Between the hours of 5am and 6:30am the next morning, we were on a bus. Correction: 2 buses. Crossing the Vietnamese border was pretty much a piece of cake. It was slower than it needed to be because it seemed like the officials were looking to find any possible reason to hold up someone just for the fun of it. Since everyone on our bus was prepared with a proper visa and everything else, there was nothing they could do but sulk. (It’s a universal border official pastime.)

Waiting around for the bus

Anyway, we got to Vinh at 5:30pm and the next bus on to Hanoi was at 10m. We made good use of the free time: drinking and talking loudly with new friends. We met a couple of Dutch kids, a quiet Russian guy, and a French Canadian who was more Canadian than French. Dinner was simple enough and the beer wasn’t the least bit cold but we were all happy to have some new company.

Lindsey, Saben and the Canadian

By 10:00 we were boarding the sleeper bus and discovered that the very back of the bus had bunk beds that held 3 people each, sleeping side by side. Why on earth there were such beds on this bus, we can only guess, but it was ridiculous and a bit funny that we 6 new friends were assigned those 2 communal beds. Needless to say, it was a crowded night bus cheap enough at only $6 for the overnight to Hanoi. And the best part, no Lao music! Good riddance, Lao buses!!

Up at 6:45AM. No breakfast. Tuk tuk to bus station, bus to Chiang Khong. No lunch. Crossed border on foot and boat ferried us across the gentle shallow river. Two minutes later, we bought our Laos visas for US$35 each and were zipping out of immigration. Uphill 20 seconds walking and we are officially “in town.” Welcome to Huaxy Xai, Laos side of the border with Chiang Khong (Thailand).

Crossing the Mekong into Laos

Town consists of a handful of buildings: 5-6 guesthouses, 3-4 restaurants and a few fruit vendors and snack stands. Besides that there is nothing much besides a single dusty but paved road running through town and the very few locals who are out and about are so quiet that it sounds as if the entire town is asleep. Maybe it’s the quiet, lazy river that makes everyone so mellow.

Sunset on the Mekong

We chose a dingy but adequate guest house for the night and tried one of the restaurants overlooking the river. Not great food but cheap enough. Coming from Thailand, everything here is cheap enough. Already Laos is shaping up to be a beautiful dusty country of friendly but quiet people.

Well, as promised, it was two very long, very tiring travel days right in a row. It was a bummer to leave the lovely Koh Tao but we have an itching to return for sure. The first day we didn’t get to Bangkok til 8:30PM and were pretty well spent. Dinner and bed was the end of that story.

Leaving the islands

Next morning at 8:30AM we were on a bus to the border at Poi pet, Cambodia. We had been told consistently terrible things about how awful this particular border would be and how dirty and chaotic Cambodia would be in general. We were prepared for something along the lines of India. And we were happily surprised. Instead of being the house of horrors everyone swore it would be, Poi pet turned out to be one of the easiest and least crazy borders we have ever crossed. What a happy turn out! And on top of that, Cambodia does not seem to be all that dirty or chaotic. Granted we have only been here a few hours but we drove nearly 3 hours from the border into Siem Reap and were very happy with what we saw. Guess time will tell but so far we are very excited to be here and the people couldn’t be better. If Thailand is the land of a thousand smiles, some of that happy spirit must have rubbed off onto its neighbor Cambodia. Everyone is so sweet and friendly.

Our swanky room in Siem Reap

As you can imagine, after two consecutive travel days we were ready for a quiet night at home to re-energize and get ready to go see some of Angkor Wat tomorrow morning!

Supper

At the ripe hour of 7AM we descended upon the city of Ranong intent upon finding the immigration office. We need that exit stamp from Thailand so we can officially leave and come back with a fresh 15 day visa. Gives us plenty of uninterrupted time to “explore” the beaches of southern Thailand. Of course, that mainly hinges on the idea that “explore” means drink beer, go diving and snorkeling, and maybe—if duty calls—some lying on the beach, just to make sure it’s safe for future travellers, of course.

