The Durian Den

Some of you may be familiar with the British comedy “The League of Gentleman” which tells the story of a small rural town advertised with the sign “Welcome to Royston Vasey. You'll never leave”. The show follows the day to day lives of the locals, the outsiders prevented from leaving (or killed) and an addiction to human flesh sold by the town butcher.

This leads me to discuss our stay in the town of Tulok Bahang on the Malaysian island of Penang. Arriving by ferry in Georgetown we spent a few nights before crossing to the east to hike in the coastal primary jungle. Consulting the guidebook we decided to check out Miss Loh's.

The guesthouse was located outside the town centre in a residential area, with neighbouring mosque and high school. Set well back from the road with no signs, it was difficult to find and the greeting by the dogs was not welcoming. Consisting of several wooden buildings divided into a number of rooms, it had seen better days. There was a large communal kitchen with plastic plates dotted with dried gecko poo, a lounge occupied mostly by dogs with ticks, shared bathrooms with green algae round the edges, and loads of unused stacked garden furniture.

After 120 days on the move, however, we're through with hunting down the best place on day one, so despite this we decided to give it a try.

It seemed Miss Loh's was a place where you came to disappear. She asked for no passport ID, and charged only a few dollars a night for her regulars. There was no onsite staff and she herself only visited for an hour a day, leaving the guests undisturbed.

All were long term residents, up to 18 years. Some stayed permanently, others wandered through Asia but always came back. They were men ranging from their 30s to 60s, all but one was a westerner and each of these were recluses who initiated no conversation other than phatic grunts and when asked, had sometimes interesting but usually semi-cohesive life stories.

One British guy talked about using fake passports so he still received his benefits and could stay in Malaysia beyond his visa expiry. At almost fifty, he hated the UK government (that supported him) and was traveling with his four-year-old daughter, the product of a failed marriage with a young Indonesian woman. Once his wife's residency was complete she had rejected them both.

Or so he claimed. As Miss Loh said, whilst chuckling (as she did frequently)...

“There's something not quite right in his head”

He talked about having to take responsibility for his mistakes and look after the girl the best he could, then out of the blue told me to be careful when buying drugs...

“See I've been doing it for years. Know what I'm doing and always looking out for myself, so I won't get caught. In fact I've got a load stashed in the ceiling around the light socket in a another room in town. If they ever do try and get me, I'll just go to America. I've got friends in Chicago and can just disappear”.

In my mind risking life imprisonment or death for using drugs in Malaysia is not exactly taking your role as sole parent seriously.

In addition to their sketchy backgrounds, the men shared another thing in common. They hung around during the day with nothing to do, lazying in the heat and eating durian. You see, much of the land owned by Miss Loh was uncleared forest and populated by durian trees. The hour each evening when she visited she'd sell fruit by the side of the road and many locals stopped by to collect some.

In fact everyone we met in town knew Miss Loh and the durian she sold. She was generous too, selling it by item rather than by weight and cheaply (there are just three or four foul tasting seeds inside each fruit, which weigh at least a few kilos).

To her guests she gave durian freely, though like the butcher in “The League of Gentlemen” and his addicted customers, there was never enough. One German called Peter bought an additional supply which he kept by the toilet next to his sandals (making for an extra potent smell). He gorged himself in the afternoon and walked around with green jelly drips at the corners of his mouth.

This guy in particular had been there too long. His hatred of the local kids playing on their scooters was disturbing and he cursed at the barking dogs. He seemed tired of life, spending one afternoon (post durian feast for one) playing solitaire on his mobile phone. Don't get me wrong, solitaire is a great game (Mum taught me with real cards long before Microsoft popularised it) but it is not my idea of retirement material.

Having tried our first durian we went out for dinner only to be stopped by Miss Loh and the Malay guest Kenny, who both offered us more.

Kenny: “Not many people like it at first, then it grows on you and before you know it you're addicted to the stuff”

Miss Loh: “Are you staying long?”

Fayette: 'We think one more day”

Miss Loh: “Stay as long as you want dear. [Chuckle] You sure you don't want anymore? I'll leave one out on the table for you in case.”

Poor Kenny. The one non-westerner, apparently with a flat in New York, he'd come to the guesthouse to escape “the cruel world” and get some down time from the corruption he dealt with daily whilst running his orphanage in Cambodia. Having learnt a bit of meditation in Thailand he now wanted to practice in peace and quiet. Of all the guests, this is the one I believed the most. Our knowledge of Cambodia was fresh and seemed to fit. He joked with us about marking our eggs so others wouldn't take them and told us about his mistake in offering assistance to Miss Loh.

