Sleeping with the Enemies 2 - An end note remains copyright of the author shinenyc, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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My friend, Wahyu, invited me to see the election of his village’s chief. One of his uncles, with the support of his entire extended family, is a candidate of this year’s election. Elections like this are held once every four years. Therefore, people with proper ID cards but who had left and worked elsewhere can come back to participate in this process.

We took a local bus from Yogyakarta to Magelang, then another one to Samerang, finally one to Derma, a village 25 km east of Samerang. The trip took only a few hours but the humidity had exhausted me. Fortunately, once I arrived, I was greeted with many smiles from the elders to the small children.

Any special events in any villages are always a reason for feast. Preparation and promotion of this election had been going on for months. Everyone is eager to see how their efforts will pay off and the results in these final days. At nighttime, family members gathered outside the candidate’s house after dinners for chatting and greeting of potential voters who stop by to show support under the big tent.

The next morning, I woke up to a strange sight – family members stuffing small envelopes with small bank notes, about 25,000 rupiah each ($2.5). Photos of the candidate and names of the voters are then stapled neatly on each envelope to avoid confusion. These envelopes will be given to each and every potential voter in the village on the night before the election, to solidify their support, in a way at least. It takes all day and night for the committee (family) members to finish this entire process. Since having a village chief in the family can bring prestige and honor, entire extended family will contribute to this election. I was told that his family for this election spent between 15 to 20 million rupiah. Are these efforts worth it? Only time can tell.

We escaped some of these activities during the day by going to Kudus, a nearby town famous for cigarette making, in a 20-year-old Vespa. After inhaling a considerable amount of pollution on the first major highway built in Java (connecting Jakarta to Surabaya), we arrived at the Cigarette Museum. As a non-smoker all my life, I felt strange walking into a museum that I have not much interest in. The notion of buying poison to put in one’s body is unthinkable for me, not to mention the politics behind the huge tax support of large companies to the government.

Anyhow, I strolled through the museum’s exhibition of an entire Indonesian family rose to fame and make history in this industry. It is amazing to see that nowadays hundred of brands were actually evolved from the original few.

On Election Day, we woke up bright and early and walked to the large field behind the school before 7:30am. Three of the five candidates had already arrived. They sat on the beautifully embroidered sofa in the center of the giant tent. My friend’s uncle stood next to his wife looking very nervous, while the others two looked more serene and confident. Another candidate arrived with his wife shortly afterward. Last but not least, the final candidate, in his 20s, waved and walked into the tent with his own encherages and overconfidence. All of them now sat across the stage watching and wondering who is going to make it to the final finished line.

The lines of villagers eagerly waiting outside the tent continued to lengthen until the voting process actually started after a list of announcements. Everyone waited patiently for the officials to check their Ids, then proceeded to go inside a curtained room to check off their candidates on the voting paper. Immediately after, they put the same piece of vote into the large wooden box.

Man gathered to chat. Women and young girls gossiped. Children kept staring at the balloons and paper toys until their parents buy for them. Hungry souls visited the few food stalls for iced drinks and snacks. I just tried to feel invisible among the crowds.

Voting was halted during midday and resumed around 2pm. By late afternoon, the results were obvious. The quiet but young candidate with a rich wife, who had stuffed the most money into his envelopes, won. The arrogant candidate left before the voting count due to low turnout embarrassment. My friend’s uncle and the other two older candidates, although disappointed, generously receded after the results came in.

On that day, all the villages in the Derma Regency had elections. The victors will bring great prestige to their families. These chiefs will receive many rice fields as rewards. They will decide to support or reject policies from the village committee and proceed to ask for funding from the national government. The losers will try again, if chances allow, in the future. This is ‘democracy at work’ - in a country that had come a long way from Soeharto’s iron fist until 1998, now finally achieve true democracy - popular vote for its own president (which many Indonesians can now proudly proclaimed as achievement over the US, a so-called democracy.)

Paying for Vote remains copyright of the author shinenyc, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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My friend from Kappala Indonesia, a NGO made up of environmentally and socially conscious university students (specializing in disaster preparation management) took me to the site to see the half a km wide path of lava from Merapi’s crater to the nearby village.

I walked along the deserted path where the lava spilled more than two years ago, admiring the young trees and bright green leaves, butterflies and birds next to all the truncated trunks and vertical cliff. Even the famous Javanese eagles were witnessed back here already building their nests, proving the return of the fertility in this area and the adaptability of wildlife in nature.

The reflection of my tiny shadow in the huge lava path only make me feel the insignificance of human beings when compared to the forces of nature.

This feeling didn’t end at the destruction site. It came back just a little while later when we greeted Mbah Maridjan, an elderly man who lived in the village about 15 km from Merapi’s crater, also keeper of Mount Merapi appointed by the late Yogyakarta Special Province's Sultan Hamengkubuwono IX in 1983. With a gentle smile, he led us into his living room with a dusty guest book and portraits of himself all over the walls.

Rumor was told that Mr. Maridjan, 79, climbed up the volcano and prayed for the safety of his villagers during the last eruption on 8 June of 2006, despite of repeated warning from the officials. Traditions believe that eruptions happen because the spirits are angry. Mr. Maridjan’s courage and determination had finally touched the spirits of Merapi and spared his village of any damage, whereas the tourists and government buildings nearby were all flattened and burned.

When he was told that I only know limited bahasa Indonesian, he immediately described himself as a monkey from the jungle, which is so backward that he cannot speak English. His selflessness and humbleness made me feel so small and shy that I lost my words. Mr. Maridjan is a national hero nowadays, even being used for energy drinks advertisement. But when confronted with these achievements, he simply expressed his confusion towards his fame. ‘I just put the unexpected income in the development of my village,’ he said.

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A recent project of KAPPALA includes the rediscovery of a lost dance and music tradition that had not been practiced for over 50 years. Members interviewed elders from different villages and finally found someone who had distant childhood memories of this particular art form and willing to teach newer generations. A festival was held with the tourism officer from Jakarta and hundreds of villagers attended.

I was honored to be invited to join one of their activities in Gunungkidul, an area about two hours southeast of Yogya. A wonderful university student major in international relations and environmental science took me on his motorbike to a village called Purwodadi through the winding roads around beautiful karst/limestone mountain. We arrived at the house of the village head. To my surprise, she is a young muslim woman in her 30s, elected democratically by her village and can stay in her office for life although she is likely to retire in her 50s and pass on to someone more capability at that time. As a matter of fact, two of the four sub-villages had female village heads, a rarity in Muslim society. We will escort her and a woman group to another village an hour away for a meeting to exchange knowledge of crops the next day.

We spent the late afternoon walking around the dry fields of kasafas among beautiful limestone hills, paying tribute to Bukit Pacang, a legendary hill where locals climb up and pray when problems arise. Since the government already have plans next year to expand the small road here so large trucks to come into this area for the high quality limestone which can be turned into cement. KAPPALA is preparing villagers in case their resources and more importantly, their natural environment, are taken away with little compensation.

Another 10-minute drive took us to a quiet beach called Siung beach which, like most south java beaches, is not suitable for swimming or even fishing because of the strong waves. Nevertheless, the remoteness and serenity add to the beauty of this coastal area especially during sunset. Sitting on a small limestone hill, we discussed current politics - how parties with conservative islamic agenda in indonesia are gaining power with the support of similar movement in Malaysia, how this lead to increasing foreign involvement in law-making and this potential devastating long-term effect of many natural resources and diverse environments in local communities.

Back to the village head's house, she prepared fresh tuna we bought from the tiny restaurant by the beach for dinner. While waiting for her family to cook with kasafa wood, we sat next to the stove in the large traditional kitchen and chatted more about family, relationship and the amazing differences between east and west culture even in the 21st century.