Boats at the Thai side of the border

At any rate, it really wasn’t that far, the Thai immigration office. After we left the guest house and set out on our own, on foot, we realized we were wasting time. We convinced the first moto taxi we could find to take us to the office. It was a tight fit with the three of us on the little moped but we got there and it was actually pretty fun. Turned out that we went to the old immigration office and by the time we could decipher this tiny morsel of info from the, shall we say, unhelpful chap within our moto taxi was gone and we once more set off on foot to find the proper office. Fifteen minutes later we found the right pier where the new office is located and another 10 minutes in the strictly “Foreigner” line, we had our exit stamp.

Saben on the boat to Burma

Now only to get to Burma. Hmm…Wait, what’s that little man with webbed feet? Yes, I do need a boat! No, that’s too much but we’ll pay 100 baht each instead. OK? Right, let’s go.

With another grumpy looking German couple, we descended some rather precarious looking stairs and hopped into one of the hundred or so identical longtail boats bobbing and clunking together in the black water. The same black water that just moments later unapologetically swallowed Saben’s sunglasses. Materialistic bastard.

The dividing waters

Just across the river there is a major visible difference between Thailand and Burma. The Burmese houses are so shabby and sad looking it is hard to imagine anyone living there. Big contrast between how the beloved King of Thailand treats his people and how the Burmese government neglects theirs.

The burmese side of the river

Anyway, back to the visa business. With a couple of scheduled border checks along the way and a river so choppy and with such strong waves it seemed certain we would capsize and die just like the fate of so many boats each day here, we eventually made it to Burma. Nameless border town which holds little import for us as we are on a single track mission: getting a stamp in and back out again. We made a single purchase during our time in Burma and that was to buy a Myanmar Beer for Saben’s beer label collection. Stamp, stamp, US$10 (ouch), beer, and we are back in the boat zipping noisily across the river that we keep taunting with our stubborn survival at its fierce attempts to make us “sit down and stay a while.” The whole matter took 2 hours and we were very lucky to have a good boat driver who did not indeed allow our boat to capsize and did not break down.

Our boat in the water

Back at the Thai side, we officially re-entered Thailand, got the stamp, paid our boat driver, and hopped into the back of a truck taxi heading for our side of town. Grabbed our bags and hopped a bus 45 minutes later and, whew! Finally we were on our way to Koh Samui. All that before noon and we didn’t even get the opportunity to eat a single meal yet today.

The minibus from Ranong to Surat Thani (port town where you catch the ferry to Koh Samui—or another chosen island destination) took about 3-4 hours. A bit of waiting around for another hour or so til we could get the next bus to the actual port where the ferry way leaving and then we were lucky enough to catch the ferry literally 2 minutes before it pulled off. During the hour and a half ride to Koh Samui we chatted up this nice German fellow with bright blonde hair and a hearty laugh. The sun was just setting at we pulled out to sea and made for a nice ride to the island. We arrived just at dark and hopped another truck taxi from Nathon (Koh Samui’s port town) up the coast to the northern beach Mae Nam. Big sigh of relief to be in one place for at least the next 7 hours. Definitely ready for some food and sleep!

Sunset on our way to paradise

Travel Tip:

Honestly, you can do this without a tour guide or going through a guest house. You can do it on your own, for less money and in less time. You will probably even get out alive! I mean, no guarantee there but we both did so there is that.

Anyway, since we have a certain affinity for using overpriced and generally unnecessary tourist setups, we decided to forgo the guest house’s border run package. We stayed at the Kiwi Guest House as a matter of convenience because we were dumped on right there by the bus station and it was getting dark and beginning to rain. We had heard mixed things about the place but turned out to be basic but sufficient for one night. Staff are really terrible, bathrooms not great but rooms are okay and there are a few local restaurants nearby that are much cheaper than the Kiwi’s. Of course, it didn’t help that we refused to buy the border run package or the minibus ticket to Koh Samui with them so that probably contributed to our ideas of their staff and service.

If you want to do the visa run yourself, it’s all quite simple. The immigration offices open at 7:30AM every day of the week. If you go on a weekend or other “holiday” you will be charged an extra 5-10 baht by the Burmese at one of the 2 stops on your boat ride. It’s called a “holiday fee” and as you might have guessed, is just a nice way for the Burmese border folks to make a little extra money on the side.