Kenny was now the unpaid caretaker, yet still had a higher rent than some of the long timers. Things had also just taken a turn for the worse. Local kids were coming each night to the durian field to poach fruit and now Kenny was paying for a room, but living in a iron shack at the edge of the field, waking up five times a night to scare them away with his knife.

Kenny: “When it's windy and rainy you have to move your stuff around inside to stay dry, but it's quiet and I get to practice my meditation. When I'm not chasing away the thieves that is.”

Intending to stay only one night, we tasted durian and stayed for five. Fortunately we had plans to meet with Ez and Sarah in the Perinthians so had cause to leave. However, even as we left we were talking about returning.

Peter: “I'm sad to be leaving. You know that durian doesn't smell so bad after all.”

Fayette: “I could definitely work on my book here. Nice and quiet and cheap! I wonder what sort of deal Miss Loh would give us on the room.”

Peter: “I'll ask when I see her.“

Fortunately I didn't.

-Peter (Malaysia - May 2008)

Child health care in Cambodia

Before the rise of the Khmer Rouge (KR) in 1975 there were ~950 doctors in Cambodia, afterwards just 53. Now in Cambodia there are a group of five hospitals (Kantha Bopha in Phnom Penh and Jayavarmann in Siem Reap) which with the support of the King were set up by a couple of Swiss doctors, starting 1991. These hospitals provide 100% free health-care for mothers and children, treating disease and ensuring TB and HIV infections are not passed on during childbirth. Though founded with western staff, after years of training they are now staffed by 2060 Cambodian doctors and nurses, with just two Swiss remaining.

One of these men, Dr Beat Richner worked in Cambodia before the KR and came back on the explicit request of the King to become hospital director. Each week he holds a fund raising concert in Siem Reap during which he plays the Cello and talks about the the catastrophe of child health in Cambodia. Last week we went and this is what we learned.

During the KR regime there was the biggest explosion of TB in the 20th century, leaving 65% of the population infected. The infection is carried for as long as it remains untreated and is also passed to babies during birth. Lying dormant in the stomach it weakens the immune system and exacerbates subsequent infections by Japenese Encephalitis (JE), Malaria, Meningitis and particularly Dengue Fever (DF). In the case of DF, there are annual outbreaks in Cambodia and once a child is infected five times it leads to severe bleeding, requiring transfusions to save their life. Each day several children are admitted to these hospitals in shock fom DF. At the height of an outbreak in 2003, 150 a day, or 1 every 10 minutes arrived in Phnom Penh alone. Treatments can require up to 14 pints of blood, oxygen to prevent brain and kidney damage and expensive drugs.

The hospitals statistics are amazing. In the last 15 years they have treated 7.5 million children, with 75,000 hospitalised each year, and 40,000 would die were it not for the treatment administered. Annual costs are around $24m of which 90% comes from private donations (mostly Swiss) with another 5% each from the Swiss and Cambodian governments. Half this money is spent on importing drugs, since 80% of medicines are fake in Cambodia and 20% of these are toxic! Another $2m is spent on obtaining and administering safe blood, that has to be screened to protect against the 7.5% HIV and 25% Hepatitis B national infection levels. Finally $6m pays the staff, wages of $200-300 a month for nurses and $600-$700 a month for doctors.

Compared to the average national of $20 a month these wages are sufficient to eradicate corruption, systemic in Cambodian society. Dr Richner claims that his hospitals are the only corruption free infrastructure in the country (excluding some NGOs such as the Angkor Hospital for Children, which also operates in Siem Reap but are much smaller outfits).

Despite all this work Dr Beat Richner is criticised by the WHO and Save the Children who claim that the standard of care offered is inconsistent with the economic status of the country. For instance...

Despite the necessity for CAT scanners to diagnose possible brain damage caused by TB inflamed JE, the WHO claim they are excessive.

Were donated blood not screened first, then they would stand to infect 1 in 12 of their patients with HIV and 1 in 4 with Hepatitis B. The blood lab they have built is of western standard but again deemed overkill for a 3rd world country.

Meningitis treatments with modern drugs are 20x more expensive than the WHO endorsed Chloramphenicol treatment, but the later has been banned in the west due to life threatening side effects.

