Or a blog post.

Portland Head Light 

Portland, Maine, is one of the coolest spots in the Northeast at the moment.  Most notably because of their food and booze scene.  There are so many options.  Many of which are well worth the 2+ hour drive from Boston.  Sure, there are hipsters (but this is not the other Portland), but this Portland is still on the up-and-up, a perfect mix of fresh innovation, old New England tourism, and just a little whiff of hipster stink.  There's also enough small-town, coastal New England activity (art museum, mansions, a lighthouse, the ocean, salt water taffy) to keep you occupied in those moments between noshing and boozing.  

On my frequent trips to Portland, I usually bring friends and we usually stay for just a day.  If you get there by 10am and leave after dinner, you can pack a lot into 12 hours.  If you have time for a full weekend, my typical manic scheduling can be spread out over a relaxing 48 hour period.


Disclaimer: as with any recommendations, this is only how I do things.  This is not exhaustive, this is not all there is to do in Portland.  Hell, I can't even claim that this is the best-of-the-best.  However, this is what I spend my time on, what I drive 2 hours to experience, time and time again, with friends and family.


So you want to go to Portland?  Here's what I like to do:

First, decide where you're going to eat and build your day around those aspirations.  Whether you're a "foodie" or one of those people who orders chicken breast no matter where you're dining, Portland has options.  I'm going to leave those chicken breasters on their own and focus on folks who want a little more out of their dining.

1.) BREAKFAST/BRUNCH:

I cannot stress this enough: you must -- MUST -- go to Bintliff's.  It's a new American diner in a crooked old house.  There's a crazy wait if you get there at the wrong time (I suggest going as early as possible) but it's so worth it.  Upside: you can have coffee while you're waiting,  Their Bloody Mary is sublime: full-bodied, bursting with tomato and horseradish, with enough celery to ensure you'll have no problems passing everything you're going to consume on this trip in one smooth, fibrous go.  Their home fries are stunning: a mix of red, white, and sweet, herbed to perfection.  Their standard fare is great (pancakes, corned beef hash, etc) but the eggs Benedict varieties are the stars.  My fave is Andouille sausage on a corn cake smothered in sauce.  With those home fries on the side and a Bloody Mary to wash it all down?  Have mercy and die a happy death.  I come here every single time I am in Portland and have this dish.  Not to oversell it or anything.

Crab Cake Bennies

Andouille on Corn Cake Bennies Heaven

Corned Beef Hash Meatz Craze

Bloody Mary/Salad with Tomato Sauce

If you don't want brunch (or want to change it up on day 2), Standard Baking Co. is the big name in town (right on the waterfront).  Brave the crowds, grab a box of pastries/breads/cakes to go, and enjoy at your leisure.  Madeleines, tarts, and their breads sometime sell out.  They're that good.


2.) LUNCH/AFTERNOON SNACK:

If you've done any research at all (or hit up your friends), then you've heard of Duck Fat, where they cook things in the delicious oily run-off of that beloved water fowl.  You're probably still full from brunch, so keep it simple: duck fat fries and beignets dusted in powdered sugar with chocolate dipping sauce are the way to go.  There's other food, but it's typical pub grub, so I wouldn't waste stomach space here.  Great stop for an afternoon munch, either before happy hour or dinner.  Something to tide you over.

If you want cheap raw oysters, J's Oysters is the way to go.  Right ON the water (I think you could actually toss your used shells into the sea!) and across from the stores that line the waterfront.  Dirt cheap oysters and crappy beer are served by friendly staff in this run-down townie joint where you'll probably catch something from touching one of the patrons.  The floors are crooked too.  It's worth the price and the charm of crusty local flavor.  You can tell your foodie friends that it was super authentic because you dined with actual locals and it was, like, so so dirty.  [Insta-worthy!]

Slurp-a-durp!

There's another cool spot for an afternoon snack, but their booze is killer too.  So peep the libations section below for a lil' taste...


3.) DINNER: 

Unfortunately (fortunately?), there's a lot of choice here and you'll hear a lot of different recommendations from different people.  At the fore (lol) is Fore Street, which is the big time heavy-hitter on the scene here.  With that comes some hype and potential for being "overrated" -- I personally haven't been here -- but I know a lot of people who have -- and loved it -- so I throw the name out here.  It's super popular so there must be a reason.

From experience, I can tell you Five Fifty Five (555) is pretty good.  It's another standard new American place (think: steak, lobster mac and cheese, salmon for the health nuts).  The only issue I foresee is that it's just nothing new, like many of the restaurants in town with high TripAdvisor rankings.  That being said: if you are looking for something new and completely revolutionary...

vinland.  Oh. My. God.  Preface: I eat a lot and I travel exclusively for food sometimes.  I am a black hole for good noms and booze and I love nothing more than eating.  So here and now, I will place my first blog Certificate of Excellence on this place and vouch that it is, bar none, one of the coolest and most creative restaurants I've ever been to in the entire world.  

If you're into food, you know about a little place in Denmark called noma.  It's currently the #1 restaurant in the world (until it closes next year, *sob*). The head chef of vinland staged there and got a bunch of the ideas, which is complete local sourcing.  What does that mean for you? 

Everything is from a specific radius around Portland, including wildflowers, lichen and moss.  Fresh, organic, totally eco.  There's a 5-plate tasting menu for $60, where you can choose from the entire available menu (multiple mains, if you can stomach them).  Five plates may not seem like enough, but I was bursting when we finished our meal.  My buddy got the wine pairing menu, which is not advised unless you can put down multiple glasses of wine in addition to your food.  And still stand up straight afterwards.  There are limits to YOLO.

vinland

If you want a truly unique experience for the New England area and for this amazingly low price, I highly highly highly recommend this place.  Feel free to TripAdvisor-verify my claims (Yelp can suck it).  Even if the menu on your night isn't what you expected, chances are you've never had a meal like this in your life.

Basically, there's a wealth of other restaurants in town, so I do recommend going through the TripAdvisor listings and see which places might be up your alley.  Japanese, Thai, Italian, Chinese fusion: Portland does not lack food options (though the abundance of homeless people downtown may have you believe otherwise...).  Do some digging for what you like.  And then go to vinland.