Take a moto drop or truck taxi to the port immigration office. If you are staying in the market area of town, it should cost maybe 20 baht for a moto. From the Kiwi Guest House it might cost 30-40 baht (just a guess since we didn’t pick one up til we walked to the market and a bit farther). The port is very busy with locals going to work or just hanging around. There will likely be at least a couple of guys direct you toward the immigration office for the hopeful 5-10 baht tip. You can’t miss it though. Just walk toward the noise and water and turn right when you get “inside” the huge building, which is kind of open air. There will be a line of foreigners waiting for their exit stamp so you’ll obviously want to join them. When your turn comes, you will wordlessly hand your passport into a low dark window and stand and wait patiently (2-3 minutes) for them to hand it back. Just before they return your passport to you, they will take your picture so be sure to remove hat and sunglasses and look at the little camera behind the dark glass so you don’t have to try to figure out what they hell they want from that tiny uncomfortably low and small window.

From there, you might get picked up by a boat driver or you might need to walk over toward the rickety looking stairs and ask someone around there. Negotiate a good price and find out how many other people will be in the boat. If are two people and want to rent the whole boat, a good rate is 300 baht. Of course the drivers start out asking around 1000 baht so don’t be afraid to seriously negotiate with them. If you can share the boat with say, 4 people, a really good rate is 100 baht per person. This is what we paid but the driver was charging the German couple we shared the boat with 200 baht per person. Just FYI.

Very important thing to know: have a photocopy of your passport ready! You will need it for the first Burmese border check (your driver will take it and your passport inside and you will wait 3-4 minutes in the boat). If you don’t have one, you can pay 5 baht for a copy at the Thai immigration office after you get your exit stamp (door on left side as you walk away from the stamping counter).

Once you are in the boat, the driver will get you to where you need to be and make sure you are properly checked and stamped. When you get to Burma, you will go into a little office where you will wait with a big gaggle of other foreigners to have your passport stamped and pay your US$10. They will hold up your passport and try to pronounce your name so you can come over to the counter and retrieve your passport; then you ca be on your merry way, whether into Burma or back to Thailand.

A note about the US$10. It must be American currency and it must be absolutely pristine! The bill needs to be as new as possible and without any creases or blemishes of any sort. If you don’t have US$10 you can pay the Burmese visa fee with 500 Thai baht. Of course that translates into about US$15 so it’s best it you have American currency. However, the Burmese border officials are known to be awful to deal with and will come up with any number of absurd reasons to reject your perfectly spendable US$10 bill and demand payment in baht. You can see why, when they would make an extra US$5 off each person they do this to!

So that’s it. Your driver will herd you back into the boat and zip you back across the crazy river. There will be two scheduled stops on the way back. One is to make sure you didn’t smuggle drugs or people or something else equally illegal and one is to check your passport again. Boat driver handles these again and each takes less than 5 minutes. Once you arrive back to the Thai side of the river, head back up the stairs, get in to “Arrival” line and get stamped back into Thailand. Done! You’ve got a fresh 15 day visa, now get to the beach!

So this is it: Today we cross into India. Taking a deep breath we got out of the rickshaw at the border and walked into the dust cloud, chaotic moving mass of our first taste of India. We had taken a local bus from Sauraha to the border and then a rickshaw the remaining 2km to the Nepali immigration office. It was a quick stamp out and we crossed unsteadily beneath the grimy once-white arch bearing the greeting in plain terms, “WELCOME TO INDIA.” Thanks…I think.

Inside the train station

The border crossing was very laid back. Some might call it disorganized, what with the utter lack of signs or clearly marked officials in uniforms or offices resembling state business. The main thing to know is just walk straight and at some point look left and bam! There will be a table with a stack of white papers and a few old men in plain clothes who will take your passport. We caught a cheap local bus onward to Gorakhpur, about 4 hours away. It was a confusing mess when we arrived because the bus did not drop us at the train station as promised. Instead we had to take a bicycle rickshaw to the train station where we booked a couple of sleeper class bunks for Rs. 80 (US$1.72) for the overnight journey to Varanasi. Since we had 4-5 hours to kill, we crossed the street through the mad traffic and swarms of people coming and going, keeping a close watch on our bags, until we got to a grungy busy restaurant.