Dr Richner claims that the unique situation of the Cambodians demand this care. The TB infected children are particularly susceptible to DF and despite reporting the address of each infection to the government, nothing is done to stem the outbreaks (as in other countries of the region). He claims Cambodian lives are simply not valued enough. In 2003 there were 24,000 cases of DF in Cambodia and no international aid given or press coverage received. The same year one case of bird flu in the north resulted in 100s of WHO officials arriving in under 24 hours and international network wide coverage.

Whilst DF was of threat to the Cambodians only, bird flu threatened westerners too, so was dealt with no expense spared.

Indeed the consultants officials who regularly visit his hospitals and advise him to follow the cheaper WHO line of treatment for 3rd world countries, stay next door at the Sofitel hotel, at a cost of $320 a night. The cost of the average five night admittance and treatment for a child at his hospitals is just $170!

After all, the situation of Cambodian health is one of our creation. The KR only came to power because of the secret bombing campaign of the US during the Vietnam war. Cambodia was decimated with a loss of 600,000 lives (although at the time it was claimed that the US were helping the Cambodians) and the subsequent civil war was inevitable. Dr Beat Richner claims it is therefore a moral obligation to help out and do so in a manner which values Cambodian life. Ignoring the situation, or offering lesser care, amounts to a “passive genocide”.

We were very impressed with his work and saddened by his story. To find out more (or even donate as we did) you can do so here...

http://www.beat-richner.ch/

If you want to donate blood (like us) you'll need to book yourself a flight to Siem Reap (don't spend too long at the temples of Angkor Wat!).

- Peter (Cambodia - April 08)

Hanoi Traffic

Hanoi in many respects is little different from any other large Asian city. A population of several million, countless markets, continuous roadside street food/small time vendors and roads seething with traffic. Some expat residents suggested to us that the roads were unusually dangerous, the worst in the world, with scores of deaths every day. Indeed this is almost true. Fatalities per year in 2004 were 8.3 persons per 10,000 registered vehicles, comparing unfavourably to the West (1-2 per 10,000) but rather well to China (25-30 per 10,000).

After a few xe om (motor bike taxis which translates as bike hug) you see why. The roads are busting with traffic (almost exclusively Honda scooters) moving at break neck speed. London cars chug along at 10mph if you’re lucky. But hop on a xe om (even in rush hour) in Hanoi and you break for your destination at 40+.

Sure, compared to India the roads are probably orderly (we'll see in September), but the odd scooter trying to beat the flow jumping through red lights and heading down the wrong side of the road towards a turning, with 200 others bearing down on them, is just the beginning of where the order breaks down. Cyclos (very slow 3 wheel passenger bikes) and the odd oversized 4WDs are like blood clots and with bikes\scooters as their only real transport option, people carry everything with them. A stack of dead dead pigs on the back or a 5 foot orange tree is not an uncommon site. The yellow Lambo (a real rarity) seen one night, also proved a potential lethal distraction to the young male taxi drivers circling lake Khiem.

Everyone it seems has a scooter with customised seat covering, and if you've a little extra money you have a restored Honda classic or Piaggio Vespa. Its therefore no surprise that the pedestrian is a secondary concern. The extent of this marginalisation is represented by the side walk being no more than a continuous bike parking lot (broken only by vendors and shop fronts) rendered them impassible and forcing everyone onto the afore mentioned urban highway, complete with speeding orange trees and bikes with more pork momentum than driver and machine.

So walking along some of the narrower streets can be incredibly challenging and for me was often complemented by a bump, push, shout and startled retreat. However, what truly surprised me was the almost triviality of actually crossing to the other side. There were plenty of city chickens in Hanoi, wandering around doing their thing, and I'm sure they crossed the road for whatever reason, but no road kill. Even Plus sized American tourists were observed to have made it to the other side in one (big) piece. The trick is to just look up at the oncoming onslaught and like stepping into the ocean complete with scuba gear, head in with determination, at a steady speed and glare at any one who doesn't immediately change course to pass around you.

To really prove to you that this works, Fayette and I saw a blind man cross straight through the middle of a 5 way junction (we were two floors up in a cafe a few hundred feet away and unable to help). He clearly had no idea where he was going, since he stopped two thirds of the way over and came back to where he started, but nevertheless during that time several hundred families on scooters, honking taxis, and a few thousand oranges flashed past him and his cane on all sides.