Locally-sourced Bliss

Now that you've figured out where you want to dine, think about where you want to get sloppy. 

There are numerous breweries in town (and brew pubs!) and no shortage of options for getting wasted.  There are also some cool hidden nooks.  Here are my favorites when it comes to loosening up:

1.) COCKTAILS:

If you want to be at the forefront of the scene, head to Portland Hunt + Alpine Club.  They're relatively new to town, complete with bearded hipster bartenders and a really sleek design, but don't let that veneer fool you.  The cocktails are creative, strong and aren't too overpriced.  The bartenders are so knowledgeable that you can ask them for recommendations; they may even craft something especially for your tastes.  Nibbles are also top notch (think "stuff on bread") and well worth a snack-stop.  They have a happy hour, which I'd recommend if you want to save a little money and have something to do before dinner.

Booze and Bites

2.) BEER: 

Honestly, there's just too much.  Allagash is the biggie and they offer tours and have a decent parking lot.  It's a little outside of town and will give you an experience similar to Sam Adams or Harpoon.  Check website for tour times and bring your growlers.  They also hold parties for special brew releases, which are usually packed with beer-snobs.

Crispy

Sultry

 
Rising Tide brewery is closer to the action downtown (Fox Street) and is quite modest: you walk in and see the entire operation right in front of you (they even have their kids helping).  There's a small bar and a few stools.  No frills.  Get in, drink a flight, buy some if you like it, GTFO.  If you don't feel like wasting time on a brew tour at Allagash (they're really all the same, aren't they?) and want to keep driving to a minimum, this is the place to go.  Plus you can combo it into a sort of Portland Round Robin with the following...

Enjoy a flight!

3.) HARD STUFF:

Maine Craft distillery (rum, whisky, vodka) is right next door to Rising Tide. They're pretty new and have great stuff (very young whiskys, if you like it sharp but flavorful).  You can taste their offerings at the ramshackle bar and there are sporadic distillery tours offered too.  But just cut the crap and drink.

Maine Craft Distillery

Fifty-Stone rocks (-_____-)

 
4.) MEAD:

Finally -- and my favorite -- there's the mead.  That's honey wine.  And it's divine.  Maine Meadworks is approximately 2 seconds from Rising Tide and Maine Craft Distillery and they have tastings of all their yummy honey wine (lavender and blueberry are the popular ones, but if they have the "apple ciser" you MUST try some... tastes like apple juice, has an insane ABV that is very very dangerous).  The staff are some of the friendliest hipsters in town and, in addition to offering you tastes of all their mead, they can give you great tips for your day.  Pro tip: if they're out of anything in particular (see: apple ciser), they can point you toward any number of liquor stores in town.  Lovely folks.

Rainbow of Mead

Oh and also: Rising Tide, Maine Craft and Meadworks are all free to enter and sample.  Easiest way to get shitfaced on a Saturday (or Tuesday, as it may be) afternoon.

I'm full just thinking of all these options (and starting to slur my words from all that booze), but you might also want to see some stuff while in town.  I won't hold it against you.
Now, I'm from the Boston area.  As far as I'm concerned, that's where you should be sightseeing.  If you're from New England, Portland will offer nothing new.  There's water, there's souvenir shops, there's a lot of white people wearing Vinyard Vines and Sperry's, there's seagulls.  We know this.  I'm here to stuff shit down my gullet.  But if you're from out of town and have never felt the charm of a coastal New England port town (cough *go to Newburyport or Portsmouth or Gloucester or the Cape* cough), here is what I can offer:

First, you'll probably enjoy walking around the port area and the downtown touristy strip.  There's some cool kitchen suppliers, a salt store, some clothing boutiques, souvenir shops, overpriced stuff all over the place.  There's froyo and Alex and Ani for your teen daughters.  There's novelty shirts and pirate shit for your naughty ones.  It's a good distraction between food stops.  For something a little further out, cross the bridge and head toward the coast to the Portland Head Light.  The lighthouse itself is very pretty and it's surrounded by a modest ocean walkway.  Then there's a big grassy open-air field place where you could potentially picnic or just relax and enjoy the salt air.  Go, park, wander around, dodge the kites and kids running around.  Sometimes there's food trucks, if you can stomach anything more.

That should keep you quite busy for a day or a weekend.  There's also an art museum, some mansions, and plenty of other activities.  So if eating and drinking are not as high up on your list of "musts," you'll have plenty of other things to distract yourself.

On my most recent day-trip (August 2014), my buddy and I did the following: Bintliff's, Maine Meadworks, Rising Tide, Maine Craft distillery, J's oysters, Hunt + Alpine, and THEN vinland.  Needless to say, my comrade was blasted on the ride home and I had to make an emergency pit-stop at a rest area (use your imagination).  Totally worth it all.  Enjoy your trip to Portland.

Hopefully the weather cooperates with you...

Addendum: sometimes on the way to/fro, I stop in Portsmouth, NH.  There's a submarine (which you can walk through!) and a nice waterfront park.  Also an old library downtown (see: athaneum).  I love Portsmouth because it can be a short visit or a full day trip.  It never disappoints if you just want a couple hour diversion on the coast.  Walking across the bridge from NH to Maine is also cool, since you can tell folks that you walked from New Hampshire to Maine.  Who doesn't want that? [Editor's note: So You Want To Go To Portsmouth, NH forthcoming...]

Indiana Jones and the Visa Application of Doom

(Or, Jumping Through Hoops To Get To India)

Recently I applied for a tourist visa to visit India. It was comparable to a painful bout of rectal squirts brought on by spoiled chicken masala. How did it come to this? Why did I descend into Indian red-tape hell? Let me bore you to death with a long-winded rant.

A few months back, one of my best pals told me he would go to India for a school project and linger for a while afterward to travel. I considered how close Shanghai was to India and decided to tag along. As has become my motto of late: why not?

Usually itinerary planning and ticket purchasing prove to be the most complicated and stressful parts of planning a trip. Unless you're coming to China, getting a visa isn't that bad. For Americans, most popular tourist destinations allow immediate access at the airport (God bless the US). Other less scrupulous nations who need the money will charge you some pithy amount before letting you clear customs (see: southeast Asian nations). When I found out I needed a referral letter in order to get a Vietnam visa, I thought it was the silliest thing I had ever heard. Not only could I get that letter online via tour agent, but it only cost me $14 USD, which I could pay by credit card. Is there a point other than taking tourist dollars? Not really. I thought this was to be the most ridiculous visa-application experience ever, UNTIL now.