Festivities in the streets in front of the train station

There was no menu and when we sat down they brought us each a plate of dal (lentils) and rice which came with fresh chapati (thin, round bread). We paid US$0.70/plate and it was almost more food than we could eat. The best part was that, if we could have eaten any more, we could have gotten as much more rice or lentils as we wanted. If nothing else, we are at least happy to be paying such tiny prices in the madhouse!

Back in the train station, we still had a few hours to kill. The time passed awkwardly and slowly with hundreds of people staring unabashedly at us and many more coming over to ask direct, personal questions without so much as saying “hello” first. A very strange experience indeed. Already we can see that India is going to be a challange. It is like being in another universe. In fact, it feels like we really are alien life forms judging from the stares we get!

Travel Tip:

Upon passing through the “Welcome to India” gate, you will pass a group of uniformed guards on your left at a traffic arm (like a checkpoint for cars). From there you should walk about 20 meters and on your left will be a table set up right on the edge of the dusty, trashy street with a few old men sitting leisurely at it. If you are standing right in front of the table, you will see the sign for the “office” but not before because it is small and the sensory overload from everything else in the way will obstruct it. At this table you will get a form to fill out and one of the men will stamp you in and send you on your way. Depending on your next destination, you can take a private taxi or the local bus. A tout for a private taxi may come find you while you are at the border office/table but feel free to wait to deal with him until you have fully finished your border entry business.

The private taxi is a nice air conditioned car and will cost quite a lot. For example, we were quoted INR 650 for a 4 hour ride for 4 people. For us, it was just too expensive. If you want to take a bus onward (you will not want to stay in the border town Sonauli, that is pretty much certain), simply walk another 200 meters straight from the border office/table and the bus station is on the right side of the road. There are plenty of touts loitering around the parked buses occasionally shouting destination names. Ask one of them for your destination’s bus but be sure to find out how much the ticket will cost as well. You will pay for your ticket on the bus and be given a receipt to prove payment since passengers board at later points throughout the trip. We were heading to a Gorakhpur (approx. 4 hours away) to catch an onward train to Varanasi and our tickets cost Rs. 57 each. It was a simple local bus, not in great shape, pretty bumpy ride and slow but at least we did not fear for our lives the entire ride like in Nepal.

Not a great start to an already, universally bad kind of day: border crossing day. Our guide overslept by half an hour and our driver had hired a local taxi driver to take us down to the border because he didn’t want to. In the questionable taxi down the mountain that suffered from horn abuse, goat collision, and overheating brakes that were, thoughtfully no doubt, cooled by pouring rainwater collected from the road directly onto the brake pads.

Plays 5 musical notes at ear bursting levels

Our taxi driver was already in a foul mood since our guide made us all late and then because something else was forgotten and had to be found. By the time we actually began our journey to the border, the little angry man seemed close to having a nervous breakdown and/or running the taxi right over the edge of the cliff thanks to bad tires and steaming, warped brakes. Because of the late start, we had to contend with irritating amounts of traffic and other roadblocks that included Indian lorry trucks with loud musical horns, 7 large herds of goats (a total of approximately 1,000-1,200 goats), a dynamite explosion, and our near-failing overheating brakes.

Inevitably, at least 30 different goats crashed themselves into the back of our taxi, presumably in efforts to avoid crossing the border—no one likes border crossings, even freakishly horned goats. When this would happen, our taxi driver would (again) slam on the brakes and park the car while he got out to survey the damage (again). After what can only be assumed to be Tibetan curses, he would get back in and smash down the gas pedal to try and get back ahead in the semblance of a line, which would cause us to skid dangerously close to the edge of the road, threatening to send us careening over and into a crumpled, rocky, watery death below. At one point, so annoyingly close to the immigration offices, we were stopped momentarily for a dynamite charge set just a bit up the road (construction maybe? Or maybe just a detrimentally infuriated taxi driver? We never found out). During this time, our driver used the opportunity to cool off the brakes. He took an old jug from the back of the car and filled it with the runoff rainwater that covered parts of the road. Then, using obvious skill and general know-how, he knelt beside each front tire and poured the water right onto the brakes pads. Ahh, the smell of sizzling, steamy brakes; a comforting thought when they are the only (already feeble) thing keeping you from skidding off a mountain cliff.

