Here are the good, the bad and the ugly of the most interesting airports we visited around the world.

The Good

Suvarnabhumi Airport – Bangkok, Thailand

Bangkok's airport is a temple of contemporary architecture

Like Bangkok, the airport caters to an eclectic mix of people. Standing next to the airport’s Islamic prayer room were Thai ladyboys, and down the hallway in the airport’s slick food court were tubby, gruff Aussies with tiny, Thai women on their arms. It’s hard to decide which is the bigger spectacle – the airport’s clean, cool architectural modernity or the constantly moving zoo of humans it it, where people-watching is elevated to sport.

Changi International Airport – Singapore

Singapore's airport tops our list of best places to lay over

For something more low-tech, those on long layovers can actually get spa treatments or take a shower at the facilities in the airport. What really impressed us, though, were the two separate 24-hour napping areas, the six open-air garden areas and the array of shops that read like a who’s who of luxury retailers: Hermes, Prada, Gucci and Bulgari.

Because of our timing – we arrived from Sydney late at night and had an early-morning flight to Mumbai – we decided not to take advantage of the special pass offered to tourists, like us, on extended layovers to tour central Singapore for a few hours. All in all, Changi, for our money…er,time, is our favorite place to lay over.

The Odd

Bhadrapur Airport – Southeast of Nowhere, Nepal

No irony intended with the VIP sign at Nepal's Bhadrapur Airport

Third world airports aren't good for nervous flyers

Once on the plane, the pilot eyes you by height and weight and shuffles the passengers around to keep the plane’s “equilibrium,” always fun to hear any time you’re in a moving object…flying in the sky…through the Himalayas. Needless to say, we made it safely with some spectacular mountain views Nepal is famous for. But this is one memorable travel experience I’m OK with looking back on and not eager to re-live.

Kilimanjaro International Airport – Moshi/Arusha, Tanzania

Kilimanjaro International Airport (JRO) is dubbed "the gateway to Africa's wildlife"

JRO, as its known in airport code, is situated between Arusha, where most visitors embark on wildlife adventures in the nearby Serengeti and Ngorongoro Crater or across the border to Kenya’s game parks, and Moshi, where trekkers attempt to summit Africa’s highest mountain for which the airport is eponymously named, Mt. Kilimanjaro.

We first picked up Laura’s dad from here when he met us for some African adventure. He couldn’t believe that the 747 he was on was going to land in what he thought was a field. I got a taste of what he was talking about when I flew to Nairobi from JRO. Because I didn’t receive a wake-up call at my hotel, I was very worried security was not going to let me through to my gate when I arrived 40 minutes before my flight was set to depart, well under the 2 hours suggested for international flights.

What a laugh. Airports like these are my favorite – small, easily manageable and which represent the destination itself. Like Tanzanians, the airport was warm, welcoming and laid back. The security guard was one of about 15 people total in the airport and didn’t fuss about my late arrival. He calmly scanned my bag in seconds, leaving me plenty of time to enjoy the fruits of this quaint, aeronautical operation.

On a clear day after a storm, it's possible to get a view of snow-capped Mt. Kilimanjaro

The Ugly

Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport – Mumbai, India

Mumbai's airport doesn't do much to contradict negative stereotypes

The place is a dump, to put it bluntly. A disorganized, bureaucratically corrupt dump. Laura and I walked out of baggage claim to find filthy, squat toilets in one of the world’s busiest airports. An airport official charged me 300 rupees to hire a taxi, which I realized shortly after was not an official price but an arbitrary one. The terminal hallway was dusty, old and prison-like. We were, at 6 a.m. local time, quickly shocked into “we are in India now” mode.

In all honesty, I didn’t really expect anything different from Mumbai’s airport. India is still a very poor nation, after all. It’s just that through traveling so many of my expectations had been subverted by the reality of a place. Yet, here I finally was in India, and the stereotypes generated through email chain pictorials with subject titles like “Is your country this crazy?” were proving truer than the impressions painted by Western media of a burgeoning economy on the cusp, along with China, of becoming the world’s next great superpower.

To be fair, in doing some research, I learned that over a billion dollars has been spent already to modernize Mumbai’s international airport, with pictures to prove it. It’s likely then that we arrived to an old gate in an old terminal. Still, double digit annual GDP growth India might have, but it has some serious PR problems on its hands if this is what half of the country’s main airport looks like.

Disneyland or Xi'an, China? I can't really tell...

“I think if we were to visit the country China at Disneyworld’s Epcot Center, it would be eerily similar to the China we’re experiencing here,” remarked Laura in the final days of our visit. I could not agree more. It is no wonder that China limits visitors’ stays to 30 days. It seems that each day longer we stayed in China, we began to see past the pretty facades of hastily-erected new structures and started to notice the fissures. Even without China’s artificially advantageous exchange rate, everything seemed and felt cheap, and not in a good way.

Our introduction to China came in the form of Tibet’s euphemistically named “Friendship Highway” and the newly-completed and very impressive Lhasa-to-Beijing railroad. After discovering what the Chinese government had done to the ancient and historical Buddhist religious center of Tibet, we were not too surprised to see greater(?) development when we arrived to Xi’an, the midway point on our transcontinental trip. Xi’an is most widely known for the famous Terracotta Warriors, and dictated, in large part, our decision to visit this classic, walled city.