Early next morning, we met with over 20 women villagers and boarded them on a small bus to another village called Pacarejo. Since most men make their living by working in nearby town while women attend the fields, KAPPALA feels that this is a great opportunities to empower and give hope to many of these women by exchanging experiences with other villages. Today's focus is for them to learn new technique from other villages which had successfully planted and used umbi umbian (local form of root plants like ginger, potato or taro) for selling at the market especially when demand is larger than supply at this point. Villagers can make $2-3 per kilo if they turn these into chips.

A long meeting and several hands-on demonstrations later, we had lunch. Then we went to another village and visited the local radio station that KAPPALA set up several years ago. More demonstrations and meeting followed. Agreement was made to help each other on distribution with already establish network at supermarkets domestically and perhaps even export through larger companies from Jakarta. Back to the first village, the friendly elder showed all of us how to make organic fertilizers using material around the farm such as cow or goat dungs, certain plants etc...

Finally, we took the tired group to the only natural reservoir that still functions in the area today, one that soil is still compact enough to store rain water for local use and refill itself by absorbing water from the surrounding fields. Chemical fertilizers used over the years had deteriorated soil in the field making them very loose, therefore many reservoirs were not able to store the rainwater more than a week. Some villagers even stated that chemical fertilizers accelerate their aging process. By using organic fertilizers on more profitable crops, the villagers can be benefit financially by working together using their natural resources in an environmentally responsible manner.

By this time, being the only woman in the group, I made friends with many other members of KAPPALA. We had great fun and joked around while we worked. Big thumb up for KAPPALA! Stay tune for their new website in October 2008 - http://www.kappalaindonesia.or.id.

KAPPALA to a better life remains copyright of the author shinenyc, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Cibodas proved to be a lovely place with its cool, misty weather and potted plants amid small gardens along the village's major road. I checked into my homestay, then walked to the famous Cibodas Botanical garden next to the entrance of the Gunung Gede National Park. Situated inside primary rainforest, this botanical garden hosts many species of plants from all over the world including many trees hundreds of years old. I walked around aimlessly from the Sakura garden to the herb garden, crossing over the large lawn with pond and fountain where young couple camp overnight.

Before dark, I left the botanical garden and headed for the internet cafe. Over the next two hours, I chatted with Ipai, the owner, also a mountain guide about everything including the notorious spirits that exist in many mountains of java. His last encounter happened during a week-long cleanup trip at the summit with other rangers when they saw a circle of villagers on the plateau below. Another time he saw the legend of Gede in a fireball floating in the dark sky at 2am towards Bogor and joked that this spirit was annoyed by all the young boy scouts camping in the park.

The next morning, I registered and paid at the office and started the hike an hour away to the waterfall with groups of teenagers. After letting the impatient youngsters pass me next to the beautiful turqoise lake with fishes the size of one's arm, the waterfalls finally appear saturated with bodies playing in the water and laughter.

I left the crowded waterfall and kept trekking up along the rocky trails to the air panas (hot spring) about two hours away. 'Now I can enjoy the jungle by myself', I told myself and at the same time, strangely wary about the daytime spirits which might just happen to hover around me. At noon, I finally reached the steamy forest high up in the mountain and held on to the rope tip toeing on the hot rocks to the rest area where a few local campers was having lunch. I enjoyed the serene atmosphere amid the humid air for a while and made a wish.

Another long and crowded minibus ride with a friendly driver later, I arrived at Bogor which like other indonesian cities, filled with too many exhausts choking the air. I took another ojek on the highway with my backpack to another homestay and headed to the famous Bogor Botanical Garden early on the crowded Sunday morning. Students and families from nearby Jakarta made this otherwise quiet park very lively. To beat the crowds, I walked among ancient trees and their roots. While elementary students asked foreigners for 10 minutes to chat in English, I was interviewed by high school students who are overjoyed by their 'discovery', a tourist who looks just like them.

A short stroll in the orchid greenhouse and the main lawn filled with families and karate students later, I walked back to my guesthouse and headed to the bus station back to Yogya.

Gardens of West Java remains copyright of the author shinenyc, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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I got on the shuttle to Gambir train station, with my backpack, and went to the toilet. When I came out, my bus and my backpack was gone. My nervousness attracted the attention of a friendly local. With hand signal and broken English, we communicated perfectly and chased for my bus in the terminal after a night of no sleep and sore muscles from the Kinabalu climb one day ago. He accompanied me to Gambir station on the next bus and fortunately, my backpack was waiting for me. I thanked him with quick breakfast and got on the train to Yogya one more time.

I arrived just in time for Indonesia's independent day ceremony. Every village and town had contests such as pole climbing and volleyball etc. Here, poles were lubricated with oil making climbing to the top almost impossible. Prizes were hanged at the top for the toughest locals. Volleyball games were played using instead a normal net, a solid plastic sheet, which prevent athletes from seeing each other. It was most hilarious to watch the two sides catching last minute balls coming down 'somewhere from the top'. I met up with my spanish airport friends and went to the concert outside kraton in yogya. Because of their foreign look, every young concert goers stares at them as we passed with curiosity.

After a week in yogya, I took a train to Bandung, a city for shopping from people in Jakarka. I, of course, had no interest in shopping, but the volcano scenery in this area. I befriended a nice man who sat next to me on the train. He took me to the fanciest Chinese restaurant (in which the fish comes with a hook) for dinner with his uncle and dropped me off at my hotel in his new Honda.

The next morning, I boarded a local bus to Ciwidey. After being approached by tens of sellers trying to make a living out of everything from bread to drinks to cigarettes to fruits to gadgets, we finally left the station with crawling speed out of the traffic jam in the city.

I got off this extremely slow bus before Ciwidey and jumped on an ojek (motorbike) to go to Kawah Putih. Communicating with my broken Indonesian, he became my tour guide and photographer. We trekked around the beautiful turquoise lake in the crater, dangerously close to the bubbling lava until the smell of sulphur was too overwhelming and drove through the extensive tea plantation on the mountains at Rancobali. I must admit that there is something about riding in nature on a motorbike, the freedom with no glass window in between is addictive.

Back to the Bandung bus station, I was choked with pollution and crowded minibus. So I decided to stay another night and treated myself with a good dinner. Luckily, a brand new shopping centre called 'Paris van Java' was 10 minute walk away from my hotel. I searched desperately for what I came here for - sushi. After loading up at a great bakery called 'Breaktalk', I became the only customer at the only sushi restaurant and had the most delicious fried tofu, handroll and tuna sushi. Then watched 'The Mummy' for less than $3.

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The next morning, after failing to negotiate a decent price for the minibus (because the bus driver thought I am Japanese) and waiting for it to get full, I arrived at Kinabalu National Park around 10. The quota for climbing Mt Kinabalu is 198 each day and I was lucky to register and climb on the same day after someone cancel and a bed in the lodge was found for the night.

My guide was a young friendly muslim. We walked 4.5 km from the headquarter office to the main gate before I got a chance to have my breakfast, the lunch bag included in the package. The first few kilometer was gently sloped and I was able to catch up with most other hikers. The last km proved to be a bit more challenging with increasing steepness. I took my time and finally arrived at the rest house restaurant at 3100m (6km) where buffet were served to crowds of hungry climbers. We checked into our lodge and slept early, hoping for a good start early next morning for sunrise.

I slept only for two hours. It might be my anxiety or constant footsteps from people going into the toilet opposite our room. Nevertheless, I unwillingly got dressed in layers of thermals and start climbing with my guide at 2:30am. Going up hundred of stone steps in the cold night is not the most pleasant thing for the legs, but with hikers in front and behind me, I was not about to give up although the climb got rougher by the minutes. We used ropes to pull ourselves up the rock surface in the last km. Since I did not pack any gloves, by this time, my fingers were so cold that they were about to break off from my hands. It was at this point that I truly appreciate the encouragement from my guide who took my hands into his, warm them up and almost pulled me through the steep last 200m to the submit (4095m, 8.7 km).