The glorious bridge out of China / Tibet

Finally, after our taxi driver was nearing full on heart attack mode, we reached the bottom and joined a line of foreigners waiting to get the hell out of China. We were glad to be leaving but the sight of every person literally running out of the Nepali side made us wonder if we really wanted to go to Nepal.

Through customs and immigration we passed relatively unscathed. Our bags were all searched to make sure we were not carrying anything about Tibet that the Chinese government didn’t want anyone else to know about. Some people were even lucky enough to have EVERY SINGLE PHOTO on their camera checked. Luckily we noticed the one guard doing this and jumped in another line. We got stamped out and deposited unceremoniously and the other side of the Chinese border, officially in Nepal but not really. It took a short walk and a few guesses to figure out where the Nepali border office was located and soon after we got our very expensive visas and whew, we had done it. Now all that remained was getting from this no man’s land to Kathmandu. But first, lunch! We were starving from not getting to eat any breakfast and luckily found a little restaurant with no lights and several beautiful Nepali girls who served us our first delightfully cheap and entirely delicious taste of dal baht. It cost about US$1 for a huge plate of lentils and rice and chapati (flatbread) and in case that first enormous plate wasn’t enough to fill your stomach, you could get free refills until you exploded. The girls at the restaurant had a hey day giggling at the guys, who didn’t complain, and made sure they were well fed. Lin was just happy to be eating a good meal, something that doesn’t really exist in China.

Ram and Lindsey in the Jeep

Feeling full and lighthearted, we began our irritating search for a jeep to take us the remaining 4 hours to Kathmandu for a reasonable price. We went through 4 jeeps who would agree to a price and, once we were loaded in, would cram some random Nepali person up front and then demand more money. At this point, we would pile out and grab our bags with mounting frustration and find another driver, who did the same thing. Finally, we got one (who tried the same trick) and after a serious verbal row, Saben made him understand that he would not cram any more people in and we were paying the original price and that was that. So we set off on a road that would show us more of Nepal’s ways that we would realize until we had completed our two weeks here. On the way, we passed people shitting by the edge of the road into drainage ditches, buses piled high with people on top and overflowing out the door, the most obnoxious horns in the universe, the worst drivers in the universe, unnecessarily high rates of speed around blind, gravel strewn mountain curves wide enough for a car and a half, and inevitable hitchhiking that results in more people in/on one vehicle than could previously be imagined. And let’s not forget the actual road itself: unpaved, wet, and bumpy (understatement), riddled with lumps and craters and overflowing puddles of water from the perpetually wet mountain above. But that’s still not counting those lorries that park in the road by a large stream for a good washing (sometimes truck and driver), the other jeeps parked for a piss stop, random goats, children, people who walk in the road and do not respond in the least to the dozens of blaring horns at their backs, and finally the rushing river flowing far below the road but seems to have magnetic powers that pull buses, goats, trucks, and cars over the edge for a, shall we say, “better look.” Yes, this is Nepal. In your face, ears, and definitely invading your personal space. But fortunately the people do not stare as much as in China and the food is simple but good. No chicken feet or black eggs in sight here!

The "road"

Five hours later we arrived in Kathmandu greeted by harsh plumes of dust that nearly suffocated Saben, whose seat was the truck bed. Traffic was more ridiculous than anyplace we have seen, definitely more so than Egypt or China. Heavy trucks, tiny cars, bicycles, motorbikes, pedestrians, goats, water buffalo, rickshaws and maybe spaceships too—it was hard to tell through the impenetrable force of traffic and thick dust. We were dropped in the huge and completely unnavigable district of Thamel where the four of us were separated in the chaos and ran to find a place to hide, er, sleep. It was a harsh introduction to Nepal, with that same traffic whizzing past within a breath of our arms and touts running and shouting at us. All we could do was turn off our senses and just walk, walk until we found a cheap hotel with not too many bugs. We still had not had a shower for nearly 3 days (EBC, the pay showers in the Chinese border town, and now today) and were happy to pay an outrageous $4 each for a room at the Tibet Guest House on a quiet side street with a clean room and English TV. Sinking into the bed and trying to get a full grasp on what we had just seen, we found our brains completely overloaded and at least a bit freaked out. This was a whole new land and can not even remotely be compared to anyplace else we have been to so far. This is probably good preparation for India. We will see how things go. But at last, the always dreaded border crossing day is at a close.