The Dallas Cowboys' "Jerryworld" can't compare to China's Terracotta Superdome

This theme of making a strong impression was evident all around the city of Xi’an. The city walls, ancient even by European standards, are an incredible sight to see. Tourists and locals are permitted to ride atop the extremely wide city walls and take in a bird’s-eye view of the city. All around us as we rode, we saw cranes knocking over the old and building the new. Only the new was meant to look old – that’s the weird part. Instead of protecting the original structures or working to refurbish them, the Chinese government seemed to have decided that it would be cheaper, easier and faster to tear down and build from scratch. So, as much as I was absolutely blown away by how advanced China’s infrastructure seemed to be, I couldn’t help but wonder how long it will last.

Riding bikes atop Xian's city walls in its circular park

In many ways, through my verbal and written critiques of the Chinese, I feel hypocritical. The first Americans did painfully little to preserve Native American art, cultures, traditions and worse yet – peoples. As a country we’ve done much to denigrate our environment. But, it’s because of these mistakes why I expect more from a developing country like China. Learn from our mistakes is what I’m asking.

I guess if our visit to China taught us one thing, it would be that one month is way too short to understand its past and too long for us to want to understand its future. The facades may fool you at first; they certainly did me. But stay long enough, and you’ll come away with more questions about China’s future than you had when you arrived.

Indian mayhem in the Paharganj neighborhood of Delhi - craziest place on Earth

Be experienced, I mean. That is the question. Everyone, love it or hate it, will tell you that India is a notoriously difficult country to travel. The most challenging aspect of Indian travel is the overwhelming feeling of helplessness one experiences when faced with such extreme, abject poverty. I was absolutely overwhelmed by the myriad emotions I experienced upon my arrival.

Rickshaw driver on the streets of the Parhaganj in Delhi, India

Indians' warmth comes in many different ways, sometimes in the form of a flower

“We had a meal yesterday that sums up all of India for me so far. It was exquisite and alarming. Upon walking in, we were sat, and within seconds we had waiters clapping and dishes arriving at our places at a punishing pace. Then, the owner described in the most gracious way how we should eat all this wonderful Indian food that lay before us. This still did not deter the other patrons from looking at us like we were in a zoo and laughing, but our food was too good to even care. The flavors and tastes in one meal will make everything else I eat moving forward “less than.” There were piquant spices followed by sweetness and then tumbling into sour, breads upon breads upon breads, one more delicious than the next, and the desserts – Jesus, the desserts!

Indian thali at Radjhani restaurant in Mumbai

India's inhabitants make up a huge melting pot of peoples, cultures and religions

20 million people in this city. There is so much sadness and I see things that break my heart. Everything is in so many ways, all wrong. I am surprised, however, at how easily I’ve been able to look past this. I don’t think this is the work of travel and seeing the plight of poverty in so many places. It’s the people themselves. There is a humor and respect from the people for all things and so they don’t seem to feel sorry for themselves in the ways we would at home.

Even when they stare – and they stare! intently, purposefully, and directly into your eyes – there is a genuine curiosity. Foreigners are still rare enough I suppose. The poorest people here seem happy at times and in various ways tend to enjoy life, something unimaginable considering their circumstances.

Indian children are curious

Indian men are really curious

Men holding hands as they walk is what struck me my very first day here in Mumbai. While Indians unfortunately still carry homophobic views, men here do not have any of the hang-ups about showing non-sexual affection with each other, something I find to be exceptionally rare in any culture. People are generally so warm and inviting that, as a tourist, I am already growing tired of having to tell people where I am from, why I come to India and that, yes, I am married, and, no, I do not have kids.”

The vibrant colors of India

Laura defined so well in her “Homeward Bound” article our mutual feelings of what this experience has meant to us. We were both acceptably unprepared for our re-entry to American society. We returned during the holiday season, and with it, to all of America’s pomp and splendor: packed shopping malls, over-the-top Christmas decorations and Starbucks’ red and white holiday-themed cups.

My Brother Tim and I in Times Square

Obviously this trip was different in that we never fully immersed ourselves in one culture and language. We were on the move the entire year, like chameleons, constantly changing our colors to fit into our new surroundings. Although we felt at home in certain places, our average country-long stay of three weeks would never be enough time to let our roots grow anywhere.

Hanging with the kids at Mazabuka Orphanage

A very good friend emailed me with two months remaining in my 14 month around the world journey. “Who have you become as a result of your travels?” she asked. The same hard question I’d been asking myself all year long. The problem was I didn’t have the answer. In many ways, I feel supremely sure of who I am, what I want and what I’ve learned. But in many other ways, I am more conflicted than ever before.

I feel I have opened my world but have closed my mind. I am more judgmental, not less; critical of others when I should be more accepting; angrier when faced with perceived ignorance and less filled with a desire to educate; less empathetic to the concerns of those close to me when I should be more. Why? I simply don’t know.

I wish I could finish this by saying something uplifting and grand instead of feeling the way I do. But life and emotions are not always dictated the way we want them to be. And for now, that will have to be OK.

I don’t want to die and go to heaven. I want to go to Grindelwald.