[Editor's Note: to any foreign readers who have had to apply for a US visa, I'm told that it's quite the bitch to complete. On behalf of my countrymen, I apologize. You all need to stop trying to illegally immigrate to our great nation by overstaying your expired visas.]

A friend of mine recently visited the great subcontinent and failed to tell me what was in store. She didn't want to ruin the surprise for me. Devious as that may seem, I can see why she didn't say a word. Even if I believed her, the procedure couldn't be THAT bad, could it?

In the interest of making life easier for fellow worrywarts out there, let me just take you through the process. [Please note, this is for foreigners in Shanghai. If you're in another country, I bestow the grace of God upon you and pray that your process is easier.]

Step 1: Prepare Thyself

I consider myself a well-prepared individual. Before I even went to the visa office, I had printed out the application form found online, collected two (2) passport-size photos and prepared to say goodbye to my passport for a few days. Just to be safe, I decided to call them first.

Me: "Hello, I'm an American applying for an India visa. Is there anything I need to bring beside my passport, photos, application and fee?"
Visa lady, taking a deep breath: "Well..."

And then she proceeded to blaze through a laundry list of items that I had her repeat three (3) times because I couldn't jot them down fast enough. Grab a pen and paper, here I go:

1. Passport
2. Two (2) recent passport-size photos (2" x 2") (No pictures of when you were a kid. It's cute, but they won't take them.)
3. Air ticket (Proof you're actually going to India, in case you wanted to get a visa just for fun.)
4. Application form (Save yourself some time and fill it out at the office when you get there. Trust me, the surprise is worth it. The one I found online was outdated anyway.)
5. Money (For Americans applying for a single-entry tourist visa, it's a whopping 762 RMB as of December 2010. Call ahead to make sure you have enough cash. The number is listed below under "Information".)

Step 2: Getting There

On the visa office website, they provide an address, which is fair enough. Anyone can GPS themselves from point A to point B these days. But in case you need more details to plot travel time, here are the directions:

Taxi: The office is at 555 Xujiahui Road, near the overpass, on the second (2nd) floor of the Guangdong Development Bank Tower. It's at the southwest corner of Xujiahui Road and the Chongqing Road/Luban Road intersection.

Subway: Take the metro to the Dapuqiao (打浦桥) station on Line 9. It's the one near Taikang Road/Tianzifang area. Then walk over to the office using the location I described in excruciating detail above.

Driving: Again, see the detailed location described above, or just pop the address into your GPS. The only beneficial thing I have to add is that there's parking outside the bank.

Once you're inside, take the escalator up to the second (2nd) floor and walk past the Sichuan restaurant. The India visa office is to the left of the Canada visa office. You'll see their colorful flag above the doorway.

Step 3: Let the Fun Begin!

The first indication that I was in for a long afternoon was the waiting room. It looks like a bank waiting area, which, if you've lived in China for any amount of time, you know is going to be a headache. Here's what I did. Feel free to improvise.

1. Wave hello to the security guard(s) at the doorway and take a number from the ticket machine. They will smile at you sympathetically, which you know is a bad sign.

2. Grab a few copies of the visa application forms from the counter behind you (to your right as you enter the room) in case you make a mistake. Trust me, there's plenty of chances.

Be sure to take one (1) copy of the "Visa Application for Foreigners Desiring To Proceed to India" (there's an icon of three (3) lions on the header, just so you know) AND one (1) copy of the "Additional Form To Be Filled By All Foreign Nationals (Visitors)(Non-Chiniese) In Shanghai Alongwith Visa Applicaion Form (Please Fill In The Capital Letters)" [sic].

3. Find a comfortable place to sit and get your ass ready (literally) for a painfully long wait.

4. Look at the digital signs above the tellers and see how many people are ahead of you.

5. Gasp out loud. (Crying optional)

6. Fill out the applications.

At this point, you will notice that these are no normal applications. These are preparatory notes for your as-yet-unfinished (or yet-to-be-conceived) autobiography. I thank the Indian government for helping me get started. Aside from the normal stuff (full name, date of birth, address, nationality, etc.), there are a few gems that I simply must share with you:


Item 5(c): "Whether the applicant or his/her parents or grand parents (both paternal and maternal) were holding the nationality of Pakistan at any time?"

Vishnu help you if you have any Pakistani blood in you, that's all I can say! While I'm comforted knowing that potential Pakistani suicide bombers might get screened out before their visa application is approved, I also don't think any potential Pakistani suicide bombers will be flying in from Shanghai. Or if they're applying from another country, I don't think they plan on legally entering India on a tourist visa in the first place.


Item 6: "The addresses of friends/relatives/places of stay during the previous travel to India"

I think my dad visited India while he was in college, but he forgot to take down the address of his hostel. There goes my application approval. Damn you, dad, for that stupid oversight thirty (30) years ago. Kidding aside, I think this is fucking ridiculous. Should I put out a Facebook survey to gather this info from friends who I didn't even know visited India a few years back? I left this blank as a quiet "fuck you" to the visa folks. If they ask, I don't have any friends or relatives. They all died trying to apply for Indian visas.


Item 8: "Father's Name (in full)" and "Present Occupation and Address"

Now I need to know things like my dad's name, "IN FULL", and what he does for a living? Shit! I should have asked him last night when we were chatting about my sinister plans for defiling young Indian girls on my travels. I thought this was a joke at first, perhaps something for unmarried girls or children traveling alone, but when the visa man told me to fill it out, I almost choked on my saliva. Why this has bearing on my world travels is a mystery. How could they even verify this? I put "Neil Yeung Sr., trash collector and artificial cow inseminator."


Item 9: "Name of Spouse (in full)"

Now this is just getting cruel. I'm single, so what?!? You wanna fightaboutit???


