Ivana and Gianni, from the great digital nomad travel website Nomad is Beautful , interviewed us about our travels, our web seriesproject and everything under the sun for their series Love on the Road ! We were thrilled to be featured and show off some of our photography, and Ivana’s questions were really thoughtful. To read the interview click here!
P.S. And for those who have somehow missed it, here is our teaser trailer for our currently crowdfunding webseries, “I Do: A Wedding of Cultures”:
Fellow Misadventurists: This entry was originally posted on Stax’ blog, gypsytrampthief.wordpress.com.
There were once two hill tribes that lived uncomfortably close at the foot of a mountain. They were called the Lach and the Chil and they hated each other. A lot. It seems that in general, they were pretty good at maintaining a safe distance from one another. That is, until Fate intervened.
One day, K’Lang, a boy from the Lach tribe, happened upon Ho-Biang, a girl of the Chil tribe. Their eyes met, their hearts raced, and in an instant they were experiencing chemically induced euphoria, excitement, bonding… In short, they were falling fast into forbidden love.
They wanted to marry, but it had been decreed many, many years ago (so many years that no one knew when or by whom) that people from different tribes could not marry. This did not deter them. Defying their parents, elders, tribe members, and years of tradition and enmity, the two married anyway (in a private ceremony, I presume), then climbed to the top of the mountain, away from their respective tribes to live in peace. Things went pretty well until Ho-Biang became very ill and nothing in K’Lang’s experience could cure it.
Thinking that the Chil people might know what to do, K’Lang and Ho-Biang decided to make the long journey back down the mountain to Ho-Biang’s former village. Unbeknownst to them, the Chil tribe were anticipating the couple’s arrival and had specially prepared a poisoned arrow to pierce K’Lang’s heart.
Look out K’Lang! That’s a poisoned arrow! Image courtesy exploringworldview.com
Upon entering Ho-Biang’s village, K’Lang plead with them to prepare a cure for his wife. But the villagers were too angry to listen. Blinded by vengeance toward this Lach tribesman for stealing their daughter from them, they aimed, shot and let the arrow fly. It looked like K’Lang was done for.
But despite her grave illness, Ho-Biang jumped in front of the arrow to save her beloved and died instantly. K’Lang died just afterward, devastated by his beloved’s death.
Realizing too late the error of hating one’s neighbors, Ho-Biang’s father decided it was time to unite the hill tribes of Lach, Chil, and a few others to become K’ho. Now that they were one shiny happy people, members also had the right to marry outside without having to move to the top of a mountain or worry about poisoned arrows.
In the meantime, the tombs of K’Lang and Ho-Biang grew to be two mountains, which the hill tribe members named LangBiang. Hundreds of years later, the Misadventurists (Beej and myself) visit this natural monument to lost love.
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We pass through the large yellow archway entrance and are greeted by a very old woman trying to sell us authentic purses, scarves and other trinkets. Atop a small hill, above the parking lot full of green Russian-style jeeps that take tourists up the mountain to the trailhead, a giant “LangBiang” rises, laid out in big white letters like the Hollywood sign.
Next to the sign there’s a statue of K’Lang and Ho-Biang. The doomed lovers stand on separate rocks facing each other, reaching out their hands in futility, angst etched into their faces.
Climbing the mountain by foot is free, but for a small fee ($2/pax), someone will drive us to the top in one of the green Russian jeeps. Cheap. But there’s a catch: they’ll only take us when the jeep is full.We’re the only tourists in the parking lot. We can wait for four other people to show up (which could be awhile here in the hot low season) or we can pay for all six seats ($12) and a guide will drive us up, no problem.
I don’t want to wait, though. Things in the parking lot have become…annoying. The sun is trying to kill me, beating my head with wrenches of of heat. The authentic old Lach tribal woman won’t accept that she’s struck out. Her approach becomes more direct: she starts rubbing her belly with an exaggerated look of pain, holding out her hand and pointing to her mouth.
She won’t stop following us around the parking lot – from the motorbike parking, to the jeep ticket window, to the designated eating area, to the shade of one of the jeeps in the parking lot, and back to our motorbike, she seems to now be asking us to just feed her coins.