The view was magnificent at the submit of Mt Kinabalu. Although clouds had dimmed the sunrise, the surrounding peaks and rock surfaces are truly memorizing. It almost looks like the surface of another planet. Everyone took their opportunities for photos. I was overjoyed and really glad that the ascent was over.

After almost 30 minute at the submit, I finally start descending. The smooth rock surfaces prove to be quite easy to go down compared to going up. The peaks now reflected the early sun ray and demands more respect. We arrived at the rest house after almost two hours of descent and had a very much deserved breakfast. Then continued to go down another 6 km back to the main gate during when I had some wonderful conversation with my guide about everything from Muslim to pop culture.

Suddenly the rain started coming down when we are almost back at the headquarter, it is a rain forest after all. My knees and feet needed rest, not wetness. I said goodbye to my wonderful guide. Without him, I would probably still be climbing and cursing somewhere on the trail. It must be the magic of Mt Kinabalu and friendliness of my guide that had made this climb possible.

I braved the rain and waited for the bus outside the entrance of the national park to Kota Kinabalu.

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Understandably, most tour packages in this region are not catered to single traveller that show up without reservation. After inquiring about some 2 day 1 night tour into these wildlife reserves and getting ridiculously expensive quotes from two different travel agencies, I decided to try my luck at a research office. To my surprise, I was allowed by a very nice manager at the local Department of Forestry to camp next the river at the Taliwas Conservation area which used to be logged 30 years ago, about 45 minute from Lahad Datu.

For the next two days, I trekked with a ranger in the secondary forest nearby and spotted a wild male orangutan making a nest high on the tree, bite by the fighty fire ants, saw the rare marble cat in our night safari drive and helped to plant trees. I've befriended the hospitable manager's family who invited me for dinners and played with his young son, Aedan.

From Lahad Datu, I took a bus that dropped me off at a junction and another shared taxi with a few plantation workers on a dusty roads to the village of Sukau, a beautiful village along Sungai Kinabatagan. Due to the abundance of palm oil plantation in this area, most wildlife nowadays are trapped in a very narrow stretch of secondary forest by this mighty river in East Sabah. In recent years, the acidic level of the river was risen dramatically by fertilizer from nearby mountains and mountains of plantation and the water level was risen by abandoned logs on the river bottom. Fortunately, local conservation teams and NGOs are working hard to save the last piece of land by replanting native trees and protecting the remaining wildlife population.

From the moment I watched the Borneo Elephant show on Animal Planet, I was determined to come to this part of the world to further understand this unique specie. I decided to try my luck, again, by talking to a local NGOs headed by a french couple doing research on orangutans and was introduced to a master student who is working on these elephants. For the couple days, a dedicated research student took me to track for her collared female, Belina, and her family in the forest. I exchanged my notes with her on animal behavior and had a wonderful time with her conservation team. Her valuable information allowed me to have a much deeper understanding on the conflict between human and elephants, for my own studies. My dream had come true.

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To save money, me and my 50-year-old senior trekking guide, took yellow minibus taxi, then changed to long-distance minibus, then another truck, all packed with passengers, to get out to the mountains. By the time I reached Loksado, I had inhaled a few tons of exhaust fume which made my coughing and sinus much worse.

We started trekking from Loksado village on a trail, also used by the villager's motorbikes, for little more than two hours, finally reaching a small village with an old empty longhouse. Another 30 minute later took us to another village, then the supposedly famous waterfall. My guide, Alexander, was excited to show me their treasure, while I was a bit disappointed at the height of this fall. I, however, pretended to be quite glad that we made it and refused to walk out on the slippery log for photos because of my shoes. Alexander assured my safety so I braved myself but almost fell into the roaring river after my shoes slipped. Luckily, I was saved by my guide and avoided a tragedy.

We motorbiked through the secondary forest back to the Loksado village and had tea with some elders. Since the sun was about to set, we each took an ojec through the winding roads in the mountains back to Kandalgan. It was quite an exhilarating feeling speeding up and down these limestone hills. Another three hours of torturing inhalation of exhaust later, I was never so glad to reach my hotel room for a hot shower.

The next day, I took an overnight bus to Balikpapan with a New Zealand couple. Here we changed a few minibuses from the outskirt of Samarinda, to Tenggarone, to Kota Bungai, where we took a boat to the village of Muara Muntai along the mighty Sungai Makaham.

Muara Muntai is a relatively clean, beautifully-constructed and organized village on a swampy island with wide broadwalk and satellite next to almost every house. Some houses are as elaborated as large houses on land. We checked in a simple losmen for $5 a night.

After breakfast and morning walk, we took a cez across Danau (Lake) Jampung to the first Dayak village on the Mahakam called Tanjung Isuy. After checking into another losmen with beautiful view, we went for a walk and were invited by the local to the first night of the Ceremony for the Dead celebration.

Traditional ceremonies were always quite boring to be honest, especially after a few hours of mourning songs. Luckily, besides the 'singers' on one side of the longhouse, there are also a large number of very young children playing chess in the middle and another group of men gambling on the far end. Each oblivious of the other group.The highlight of the ceremony is the dancing or the circling of the skull box seven times by men and women separately. I joined in to the action, learned some new steps and was glad to finally retreat back to my room for the night.

Next morning, we rode along Sungai Ohong, a tributary off Sungai Mahakam, into another village called Moncong. While most exposed land were logged and farmed in the beginning, after an hour, our cez slowly took us into a territory with thick forest and large trees where kingfishers, herons, monitor lizards and proboscis monkeys roam freely. This is how I always imagine Borneo, at least the images on TV, not the polluted towns and plantations. Our cez driver, Yani, skillfully navigated through fallen logs over the next few hours while we enjoy the wildlife Borneo was so famous for.

On our return trip, the sky turned dark and the daily downpour began. Our boat kept moving along the narrow river with millions of raindrops hitting the river surface - a true rainforest river experience, I told myself and then dozed off shortly after with the soothing sound of rain.

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After all the sitting, I decided to find the police station in town for the letter I needed for the park permit, instead of hiring an ojec (motorbike taxi). I need to photocopy my visa but most of the fotocopy shops in town has no power at mid-day. I kept walking quite aimlessly on a large road until the large police station appeared on my right. A small fotocopy shops had a small line of people. I made my copy and was directed to a room where the park letter can be obtained. After 20 min, I obtained my letter from a friendly policeman.

My next stop is the park office. I kept walking in midday sun on the large road. 15...30...45 min... Finally after almost 5km, I reached the road lead off a traffic circle where the park office is supposed to locate. Once I walked inside the office and stated my purpose of coming, I saw surprising look on many faces. 'Why did you come by yourself?', Inten, a friendly officer asked me. Later, I realized that most tourists obtained their permits from their tour guide or agency. I ended up befriended and met up with Inten a few times.

After a few arrangements, I finally found a local guide from Kumai, Andy, who took me and two Holland couples in a Klotek into the park. I then find homestay at the village of Tanjung Harapin for less than what the Lonely Planet rate include three huge meals of mie goreng and nasi. We headed off the next day to visit the much anticipated Camp Leakey.

When my cek, motorized canoe, arrived at the pier, a mother orangutan with a baby and her young son was entertaining the tourists who were having lunch on their klotoks. I sat down with Andy with a glass of Nescafe in our hand. The mother orangutan wasted no time to come over and took Andy's glass, then finished mine tasty drink as well.

After registering with the camp officer, we started trekking in the forest behind the camp. I asked if Andy can locate Kusasi, the legendary orangutan king who ruled this area for over 10 years, the longest reign of any orangutan. Kusasi's mother was murdered when he was a baby. He was sold to someone in Kumai. Luckily, the new endangered specie was enacted in time and he was brought back to Camp Leakey when he was under 3.

While most orangutan babies seek human care at this age, Kusasi disappeared into the jungle and reappeared more than one and half year later at camp. No one knows how an orangutan at this young age can survive by himself in the dangerous jungle environment without any guidance. Once he returned to camp, Kusasi continued to refuse human contact but followed the dominant female orangutan as his adopted mom although she had never completely accepted him. He was expalled by her after her new baby was borned a few years later.

