"IT'S THEIR INFECTIOUS SMILE,"

DON KHONE, LAOS - SIEM REAP, CAMBODIA

Temperature: 33 Degrees Celsius

Track of the day: Hurt, Johnny Cash

"I don't wanna go," I whine as we sit on the balcony of our guesthouse in Don Khone, Laos waiting to begin our journey to Cambodia. "Me neither," Alecs says as he rocks in the hammock one last time, "but I'm sure we're going to have just as much fun in Cambodia," he adds. A quick boat ride and a short trip in a minivan has us at the almost completely deserted border crossing. A small hut with two border officials stamp our passports and another one sticks our visas inside them before we wander non-chalantly across the make-shift gate into

Cambodia. "There's something different about Cambodians," I say to Alecs as we stand in the open field just meters past the border crossing. "It's their infectious smile," Alecs says as our smiling bus driver herds us onto the bus bound for Siem Reap. Two buses leave the border with tourist bound for Phnom Penh and Siem Reap but an hour into the journey the bus to Phnom Penh breaks down. "Looks like everyone on that bus is getting on this bus," we hear two British guys beside us say. Our bus is carrying 25 people and their luggage on board and the tour company wants to fit another 25 people and their luggage in a bus with only 5 vacant seats. Alecs and I look at each other smiling and thoroughly bemused as backpacks and tourists fill the aisles. A Canadian couple make a big deal about the safety of the bus with all the extra passengers and begin rallying support from others. A thoroughly irritating older European couple in front of us sends a piece of paper to the driver up front saying he must agree to being legally responsible for every passengers safety. "Why do you all take this," the woman says to us as she tries to stage a walk-off. "If they're so worried about their own safety than they should get off the bus," I wisper to 

Alecs as we remain neutral and quiet through the whole ordeal. After nearly an hour of passengers fighting with drivers and operators we depart leaving behind the fearful angry passengers but not the European couple. The long bus ride becomes even longer as the European couple tries to stir up trouble by telling lies about the drivers being angry with certain people and exaggerating everything imaginable. When we finally hit our overnight stop in Kampong Cham 12 hours later we peel ourselves off the seats and are taken to guesthouses for the night. The first guesthouse is fully booked so we head to the next one and agree to check-in for the night wanting nothing more than a place to lay our heads. Moments after signing-in and paying $7 for the room an ugly Cambodian man wearing only a towel around his waist opens the door to his room and walks outside where a chained puppy stands. Although we can no longer see the puppy or the man, we can hear the cries of pain as the puppy is beaten senselessly with great force for no apparent reason. Shrieks and yelps fill the air and my heart feels as though it might wither up and die. Looking around we begin to realize we are in the most dodgy and unsafe looking places we have ever been in and not wanting to get ourselves in trouble we close the door to our room. "I hate Cambodia and I hate Cambodians," I say tears welling up inmy eyes as I replay the sounds of the puppies cries. We both feel sick for not standing up for the dog and for supporting a place like this and we fall asleep very ashamed of ourselves and already not liking Cambodia. The morning comes quickly and we curtly checkout before the sun-rises trying to convince each other that we only met bad people in a bad place who do not represent the country or it's people. Luckily for us the bus ride reinforces this and we begin to change our mind about it.

A young local boy sits on the seat in-front of us and notices a picture in the book I'm holding of my dog Klinker. He reaches out asking me with his eyes if he can hold it and I hand it over. He curiously looks at the photo and shows his mom and dad before giving it back to me. Alecs and I remain on the bus at the pit stop and when everyone is back on board the family in-front of us hands us some fruit as a kind gesture. "I'm starting to like Cambodia," I say to Alecs as we peel the orange-like fruit, "it's starting to turn around." Things did turn around and a painless 4 hour bus ride had us in Siem Reap - gateway to Angkor Wat. We check in to a fantastic guesthouse called the Golden Banana B&B which I found online back in Canada. "I think i'm going to like this place," Alecs says as we examine the clean

sheets, air-conditioning and bugless room. The owner of this hotel became an orphan during the reign of Pol Pot and was taken to New Zealand by an NGO where he studied and grew up. He later decided to return to his country, reunite with friends and start a hotel giving back to the community. We are given two fruity welcome drinks and another employee spends 1/2 an hour going over a map and explaining the area to us. "The service here is impeccable," Alecs says smiling. A chubby well-groomed dog wanders into the leafy lobby, tail wagging and I bend down to pet her. As I look into this dogs happy brown eyes I feel a huge pang of guilt and feel that by not speaking out I have condemned that puppy to a life of horror. Back in our room Alecs and I unpack our backpacks for the first time on this trip, excited about staying in one place for a whole week. "It's says there's a Filipino restaurant here," I say to Alecs reading from the free booklet provided by the hotel.