Those were the first words I uttered after arriving to Gletschegarden Hotel, spot in the middle of Grindewald, Switzerland. With a view of the rolling green hills and the imposing Jungfrau Mountain seemingly superimposed on a postcard amount of red, pink and white flowers, I thought I was in Heaven.

But if only Heaven didn’t cost as much…Switzerland was never part of our around the world itinerary for this reason. Laura and I had long known that Switzerland is associated with three things: money, time and chocolate (probably in that order, too), so it never even crossed our minds that our meager backpacking dollars could bring us to this wonderfully expensive paradise.

Enter Laura’s parents. Gracious and giving as always, they treated us to a four day holiday in Switzerland that I’ll remember forever. We spent the first two days in the skiing-obsessed Zermatt. While I greatly enjoyed the chic shops, fine dining, incredible trekking, sleek efficiency, and, of course, the magnificent views of the Matterhorn in car-free Zermatt, it still was not perfect enough. Great, green Grindewald had to go and top it.

When one pictures Switzerland, they are picturing Grindewald. With no more than a couple thousand residents, Grindewald is more village than town. We arrived on one of those temperate, sunny Fall days that even Grindewaldians(?) (who are accustomed to perfection) had to call perfect. The air was cool, the sun was shining and the flowers were still in full bloom (although I think the Swiss secretly import their flowers to retain that “full-bloom” look year-round). The afternoon sun moved from the Jungfrau onto the rolling hills and played shadow games over hamlets straight out of Hansel and Gretel.

Besides staring at all this beauty what were to do? Head to one of those neat, corner cafes to laze away the afternoon sipping strong coffee and eating flaky pastries? Or maybe head to an outdoor wine bar to take in the outstanding mountain views? The Swiss have a way of tricking you into doing nothing and yet have you feeling a sense of accomplishment.

Or, if you actually are serious about being active, there a wealth of opportunities to pass the time in Grindewald. I forewent the shopping that the Dowling ladies set out for some serious trail running in preparation for the Cape Town Marathon, now just two weeks away. While the thin mountain air and vertical trails make running an extreme sport in this part of Switzerland, I always was able to stop and catch my breath. I had to. The views were so stunning that I had to take a moment every few minutes to admire the serene, green alpine beauty. Glaciers, rolling green hills, cascading waterfalls, gentle streams – you name it, Grindewald has it all.

The following day I found an even greater appreciation for the splendor of this idyllic mountain village when Laura, her parents and I took one of the shiny red palaces they call cable cars to the top of one of the ski lifts for an afternoon hike down the mountain. The views from above 10,000 feet only improved our already high marks for Grindewald.

These afternoon hikes proved necessary with the delectable culinary options Grindewald had in store for us: hearty Hungarian goulashes, grilled venison with beets in a red wine sauce, veal with a creamy marsala sauce, lamb over couscous with a red pepper mousse and a ridiculously cheesed-out Swiss cheese special.

Heaven Grindewald most certainly was. Even the town cemetery was perfect and a place any visitor would want to frequent. To top off our experience was the 100 year old and downright rustic Gletschegarden Hotel. Even among so many wonderful homes and hotels, the Gletschergarden stood out. The place was full of charm with every crevasse of the home opening up into a new-found nook with well-appointed hand-crafted wooden furniture. The views were nothing less than stunning and the family-only staff as hospitable as they come.

So, if Heaven is anything less than Grindewald, I, for one, will be disappointed. Unless less means cheaper, then it’s OK.

Once upon a time, the city of Constantinople was the center of civilization. If you were to visit the bustling meyhanes (bars) in present-day Istanbul’s back alleyways, you would be forgiven for thinking it still is.

Today, the 2010 European Capital of Culture is doing its best to reassert its former glory and give proof that history does repeat itself. Women in burqas walking side by side with scantily-clad friends, churches converted to mosques – these are just a few examples of the East-meets-West juxtaposition that is so prevalent in Istanbul. While London and New York, and to a lesser extent Paris, offer incredible displays of diversity, none are as deeply rooted in their historical underpinnings and offer the unique sense of self that Istanbul displays.

The Sights

Laura and I stayed in the Old City of Sultanahmet, which is home to the city’s most famous sights. From our hotel rooftop terrace we had a view of two of the best: the Hagia Sophia (Ayasofya in Turkish) and the Blue Mosque (officially Sultan Ahmed Mosque or Sultanahmet Camii in Turkish). Architecture is not immune to the East-West dichotomy found in every other facet of Istanbul life. Many of Istanbul’s greatest sights are churches from the early Christian periods converted to mosques when it was brought into the Ottoman Empire.

Almost all agree the exterior of the neighboring Blue Mosque is superior in beauty to the Hagia Sophia. But the most beautiful interior, that is the Hagia Sophia’s alone. The clean lines, beautiful Arabic calligraphy and lack of ostentatious ornamentation found in many churches and Hindu and Buddhist temples make the Hagia Sophia a sight to see. Combine those qualities with the massive and inconceivable vaulted domes, stone-textured walls and cream-white latticework and you have the most beautiful place of worship anywhere in the world.