Alone again, Kusasi's strong determination to be on top enable him to climb up in rank and after increasing his hormone level and obtain his cheekpals, he began fighting off fellow males with brutal forces and ruled his territories with fear during the most devastating 10 years in Borneo current history. Behind his toughness, he also showed a tender side with his female and mated with all of them during his reign. Unfortunately, the great fire of Borneo in 1997 slowly forced male orangutans from other territories into the national park and this created great challenges Kusasi. Over 30, Kusasi braved his kingdom for as long as he could but was finally took over by Tom, the current ruler.

Andy, who is the oldest guides in the park, grew up watching Kusasi. He made the familiar call while we trekked. Fifteen minute later, I could not believe my eyes. The old king appeared in the trees only a few metres from us, almost oblivious to our presence, searching for termite nest in the ground. He continued while we watched patiently. After 15 minutes, I asked Andy if it is possible to give him the apple in my bag, a rather insignificant offering to the king. Andy agreed and gave my apple to Kusasi.

After finishing the apple, Kusasi slowly moved forward to closeby the trail where we are. Only a metre away from him, I can see that the once mighty king now has wounds on the lips, half-bitten ears, cut off finger and large incision on the forehead which he constantly touches, as if to ask us for help and welcome us to his home. Like an old man, Kusasi started yearning after playing host for another 10 minutes. Andy and I understandably said farewell and moved on. My brief encounter with Kusasi was a tremendously humbling experience.

Feeding time started around 2pm. Over 30 tourists crowded in front of the feeding table for the 'eating show' with cameras of all sorts. Numerous orangutans show up, mostly nursing mothers with babies. While I enjoyed watching their behavior interacting with each other, I could not help but felt uncomfortable with this setup. However, the fact is that these human care orangutans can never be completely wild because of the continue logging and destruction of their habitat.

Over a long conservation with a volunteer at the camp, I realized that there are currently over 300 orphans residing at a small and overcrowded centre in Pangkalanbun. Are we finally going to realize our selfishness and greed when this magnificent specie becomes extinct in 10 to 20 years?

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Daily life such as bathing and shopping involves around this river. You can find river cafes, ministore, mosholla (small mosques) along the canal and children jump in and out of river hitching a ride from cez (motorize canoes) passing by.
Every morning, there is a floating market where their river residents sell their produces and fruits in the traditional way. I met my guide at 5am, had breakfast at the river 'Starbuck' and made our way to the floating market. To my surprise, the presence of me and other local tourists did not seem to bother their traders a bit. It is also much less touristy and more peaceful than the floating market in Bangkok.

After the floating market, we made our way to Palau Kembang where large tribes of long-tailed macaques congregate and reside close to a a Chinese temple. The dominant tribe stationed close to the pier in the morning where tourists get off and feed them with peanuts. The less dominant tribe come to the pier after the dominant retreat for the day.

Located an hour out of town, Cempaka's diamond mines are owned by a handful of landowners and managed by a few decently-dressed men patrolling around large holes of muddy water local diggers spend entire day in waist high water filtering wooden baskets of silt hoping to find tiny speck of the precious stones. These diggers are paid Rp 25000 ($2.5-3) per day and shared a tiny portion of the profits if a diamond is sold.

During the multiple transit from colt (small and packed minibus) to small open trucks, my guide (ex-english teacher), Mukani, told me amazing stories about Australian and Arabic businessmen coming to Bajarmasin for cheap rough diamonds, ended up being cheated or mistrusted by the local people. We talked about health system and economy over mie goreng (fried noodle) at the local market after a long day.

That night, a very strange thing happened. A cat that look exactly like my long time companion (only with very short tail), Michigan, appeared in the lobby of my hotel just when I was about to head back to the room for the night. Michigan had passed away 20 months ago. I could not help but gave her some affection. When I asked if she'd like to stay in my room, she followed me and we spent a cozy night together, with her never more than two feet from me. The next morning, she waited for me to bring sticky rice with fish. When she saw me packing, she slowly walked outside the room, disappearing from my sight, the same way she came into my life the night before.

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Gunung Bromo is not the highest, but has the most dramatic scenery of all volcanos in Java. Crowds of tourists wake up before dawn and make their way up to a viewpoint for sunrise every morning. After only a few hours of sleep, I dragged myself out of bed and got into our Jeep. Within 30 minute, we were brought close of the summit of another mountain and was completely mesmerized by the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen. Even more magnificent than Mt Sinai because of the surrounding volcanoes and sea of clouds.

After sunrise, we were taken to the bottom of Bromo and had to walk on the sea of sand to the staircase led to the crater. The scenery here is equally breathtaking. Shadow of horses scattered among the foggy mist form a perfect picture. I slowly walked up to the crater while most others hired horses. A smoky crater reminds me how meniscus human being are. Longing to admire this natural power in its resting stage, I decided to trek around the enormous crater. It took me some time to follow the trail behind the crater to the lake and hilltop behind and another good hour to climb up and down along the narrow trail around crater edge. Without doubt, this experience is more satisfying than simply trekking up a volcano.

After my adrenalin was gone, my body yearned for rest. I took a slow horse ride back to the simple hotel next to the volcano, had quick breakfast, showered, checked out and sat next to the horses to do some sketching before heading down the mountain back to Probolingo. Another bus to Surabaya where I would fly to Borneo, or Kilimantan early next morning.

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I took a short flight and landed at the gateway city, Padang, on the island of Sumatra, from Singapore. Without much touristic attractions, I learn to best spend my time people-watching and visiting local markets. A friendly local took me on his motorbike to find a homestay/guesthouse when the airport shuttle dropped me off somewhere with no taxi in sight. I wasted no time to walk to the public park close by. Before sunset, children and family crowded the go carts and old video arcades corner while others practice football. Adults gather for volleyball and badminton. Being in the vicinity of families is comforting to me when I am traveling alone for a long time. There is also a very lively and crowded market with motorbikes and horses in between locals shopping everything from food to clothing. What a great way to be introduced to this unique culture. I had a traditional Indonesian dinner with over 10 single dishes with rice and tea for less than a dollar(us).

The next morning, I took a local bus to a hilltop town called Bukittinggi, a popular local resort town. Coincide with the two-week Indonesia holidays, it took me a few tries to find a 1-star hotel. With cooler and dryer weather, it was a pleasure to walk around this beautiful town. After stopping by the panarama where rice fields populated in a deep canyon and a large tunnel city built by the Japanese during WWII, I headed to the local market for a local snack - satay on top of rice cake with peanut and curry sauce, then wandered around and watched local tourists and families enjoyed themselves in the large square in the lazy Saturday afternoon.

A two-hour minibus ride took me back from Bukittingo to Padang where I would catch my next flight to Jakarta, the capital. From the train station there, I took an overnight train and headed straight to a medium city in central Java called Yogyakarta (Jogja). Arriving on a Saturday morning at 5 am during local holidays means virtually impossible to find accommodation. After walking around with my backpack for over an hour, I finally found a room to sleep.

Since there are 57 universities in town with Jogja, it is the history, art and cultural soul of Indonesia. Galleries and cafes lined the busy streets next to local shops and restaurants. I felt in love with this rich and diverse atmosphere. History and modern society almost seem to exist in harmony in this quiet yet lively town. Unlike Vietnam, motorbike and motor cars share the streets with no honking. Traffic jam disappears before any agitation set in.

The major tourist attraction here is the Borobudur Temple located about an hour ride north of Jogja. I took an hour of motorbike on winding roads through villages. Built about 1000 years old, it is a symmetrical structure carved with reliefs of stories of Javanese Buddhist lives. Local tourists carry umbrellas for the strong sun added touches of color to an otherwise monotone canvas of latticed stupas of headless Buddha on the six terraces. I reached my hand into the Buddha inside one of the lattice on the top terrace and made a wish.