Due to the impracticalities of crossing the border needlessly, we arrived in Shenzhen via metro to the train station (direct train to LuWu Station from Kowloon, very nice) to find that there are no open spots available on the train to Guilin for today.

In the station

Booked for tomorrow evening and then left the station to try and find lodging for the night. Luckily found a cheapish enough place right across the street (not the big black building, the Shangri-La Hotel but the smaller one next to it). The next day was a matter of waiting for our train and thus does not merit a full post to tell you how boring it was.

Travel Tip:

There are plenty of hotel touts across the street from the train station. Just walk over there and you should be able to find lodging within minutes. Our room was a huge double room with an incredibly nice bathroom, towels, A/C, a thousand Chinese TV channels (well, maybe not that many), and free wifi picked up from the Shangri-la Hotel next door! It was around $11pp (RMB150 for the room) and what we needed most was its location right by the train station.

When you cross the Hong Kong/China border, within seconds you will begin to see the massive difference between them. Don’t expect to find any English on road signs, train timetables, buildings, etc. In Hong Kong, English is widely spoken and it is rare to find someone who can not speak it. In China it is the opposite. Numbers will be your friends so always pay attention to the train number you want and prices. Sleeper beds vary from hard to soft, and prices vary between the top/middle/bottom bunks (guess which is cheapest, ha!). Always be sure to specify which kind of sleeper you want and be sure to confirm the price so you have a good idea of what you’re getting. The train station ticket sellers usually know a few (very few) words like “soft” or “seat” so just do your best and listen closely!

What a difference a border makes! We have only been in Jordan for a matter of hours and we already love it! From the fanatastic guys at the falfel place who were ecstatic to see us as repeat customers to the clean scent-free streets and the shops that we can walk past without a single business owner taking notice of us, not to mention that no one evens seems to notice that we are foreigners or if they do they don`t care to stare at us! Woohoo! It feels so nice to be invisible again and these falfels are the best thing ever!

Yummm.... Falafels

As for today`s activities, we did little of interest to our readers. Just some walking around, lazing about, visiting a super posh internet cafe that looked more like a vacation resort, and eating lots of falafels. We are thoroughly enjoying ourselves and also enjoying the differences between Egypt and Jordan that are so blatant it is impossible to overlook them. For being such close neighbors, these two countries are vastly different from each other, both with positives and negatives although we must admit that, while we did enjoy our time in Egypt, we are favoring Jordan and looking forward to seeing what else the country brings!

From 9AM until 5PM, we did nothing. We read, drank tea, played cards, and walked and sat and sighed and grumbled and waited some more. When we played cards in a little cafe-restaurant across from the terminal we amassed a highly curious and involved audience who offered (Arabic) advice on how we should play our cards and intently watchful eyes of all ages, from the 5 year old son of the cafe owner to a scraggly old man of about 60.

Street Goat

We were told by the owner of the bungalow last night to make sure we get to the ferry early as they only sell tickets until noon and sometimes they sell out! We had heard horror stories about this ferry and they were all true. From the crazy gangs of roving goats in the streets of Nuweiba City to the wretched, indescribably hot building and the never ending wait, it was all true. And on top of everything, that extra $10 to take the “guaranteed express” ferry, that $10 that could feed us both for 2 days was completely wasted because not only was the ferry tremendously late (2 hours), it still took four freaking hours to get there!!

Wild goat gang

So leaving at 5pm from Egypt put us into Aqaba around 9pm where we had to wait around for our visas and passports before we could officially leave the premises. We powered ahead of the line of 200 or so Jordanians trying to pass the border and told the guard we had to catch a bus and he let us pass as well as the two Aussies who tagged along behind us.