Staying in Sultanahmet, we were able to avoid the crush of tour buses visiting the Blue Mosque and see it as the Muslims who come to worship here do. I snuck in just before the call to prayer when they close the mosque to outside visitors and witnessed the hushed tranquility of its interiors. I was quickly taken aback by the mosque’s restrained beauty. Raised Catholic, watching the prostrating worshippers awakened me to the stark contrasts of the two religions. The Blue Mosque, like most other mosques, is carpeted throughout. Instead of the hollow sound of my shoes meeting a marble church floor, I instead enjoyed the warmth of the simple but intricately-patterned carpet under my bare feet. It’s virtually impossible not to notice the blue Iznik tiles adorning the interior and give cause for the mosque’s nickname. Inside wrought-iron chandeliers holding 21st century votive candles, glass cups filled with energy-efficient light bulbs, endow the mosque with an incredible atmosphere, especially so in the evening.

Because Istanbul was named the 2010 European Cultural Capital the city is looking extra-swish, with flowers in full bloom and grass never looking greener. The history and beauty continue away and out from the main square to include the lesser-known but equally fascinating sights Little Ayasofya and Basilica Cistern. The cistern, an underwater chapel replete with sculptures of Medusa, dates back several hundreds of years before its rediscovery by a visiting historian and scholar who had heard locals’ talk of drawing water and even catching fish from buckets lowered from their apartment floors.

The Sounds

On top of possessing a dizzying array of sights Istanbul has to be the city that truly never sleeps. It makes New York City or Buenos Aires, the two giants of nocturnal activities in my experience, seem like Springfield (take your pick) on a Tuesday night. I am not exaggerating when I say thousands of people, mostly Istanbulites and other Turks, are out in the streets until 2 or 3 a.m., even on weeknights.

The back alleys of the bohemian Beyoglu neighborhood are chock-full of tables soaking themselves in raki, an anis-like drink similar to ouzo, and Efes Pilsner, the Turkish beer of choice. We witnessed the power of alcohol and the subsequent lowering of inhibition as locals displayed Turkish dancing en masse and sang along to Turkish anthems being belted from rowdy pubs.

We arrived on a Tuesday and watched each night as the crowds swelled larger and the party hours lengthened. By Saturday, it had reached full tilt. Only at 3:30 a.m., when we decided to call it quits, were the masses moving from Beyoglu’s back alleyways and into clubs where the party would continue until seven or eight in the morning. Sunday, presumably reserved for family time (or as the only buffer between weeknights and the weekend for Turks), was the only night there seemed to be some sense of calm in the city, and even then the scene was livelier than most big cities on a weekend night.

The Smells

Istanbul smells spicy. Really. Perhaps all that eclecticism has to manifest itself through some physical outpouring because there were some funky smells swirling about. Bad body odor aside, there are plenty of good smells in the city, such as the wonderful aroma of a kebap roasting on a spit. For travelers on a budget (we were), a daily doner fix is a must (make sure to order it with French fries and pita).

Istanbul, I should add, is a very expensive city. Although Turkey is not on the Euro (yet), prices are equivalent to or even greater than many Euro-using capital cities. That being said, Laura and I tried our best to gravitate to the other good smells of the city. The smell of grilled fish sandwiches near the Galata Bridge, which connects the old and new towns, reeks of an institution as old as the bridge itself. As long as there has been fish, water and fire there have been fish sandwiches underneath the Galata Bridge. The sandwiches themselves are nothing special, but the ritual and tradition that goes along with it certainly merit the modest $3 price tag.

Istanbulites typically dine in big groups and eat meze, appetizers akin to Spanish tapas or Italian antipasti. In almost any traditional Istanbul eatery the waiter will bring a wooden platter to the table to show the goods firsthand, whereupon the table selects from a variety of meze: eggplant, stuffed peppers and tomatoes, vine leaves, tapenades, kofte (minced meat rolled into meatballs) and different types of salted fish. If you haven’t smelled, or better yet, sampled a fair share of meze, you have not been to Istanbul.

The Ultimate Border Town

Over the years and through my travels I’ve developed an odd fascination with border towns and crossings. The strange ambiguity of border towns, representing two different worlds and a melting of cultures is for me a microcosm of what it is to travel: to perceive as normal what others view as new and different.

Over the course of hundreds, thousands of years even, Istanbulites have prospered, fallen down and picked themselves back up to assimilate into a culture they have created through war and trade and love and lust. It is not this distinctive blend of cultures and customs, however, which makes this city straddling both sides of the Bosphorous so exceptional. It’s how easily the people carry these differences and similarities with them that make Istanbul one of the unique cities of the world and worthy of a visit, don’t you think?

Bangkok always seemed to have a naughty ring to it, I thought, and now I know why. The city of six million is more than just the nation’s governmental capital; it’s also the sex tourism capital of Southeast Asia. People – Thai women, adolescent boys and girls and those that walk the increasingly precarious gender gap line – “ladyboys” and “toms” – are all for sale here in Bangkok.

Of course, it’s not just Bangkok. While there is certainly no comparison to the volume of hedonistic pleasures taking place in Thailand’s biggest city, other cities in Thailand’s north and south make their bid to claim a piece of the sex tourism pie. Our first stop in Thailand brought us to Chiang Mai, the cultural capital of Thailand and the biggest city in the country’s northern area. As such, it is also the place to be in the north for sex tourists.

The Oldest Profession in the World

Photo courtesy of Vitaly Shepelev.