I visited the Mendut Temple close by which has a Buddha sitting on a chair, instead of the traditional crossed lotus position. Next, we rode to Gunung Merapi, an active volcano that erupted two years ago causing considerable damages to nearby villages and covered many ancient sites with dusts. Viewing the panorama from Kaliuburg only increase my thirst to hike up this magnificent volcano. While heading down the mountain, my motorbike driver stopped by a rusty house where groups of students stay for two months and work as volunteers to educate local villager handicraft, art, music or other fields of their discipline. It is a program that all university had to go through before graduation.

The next morning, I visited an unusual place where most tourists rather stay away from – the hospital. The past few days, my arms and legs were bitten by insects and became very swollen. Instead of putting antibiotic cream, I decided to confirm with a doctor. The local hospital has a spacious waiting room with cafes and friendly staff registering each patient their information according to queue. Then we went up to a corner on the second floor especially for skin problems. I waited for a good 45-minute before seeing the doctor who confirm my suspicion and prescript me both stronger oral and exterior medication. I then went downstairs to pay for the doctor and administration fee (US$5), and medicine (US$25). After my bedbug episode in Malaysia’s jungle guesthouse two weeks ago, this is my second encounter to the blood-thirsty insects in this part of the world, targeting fresh and tasty tourist blood. It is just part of rough travel.

Next I visited the local Bird Market, where not only all types of singing birds and pigeons are for sale, cages of lizards, monkeys, rabbits, even cats, snakes and bats are all over the floor. My heart became very heavy when I look into the eyes of these frightened and neglected animals. But this is also local culture and tradition that cannot simply be eliminated, even with authority and connection. I could not help but pray for the fate of these animals and hope they find a good owner.

After the depressing stroll in the bird market, I passed by a Batik painter’s studio. Batik paintings, made with wax and special color chemical found mostly in nature, are famous in Java and sold all over the world. Batik artists acquire their skills over a lifetime. I sat down and talked to the artist for over an hour. While most paintings feature traditional patterns and subjects, more and more young artists use this traditional technique to express abstraction in the last 20 years, creating a large artistic community here. That night, I visited a neighborhood where families made sandals, handbag, and wallets for a living. Every Javanese welcome me with smiles and hospitality I could not find in large cities. That evening, I visited a couple who designed traditional Javanese dress. Of course, I took the opportunity to put on a wedding outfit and became a Javanese bride for a short time.

On the next morning, I visited the sultan’s residence, Kranton, a small but elegant house for the 10th sultan and his family of five daughters. It also housed some of the international gifts and traditional batik from the beloved 9th sultan and his wives. Outside the palace, a very vocal prisoner gibbon was kept in a small cage inside a courtyard where the gift shop located.

My day continued with a visit to the Hindi Temples at Prambanan. All the temples were built in the middle of the 9th century, around 50 years after Borobudur. With the main temples of Candi Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma and courtless smaller structure dedicated to even the vehicle cow Nandi, this complex looks surprising similar to Angkor Wat. Me and my driver, who happened to be also a history student, strolled thru the large complex, discussing colonial politics and modern Javanese religion. That evening, I enjoyed a wonderful performance at the open air theatre here for the love and war story of Rama and Sita, with live musicians, singers and the magnificent Candi Shiva in the backdrop.

My last day in Yogya was spent in galleries. Among them is the famous Affandi Gallery in the outskirt of town. The eclectic complex includes his galleries, studio, residence, cafes. He and his wife were also buried among their beloved home and artwork. Affandi's work are mostly impressionism on portraits. His excellent use of colors reflect the atmosphere of the painting and mood of the artist at the same time.

Then I visited the Clementi Art Gallery and a few other artist homes. Each with a unique style, it is a pleasure for me to be introduce into Javanese art. I love all of Jogja.

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However, the mentality of its people is also somewhat very typical of big city, namely, 'we are better than the rest'. My Chinese Singapore taxi driver at the border asked me where I traveled before coming to Singapore. Before I finished telling him that I just traveled through Malaysia, he showed me a bitter face. Even my hostel owner kept telling me about how polluted Jakarta is. Although I don't think anywhere in this world is more merticulately crafted and better designed than Singapore, there is always a hidden egoism that I loathed when visiting large cities.

My first visit upon arriving at my eclectic hostel situated at a residential complex is the Singapore Zoo. Truth to its fame, this cageless zoo is exceptionally well-designed and a great pleasure to visit. Each enclosure is designed to resemble the animal's natural habitat, down to the type of plant and soil. Visitor can walk into the kangaroo enclosure or tropical greenhouse and freely interact with its residents. Lemurs jumping on tree branches, bat flying and lizard patrolling less than a metre away. Even the Asian elephant show is narrated with educational and humorous lines that visitors come out with much more appreciation for these magnificent animals.

The Night Safari, next to the zoo, is designed for visitors to see animal at night in their 'natural' habitat, allowing modern city people who cannot survive in the real jungle walk on paved concrete 'trails'. Compared to my jungle trekking experience in Bolivia and Malaysia, this night safari is a five-star establishment comes complete with mosquitoes, the only annoyance here.

Sungai Brunei Wetland Reserve is my first destination on the next day. After having lunch next to a 5-feet monitor lizard, I started walking along the well-indicated trails along marshlands. A few herons, the beautifully-colored kingfishers, all type of lizards, even crabs are spotted in different locations. Crocodiles have been seen on some trails but luckily I did not encounter any, just a few more monitor lizards that run upon hearing my footstep.

For a change after indulging myself in nature, I decided to head to Little India for dinner and walkaround. Compare to the rest of Singapore, Little India feels very lively. All of a sudden, heavy rain started pouring down. And of course, it is the day I took my rain coat out of my bag. So I, like many other, waited on the corner next to loud speakers blasting indian pop music for a good while before braving myself across the street to a vegetarian restaurant. After a cheap and delicious meal, I walked aimlessly into an eclectic indian creamery and had myself an expensive but unique indian ice cream topped with pistachio and other nuts.

I decided to walk my dessert off by visiting the famous Sri Veeramakaliamman temple, dedicated to the Hindu Goddess Kali, the consort of Shiva, on Serangoon Road. The hindu figures outside this rather small but busy temple are detailed and lively, similar to the atmosphere inside. Streams of worshippers come into the main hall and get blessed by the holy water blessed by Kali's devotees.

Last but not least, I visited the national library, a modern architecture building, and ended my day on the busy Orchid street where shopping malls abound. Materialism still rules the majority.

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After checking in a private chalet, I crossed river Tembeling and stopped by the Department of Wildlife to register my stay. Then started to walk on the well-indicated trails to the popular attraction of the park, the Canopy Walkway. The park also built hides where people can stay over and watch animals at night. Walking on the canopy, I cannot help but compare it with the ziplines and treehouses high in the jungle from the Gibbon Experience in northern Laos.

It took me almost 40 minutes to hike up Bukit Teresik (354m) where magnificent views of the jungle can be seen on the summit and 15 minutes to get the self-timer function of my new Canon G9 working. I laid down for a power nap and absorbed every bit of sound from the jungle residents. Once back down, another hour of trekking through mud and dense jungle took me to Limpon Simpon, an area where water was so clear that an utter welcomed me by showing off his swimming skill from far. Back to the resort, a family of wild hog ventured out for dinner.

My night activity was river safari. Using a torch, my guide, spotted deers, owls and utters, in the dark canopy lighted up by a few fireflies here and there. 'Tigers had been spotted', he said, 'when they come out to the river for a drink, but very very rarely.'

Next morning, I visited Gua Telinga, a very narrow cave with a huge bat populations. Crawling with our hands and legs in bat dungs, we got up close and personal with these very cute mammals. Luckily, there were no snakes around.