Then a boy of about 10 shows up out of nowhere. “Money” is his only greeting, and he holds out his hand in expectation.
So we begin our ascent. Soon we’re huffing and puffing up an almost vertical climb in the midday heat. This road is much steeper than we thought. Still, it is a tad cooler under the shade of the trees, the breeze constantly carries the odor of sweet pine to our nostrils, and the road is smoothly paved. Branches shimmy above me whenever the wind blows, and it’s quiet enough out here that I can hear them clearly.
Pines on LangBiang mountain. Image (c) Benjamin J Spencer
Occasionally, a farmer roars past us on a motorbike, carrying huge loads balanced precariously to the back. Farmers are the only motorbike riders allowed on this mountain, and summer seems to be the season of gathering branches.
We watch as a couple gathers summer-dried pine needles from the hillside and stuffs them into huge bags, which they then lift and tie carefully to the back of their waiting motorbike. Balancing the load and maneuvering through traffic would take a more experienced rider than I. It’s a good thing they start training early. In Vietnam, babies stand on the seats of motorbikes in front of their parents as soon as they can climb to their feet.
Thirty minutes into our climb, the first tourist jeep of many roars by, but it’s not the deafening engine noise that warns me of its approach. Instead, it’s Rhianna belting out, “Shine bright like a diamond. Shine bright like a diamond.”
The top-40 hit echoes unnaturally across the previously peaceful countryside. It sounds like a dance party should be rocking the jeep, except no one on board looks amused nor is anyone dancing. By the time the sixth jeep passes us overloaded with grim-faced tourists, sure I’m feeling a bit sore from the climb, but I’m not disappointed at all that we’ve chosen to walk.
Two plus hours later, after talking briefly on the way to a German hiker from an island we’ve never heard of (Borkum??) we reach an area set aside for hiking.
There’s a shack there where we are instructed to pay a small entrance fee, but the place is deserted and doesn’t look like it’s been in use for a long while.
So we ditch the shack and continue along the switchback trail through the pine trees until we finally reach an overlook of DaLat city and the countryside surrounding it. It’s absolutely beautiful. The climb, the woman stalking us below, and even Rhianna occasionally screaming in our ears were worth it.
However, we can’t stay too long. We still need to head down before it gets dark. We’re not too keen on our last sight being a green jeep mowing us down with Rihanna telling us that we’re “beautiful, like diamonds in the sky”.
Actually, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.
“Shine bright like a diamond. Shine bright like a diamond. Shine bright like a diamond. Shine bright like a diamond…”
Actually, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.
“Shine bright like a diamond. Shine bright like a diamond. Shine bright like a diamond. Shine bright like a diamond…”
Scenes from the hike along the gorge below Datanla Falls, south of Dalat City, Vietnam.
Overlooking the lower falls. Image (c) 2014 Benjamin J SpencerButterfly. Image (c) 2014 Stacy LibokmetoPlatform shoes. Image (C) Stacy Libokmeto“Knock. Knock. Who’s there? Nobody!” A fake “minority” house Walt Disney would be proud of! Image (c) 2014 Stacy LibokmetoThis is where I’m pretty sure the official told us to go. Maybe he was actually saying, “Only go there if you want to die.” We really need to work on our communication skills. Image (c) 2014 Stacy LibokmetoBeej, happy to be alive! Image (c) Stacy LibokmetoRapids at lower falls. Beej takes a moment from treehugging to take a phot.o Image (c) 2014 Benjamin J Spencer
They look plastic, but they’re not! Really! Image (c) Stacy LIbokmeto
We got some swimmers! (c) Benjamin J SpencerBeej catches Stax secretly relaxing conveniently in front of his camera. (c) Benjamin Spencer
What happened in the first hour we arrived in Ho Chi Minh City from Hong Kong!
Standing under a bright blue sky and an unrelenting noonday Saigon sun, Beej and I are drip drip dripping sweat like broken faucets. We’re in the middle of a bustling bus depot at the busiest roundabout in all of Ho Chi Minh City. The hot wind, whipped up by the hundreds of motorbikes zipping around us, does nothing to cool us down.