On our night out in Thailand we were struck by the number of middle-aged, white, Western men who seemed to be travelling alone. Or so we thought. One bar after another, we were seeing Aussies, Americans, Canadians, Brits and a host of other fair-skinned fellows saddled up to the bar, only to be greeted warmly by a young, scantily-clad, dark-skinned and beautiful Thai woman.

Here’s how it works. The ladies (so far, they’re still just ladies), are “employees” at the bar. If a man would like to talk to one of these employees, it’s proper and assumed that he will buy himself and her drinks from the bar where she is employed. Sometimes, this is the extent of it – flirting over drinks while watching the latest Premiership football match on the tellie. But, if the discussion and flirting leads the man into wanting to take this bar employee home, well, then he has to ask permission from her boss to leave her work station. This requires some financial compensation to the bar-owner, usually in the range of 500 baht (between $15 and $20). Now that he and his new lady-friend have smoothed things over with the bar-owner, the night is their oyster (maybe not the best analogy here…). Remunerations for sexual acts can then be worked out between the man and woman with no intermediary.

This is where my guidebook explanation and personal experience (strictly visual, people) ends. But what Laura and I recognize early on in our Chiang Mai stay is that many of the men we see here are not just on holiday. They live here. Some have apartments, jobs (maybe they even own a bar?), etc. Others seem to visit several times a year and are familiar with the bar staff, café owners, masseuses and store clerks we see them talking to around town.

So, we see some men who are solo during the day and have girls at night. But others are walking around with their female partners during the day, grabbing lunch, getting pedicures (yep, the men, too), massages and even visiting the Tiger Kingdom to play with tiger cubs. This leads me to believe one of a few things. 1) Some guys think they are Richard Gere and are living out their Pretty Woman fantasies sans the polo matches. 2) What begins as a pay-for-sex relationship matriculates over time into a bona fide boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, where the man stops paying for sex and just buys her things for sex. No, my grandma reads this. That’s a joke.

Really, I don’t fully understand the specifics, but I could gather that such a partnership could (this is a huge could) be mutually beneficial. The young Thai woman who typically comes to Chiang Mai from smaller, farm towns nearby to make money and a better life for her and her family now has a dependent, semi-reliable source of income. And she no longer has to work. Or she’s always working, depending on how you view it. The man, stereotypically driven by sex, but often just lonely and looking for a partner, gets what he wants in the form of the beautiful, young girlfriend he now has on his arm. These relationships are so common and so sought after that we even saw books in Bangkok’s airport titled “How to Get (and Keep) a Thai Girlfriend.”

Lions and Tigers and….Ladyboys – Oh Chiang Mai!

Photo courtesy of Vitaly Shepelev.

Cue Lou Reed and his Warholian anthem to transvestites, Take a Walk on the Wild Side, and you have a pretty good intro to the other side of sex tourism visible in Thailand.

Holly came from Miami, F.L.A.
Hitch-hiked her way across the USA
Plucked her eyebrows on the way
Shaved her legs and then he was a she
She says, Hey babe
Take a walk on the wild side

Not all sex tourists coming to Thailand are looking for a lady. Some are looking for a man. And there are others who coming looking for a man dressed up as a lady – hence the “ladyboy.” A ladyboy, or Kathoey in Thai, is defined by Wikipedia as “a male-to-female transgender person or an effeminate gay male in Thailand.” (Now, if you’re bored at work or have a lot of time, look up kathoey on Wikipedia and the rest of your afternoon is shot. I promise you this is interesting stuff.)

The beautiful truth is that ladyboys are an integral part of Thai culture and are viewed and treated much better than transgendered people in any Western country. Many believe that due to Thailand’s strong Buddhist beliefs transgenders are accepted more. There are kathoey beauty contests all over Thailand and their presence in newspapers and magazines is quite common. In fact, many are used as models and a slew of books and films have been produced featuring kathoey subjects. While in Chiang Mai, we visited many bars with only ladyboy staff and rode with bus companies who had all-ladyboy service. It seemed almost chic to do so.

The hard reality is that life and law can still be cruel for transgenders in Thailand. Thai laws do not accommodate many of the ambiguities that go along with being transgendered; many jobs are unattainable or difficult to get due to employment discrimination and amenities given to Thai females are not available to kathoey women, even if they were to undergo sexual reassignment surgery.

Middlesex, Intersex and Tom-Dees

Photo courtesy of Vitaly Shepelev.

Every coin has two sides. Such is the case with transgender representation in Thailand. For every ladyboy bus attendant or waiter (waitress?) I spoke to, there was a “Tom”, or female-to-male transgender taxi driver or bouncer. Our first night in Thailand, we had a Tom that I likened to the Fonz from Happy Days. She was cool and tough in her leather jacket and cigarette hanging from her lips as she drove us around town. She had all the mannerisms of a male. If we were home, I’d probably ask her to come over on Sunday to drink beer and watch football.

I never saw women dressed as men accosting foreign men or women at bars, but I assume there is a market for this. What I do know is that in Thailand many relationships exist between said “toms” and “dees” – heterosexual women known for their diva-like tendencies. In these relationships, “toms” will act as the caretaker and breadwinner and carry out the common niceties we associate with chivalry: holding doors open, pulling out a woman’s chair at restaurants and even carrying their dee’s purse. This is not always a sexual relationship but can be. Often, the tom will “please” his dee sexually, for which he/she will receive nothing in recompense, nor is it expected.