Item 10: "Countries visited during the last 10 years"

When I read this, I actually LOL'ed in the waiting area. People turned around to look at me. Security cameras zoomed in on my face. To make my point clearer, I tossed my head back, chuckled again, then started to tsk-tsk shake my head and sigh very dramatically. This was a doozy and a half. I travel so often that I don't even know how many countries I've visited in the last ten (10) years. But since I'm paranoid the Indian government could tap into some unknown database that had all this information stored, I tried my best to be honest. However, I did leave out the fact that I've visited Pakistan, Bangladesh, Iraq, Iran, and Syria. Woops.


Item 16: "Details of Passports Held"

Yes, you read that correctly. PassportS. Plural. Like, "I hope you brought that expired passport you thought you'd never need again, because India wants to see it!" Luckily, I AM that anal and I do keep a photocopy of my old passport information in my wallet. Make sure you have the expired passport's number, category (?), issued by, place of issue, and date of issue.

Surprisingly, they didn't ask for my height, weight, penis size ("length AND girth, in full"), favorite sexual position, mother's waist measurements, or great-grandmother's favorite cereal. To be honest, I started to get some sick pleasure by anticipating even more absurd questions as I went along. I was holding out for that penis one.

Joking aside, it is a pain in the ass. They don't provide hard surfaces in the waiting area to fill this novel out, so bring a folder or book to write on. And a pen. There are 19 items and their respective sub-items to fill out before you even sign the thing. And before you hand-write a second (2nd) copy, they do have a copy machine. I should have noticed that...

The additional form that you have to fill out in Shanghai is repetitive but a lot easier. Name (both yours and your daddy's), nationality, date and place of birth, passport details, employer name, addresses, and purpose of visit to India (sex trade, DUH). This form will be forwarded to "INDEMBASSY/HICOMIND/CONGENDIA" (whatever the fuck that is) at the Indian consulate in Shanghai to make sure they have no reservations about giving you a visa. You know, for those applicants who are involved in freedom fighting in Kashmir. Again, this baffles me.

Step 4:　I Won, I Won, I Won!!!

That's what I screamed when my number was finally called - no joke - about forty minutes later.

Stumbling over my feet to get to the smiling teller, I sat down and passed over the entire pile of crap. Then I found out why it took so long to get to my number in the first place. Here we go again...

1. Fill in your name and mobile number, then sign, on the registration sheet.

2. Smile at the miserable clerk sitting across from you (makes it all less awkward).

3. Make a dumbfounded expression when the clerk hands you a blank piece of paper telling you to list out your full travel itinerary for the trip, dates included. Yes, I know you already wrote this down on the actual application itself, but the Indian government wants to see it again in sloppy scribbling on a piece of A4 paper. If you don't know the exact itinerary down to the minute and hour, fear not. As the clerk told me, just write down an approximate timeline.

4. Sign the itinerary sheet and pass back to clerk.

5. Make another dumbfounded expression when clerk passes it back to you, telling you to write "purpose of visit" next to each location you just wrote down on the itinerary. Indeed, I had to write "travel" about seven (7) times on that piece of paper. Not once, seven times.

6. Start sweating because you're hungry and it's taken forever to do this.

7. Panic when clerk takes out a thick stapled printout and starts looking for information on a problem item. [Note: save your time and fill in "N/A" on every single item you left blank. Nothing can remain empty. Even that item about your secret Pakistani granddad.]

8. Once prompted, take your passport to the security guards standing near the copy machine. Two (2) copies of your passport photo page, one (1) copy of your China visa page. They even take the time to give you a receipt. That's service. [Note: it's 1RMB per copy. There goes another three (3) kuai. Make your own copies at home if you've got the means.]

9. Bring copies and passport back to clerk. We're almost done, kids!

10. Tell the clerk whether you want to come back to pick up your passport in person or whether you want it express delivered. I try to reduce the chances of losing my passport via Chinese post, so I opted to pick it up in person. I don't know how much they charge for delivery, but I'm guessing it's a lot, like everything else involved here. If you opt to return to the office to get it, please remember to bring your receipt and the copy you just made of your passport photo page, which has since been stamped and noted in the office system.

11. Come back in "about" six (6) business days. If you calculate in your head and ask the clerk to confirm ("Today's Monday...so 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...can I come next Tuesday?"), don't get angry when he just repeats "'about' six (6) business days." It did not comfort me when another clerk nearby giggled at my question. [Note: Yes, the day you hand in your application counts as one (1) of the six (6) business days. Also, you can check the status on the visa office website, www.vfs-india.com.cn (using the confirmation number at the top of your receipt).]

When the clerk filed my application, I asked him if we were finished. He nodded. I looked at the clock on the wall behind his head. The whole affair had taken one (1) hour. ONE. HOUR. I put my things into my bag and stood up, shaking like someone who had just experienced a great trauma (car crash, oven explosion, knife attack, take your pick) and was wrecked with adrenaline. I survived.

Total time spent: about one (1) excruciating hour
Total cash spent: 765 RMB (497RMB for visa fee, 100RMB for "visa referral fee", 165RMB for service charge and 3RMB for photocopies), not including transportation costs
Total mental and emotional cost: Unknown, current technology cannot track that high
Total energy exerted (i.e. equivalent food consumed that morning) before hands started shaking: one cup of coffee, one apple, one piece of toast
Total pay-off for all this trouble once you actually visit India: I'll let you know when I get back.

Now I need to wait about six (6) business days to see if my visa is approved or not. I really hope they don't find out about my Pakistani granddad.

[Editor's Note: Yes, he got the visa. Onward to India!]

Information:
India Visa Application Center
2/F, Guangdong Development Bank Tower,
No. 555 Xujiahui Road, Shanghai.
Helpline: 021-6390 1198 or 6390 1937
E-mail ID: infosha@vfs-india.com.cn
Open from 8AM to 3PM

Khmer Dream

(Or, Everyone Should Visit Cambodia. Really. Trust Me.)



Hovering pants-less over a dirty ceramic squat toilet, I spied a dead cricket the size of a small mouse lying by the stall door. I almost fell backwards because I swore it twitched at me, petrified it would hop up my butt. Meanwhile, flies and mosquitoes began buzzing around my vulnerable little nut sack, like vultures hovering above a shaved, wrinkly wildebeest carcass. Head upturned, I furiously tried to blow them away from my quivering naughty bits, which made me light-headed. This was my fourth evacuation in less than a day and I prayed to Vishnu that my bowels were finally cleared from all evils. I had to be fresh and ready for my tarantula dinner that night.