On our way back to the boat, we passed by an aborigine village, called Orang Asli, in Malay. These are subsistent people living in the jungle for hundreds of years. Although government nowaday give land and provide education to the children, many of them still lead a very simple life, except accepting income from the tourists. Back to Kuala Tahan, trying desperately to avoid the strong sun, I learned to play Camroon, the national game with wooden pegs played with fingers, with the local guides, until my fingers hurt.

I woke up early to drizzles, anticipating the 2 day trekking on the Keniam Trail in the north of Taman Negara. My group includes people from America, France, Australia, Belgium and of course Holland. The trail was not difficult but very muddy. We slipped and slided our way through in many parts. Leeches took the opportunities for a buffet of tourists' fresh blood donation. Never sweat so much in my life, I was constantly soaked over the 5 hours trek (8 km)on the first day, until a highly anticipated wash in a small stream close to a large cave where we stayed overnight. Needless to say, most of us were exhausted and choked down the delicious chicken curry, mackerel soup and rice prepared by our guides. I slept away in Bob Marley's music, dreaming about seeing wild elephants that night since there were lots of elephant dungs at the entrance of the cave.

Suddenly, pots and pans were falling on the ground. In the middle of the night, a civet cat sneaked into our cave noisily and finished our leftover rice in the pot. The thief were not shy at all. He kept eating on its 'stage' with spotlight shining on him, then slowing walked away after 5 minute pretending nothing had ever happened although everyone was woken up by his noisy intrusion.

Waking up in natural cave was refreshening, although my back need a little adjusting afterward. We had toasts with jams and coconut butter, milo and nescafe for breakfast and headed out for another day of trekking in the jungle. The trail today involved more ups and downs but was equally muddy. We carefully jumped through old tree roots, dense vegetations, fallen tree trucks and shallow streams. After another 8 km, we are all relieved at the sight of our destination and the sound of our pickup boat. All I want was a cold shower.

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I must have picked the busiest day of the year because there were busloads of school children and tourist crowds all anxious to see and ride these magnificent animals. All the elephants look quite relaxed and well-trained when dealing with people. Some of them are very picky at the kind of fruits visitors offer them. The highlight of my visit was the bathing of the baby elephants. The two were so at ease with playing in the water with visitors that for a moment it might seem to temporarily ease the painful memories of family separation for these youngsters.

I also visited the Deerland Zoo, a nearby small zoo that housed various animals, such as macquets, sun bear, pocupine, flying squirrels etc. Although the zoo allows touch and close contact with all these animals, I cannot help but think how much money the owner is making by putting a fence or cage around these once wild and free animals.

From Temerloh, I took a bus to Jerantut, the gateway to Taman Negara, the National Park of Malaysia. Waiting for the night bus to Kuala Tahan, the village at the park entrance, I wandered into a hotel hoping to rest in air-con lobby away from the humidity and heat from the streets. Once inside, I casually asked if there is any guide willing to take me up to Gunung Tahan, the highest mountain in peninsular Malaysia. The Chinese receptionist gave me the phone no. of a local guide. With nothing to do for the next few hours, I decided to try my luck.

To my surprise, the person on the other line was very professional. Within 15 min, he came to see me at the hotel lobby with pamphlets of jungle activities and explained to me that treks up to Gunung Tahan is very rare because it takes more than one week and too expensive for one person. Instead, he offered to show me to his regular job, timber truck driver.

Within a few hours, I was taken in a large timber truck to the logging hut on a clear patch of logged land in the middle of the jungle. The woman workers welcomed me with warm enthusiasm. We talked with broken english and malay until late night and felt asleep. Next morning, I was greeted with a delicious fried maggi noodle with chicken breakfast. After breakfast, they showed me around different logging areas by different owners, mostly Chinese. I spent hours watching the skillful workers carefully loading each truck with timbers, with meticulous precision to ensure safety and chatted with the owners about the timber market.

Apparently, timber drivers are paid relatively well because of the demanding working conditions. Many workers are indians and chinese who spend over 10 years taking timbers out of the precious rain forest. Timbers are logged in the inner jungle, then transported to the 'outer station' for loading. Trucks will take these measured and categoried timber to different factories for cutting. Prices flunctuates often depending on the quality of wood and on market conditions. I said farewell to the logging team, feeling very lucky to be able to see the story on the opposite side of conservation on this side trip.

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Nowadays, most tourists come to KL to see the architectural gem, the Petronas Towers. With many islamic element built in with its design and superior lighting, it is honestly the most impressive buildings of all the concrete jungles in the world.

The experience in KL was short but delightfully. After the airport shuttle dropped me off in front of my guesthouse on one of the busiest tourist street Bukit Binteng, I briefly strolled around the night market crowded with name brand stores next to mini-markets and street food stools. Wandering aimlessly, the sight of Petronas Towers suddenly caught my eyes. The highest twin towers in the world, Petronas Towers had brought Malaysia's architecture to a new height. The islamic elements in the tower design are not only asthetically beautiful, but architectural exceptional. Almost every angle reveals a different perception in the building's design. Almost every curve symbolizes the achievement of modern Islam. I sat next to the fountain outside the entrance watching passerby carrying bags of top name brand stores in and out of the shopping mall and testing my new Malaysia sim card in my mobile phone for a good while.

The next day, I took a local bus to the famous Batu Cave, the holy sight where tens of thousands of hindu believers gather every January/February with self-torturing ceremonies. When I was about to come out, rain started pouring from all directions, I was left to hang out with the monkey families outside the Dark Cave next door.

Back to the city, I took the Metro Rail subway to a neighborhood called Kampung Baru, inhabited mostly by Malay. Sitting in a small restaurant within this quiet neighborhood watching the Petronas Tower light up for the night, one cannot help but notice the gap between the few rich and the rest of common people in this developing countries. After a quick dinner, I rode the Light Rail to Titiwansa. KL is not a walker friendly town. Wrong direction given by the rail reception resulted in me walking alongside the highway for about 20 minutes, unable to cross to
the park where the Eye of Malaysia is located. Luckily, I was not the only lost soul. I finally hailed a taxi with another couple behind me and got to the park.

Although much smaller than the London Eye, the Malaysia eye is delicately positioned above a lake with nightly laser show. KL's skyscrapers from the eye on a full moon night look both peacefully and magically. After a short stroll in the park, I took a taxi back to Melaki Square, where a Bangledesh festival was going on. This is where the British administrative offices were located and so nowhere else in KL is colonialism so apparent reflected in these buildings.

On my last morning in KL, the guesthouse owner gave me, 'a Honggie' (People from Hong Kong) a lesson on how to pick a good cab driver. I decided to visit the Islamic Museum of Art, a graceful building designed with an entrance resembling the Kaaba in Mecca. The collection was equally impressive, with everything from fabric, utensil, coins, furnitures of different muslim communities in history to in-depth explanation of fancinating arabic calligraphy and mosque design around the world. The visit was well-worth it. My leaving the museum coincedes with the friday praying at the National Mosque and in no time, I was completely engulfed in crowds.

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After 'sweating' a day with a few other volunteers at Prey Chrok Primary School about 45 minute from Siam Reap, I realize that weather is the last concern for these students from surrounding villages, opportunities is their priorty. Although a nearby wedding caused the attendance drop somewhat, the remaining 30 or so students in each class still participate eagerly during the one-hour class.

We met outside the SAGE agency in Siam Reap around 6:30am and began the one-hour minivan journey west on a bumpy dirt road. Perhaps I am of asian-origin, by the time we arrived at the school, many eyes were locked on me. I was there to research and take photos for a new website.

Since the English program started around Oct 2006 at Prey Chrok, most students seem to have already known the alphabets well. However, most have a hard time understanding what the teachers want to achieve in the exercises because of the lack of translation.

Perhaps it was a slow day, most other classes were idle with local teachers chatting with each other in the school yard while we taught inside the sauna classroom.

To be honest, after the first three classes and 100 photos, I felt embarassed at my own impatience because of the heat and humidity. The same material began to sound monotonous, like mosquitoes flying in my ear. But every time we walked into a new classroom, enthusiasm of the new students, like caffeine, refueled me.