I look up at Beej to say something about heading over to a coffee shop I’ve spied nearby. Having arrived by plane in Ho Chi Minh City not too long ago, it seems an hour an a half of languishing in 90 degree heat is not enough time to acclimatize to the weather when you’ve only just recently gotten used to the lovely 60s and 70s of Hong Kong. I want water. Stat.
But looking at Beej, I see a metaphorical cloud has descended over his face. He’s looking way too serious for having just arrived in Vietnam. These first moments in a new world are normally what he thrives on.
Then I see that his eyes are following the local bus we had just gotten off of as it heads to a nearby intersection.
“There goes my camera,” he says in a monotone. “I left it on the bus.” Two beats later, he brightens. “I think I can catch him.”
“Well,” I say. “You better run because he’s about to turn that corner.”
With that, Beej takes off across the intersection, dodging streams of motorbikes, toward the bus, which quickly leaves him in the dust.
So he turns toward a group of men with motorbikes, the same guys that promised us cheap rides when we stepped off the bus.
I want to tell him that I can take his big black backpack off his back, and maybe make his search a bit easier, but it’s too late. He’s already hopped onto the back of a motorbike and they’re off, weaving in and out of motorbikes, cars, mini-trucks, and other buses that make up Saigon traffic. With one hand pointing, I imagine Beej shouting, “follow that bus” above the roaring engines.
There’s nothing more I can do, so I head to that nearby coffee shop.
Standing under a bright blue sky and an unrelenting noonday Saigon sun, Beej and I are drip drip dripping sweat like broken faucets. We’re in the middle of a bustling bus depot at the busiest roundabout in all of Ho Chi Minh City. The hot wind, whipped up by the hundreds of motorbikes zipping around us, does nothing to cool us down.
I look up at Beej to say something about heading over to a coffee shop I’ve spied nearby. Having arrived by plane in Ho Chi Minh City not too long ago, it seems an hour an a half of languishing in 90 degree heat is not enough time to acclimatize to the weather when you’ve only just recently gotten used to the lovely 60s and 70s of Hong Kong. I want water. Stat.
But looking at Beej, I see a metaphorical cloud has descended over his face. He’s…
As we busy ourselves editing the hours and hours of footage we captured during our first project in Phnom Penh, we will be posting a series of updates from the first several weeks of our trip throughout Southeast Asia.
The two weeks after our arrival in Lantau involved one flight, three long bus rides, tons of hiking, and a whirlwind of Asian hotspots – Hong Kong, of course, then Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), then Da Lat, Vietnam, then back to Saigon again…
But finally it was time to tear ourselves away from Vietnam, take the sleeper bus overland across the Cambodian border to Phnom Penh, and begin the first leg of our project.
First, though, here is the next highlights of the first two weeks:
1. HONG KONG: SAVED BY RONALD MCDONALD
SAVED BY RONALD MCDONALD
The Misadventurists are “lovin’ it”. Image courtesy mail.mcdonalds.com.hk
The slow ferry from Lantau to Hong Kong Island isn’t so slow; in little over a half hour our boat has picked its way through a dense bank of fog and chugged into Victoria Harbour.
Banks of slender skyscrapers materialize suddenly 500 feet high on either side of us, clinging to a crescent of massive green jungle-clad hills whose peaks are lost in the early afternoon mist.
Pulling into Victoria Harbor, Hong Kong. Photo (c) Stacy Libokmeto
Before we know it we’re stepping off the boat on a pier three stories high. We lug our bags through some glass skybridges and exit an elevator at street level, plunging into the manic energy of the waterfront.
Just a fraction of Central Hong Kong. Image (c) Benjamin J Spencer
Hong Kong starts at the water level and never looks down from there. The nerve center of the city is Central which surrounds the waterfront and then abruptly ascends the hills, followed by the mainly residential skyscrapers of Midlevels hafway up, with Victoria Peak (“The Peak”, to locals) looming over it all at the top.
The hills are numerous and are among the steepest I’ve ever seen a city situated upon, scattered with clusters of steel and glass skyscrapers and crisscrossed with switchbacking freeways that twist bizarrely upward like masses of vines up a tree.