Of course, Cambodia was more than spouting fountains of bum sick and culinary oddities. Over the course of five days, we explored the two main tourist centers of the great kingdom: the capital of Phnom Penh and the #1 attraction in the land, Siem Reap, the site of the ancient capital of the mighty Angkor kingdom. Our trip was nearly over, mere hours away from departure. I almost made it out with a clean record (literally). Optimists would say it was good timing: better to get sick on the way out than to have the entire trip ruined. Imagine temple hopping with the day's lunch dripping from your backside? Bleagh.

So considering the timing, I was actually really lucky. We were somewhere along National Highway 6 (NH6), the main paved road that connects Phnom Penh to Siem Reap. To outsiders, it would seem nothing more than an average country road, without markings or medians, bordering directly on the dirt roadside. However, in Cambodia, it is a structural luxury, a lifeline between the two big money-makers that we had flown in to see, lined with shops and rest areas. Now it proved to be vital for my survival.

Back in the stall, I almost passed out from the heat. My legs started to quiver from squatting too long. (Yes, it had been that long since I last exercised properly, thanks for reminding me.) An anguished moan slipped from my lips and I toyed with the idea of calling a priest for my last rites. You know when you're sick and nothing can faze you, your one goal being to evacuate every bit of discomfort from your body as fast as possible? I was in that mode. The grotty walls inches from my face, pestering insects diving in for the kill and the sour throbbing pulsing from my lower exit could not dissuade me. I just wanted to feel better.

And in Cambodia, of all places.

We arrived in Phnom Penh to a hero's welcome. Fireworks shot into the night sky, bursts of electric green and burning pink glittering down from the heavens as we skitted along the narrow boulevard cutting through the capital city. As I readied my triumphant acceptance speech, I was reminded that the celebration hailed the arrival of the new year, not the arrival of a trio of overworked expats from Shanghai. Deflated, we turned into the crisscross grid of Phnom Penh's smaller side roads and toward our hotel. It was dark, a bit dirty and there were quite a few dubious people out and about. But to my delight, at least the air didn't smell as bad as China.

This was our second New Year celebration that night. The first -- held unceremoniously on the Shanghai Airlines flight from Shanghai to Phnom Penh -- was a quiet affair, like most of my New Year's Eves, usually so sedate they could euthanize an entire nursing home. When the clock turned, we whispered happy new year to each other and exchanged hugs over tightly strapped seatbelts. An old guy in the row in front wanted in on our party, yelping a "Happy New Year!" in our direction. I was overjoyed that he didn't get the urge to lean back and kiss us too.

Our big plan for Cambodia would include a three-day temple-hopping jungle expedition through the Angkor temples near Siem Reap, in the northwest jungles of Cambodia. The tomb raiding would be book-ended by two days in Phnom Penh, the modern capital and site of the most publicized of the horrifying Khmer Rouge atrocities, Tuol Sleng prison and the Killing Fields.

But, as many people -- curiously shocked and frightened -- asked me before the trip started, "Why Cambodia?"

My hometown of Lowell, MA has the highest concentration of Cambodians in all of America (top spot figures disputed, but as far as I'm concerned, Long Beach can suck it), mostly descendants of the massive wave of refugee immigrants that fled the country during the Khmer Rouge stranglehold during the '70s and '80s. Jewelry shops, markets and restaurants adorned with bright red and yellow signs are scattered all over town, advertising Phnom Penh this, Battambang that, the squiggles of flowing Khmer script weaving along all the store fronts. Unfortunately I didn't bother to mine any cultural information from my Cambodian friends at that time, which probably would have been a bit useful, instead opting for neighborhood hijinx. We just worked and played together without too much concern for family history or in-depth analytical interaction. I actually thought they were just Chinese with really good tans.

Therefore you won't be surprised to learn that Angkor Wat had been a travel target of mine since I was a kid. The stone towers jutting out above the dense forest tree line utterly captivated that wannabe Indiana Jones within. The thought of such an imposing and exotic structure, ruined and lost to time and nature, made me giddy. The attraction of a totally unknown land was also a plus, affording a chance to learn something new about a familiar yet foreign culture.

I was finally here.

As the first minutes of 2010 passed into history, we began our Cambodian adventure.

Part 1: Something Like A Phnomenon

(Or, Phnom Penh For Dummies)

Phnom Penh ("puh-nom pen") is technically a city, but you'll forgive me if I initially mistook it for a small market town. While it is a densely packed urban bubble in a largely agrarian land, by Western standards, it is more similar to a smaller, nameless Chinese provincial city. You won't find any McDonalds or Starbucks. Public transportation consists of motorcycles and tuk tuks. Name brand stores are almost non-existent (the country's first Adidas shop is opening in Siem Reap this year). If you want to force a bright side onto the situation, at least they haven't been polluted by disgusting fast food, the clutter of a bus and subway network, or the alluring draw of materialistic shopping sprees. But that'd be stretching it. Most folks simply can't afford those luxuries. No demand, no presence.

Ironic, then, that Cambodia is one of the new production centers in Asia. Look at the tag of that Banana Republic or H&M shirt and, if I'm not mistaken, you'll see a "Made in Cambodia" tag. In fact, there is a market in Phnom Penh where you might be able to find Gap, Old Navy and BR wear at a fraction of what you'd pay in a US store. It didn't just fall off the truck on the way to shipping; it probably was carried over from the sweatshop next door.

On our first day in the city, we were to join up with a tour that we booked online prior to arrival. The price for the tour was a wee bit steep, but alas we thought it was worth it. You see, we foolishly assumed Cambodia would be some dangerous backwater nightmare, where young tourists with supple udders were kidnapped from the dark streets at night and sold as Russian whores to the local brothel. So to be safe, we figured a tour would be a smart choice. However after the first day, we realized that this was not as seedy as Thailand and the locals were not as tricksy as the huckster snakes in Bali.

And so, dear potential traveler, let me state the following: if, nee, WHEN, you go to Cambodia, just do it on your own. I can't stress that enough.