What in the world can be more satisfying than bringing opportunities to children in the developing countries?

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Overnight buses can be very tiring, yet for budget travellers like myself, it is also the best and most economic way to go from one town to another. The night bus from Hoi An to Hanoi proved to be a test to my patience. Vietnam drivers love to honk for anything in their way, more so than in Cambodia. Because of the large number of modern cars as well as motorcycles on the streets, sleeping under constant honking is virtually impossible. Not only did my inconsiderable driver play loud Cheesy English club songs to wake up his passengers, he stopped at a local canteen with sanitary standard so low that if I had lunch earlier that day, I would not submit myself to a bowl of nasty noodle soup and then got overcharged without the ability to talk myself out with the rude waiters. Little did I know that this is only the beginning.

By the time we pulled into the humidity of Hanoi, local people already crowded the streets on their motorcycles to work. The gloomy town looked and felt miserable compared to the rest of Vietnam. Once we got off the bus, taxi drivers started to hassle us and offered to take us to the 'Old Town' area for free. Of course, he dropped us off at an old guesthouse/travel agency outside of the area and asked us to pay. Together with two other women from Hong Kong, we managed to struggle off the rude driver and took another taxi with meter to find our own guesthouse.

Courtesy is applied with prejudice here. If you are asian tourist not in a group tour, most cold Hanoiese will just ignore you to a point you actually feel unwelcome. Otherwise, you will be treated as an ATM machine. The first guesthouse receptionist made it pretty clear that we are disturbing his work whe we asked for rooms. After couple trials, we managed to find a decent guesthouse but then I found out everything in my backpack is damp and smells. Finally, I sit on my bed, can't wait to start planning for my departure date.

The area surrounding the lake is full of tourist shops selling everything from T-shirts to silk clothing to flags to grave stone. The famous tourist attraction near Hanoi, Halong Bay, was the main reason I went there. But at this point, I was so tired of being treated with bad courtesy and as ATM machine that I decided to skip the tourist-infested Halong Bay area. On the morning of my third day, after another crazy taxi ride to the airport, I flew to Bangkok, again.

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After settling down in a guesthouse, I had two delicious bowls of Vietnamese noodle (Pho) at a small local restaurant where Bill Clinton ate when he came to Saigon in the late 90s. I then took a 1-hour cyclo ride around town.

The next day, I visited the Ho Chi Minh museum and the war museum, where photos and details of the Vietnam war were echibited. Pictures of torture of women and children by American soldiers and victims of chemical warfare were vividly displayed in front of our eyes, with 300o tons bombs, tanks and fighter planes outside. I wonder if these photos are on shown front-page major newspapers in the States, will the public be more outspoken enough to change a regime which see war as nothing but a money-making tool.

I escaped Saigon quickly and arrived at Nha Trang, a beach resort for locals and tourists, after an overnight bus ride. This is my first time on this trip to see the ocean. Since there are many Chinese-Vietnamese here, I seldom get hassled by local women selling chewing gums or peanuts. While most foreigners lay under the sun for hours, locals sit and enjoy the breezy weather under coconut trees in groups. I enjoyed a nice walk along the Nha Trang beach on a Saturday night watching familes and children.

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A 10-hour bus ride took me from Vientiane to Pakse, a typical small Laos town with plenty of guesthouses and a few wats (temples). From Pakse, I took a 2-hr minibus to Doi Det, the border of Laos and Cambodia. Because of the many islands here on the Mekong River, it is also called the 'Four Thousand Islands'. Since there is only a few hours of electricity at night and high humidity, I quickly moved on to cross the border the next day, after a nice relaxing boat trip at sunset.

My first day in Cambodia turned out to be a surprise. The people at my guesthouse invited me and another American couple to a local wedding after a boat ride for dolphin-watching. The abundance of cheap beer and good food provided everyone a great time that night.

From Kratie, a 6-hr bus ride took me to the capital of Cambodia, Phnom Penh, a city that went through very much in recent history. After a short visit to the Royal Palace, I visited Tuol Sleng, the Genocide Museum, which used to be a local high school. Only 30 years ago, the Poi Pet regime had massacred about 14000 people at this school over a 4 year period. Photos of victims and torture tools filled the museum with a chilly atmosphere.

From Phnom Penh, I took a 'very long' local bus to Siam Reap, where the famous Angkor Wat is. As impressive as it is, the whole Angkor Wat was filled with tourists from sunrise to sunset. The town Siam Reap is, as a result, packed with luxurious resorts for all types of tourists, esp. Japanese and Korean. Compared with the shanty houses along the same avenue with disabled children running around with no underpants, one has to wonder if Angkor Wat actually benefits local economy or just a tourist trap?

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Like many other small towns in northern Laos, Odomxai striked me as rural China as I walked down the main street looking for a guesthouse. The large Chinese and Vietnam population settled years ago show their prosperity with gated 2-story concrete houses along the main street, as compared to the Laos who stay in wooden and bamboo houses on dirt roads. High trunks carrying construction materials from China are common sight. There are not much to do here since I'm only passing by. So I walked up to the temple to watch sunset.

The following day, after a bus ride with beautiful scenery from Odomxai to Pekmong, and pick-up truck to Nong Kiew where the road construction had stopped. A 45-minute boat ride along Nam Ou (River Ou) later, I arrived in Muang Ngoi. Not knowing anything about it except it was recommended by my guidebook.

It was love at first sight. Surrounded by limestone mountains and a beautiful river with water strikingly clear, Muang Ngoi is what I leave my home for. It was a place to forget about stress, unhappiness and worries. I dropped my backpack and swinged around on the hammock outside my $2/night room, watching locals and naked children bathing and laughing in the river and secretly wish that I can stay forever...

There is no advertisment, no cars, no motorcycles, no mobile reception and no internet here. Most people still rely on farming, fishing and hunting for a living. Satellite TVs showing mostly Thai /Chinese TV shows, music videos, movies and football games are most people nightly entertainment. Because of my limited Lao single-word vocabulary, most people talked about Hong Kong movie stars with me.

Chicken fed on uncooked rice. Cats and dogs walk around freely looking for leftover food. Ducks walk down to the river for daily swim. Herds of buffalos bath and lay under the sun to dry off.

Next morning, I trekked to the nearby Tom Khang Cave where locals hide inside for 12 years during the Vietnam War when Americans bomb this area for no particular strategic reason. We lunched in a small village with a few Canadian French, visited more villages and headed back.

My next venture is a fishing and camping trip. I followed the local fishermen upstream, watched them fish the traditional way using a net, fruitlessly for a few times. Finally, we caught two small fish. My guide used his multiuse knive to split and tied the fish skillfully on the bamboo and placed carefully on the fire. With fish soup were made with fresh herb picked nearby, bamboo shoot purchased from floating merchants, and of course, sticky rice, we dined with our hands under a million stars.

A few days later, I did an overnight trekking with a taiwanese girl whom I met at the Gibbon Experience but travelled separately until now. We trekked uphill for hours and finally arrived at a village called 'Kiawkan'.

Exhausted, we joined the locals at their good-luck festival right away and drank moonshine straight from the jar with a 1m straw. It is a tradition to circulate Lao Lao (local moonshine) or Beer Lao during lunch or dinner. We had a delicious family dinner at the chief's house and talked over Chinese radio stations before going to sleep. More Lao Lao of course... Next morning, we watched breakfast prepared over wooden fire, filled our stomach and headed back downhill to Muang Ngoi.

Time flies here. There is always something to do. One morning, the hunters drowned a pocupine and we all helped pucking the needles, cleaned and cooked. Everyone treat me like family.

Other days, I helped out at my friend's restaurant as waitress, watched and learned food preparation and cooking in a small and basic kitchen. (While most of us would not even know what to begin with to cook given the facilities here, 'professional' locals make it look so easy.)