- Peter (Nha Trang, Vietnam - March 08)

Laos and Angry Westerners

Our entry into Laos was by crossing the Mekong river between Chang Khong (Thailand) and Huay Xai (Laos). Visa costs were different by nation with Canada paying the most and the Middle East the least. A couple of Israelis we met joked it was about the only advantage (only they would know). We can only guess what the Canadians have done to annoy Laos.

We travelled by slow boat to Luang Prabang stopping overnight in Pak Beng. On arrival (after sunset) we were descended upon by kids who grabbed our bags from the boat and tried to run them up the hill for a fast Kip (Buck). Watching all the Westerners using the light of their cameras\phones in the dark, trying to spot their packs then getting stressed and piling back on the boat tipping it precariously to one side, was a highlight of the day.

Apparently rather predictably we headed to the Indian restaurant only to find it full and a rather unhappy neighbor Mr Sivali (manager of the Laos restaurant next door) who dejectedly remarked... "Why does no one want to eat Laos food? Many people in Laos very unhappy about this!". Unable to provide an adequate answer we headed inside for one of many good Laos meals and also an opportunity to flex my IT skills by fixing his camera phone (he'd exhausted the memory on dirty videos making the average young Laos male not that different).

Sadly the angry/stressed Westerner theme continued. A five minute wait for a group of sleepy Australians before departing on a boat to Luang Prabang resulted in abuse from Americans and Canadians ("Who the f**k do you think you are?"). Indeed a few days later we too were the subject of some European abuse, arriving back at a tour bus on time, but after the rest. Holiday (definition) = Leisure time away from work devoted to rest or pleasure. To me this does not encompass verbal abuse of complete strangers because you've been delayed a few minutes. It makes us westerners look very stupid.

The ride down to Luang Prabang (LP) ranks highly in the list so far. Rolling hills, dense greenery and the odd goat or elephant working in the field all resulting in a very easy and therefore short game of eye spy. We would spend an entire week in LP the town whose tag-line is "stay another day". Well it worked on me, though the last day was due to dodgy food rather than choice. Town life was good value being $6 a night for decent accommodation and only $8 for an Indian meal for two with beer that would cost $60 on Brick Lane.

Wanting to see more of Laos and working towards Vietnam we headed North. After a short ride in a minibus coated in Laotian vomit (they get very motion sick) and a dead dog (the driver was in a rush) we arrived in Nong Khiaw. This was the beginning of a fun but very cold few days. At 1K feet and clouded over, the temperature took a huge turn for the worse. Two days prior I had been cycling in 32 degree heat, now we were at less than 10 with only summer clothes. Coal heaters under restaurant tables and the odd fire were our only heat source, bamboo huts offering little insulation.

Despite this we saw fit to go net fishing (wading around in the river stringing nets along the bank and whacking the water with sticks) to catch tiny fish and crabs which Fay then helped cook back at the guest house. Doher (our fishing guide) was more than happy to take us, but was the subject of much amusement by the other villagers as we headed out and returned shivering. The fire back at the guest house was a treat and my clothes steamed dry whilst the dog MeMe's whiskers shriveled in the heat.

Deciding to push on to Vietnam (better weather) we took the Sawngthaeu (picture) east thinking it could only get better. We now know better. Two days of trundling through mountain roads at 3.5K feet in a freezing mist on the back of an open truck wearing only summer clothes (albeit ALL of them) was a real test for the westerners aboard, though apparently only a mild annoyance for the locals, who endured the same in just one layer, no hats no socks and sandals!

Arriving in Sam Neua took us to 4K feet and after a brief glimpse of sun we spent another freezing night in a country which doesn't seem to acknowledge the cold. What a town though, with an amazing market (see album 3). Finally we made our break for Vietnam, 12 hours in a proper bus arriving in Thanh Hoa, a few hundred km south of Hanoi. Amazingly as we passed through immigration and got stamped into Vietnam, the sun came out and the thermals and multiple layers came off. The really cold snap was over, though while we remain in the north, the temperatures remain only a shade above London.

Oh and one important travel tip for you... Before adding spare blankets to the bed, check them for ants nests (of course). If you don't you might end up covered and with a bed full of ants and eggs and would have to spend over an hour salvaging sheets before going to sleep. Now wouldn't that be fun!

- Peter (Hanoi, Vietnam - Feb 08)