Bangkok – The Big Apple

If the apple in New York’s sobriquet were to signify the temptation of Eve in the Garden of Eden, then perhaps Bangkok is the true Big Apple. For, temptation certainly abounds in the Thai capital. One is quick to realize how prevalent this temptation is even before they arrive to Bangkok. When booking a hotel online, our hotel made it very clear on its website that “sex tourists are not allowed.” When checking out several other hotels we encountered the same, signaling to us that this is a serious issue if it even has to be mentioned.

Other hotels take a more passive (or capitalistic) approach, keeping passports at the front desk and charging guests for “visitors.” As you can imagine there are also many “o’clock” hotels that charge per hour instead of by room.

Before visiting, the first Bangkok image that came to mind was of that super-creepy, weirdo bobble-head that alleged he had killed JonBenet Ramsey. I remember the footage of him in handcuffs being extradited back to the US and the media reports claiming that he had been living in Bangkok and preying on child sex slaves. This is something that one doesn’t easily forget.

That people, even today, are sold into slavery, many of whom are young children, is absolutely repulsive and extremely disheartening. Many are tricked into coming to the “big city” for some other type of work, where upon arriving they find that the job they’ve been promised never existed and are forced into a life of prostitution or slavery. Fortunately, this type of prostitution is not accepted, but sadly still exists. I don’t know much about this so I will defer to the laudable work being done by the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime and HumanTrafficking.org. Hopefully, you can learn more from the people who dedicate themselves to combating such injustices.

Sex tourism in Thailand comes in all shapes, sizes and genders. I left with more questions than I had when I started, but one thing is for certain: you’ll learn more about the birds and the bees and all the in-betweens when you visit this incredibly unique country.

Luang Prabang is the greatest city in the world. Perhaps, that is an overstatement. With a population hovering around 100,000 it may not be large enough to be considered a city. Luang Prabang is then the greatest town in the world.

The dirty little secret is this – Laos and its cultural capital, Luang Prabang, need a marketing makeover. Sure, magazines like Conde Nast and National Geographic Traveler will give the city its due props with articles titled “Best Kept Secrets of Southeast Asia” and “SE Asia’s Hot List” but, please, this is petty patronization. This city, this town, should not be condensed so easily to stroke some pedantic travel expert’s ego. A UNESCO World Heritage site is not a secret. And for a place to be considered “hot” is to say that it will go out of style some time later. Luang Prabang should be visited now and later, again and again and again.

Certainly, Laura and I will be back. The town’s demure beauty captured our admiration from the moment we arrived. After traveling hard to outpace our Tibet-shortened Chinese visa, we were in need of a calm, quiet place to relax for a few days. Laura’s research and Wikitravel’s glowing recommendation brought us to one of the best places we’ve stayed yet – Thongbay Guesthouse – just on the outskirts of town.

From the get-go we had the feeling that a few days there would turn into several, which is exactly what happened. At Thongbay, we had a – OK, I’ll call it cute (it was) – bungalow all to ourselves on the shores of the Nam Khan river just before its intersection with the Mekong. Made of all wood with no real frills (no AC, no TV) other than exceptional service and breakfast on the veranda, the rustic locale was exactly what we were after.

We spent a total of 8 days in the good, ‘ole LP, but for brevity’s sake, I’ll give you run-down on what to see, eat and do the New York Times way – in 36 hours.

36 Hours in Luang Prabang

4 p.m. – Bike the Drive

It being a town, there is no need for maps or public transportation, just your two feet and some wheels. Laura and I rented bikes almost every day to get to and fro and this is undoubtedly the best way to cruise the town. One of the great charms of the town is its peninsular location, carved out by two rivers – the Mekong and the Nam Khan. Sandwiched in between are more than thirty Buddhist temples and a host of perfectly-preserved French colonial buildings, all easily navigable on two tires. Because the whole town of Luang Prabang is listed as a World Heritage Site by UNESCO, no new development is allowed, therefore keeping away much of the over-blown commercialism found in SE Asia’s other cities.

Cool off after your bike ride around town with SE Asia’s best iced coffee. Made with condensed milk and a healthy scoop of sugar it’s more of a liquid dessert than anything resembling coffee, but it’s a great pick-me-up on a hot day.

6 p.m. – Fire on the Mountain

With your new-found sugar high, ascend Luang Prabang’s highest point, Phou Si, a hill 100m high in the center of the old town with breathtaking views of the stupa-studded province. Atop the hill is a white-washed Buddhist temple, around which tourists gather to applaud the sunset over the Mekong, an absolute highlight of any trip to Luang Prabang.

8 p.m. – Night Market

Trust me; you will never visit a market as quiet as this one, not even if you’re shopping for caskets. Every night, artists and merchants set up shop on the main road running through the town’s artery to hawk their goods. If you’re coming from just about any neighboring country (especially Vietnam) you will be shocked at the lack of hassling and the quiet and reserved demeanor with which the Lao people conduct their business. Bargaining still occurs but it is by no means cut-throat and shouting won’t get you anywhere. In a country where “saving face” and maintaining a pleasant disposition are all important, the people are generally very laid-back. People come here to sell everything from misspelled Beerlao t-shirts to hand-woven purses to beautiful hand-painted prints and cards.