The ferry waiting room

As we rounded the corner we saw what looked remotely like a zombie film. Touts and taxi drivers were piled up against the fence reaching in trying to grab at anything with money. We watched as two Japanese girls entered the mess, never to be seen again. We fastened down and plunged through; pushing, shoving, and yelling NO (in Arabic) as we were grabbed and dragged in 5 different directions. We had a rough idea that town was closer than is really was. We topped the hill and saw the lights of the city far off. We had no choice but to take a taxi As we walked down into the maylay. We spotted the two Aussies we had briefly chatted with on the ferry who were looking horrified, dazed, and utterly helpless. They didn`t have one red cent between them so Saben got a taxi to take us all four to the city center for 5 Dinar (all the money we had). The driver had started on the Aussies at 35 Dinar; that`s outrageous!!

Lucky for us the Aussies had a place in mind to stay and we didn`t so they saved us there. It was almost 10pm and we had no interest in walking around the city in the dark, fully loaded, without a place to stay. It was the lovely Jordan Flower Hotel where we secured a private double (no dorms available) wıth shared bath for about 11 JD/pp. A bit expensive for us but that is the price one pays to be unprepared (but to be fair, we had expected to arrive in the day time about 5 hours earlier!). But the Jordan Flower is perfectly located, with an unbeatable falfel place just around the corner and up a block, an ATM a street over and an internet cafe just behind it.

Well, apparently you just can’t have anything useful in your baggage when you fly these days. In fact, if I can’t leave home without my spare meat cleaver or my cross bow, why, I shouldn’t go anywhere! You should see the pictogram list of restricted items while you wait in the first of 3 security checks at the Bogota airport. As soon as you disembark from your connecting flight (where they check your passport before letting you go down the stairs onto the tarmac), you must queue up for another security checkpoint just to get into the airport when you are scanned and patted down.

Before you know you’re finished there, you find yourself being pushed forward into another search where you must empty the entire contents of your baggage onto a table before a scary looking military grunt who is obviously highly disgruntled to have been put onto such a lousy shift. We only have dirty laundry and sneakers… and lots of tiny, annoying hiding spots for tiny annoying objects….and some really weird stuff too…tiny llama talisman in a tiny pouch wrapped in toilet paper. Weirdest of all they choose random items to smell!?! For instance, Saben’s hackey sack which has been in more disgusting places than we could ever imagine, or Lin’s journal. What you could keep in there I have no idea.

After that mess was finished and we were waved through our same-sex searcher lines, we met back up and had to again pull everything out of our packs to repack them in the only way to make everything fit. Quite a task and equally frustrating to do on the floor of any airport but especially so in one where there are more military personnel and fat drug dogs than actual passengers. No wonder no one wants to fly through Columbia! I understand wanting to take necessary security precautions but sheesh! That was intense!

Unfortunately, the ‘’secure zone” of Bogota’s airport is nothing but airpoirt waiting rooms, patrolling police and military personnel, and 1 little snack stand with terrible, nearly inedible food (really; and we’ve eaten some pretty inedible things before). With 5 hours til our connecting flight to Madrid, we could do nothing than just sit…and sit…and sit a little more. We sat for hours, eyes glazed and drool swaying from our lips hoping the time would pass more quickly than possible until we got kicked out of the waiting room. One more security point before we could even technically go into the waiting room of our gate!

Finally, we felt like we’d made some progress–we were only the plane! But an hour after take off, we landed for a pit stop to pick up more people. We were told it would be an hour and a half and that we must stay on the plane. We were so hungry we could’ve eaten our complimentary blankets! Apparently noticing our ribs protruding through our shirts and taking pity on our sunken in cheeks from obvious starvation, the flight attendant took pity on us and gave us crackers and a juice box! Woohoo! It was like striking gold.

From there, just a boring flight with dinner and lots of movies and our vehement refusal to take proper anti-jet lag measures thus causing our bodies to feel the 7 hour time difference when we landed in Madrid at 10AM the next morning.