Alecs perks up at the idea of finding other Filipino's here in Cambodia and at having sinigang na baboy (pork and sour stew over rice). After a long clean hot shower we venture out into the city of Siem Reap, bustling with street vendors, tuk-tuk's, tourists and locals. Smiling people wave for no reason and friendly locals nod as we pass them by in search of Good Na Restaurant. We soon spot the little place on a busy side street and walk straight in, sitting down - excited to see the menu. After ordering Alecs speaks to the waitress/owner in Tagalog (Filipino) and we make instant friends. After noticing that I can follow their conversation, one of the Filipina's asks if I can speak Tagalog. "Nakaka intinde po ako ng Tagalog, pero hindi po ako nakaka pag salita (I can understand Tagalog but not speak it)", I say, feeling a little smug despite my obvious mispronunciation of every word. Everyone smiles and they soon invite us out for an evening of fun where we meet a huge community of expat Filipino workers living in Siem Reap. "That was too weird," Alecs says when we arrive back at our hotel, "it's just odd to find Filipino's in Cambodia." 

We fall asleep quickly in a clean, comfortable bed finding ourselves falling in love with this country. The next day consists of catching up on computer-related activities (bookings and such) before we head to Angkor Wat to purchase out tickets and watch the sunset. We call up Rattana, the Khmer tuk-tuk driver that describes himself as half Cambodian half Filipino even though he is not Filipino at all to take us to the ruins. We head to the definitive sunset spot at the hilltop temple of Phnom Bakheng. We climb up a tall mountain with hundreds of tourists

and jockey for space on the multi-tiered temple to watch the sunset. "I hope the rest of the temples aren't this busy," Alecs says trying to enjoy the surroundings. As the sun comes down in the sky it becomes a brilliant shade of red and blue and we both sit in awe of the fact we are here doing this. Moments after the sun sets the hoards of tourists disappear back down the mountain and Alecs and I find ourselves one of five people left at the temple. Phnom Bakeng was the first mountain temple to be built in the vicinity of Angkor. The temple has five tiers and seven levels, including the base and summit which represent the seven Hindu heavens. We climb over every part of the temple and when we finally decide to leave we are left walking down the mountain in complete darkness with out flashlight back at the hotel. "Turn the iPhone on," I say to Alecs as we try to see the groun, hoping we don't trip

over anything. The phone gives us enough light to find our way down and then it rings with our tuk-tuk driver on the other end. "Are you two okay," he asks, worried that we were lost or stuck somewhere at the top. "We're almost there Rattana, sorry we took so long," Alecs says apologetically. Spending those moments high atop a mountain exploring an ancient temple after the tourists dispersed was a rewarding experience and we head back to the hotel excited about seeing the rest of the amazing Angkor ruins.

So long for now,

Alecs and Meg

"I WISH IT WOULD SNOW"

DON KHONE, LAOS

Temperature: 40 degrees Celsius (feels like 80 degrees Celsius)

Track of the day: Sleeping to dream, Jason Mraz

"Lonely Planet says Don Khone is the most laid back of the islands," I read aloud to Alecs on the bus heading to Si Phan Don (10,000 islands). "I'd say that's the island we should hit then," Alecs says reclining his seat and closing his eyes. Once at the pier in Ban Nakasang we join a couple other tourists (including an annoying Canadian girl) and make the scenic journey to our island of choice. Water buffalo wade near the shore of the river completely submerged with only their heads bobbing on the surface. Fishermen cast nets in the water while storks frolic on the tiny green islets dotting the river. After hopping off the wooden boat we walk down another one-street town to find a cheap guesthouse. Our first choice is Pan's guesthouse which is already fully booked so we head next door to a lovely little place (Xuay Mountry Guesthouse) with clean $7 rooms, a nice communal balcony with a hammock and a generator from 6PM-10PM (there isn't 24 hour electricity on this island). This island is attached to the more backpacker island of Don Det by a beautiful old bridge with a mandatory $1 a day toll 

booth on either side. "Let's walk down the shore and get our bearings," I say to Alecs after taking a nice cold shower. We find a small family of ducks swimming upstream, but while watching, a little duckling gets separated from it's mom and begins crying out for her. I spend the next half hour stressing about the fate of the little duckling, watching the mom drift further and further away. "No! Go back to the water," I say under my breath as the tiny yellow ball of feathers climbs up the bank of the river.