Stax wandering through Central. Image (c) Benjamin J SpencerThe highways are insane here. Image (c) Benjamin J Spencer
As modern as Central Hong Kong feels in places, there is a strong architectural nod to the city’s prior heydays as well, especially the 1960s and 1970s, when the city was blowing up globally as a center of finance, industry and entertainment. We run across this mostly Filipino Catholic Church that looks like something straight out of a classic James Bond flick.
A Filipino Catholic church strongly reminiscent of the 1960s, Pan-Am era of Hong Kong. Image (c) Stacy Libokmeto
Unfortunately there’s no time to explore right now. We have to get on the metro train and meet our AirBnB hosts by 3 pm in the Kowloon district across the harbour, and it doesn’t look like we’ll make it in time.
Worse, we can’t find any wi-fi network that will allow us to log on without a paid subscription – there’s a monopoly by one company, it seems, and this also extends to wifi calls and texting, which won’t work on our T-Mobile phones without a Chinese SIM card – all which leaves us with no way to warn them we’ll be late to the rendezvous point.
The superfast metro trains get us there in no time, but still we exit the Prince Edward station in Kowloon over half an hour late and circle the block several times, trying to spot a person or couple who looks like they’re waiting for someone.
After 45 minutes of fruitless wandering, we resort to simply approaching the address our hosts listed, lurking as as unobtrusively at the entrance as it is possible for two foreigners with giant bags festooning their bodies, and occasionally accosting random old ladies who are going into the building to ask if they know the couple. No luck. Nobody seems to know who they are.
Another half an hour inches by this way, and I am about to just give up and find a guesthouse, thereby giving up the deposit and three days paid in advance on the apartment.
Then Stax has a revelation. She remembers we had passed a McCafe, Hong Kong’s substitute for full McDonalds restaurants, on the street across from the station.
The bags, which have begun to feel like just another part of my body, fly behind us as we run to the McCafe and run down the stairs of the underground restaurant.
A surprisingly delicious McCappuccino (hint hint Mickey-D’s throw a little grant money our way? JK) Image (c) Benjamin J Spencer
And then there it is. Faint, feeble, so slow it’s practically non-existent, but undeniably there – a wi-fi signal! I stand by the bathroom door, the only way to avoid getting in the way of the afternoon crowds who fill every available table, and quickly fire out a text to Eve, who is the host we had been scheduled to meet.
She must have been in the area, because less then three minutes later, as I’m heading to the stairs to wait outside, I run into a tiny girl who looks at me curiously. “Are you Ben??” she inquires.
“Eve?” I respond, and just like that our AirBnB reservation is saved. And to abandon it would have been a shame. The apartment is a block from the station in a quiet building, it’s close to great food and markets, it’s a sixth floor walkup with tremendous views of the street and buildings of Kowloon, and it’s dirt cheap.
God Bless You, McCafe.
Watch for the next exciting Misadventure soon: “The Central Midlevels”!
A Note about this post: This isn’t a proper post about the project, but just something to let you know what we’ve been up to for the past few weeks. Greetings from Southeast Asia!
It’s been awhile since you last heard from yours truly – but there’s a good reason for that.
During that time, we sold off, stored with obliging relatives, or mailed all of the possessions save those that fit into two giant backpacks; gave two weeks notice at our cushy jobs in Manhattan; handed the keys to our Bushwick sublease reluctantly back to the owner (herself just back from Ghana); arranged to film a couple of traditional Khmer wedding ceremonies for our documentary project; and spent two weeks driving a Ford hybrid rental into the ground all around Oregon, mostly visiting friends and relatives (the highlight of which was watching our friends Brian and Heidi kill the room at Suki’s in downtown PDX with their dead on karaoke cover of the B52s’ “Love Shack”).
Then at the dawn of St. Patrick’s Day, we boarded the Bolt Bus from downtown Portland to Seattle, cruised to Sea-Tac on the airport tram, and flew 16 hours from Seattle – via Tokyo – to Hong Kong.