Sometime, I'm invited to dinners at local fishermen houses when big fishes are caught while other times, I indulged myself on noodle made fresh from sticky rice. Then drained my energy playing with little children.

Life should be simple afterall. I think I found my happiness and my future home. It must be fate that took me to Muang Ngoi.

Love at first sight remains copyright of the author shinenyc, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The owner of this company, Jeff from France, had dedicated the past 12 years to get the government to set up a national park in the northern part of Laos, where forests are still pristine enough, compared to the overlogging in the neighboring countries such as Vietnam and Thailand, by companies in China. After 10 years of hard work, Jeff and friends had a brillant ideas of building treehouses around the forests and linking them with ziplines so people can have a bird-eye view of the forest.

An unusual morning shower postponed our departure, but they doesn't deter our drivers' desire for speed on a very bumpy and slippery road in the jeep. We arrived in a very poor village hours later and started immediately trekking across corn fields and uphill to the main station where we were greeted by two hyperenegetic monkeys and 1-year-old asian bear.

After a brief intro, our group strapped on our zipping equipment and zipped into the first treehouse. Due to my sinus, I stayed in the first treehouse while the others kept going. There I met two New Zealand women who are cycling thru Laos and an American woman taking a break from her journalist work in Nepal. We decided to zip around freely and tried our luck on spotting the black gibbons.

An hour of walking through bamboo forests did not allow us to see much of anything. In fact, gibbons jump from tree to tree quickly and extremely difficult to spot. But we did hear their loud noise. That's probably enough for us.

While we were having delicious family-styled Lao food for dinner, a civet appeared on the brance right in front of us. Although I like to quietly observe the forest that night, busy dinner conversations had overrided my plan.

Next morning, I was waken up by the sounds in the jungle, 50m above ground in a misty fog. Breakfast and fruits were served promptly. I birdwatched and spotted some amazing beautiful birds with bright-colored beak, head or tail, joyfully searching for their own breakfast.

After a brief lunch, I zipped to another treehouse to join a small film crew preparing to document 'the Gibbon Experience'. At last, a moment of silence that I had hoped for. We stayed still and quiet for hours before playing cards and dinner. Early the following morning, the crew played a recording of gibbon calling. Surely after a few minutes, the real gibbons call back. I enjoyed my two-second 'experience' of a gibbon jumping from one tree to another at least 100m away from us.

After having a lovely western breakfast with the crew, and by this I mean toast with nutella, I zipped back to the base station and hanged out with my new monkey friends before trekking back to the village for departure. Of all the time I spend watching Animal Planet at home, this experience had worth more than I had expected.

The Gibbon Experience remains copyright of the author shinenyc, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Fortunately, Chiang Mai has its own charm in certain areas. Like many Thai city, some streets with the old city are flooded with 'farang'(westerners) and young girls trying to make a living. The scene of oversized white male and petite thai girl is all too common.

I stayed with a tall Swedish woman, another victim of the torturing bus ride. I was surprised at the kind of attention we would get. Normally, by myself, I would just be mistaken as Thai, or Japanese. It doesn't take long for us to encounter our first gem scam. A local man inside a wat, claimed to have a Australian wife (with picture proof) and children, vacationing in Chiang Mai and wanted to drive us to the gem market to see monks work on handicraft without charge. The friendliness was a little too good to be true. We refused repeatedly and walked on.

We visited the Elephant Nature Park the next day, the largest rescue centre and santuary in northern Thailand, for domesticated and over-worked and abused elephants. Lek, a local Thai woman who started this project over 10 years ago, speak great English, has a passion for elephants. The sauntuary located in a valley supported about 30 elephants, including a few babies, who love bathing in the river. She also operates a jumbo express on a river boat to bring medical supplies to elephants in the surrounding villages in northern Thailand.

Our guide explained that Thai labor law treat elephants, an animal as intelligent as human, as domestic animals such as cows and pigs with virtually no holidays or maternity leave. On top of the torturing weeks of training when they are only 4 or 5 years old, a mother elephant could be forced to work for illegal logging or tourism until the day her baby is borned. There are cases where female elephants were forced to keep dragging woods after her baby was still born on the floor in the jungle. Then months old babies, who can barely walk, were forced to follow their mothers to work everyday until blazing sun. Some abusive mahouts would starve male elephants in order to prevent them to go into musk and therefore more obedient. Putting heavy chairs on an elephant back for a long period of time would actually cause deformation. Sometime I wonder if buddism is genuine in this country who claim elephants as their sacred animal?

That night, we found a little heaven ourselves, in an antique shop and guesthouse on the east of the river called Regina. My first glass of red wine.

A 3-hr local bus ride later, we arrived in a small town west of Chiang Mai called Pai. This town is known for its bohemian feel, popular for both farang and local youths, because of the abundance of hippyish bars, restaurants and gallery and proximity to surrounding mountains. I signed up with a 2-night, 3-day trekking with a local company. We were wrapped up in layers of fleece early morning before we start and quickly strip when the weather rises.

Our porters led us thru the mountains even without any visible path or tracks. We overnight in a guesthouse in a Lahu village surrounded by livestock. After a 'romantic' candlelight dinner including the slightly sweet and chewy Lahu rice and several great dishes, the Lahu children entertain us with children songs. In return, we sang a few western toons and danced like idiots.

Most of my fellow trekkers left me and another porter on the next day. We headed on a longer route to a Karen village. My porter made chopsticks from bamboo and bowls from banana leaves for lunch utensils.
Then come nap time. No point to rush under the hot sun...

A few river crossing and herds of cows grazing later, we arrived at the Karen village. My host family was very friendly. However, because of language barrier, I was only able to communicate with the owner who was quite occupied with my whisky-loving porter. We shared dinner, talked and laughed until the cats were curling up sleeping on my legs.

I arrived at Tham Lod (Lod Cave)after 2.5 hr trekking up and down river bank next morning. Tourists came in minibuses and 4x4 in groups. I followed a local woman with an oil lamp into the caves to see nature's work.

Chiang Mai & Pai remains copyright of the author shinenyc, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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This UNESCO Historic Heritage town has more than 40 magnificent wats. Some are Lao-styled, some burmnese, chinese and even Khmer-styled. Most look great from a distance away, however, need some major restoration.

My friendly tuk-tuk driver took me to a local restaurant for lunch and all the impressive wats around town. Over sunset at the elephant kraal, we watched teen elephants bathe themselves in the river after a day of carrying tourists on their back under the hot sun (a practice that can lead to deformation.)

Right when we were leaving, I noticed two baby elephants tumbling around their mothers in an enclosure. I couldn't help but to introduce myself to these two four-month-olds by gently putting my palm forward. In return, they placed their tiny and amazingly soft baby trunk on my hand. We bowed to each other. Then they tumbled back to get more milk from their mothers, seemingly knowing that I'm watching.

The next day, my tuk-tuk driver took me to Lopburi in his motorbike. In old Lopburi, there is a temple and ruins infested with hundreds of macquets, fed daily with fruits and vegetatables, for tourists. First brought into the town by a monk, these macquets quickly reproduced into a small colony. Temple keepers use sticks to scare them away from food on the altar (although there is a successful attempt at the roasted chicken.)

At the ruins opposite the monkey temple, hundred more macquet families and gangs reside. Tourists are actually encourage to go inside the ruin and look at the monkeys thru the bars, as if we are the zoo animal being watched by the residents here.

I ventured outside the safety of the temple ruin and tried to capture these creature under natural light. Just when I was focus at a shot, I heard a noise from my backpack and saw my lucky golden elephant keychain in the hand of a teenaged macquet. Within a millisecond, it was popped into his storage pouch inside his mouth. My attempt to chase after this thief and retrieve my keychain went in vain. Another lesson learned. Were we really evolved from monkeys or was it simply monkeys being monkeys?

A Monkey's snatch and a baby's touch remains copyright of the author shinenyc, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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