1. Buy a ticket,
2. bring a pile of US dollars, and
3. just go with the flow.

This country is built for tourism. After agriculture, catering to the influx of moneyed gawkers is the second biggest industry in Cambodia. Koreans make up the main bulk of tourists (surprised us, too), with the Japanese, Aussies and Americans closing the majority gap. Unlike more popular destinations like China and Japan, almost everyone here speaks a little English, making your life so much easier. And, as I'm sure you're still scratching your head, I did advise to bring a pile of USD, because that's the favored currency.

Technically, the national currency is the Cambodia riel, roughly 4000 to the dollar. Yes, riel-ly (sorry, I couldn't resist!). We thought it wise to exchange our precious USD for a bit of the local cash upon arrival, and after getting it up the ass in a very unpleasant fashion by the inflated exchange rate at the airport, we felt proud to be supporting the local economy. But we were wrong. The locals don't even want those colorful riel notes. The language of the land is "dollah." To stress this point, you will be interested to learn that during one particular bowel exercise in a local toilet, I actually saw a few 100 riel notes covered in shit in the trash bucket beside the toilet. Worth about 2 pennies a note, it's cheaper than toilet paper.

That morning, once we had all concluded our own bathroom business with good old-fashioned TP, we met our tour guide and driver in the lobby of Princess Hotel. The guide, Sethavy, was a petite woman with candy apple red nails and wide eyes the size of small dinner rolls. After greeting us in the standard Cambodian way -- palms together like you're praying, with a bow of the head -- she started our tour off right...with some bad news.

"Ah, Mistah Neeeeeil, so sorry to inform youuuu, yes, but because New Year Daaaay, Silver Palace closed."

The China expat within me immediately cried "trickster, give me what I paid for!" before logic prevailed. It was indeed a holiday and some things were bound to be closed. But for the price of the tour, I was miffed. She noticed my face turning red and offered another option, a visit to the Tuol Sleng prison site instead. As this was on the itinerary for our solo jaunt a few days later, we gladly pounced at the chance.

"OK sir, we can visit Tuol Sleng. But also must apologize. This half day tour, only visit Tuol Sleng and museum, then I take you to market. Only half day."

Doing a quick calculation in my head, this was really starting to piss me off. We could have done this on our own. We hadn't even left the hotel yet and already the day's activity list was getting shorter by the minute. Fine. Let's just see Phnom Penh already. We only had a half day anyway. Happy New Year.

The National Museum of Cambodia, located next door to the Silver Pagoda and Royal Palace, is a modest collection of Cambodian creations through the ages, mostly intricate bronzes, stone carvings, and some massive pieces salvaged from the pillaging of Angkor and reclaimed by the museum for safe-keeping. We received a crash course in Khmer art, which is a fantastic mix of imagery from Buddhist and Hindu traditions, as well as busts of Cambodian royalty over the centuries.

The Museum Courtyard

I wanna say this is King Jayavarman VII...

A brisk visit takes about an hour, a little more if you are really that enthralled with all the details and eccentricities in every single piece on display. But if you plan on visiting Angkor on your journey, you might as well see the heavy hitters on their original home turf. The brand new, state-of-the-art Angkor National Museum in Siem Reap is supposedly better than Phnom Penh's (at a whopping 12 USD admission), giving time-strained travelers even less reason to visit the capital. However, if there's anything to draw you to Phnom Penh, it's Tuol Sleng.

Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, formerly the Tuol Svay Prey High School, before the Khmer Rouge turned it into the brutal Security Prison #21 imprisonment and torture center, is a must-see for all visitors to Cambodia. Not just out of respect for those murdered during the occupation of the Khmer Rouge, but also to gain a bit of understanding about the psychological fallout that still plagues current Cambodian society, which has only been free from the presence of this homegrown stain for twelve years, after the death of Pol Pot in 1998.

Welcome To Tuol Sleng

Walking through the main entrance to the school campus, covered with spirals of razor wire, Tuol Sleng looks like any other south Asian school: long, characterless, multi-level buildings with open air hallways and wide grassy courtyards. You can almost hear the little kids in uniform, tiny button down shirts and short khaki pants, running around between classes in the hot afternoon sun. However, once the Khmer Rouge decided to kick everyone out of Phnom Penh to be "re-educated" in the countryside, this former place of learning because the primary station for extracting confessions from perceived traitors and other dissidents found guilty of opposing Pol Pot's regime. And although almost all of the captives were their own people, a small number of foreigners were also unfortunately roped in on outlandish charges, dying the same inhumane death as their local counterparts.

Time for class

No Laughing

Khmer Rouge Rules and Regulations

As we sauntered through the courtyard, the sweet smell of ripe jack fruit wafted through the air. The sky was deep ocean blue and the sun baked our skin as we passed into the shade of building A. Inside, we glimpsed our first cell.

Prisoner bed, ammo container (toilet) and shackles

Leg shackles for rows of prisoners

Prisoner bed

Sethavy shows us one of the victims, as he was found

In a small classroom, roughly the size of a simple dorm, a rusted bed frame stood solitary in the center of the room. Grotty yellow and white floor tiles were stained with uneven dark spots. On the wall hung a picture of the room's final victim, murdered moments before the Vietnamese liberated the prison in 1979. This was one of fourteen such rooms on the first floor, the victims memorialized with blown-up prints of the scenes captured by a Vietnamese photographer when he discovered the mangled bodies, some with smashed heads and eviscerated guts, all last minute murders by the fleeing thugs. In the courtyard, fourteen white tombs sit silently in memory of these unlucky final casualties, the last bodies claimed at Tuol Sleng.

The Fourteen Tombs

A typical day at the Tuol Sleng holiday resort included two meals of just four (4!) spoonfuls of watered-down rice juice to keep the traitors alive. They were tortured regularly to extract confessions and force them to snitch on friends and family. Fingers were removed daily for some, the extent of their interrogation recorded by how many fingers they had remaining on their hands. When they weren't relieving themselves into old ammunition crates or being tortured, they were shackled down and immobile. When their services were no longer required, they were cruelly told they were free to head to the countryside to join the other happy citizens in prosperous farm activity. After being filed, they were led to the Killing Fields and bludgeoned to death with clubs. In order to save valuable bullets, of course.

This one really got to me...