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March 17-20, 2014
The cabin explodes in applause upon our final approach at Tokyo-Narita, because amid 20 mph crosswinds our Airbus 330 drops, twists, and fishes wildly as if in a seizure until right about when we touch the tarmac. Nice bit of flying.
Partly because of the winds tossing about everything with wings all over the Pacific Rim, we land very late (after 1 am) in Hong Kong International. The only option is to cab it to our hotel and hope they left the light on.
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The cab driver barrels around 20km curves at a dead 60 km and strains up steep mountainsides in an old 1980s Chinese junker sedan. He almost leaves the engine block dropped through the chassis behind us on a few of his climbs.
A highlight of the ride: a giant black water buffalo with massive horns looms out of the darkness with his rear end to our cab, tail twitching, lounging and chewing his cud on a sidewalk in front of a darkened shop.
Then SCREEEEEEEEEECH we’re there. Luckily the hotel has anticipated our lateness and left the light on. We gingerly navigate a narrow alley strewn with boxes behind a restaurant, catching whiffs of fish and old vegetables and the unmistakeable tang of the salt sea.
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So you may have noticed by now that we like to do things in opposite order. Call us contrary, but because of how the timing worked out with the first Khmer wedding ceremony (and the joys of nonrefundable plane tickets), we’re starting our trip with a vacation first – and not starting proper work until about two weeks in. I know, rough life, right?
Our first two days in Hong Kong are not actually in the towering, buzzing city everyone pictures, but in Mui Wo on southeastern Lantau Island. A town that not even many Hong Kong residents go (most of them head to Disneyland Hong Kong just north at Discovery Bay), Mui Wo doesn’t rate on most tourists’ to-do lists. But we end up digging the quirky village and its super-friendly locals, and of course its uncrowded and laid-back beach, Silvermine Bay.
Silvermine Bay Beach. Image (c) Benjamin J SpencerMore Silvermine Bay. Image (c) Benjamin J Spencer
, eat on the cheap in seafood restaurants overlooking the bay, enjoy sunny mountain views from atop Nam Shan
The view from the Old Village Path down Nam Shan to Mui Wo. Image (c) Benjamin J Spencer
, and climb steep, ancient forest trails to a funky hillside village – where the architecture resembles shades of Dr. Seuss:
Mui Wo Village has some interesting condo association rules. Image (c) Benjamin J Spencer
beat-up bicycles are the main form of transport, and amateur bird enthusiasts place cloth-covered cages up under trees so their budgies’ cries can attract flocks from all over the island.
But of the island’s famous resident water buffaloes, which reportedly cause traffic jams, are employed in various festivals and races, and otherwise wander anywhere they wish unimpeded by locals, we see nary a sign. The expat British owner of Caffe Paradiso – the best cafe in town, where gut-busting English style breakfasts and strong cappuccinos are the order of the day – disgustedly indicates a familiar culprit.
Eager real estate developers, Hong Kong dollar signs cha-chinging in their collective eyes, consider the buffaloes an obstacle and have won Lantau’s blessing to herd them out of the way to the marshy lowlands over Nam Shan, the southern mountain. And now even the marshlands are in their crosshairs.
The cafe owner sponsors a Lantau Buffalos youth rugby team:
The vicious, hardened South Lantau Buffaloes rugby squad practices. Courtesy of South Lantau Buffalo FB pg.
He also sells T-shirts (Keep South Lantau Horny!) with proceeds directly toward preserving the buffalos’ habitat (for more info on this great organization check out http://lantaubuffalo.wordpress.com/). But sadly the prospects don’t seem good for the beasts.
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Our final morning in Mui Wo we hang out on the ferry quay and wait for the boat to Hong Kong Island. We depart the lazy shores of Lantau knowing that we’ll see them again someday, whether in official capacity as filmmakers or as grateful return visitors.
But now it’s time to board the so-called “Ordinary Ferry” (read: slow boat) toward the craziness of Hong Kong Central. But that’s for the next post, which I swear will be more timely than the last….
The slow boat to China. Heh heh. Image (c) Benjamin J Spencer
MISADVENTURIST FILMS 