Walking through the market can certainly make one thirsty, and for this there is an almighty solution – Beerlao. Grab one of the green-and-yellow-labeled pilsners and take a seat at one of the communal tables in the alley running off the main market. Here is the nightly food market, made up of an exceptional array of food stalls, selling grilled fish, sausages, pork, corn and hot and spicy noodles, plenty of reason to indulge your taste buds and order another Beerlao.

As with most Buddhist cultures, Luang Prabang is not a late-night kind of place, so it’s early to bed because tomorrow you’ll be early to rise.

Day 2

6 a.m. – The Giving of the Alms

Visit in the morning and you will see lines of saffron-robed monks collecting their morning alms from the townspeople in a charitable display so beautiful to watch it will make you question why all acts of kindness couldn’t be this way. Beware, though, you will also see hordes of ugly tourists literally jogging down the street to snap photos of the collections, as it’s become tourist –chic (I say this having gone and taken pictures myself but, still, there is a respectful way of capturing the act and maintaining some distance).

8 a.m. – French Connection

After the monks collect their daily rations of rice, it’s time for you to get fed. Head to one of the many cafes in town and discover at least one redeeming quality of French colonialism – the food – over a breakfast of pain au chocolat and café au lait.

10 a.m. – Iron Chef

We had heard from many other travelers that Luang Prabang is a great place to take a Lao cooking course. We signed up and started off our all-day cooking course at Tamnak Lao by heading to the local food market to purchase fresh meats, vegetables and spices. This was a lot of fun and a great way to get off the tourist path and experience shopping in a local market.

With our English-speaking chef, Laura and I, along with about 8 others, learned to cook 6 recipes, including two Lao favorites – sticky rice, a glutinous rice used in northeastern Laos, and jeowbong, a spicy chili paste only made in Luang Prabang and typically eaten with dried buffalo skin.

The cooking class ended with a terrific lunch whipped up by none other than ourselves and included our personal favorite, laap, a minced chicken salad flavored with chili, mint, kaffir lime leaves and an assortment of vegetables.

4 p.m. – Go Chasing Waterfalls

About 30 minutes drive (you can either hire a moped or hop a local tuk-tuk) from town are Kuang Si Falls, a multi-tiered waterfall cascading several hundred feet down the mountainside. Laura and I made the trek up the mountain with a bunch of other travelers – Kiwis, Brits and Germans – to take advantage of the natural swimming pools on the upper terraces of the falls. You could spend all day here just chilling and drinking fruit smoothies, but after such a rough day you might be in need of a cocktail like we were.

6 p.m. – Slow Gin Fizzes

Sunsets in Luang Prabang are not just sunsets; they are events. There are a slew of bars practically begging you, by way of idyllic views over the Mekong, to enjoy the approaching sunset with a cocktail. Now Laura is not typically a cocktail drinker, but something about the fiery-red sun waiting to dip itself over the green jungle and into the river had her saying, “Everyone must believe in something. I believe I’ll have a drink.” Gin fizz was deemed the right choice for the moment. And there wasn’t anything slow about it. One turned to two and two to…time for dinner (or it’s going to be a very short night). If that cooking course taught you anything, it’s that there is no shortage of great food to be had in this town, so get ready.

8 p.m. – Frasian Fusion

With all due respect to the many wonderful restaurants of Laos’s capital, Vientiane, Luang Prabang would have to be considered the gastronomic center of the country. French-inspired but still distinctively Lao, Luang Prabang’s cuisine is superb. There are restaurants serving tasty Lao cuisine to suit every budget.

Laura and I chose wisely with a place called Tamarind, hidden in one of the side-streets on the Mekong side of town and specializing in traditional Lao food. This was one of the best meals we’ve had on our entire trip. We sampled sticky rice and dried, crispy seaweed, served with an assortment of veggie dips to start: a chunky tomato salsa, a smoky eggplant dip and a coriander chutney.

But the highlight was undoubtedly the lemongrass-stuffed chicken. The chicken is mixed with a variety of herbs and spices including garlic, ginger, kaffir lime and coriander, then stuffed inside a thick stalk of lemongrass, dipped in egg and flash-fried. The result – oh, dear baby Jesus! The crispy lemongrass covering gave an incredible scent and taste to the juicy and delectably-flavored chicken that was tucked inside. And with a side of peanut sauce for dipping and the local lao lao (rice whiskey) to tipple, you won’t regret eating here.

Day 3

11 a.m. – Longtail It Out of Town

All your bags are packed. You’re ready to go. Stop standing there and longtail it out of town. For centuries, the Mekong has been the lifeline and main means of transport for the Lao, Burmese, Chinese, Tibetan and Vietnamese that call the river’s shore their home. Karst mountains, wild elephants bathing, hairless, young monks washing their clothes – there is no better way to pay witness to Luang Prabang’s beautiful offerings than to take a boat down this world-renowned waterway. A fitting goodbye to 36 hours in the world’s greatest town.

For video highlights of Luang Prabang, click here.