"Don't worry," Alecs says reassuring me, "it's nature, it'll work itself out." Sure enough the mom and her other babies wander back down-stream and the little lost one stumbles down the hill reuniting with its family. "Feel better now?" Alecs asks smiling. I nod my head. "I need to clean up my burn" I say showing Alecs my oozing wound. While dismounting my motorbike back in Champasak I touched my leg to the exhaust pipe and instantly burned a 3-inch circle near my ankle. It has been blistering every morning since,  but aside 

from keeping it clean, there isn't much I can do. "I think I'm going to like this place," Alecs says later that night while rocking in a hammock. There isn't much to do here on the island, but that's the main draw. The generator kicks in at 6PM and we head to our room to make use of the 4 hours with a fan. "I wish it would snow," I say to Alecs who is laying on his bed with a cold towel on his head and cold water bottles under his arms. He's attempting to curb his heat exhaustion that left him dizzy and nauseous. We both eventually fall into a  sweaty sleep only to wake up just as sweaty.

The morning comes earlier than usual for us as the heat seeps in through the window to our room without a fan. A rooster crows in the near proximity and Alecs and I are both wide awake but already exhausted from the heat. For us Laos could be described in one word - slow, and it didn't seem that life could be anymore laid back until we arrived here. Time here seems endless where only the position of the sun seems to have a bearing on the day. Two little boys in their crisp white uniforms play soccer with a bamboo ball on the way to class while a group of Lao women beat clothes against the rocks in the river. The sun is in the centre of the sky and Alecs and I muster up the energy to return to our usual restaurant where a sweet young girl takes our orders, handing us

each a cold bottle of Pepsi. "I'm jealous," I say, watching three naked little kids splashing in the river below us giggling profusely and acting like the kids they are. "Maybe that's  what we should do

tomorrow," Alecs says wiping the sweat off his brow. Tomorrow however brings much of the same laziness which mostly involves cold drinks and hammocks. The guesthouse staff returned our clothes we had laundered and Alecs and I can't understand how they can be so clean and smell so good when they were washed in the river - truly remarkable. It's now our final day in Laos and we rise early to beat the heat heading across the bridge connecting us to Don Det, another island. We take a wrong turn and end up walking for almost an hour on a deserted shadeless dirt path across the centre of the island. "I think my brain is boiling inside my head," I say, standing under one of the three trees along the path. We finally decide to walk back and find the even smaller dirt path along the river that is mostly shaded. "I can't believe we didn't see this path," Alecs says as we pass a hammock lounge. "A PUPPY!" I shout running over to a tiny little ball of fur that couldn't be more than 6 weeks old. I pick the little pup up nuzzling it and missing my own dogs profusely. After a few minutes (or maybe more, but whose counting) I let the puppy go and continue on our way down the length of the island. "do you see what I see?"

 Alecs says noticing an empty sandy cove leading to the river. We excitedly look at each other and run like children to the water's edge. "It's cold," I say happily quickly wading in feeling the cool water flow over every part of me. Alecs swims out to the deeper part of the river and commences floating on his back. Another slightly older puppy wanders down to the river for a drink of water. "ANOTHER PUPPY," I say ecstatically, swimming over to pick it up. I play with the puppy until it becomes bored with me when I let it go. The puppy then decides to steal Alecs sandal and I end up chasing it up the sandy bank to retrieve it. "You rascal," I say to the puppy scratching it's head. We spend the entire day playing in the river like the locals, beating the heat and working on my tan, 

which is now a farmer's tan. Our fingers are more wrinkled than we've ever seen them and some speedo tourists join us signaling our time for departure. We head back to the hotel for a nice cold shower before another dinner at our favorite restaurant. The sound of laughing children goes well into the night and as the sun sets they are joined by parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. "I could live here," I tell Alecs. "When we are back in Canada and it's minus 20 outside this is the moment I will think of," I say. Sitting here as the sun turns the sky a brilliant shade of red while laughing

 children play in the river and adults mingle over a bottle of beer Lao, I can't help but feel these are the people living life as it should be lived. Tomorrow we are sadly leaving Laos and heading to Cambodia, we are excited about seeing the land of Angkor Wat but already missing the Lao life.

Until next time, so long.

Alecs and Meg in Don Khone

Ps. There are three videos below as well.

"CARE FOR A KEBOB OF CRICKETS?"

CHAMPASAK, LAOS

Temperature: 36 degrees Celsius

Track of the day: I'm a believer, The Monkees

"I hope that's our bus," I say to Alecs gesturing to a large bus with proper beds instead of seats. It's 8PM and we're leaving Vientaine in pursuit of the wonders of southern Laos. Sure enough, we separate from half of the group in our tuk-tuk and board the most comfortable  bus we've ever taken. "D17 and D18 - this is us," Alecs says as he kneels into the 2-person bottom bunk. Dinner is served on the bus and once finished we settle in for a delightful 9-hour sleep.