Galleries filled with hundreds of victim portraits; the kids ones are pretty rough

It is generally accepted that about 2 million or more men, women, children and elderly died at the hands of the Khmer Rouge. Of this recorded amount, only seven survived Tuol Sleng. On the day of our visit, we got super lucky and met one of them. Now 74 years old, he was a technician at the prison. Though technically a captive, he was useful to the Khmer Rouge and thus kept around. A short, dark umber gentleman with shiny streaks of snow white hair over his ears, he exuded an indescribable energy as he slowly shuffled through the galleries, explaining pictures to visitors in the very same places where he watched fellow prisoners get tortured.

Mr. Technician

There he is on the far left (artist is in the center, electrician the short guy to his left (our right))

Two other survivors are still alive: a 67 year old electrician and a 69 year old artist. The artist went on to paint a famous series of pictures depicting the tortures witnessed there. These paintings currently hang in the site's museum gallery, which also houses old torture devices that would make the chaps at Guantanamo blush. Or not, as waterboarding was also a common practice.

Nail removal and acid application

Prisoners in shackles:
Not allowed to move, talk, etc.

Ye Olde Waterboarder

The basic torture methods were quite rudimentary. Lashings and beatings. Starvation. Head dunking into vats of fetid water and human waste. Forced consumption of shit and piss. Hanging from the gallows in painful yoga-esque contortions. Burning alive. Slicing skin with knives, swords and the sharp edges of palm fronds. Kids stuff.

Guards got more creative when prisoners were too stubborn to confess to their imaginary charges. Imaginative methods like ripping finger and toenails from hands and feet, then pouring alcohol or acid into the open wounds; piercing or tearing off the nipples of women charged with being "immoral"; even stuffing tarantulas and scorpions into dark, dank crevices where the flesh is most tender and susceptible.

These tortures were administered on a daily basis. Apologies to those who created me, but if I had to deal with that every day, I'd be on my way to the nearest rooftop. Prisoners no doubt also thought of this, so when one lucky soul managed to jump to his freedom, the guards fenced off all balconies with barbed wire to prevent any more early exits.

No escape

Almost all Cambodians are directly affected by this dark period. The oldest members of society lived through it, while the younger folks have relatives that were victims of the brutality. Our tour guide's father was killed when she was just 3 years old. Listening to the stories and seeing faces of hundreds of victim mugshots displayed throughout the galleries, it all seemed eerily familiar to the Cultural Revolution that transpired in China right before the Khmer Rouge chose to follow suit. Foolishly overworking the land to create an unobtainable agrarian society. Dividing people into labor units. "Re-education." Forced autobiographical confessions. Designating "group chiefs" who acted as spies to tattle on their own kin. Kids ordered to kill their parents. Art, history and culture destroyed to wipe out any trace of the past. Looking at a map of modern Phnom Penh, you'll notice a Mao Tse Toung Boulevard cutting through the south side of the city. I wondered how he continues to get away with so much, despite the fact that he caused the destruction of more of his own people than Pol Pot could ever dream of. And to top it off, Beijing doesn't have a Pot Pot Avenue to reciprocate.

A Naked Massages with Friends

After such a heavy visit to the genocide museum, it was time to replenish our fluids and good spirits. We waved goodbye to our tour guide and set our sights on grub. Though the first day of the new year was off to a grim start, a few Friends saved the day.

Friends Restaurant is a member of a larger NGO that focuses on training street kids, giving them basic skills to function in the workplace in the F&B industry. All profits go directly toward the school program and any tips are highly appreciated. In addition to making your dollar go the distance in terms of lending a helping hand (however minimal), the food is also pretty damn good.

Khmer fried rice

Amok

Khmer Iced Coffee FTW

Not only does Friends get rave reviews online, it is also heavily pimped by Lonely Planet. Seated in the colorful dining area on huge pillow cushions that soothed the aches in my butt cheeks, I noticed that nearly every diner had a copy of the Lonely Planet Cambodia on their tables. I feared I would seem uncool to these hip strangers, so I whipped out my own copy, put on my trusty tour guide hat, and charted the course of our afternoon free from tour guide tyranny.

1. Central Market
2. Russian Market
3. Massage Spa
4. Dinner
5. Nightcap

Of course, as you can guess, when I whip out lists like this, things do not go according to my well-laid master plan. This day was slowly turning into a circus of uncontrollable elements and bad luck.

Friends Restaurant:
A diner is not happy with my itinerary

Judging from the Lonely Planet map, the Central Market was roughly 6 blocks north, 6 blocks west. Though we were advised to take a tuk-tuk by the Friends staff, we felt a nice afternoon stroll would be acceptable.

Editor's Note: just fork over the 2 bucks and take a tuk-tuk.

Walking along the streets of Phnom Penh, it was a striking mix that I could not categorize. Some remnants of French influence could be seen on colorfully painted colonial buildings that stood out as expertly designed pieces of art next to the simpler concrete store fronts that can be found anywhere in continental Asia. The streets were filled with motorcycles, tuk-tuks and a few cars. There is no public transport system here, so the only buses you'll find are loaded with Korean tourists shuttling between the safety of popular sightseeing destinations.

Phnom Penh

Though the country is quite impoverished, things seemed cleaner. I couldn't help compare to China, but it was the closest available comparison in my head. Streets weren't filled with garbage, kids weren't pissing and shitting on the sidewalks, the air was fresher (despite the ubiquitous dust) and nobody was spitting or smoking cigarettes. I tell you, the lack of smoke and phlegm would be enough to make me stay. And the people. Oh, the people.

Moving shop

Afternoon chill

Smiles. Actual smiling. Laughter. Nobody stared at me like I was an alien. Surely, you cynical bastards, folks interacting with me on a one-to-one basis may have been acting nicer to the moneyed foreign tourist. However, just observing the locals on the streets and in shops and at malls, they treated each other with a lot more respect and kindness than anything I've seen in more developed SE Asian countries, let alone the nightmare of manners in China. Tuk-tuk drivers vying for tourist passengers didn't fight in the streets; they group bargained. Vehicles -- while still practicing organized mayhem on the streets -- didn't veer too close to us, there was no violent horn honking, no pedestrian hit-and-run. Surely, there is a dark underbelly to every society. But in general -- very general, for a mere 5 day's of observation -- things were simpler and nicer in Cambodia.