The windy road to Darjeeling, India

Along with a motley crew of travelers from Israel, Poland, England and Germany, we hired a jeep to take us from the city of New Jalpaiguiri, where we disembarked our train, to Darjeeling – 80km, 3 hours and 7,000 feet of elevation away. In our mini-UN of a jeep, we discussed, as we always do in situations like these: American politics, health care, Michael Moore films, George Bush vs Barack Obama and why Americans don’t travel outside of the US (almost invariably in that order). The new wrinkle in the conversation came from the German who warned us that Obama is “a master hypnotist” and that we needed to be careful because, as such, we can easily be controlled by his cadence and manner of speech “to do things.” Thank you, duly noted. This is to say nothing of the variety of drugs and personal oddities you can find in India. This place is full of them. Most prevalent are the 30 year Goan veterans who moonlight as yogis/dealers/preachers and daylight as just freaking weird.

Passengers hitch a ride up the mountains to Darjeeling

Smiling children in Darjeeling

Fog lifting off the hills of Darjeeling

Darjeeling is not heaven, but after a month in India it seemed close enough. Having read that, you may think that I hated India. You’d be wrong. You see, India is a complex place that will make you feel. At times – wonderful, happy, joyous, excited and yearning for more. And other times – sad, tired, broken and wanting to give up. We were not crossing any literal borders, but it was obvious, on the road to Darjeeling we were leaving behind a country, and with it, a piece of ourselves. And, at least for the moment, this was OK.

Mumbai's central train station, Victoria Terminus, at sunset

Our visit to India began with an early-morning flight from Singapore to Mumbai, the sprawling metropolis that more than 20 million people call home. The first thing that struck us upon landing in Mumbai was the slums. The largest slum in Mumbai – Dharavi, which is home to over one million people, is situated between the city’s two main railway lines. Before touching down, Laura and I could only shake our heads in disbelief at the sight of the slum’s corrugated, tin roofs reaching out in all directions. The despair we felt driving into the city and passing through the seemingly interminable slum was so great we knew what others meant by “prepare yourselves.”

Children swimming along the Mumbai fishing wharf slums

It’s hot in Mumbai. It’s always hot. We changed our itinerary around to be here in March before the real heat of April and May sets in. It’s no wonder that summer brings monsoons because the humidity when we arrived was already oppressive. You can feel the wetness hovering overhead. Certainly, we felt it on our bodies. It was readily apparent with the dense air that we’d be smelling as spicy as Mumbai soon enough.

We auspiciously and unknowingly arrived to Mumbai the morning of India’s biggest religious celebration– Holi festival. This meant that instead of the ruinous noise of traffic one can expect from a seething city waking up on a Monday morning, we were treated to a street chalk full of zombies and riotous colors. You see, Indians celebrate Holi by throwing colored powder – or gual pol – at anyone in close proximity, followed by a good dashing of water (for posterity) as a way to welcome the coming of Spring. Our trip through the streets of Mumbai during the early morning hours of Holi was like walking into Michael Jackson’s Thriller video.

Happy Holi greetings from young Mumbaikers

It did not take long for India to exude its national obsession – cricket. It’s everywhere. It’s on TV, on the radio, and most entertainingly, on the streets. Children in Mumbai play cricket like Brooklyners used to play stickball. In places as dense as New York or Mumbai, kids don’t need a field. Any alley, street or museum property will do. As futbol is to about every other country besides the US, cricket is to Indians. Whether it’s club or country, matches are heavily watched and debated by men all over the country. The rivalry between India and Pakistan is especially intense, as one could imagine.

Our first meal in India at Mumbai's Rajdhani

As only a novice of Indian food the word thali meant nothing to me. A thali can loosely be described as a tasting menu where diners are encouraged to sample a variety of different regional foods. In our case, it was an all-you-can-eat affair. And that’s exactly what we did. I absolutely knew we were going to feast in Mumbai. I just didn’t expect it to be our first meal there.

Thalis are served on a silver tray with eight or so small silver bowls. Server after server filled our tray with the various dishes that are part of Gujarat, a regional state north of Mumbai’s state of Maharashtra. First, there was bread in all of its Indian incarnations: chapatti – crispy, unleavened round bread, roti – thicker than chapatti and cooked in a tandoor (clay oven) and naan – thicker still, tear drop-shaped bread cooked with garlic. Bowls were then filled with rice, cucumber salad, curried eggplant, dhal (lentil curry), chutney (made of minced chilies and mint), the ever-present spicy lemon-chili pickle, raita (yoghurt-based dish meant to cool one’s mouth down after all the spice), and, of course, three different desserts: gubal agal (sponge-like cake balls drenched with syrup), a delicious custard with diced apples and kheer – a saffron, pistachio, flaked almond and cardamom-infused rice pudding for the ages! We left feeling very confident that we would not go hungry in India.

Impromptu cricket game on the streets of Mumbai

Now if someone were to ask me, “What did you like about Mumbai?” I could not give a definitive answer. It isn’t a city of spectacular sights or cool neighborhoods or even wonderful culture. But it has a frenetic energy whose palpability absolutely should be felt. It gets under your skin in ways that only a teeming Indian metropolis can. Mentally, physically, psychologically –this dirty, chaotic and strangely beautiful city will challenge you. But if you rise to meet this challenge, I promise you, Mumbai will make an indelible impression and you will, with time, be pondering your return trip.