"I think we're here," Alecs says nudging me to wake up the next morning. As the bus pulls into the station we pack up our things and search for some form of transport to Champasak, our next destination. After nearly one hour of searching for the right bus station we board a sangathaew filled with locals and a couple tourists. A sangathaew is a converted pickup truck with a bed 1/2 the size of a regular one and a canopy with glassless windows on top. There are two long wooden benches on either side and one in the middle. "It's already really full

full," Alecs says as we squeeze our way onto a side bench. When the vehicle leaves 45 mins later there are 32 people and 2 babies crammed in every inch of space. Three young Lao men climb through the windows to fit while 5 more hang on the ledge outside and a couple climb on the roof. We stop several times en route where women in bamboo cone hats run to us shoving turnips, corn on the cob and skewers of toasted crickets through the windows.  "Care  for a kebab of crickets?" I ask Alecs, my fearless food connoisseur. "I think i'll pass on this one," he says, eyeing the nut-like salted crickets. We cross the Mekong on a ferry and are now face to face with the one-street town of Champasak, which we scour for accommodation. We find a $6/night place recommended by Lonely Planet which also rents out motorbikes. The bike rental had un convinced, but it was a decision we quickly regretted. "There's no soap," Alecs say peering into the washroom. "No soap," I exclaim looking over his shoulder, "there isn't even a toilet seat!" I spend the next ten minutes examining every filthy bug-ridden wall and the stained sheets which seem to have never been washed.  "I guess this is what you get for $6 a night," I say zipping every pocket of my backpack up. It's been almost a day since we last ate and we decide to eat at the attached restaurant. We order stir fried vegetables and rice and dig in as soon as it arrives. "What's wrong?" Alecs says when a thoroughly displeased look spreads across my face. "Oh, only a couple ants and a fly cooked into my food," I say dropping my fork and loosing my appetite. After what can only be called food Alecs rents a motorbike and while I take a walk through the town he tries to get his bearings on it.  I meet up with him 1/2 an hour later only to find a very frustrated and sweaty Alecs. "What's wrong," I ask him as a vendor pours a coke bottle of gasoline into the bike. "The gears are so worn out they won't shift half the time," he says irritatedly. The man funneling the gas tries to help Alecs out with the bike and after explaining to Alecs that it was broken he gave him a running  start and Alecs kicked the engine on coasting down the road. "I'll meet you back at the hotel," I shout as he drives by. A couple hours later Alecs comes back with a lifetime of stories and a

sweat-drenched t-shirt. "The bike is definitely broken," he says taking a long drink of water, "but I think I've made friends with every local in town," he adds smiling.  Alecs tells me of how every time the bike stalled two or three guys would help him try and get it started again. After hearing all Alecs' stories we  laze about in our dirty room until dinner when I suggest we find a new restaurant with fewer cooked bugs in the food. A couple locals nod their heads at Alecs as we pass them by and even our waiter at the restaurant engages him in a conversation about the bike before taking our order. After dinner I de-bug our bed, covering it in our own sheets, draping a mosquito net over it and bug-spraying the heck out of the room. "Are you going to be able to sleep?" Alecs asks as we crawl under the mosquito net. "I hope so I say," closing my eyes trying to imagine my own bed back home. The next morning we rise early to visit the

 ruins of Wat Phu Champasak - the reason we came this far.  "Do you have a different bike for rent," Alecs asks the owner. We are given a working Honda Baja and start our ride out to the ruins. "This is awesome," I shout, holding onto Alecs' waist as we ride through the Lao countryside. We weave through a herd of cattle and stop for a dog while passing lush green rice fields with tall looming mountains in the background. "Keep to your right," I say to Alecs as we pass a sign for the ancient ruins. Beautifully manicured gardens line a walkway with a beautiful, enticing lake in the middle. We park the bike up near the museum and walk in the exhausting head to the ancient Lao kingdom. "Wow, this is really neat," Alecs says when we finally see the long brick structure. Wat Phu is the former kingdom of Laos which mostly resembles the Angkor Era. A stunning backdrop of mountains shadow the processional which is flanked on both sides by large temples that although decayed through the years are slowly being restored.  We climb high up to view the entirety of the ancient kingdom before walking back down to our motorbike. "Let's stop and get a drink," I say to Alecs as we pass a small shop on the road. A young boy hands 

us two Pepsis in a plastic bag - my favorite way of getting a drink. Bag pop is cheaper because the vendor pours a bottle of pop into a clear plastic bag and sticks a straw in it, saving them the bottle. We spend the rest of the day exploring the countryside on the back of a motorbike, stopping to take pictures and admire the scenery. Before we know it the sun is setting and it's time for our last night in Champasak and the seedy hotel. Tomorrow we are heading to Si Phan Don (10,000 islands) where we will be staying on the island on Don Khone (these are islands on the river not the ocean).

Goodbye for now,

Alecs and Meg in Champasak