Luckily I gained so much cultural insight on that long march, because before I thought to recheck our map, we already overshot the Central Market by almost 5 blocks and found ourselves in northern Phnom Penh, at Wat Phnom, the namesake and highest (see: only) hill in the city. Convenient miscalculation, I played it off as part of the plan.

Back-tracking, we managed to find the Central Market. Too bad it was closed for renovation. It would have been nice to enter the massive yellow Art Deco palace, but judging from the stall vendors that crowded around the building in a makeshift shanty town, it was unnecessary. Most of the crap they were selling was made in China and you could get it for a lot less RMB anyway.

If the sun were a building, it would look like this

Frustrated, we sought solace in the neighboring, air-conditioned Sorya Shopping Center, a popular mall with a fast food restaurant (BB World, serving the equivalents of those microwavable gray-meat burgers from Jimmy Dean, not a bad meal for 2 USD); a large supermarket filled with hot backpacker chicks buying import goods; a movie theater screening locally produced zombie/ghost horror flicks; and relatively clean bathrooms. I would thank my lucky stars for that last perk a few days later...

Sorya, My Savior

At this point, it was early afternoon and we scratched the Russian market off the list. We didn't have the energy to tackle another market, especially one that specialized in counterfeit goods already abundant in Shanghai. Instead, we needed something more. A little rubbing and groping.

(Now's the time to light some candles, turn on some mood music, such as Justin Bieber, and get comfortable.)

Tuk-tukking back toward the National Museum and Royal Palace, we got off at Bliss Spa, a combo meal of an enterprise that also includes an overpriced bohemian hippie-garb store and a bar. Nice, I'm sure. But sun dresses and cosmos could wait. I just wanted a rub down.

My travel mates opted for conservative options (dry massage, foot massage and manicures), to which I scoffed and ridiculed. Why limit yourself to only 60 minutes of appendage attention when the entire body can be pleasured for over two hours? I went ahead and selected the full decadent Bliss treatment (only 40 USD), which included a 15 minute steam bath, 1 hour exfoliating body scrub, and 1 hour aromatherapy oil massage. I get so many massages anyway, I could just chalk this up as a research expense.

After a quick evacuation (it's never a good idea to go into a massage with a loaded cannon, children), I stripped down to my bare essentials and tip-toed through the open air courtyard into the empty steam room.

Planting my bare ass onto the tiled bench, I leaned back and tried my best not to choke on the burning hot vapors that were billowing out of a pipe in the floor. My naughty bits were protected with a towel, but I was still nervous another customer would come in and ruin my privacy (i.e. see my wee-wee). Thus I remained alert and didn't get too comfortable. Every now and then, a fresh burst of burning steam would shoot out, scalding my petrified bean pouch.

I had been steaming on the tiled bench long enough that my ass resembled a checker board and my hair was completely soaked through. Nobody came to extract me, but I had nearly sweat out all the liquid in my body. I had to get out before I fainted, the staff eventually remembering that flabby white dude in the steam room, only to discover a fully cooked corpse.

The shock of the cool air was refreshing. A passing masseuse stopped in his tracks and stared at me with a concerned grimace. "Wow, you are really hot." I knew he wasn't referring to my dashing good looks, as a later investigation in the bathroom mirror revealed that I was as pink as a Christmas ham.

Showered and fully robed, I was lead to the massage room by an adorable little massage girl. Standing beside the bed, she lifted a sheet to protect her shy eyes and instructed me to strip and lay down. I was completely naked beneath the robe, so I started waving around my crotch and asked "No underwear?" hoping she'd have a pair of disposables.

"No need, you lie down."

And so, prudishness be damned, I whipped my robe into the corner and bared my glory for no one to see. Then I lay face down with my hairy buttocks facing the ceiling and got exfoliated. With all the coarse hair on my legs and ass, that little massage girl got a simultaneous palm exfoliation that afternoon as well.

Once the external layer of my dermis was completely scrubbed off by those little orange-scented micro-beads, she directed me to a shower room. An open shower room. With no door. Still butt nekkid, I swallowed my fear of exposure to laughing strangers, lest I appear to be less of a manly man.

Massage girl left me alone and I hopped into a tub at the corner of the spacious room, protected from prying eyes by only a curtain far across the room. As the chunks of residue sloughed from my body, I looked down and noticed Lil' Neil was in hibernation. So I gave him a few tugs to increase my morale. As I pulled, some unmannered yokel burst through the curtain (what, no knocking?) and saw me, meat in hand. Swiftly turning on her heel, she whisked right back out without a peep. Now I'd forever be that pale guy who was whacking it in the shower room on New Year's Day. Sigh.

During my aromatherapy oil massage, I was so relaxed and comfortable that my mind began to wander. Lying on my back, the massage girl's expert hands gliding up and down my limbs, across my bare chest, forcing out all those kinks in my aching muscles, things started to happen down below. Red lights went off in my brain and my wits went into overdrive. Before pitching any tents of embarrassment with that sheet of Khmer silk, I had to think fast. Something to distract me, something to calm the storm, something to kill all potential thoughts of carnal pleasure with this nubile lamb covering me in warm oil.

Having just visited Tuol Sleng, my mind found it difficult to reach beyond, to something more kosher like baseball or Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day. It was the only thing I could think of. And so, in the deepest of determined concentration, I silently chanted, "Think Genocide, Think Genocide, Think Genocide!" And it worked very quickly. Nothing kills the mood like the thought of mass murder. Problem solved, libido in shackles.

That evening, we enjoyed our first taste of Khmer barbecue at Frizz Restaurant (which also offers Khmer cooking classes). Ingeniously cooked on a piping hot dome that drips liquefied meat juice into a moat of bubbling soup, it would not be the last time we enjoyed this treat.

...and now I have a massive craving. Gah!

Still high from the combination of grilled meats and massaged flesh, we returned to our hotel for a few hours of rest before our pre-dawn flight to Siem Reap. After an inconsistent and confusing day, I begged all the gods in Hindu heaven to bless us with better traveler's luck on our next stop. If the Angkor Wat experience failed to meet the expectations of years of pent up anticipation, I'd be inconsolable.


Next episode: temple hopping through Angkor, the Siem Reap days...