It doesn't need to be.

To help us get over this hump, beyond this seeming contradiction, a video. The main character in today's episode of “you can do it, too,” is Dao. She runs a humble little kitchen on the island of Koh Pha Ngan in the Gulf of Thailand and she cooks up a storm — a storm so perfect that we asked her if she would be kind enough to let us film her working her kitchen magic. She agreed.

As you watch the video, you may also recognize Dao as the savior from a recent post about people — some sour, some sweet. She was the sweet one — and, Like Water for Chocolate, her sweetness continually found its way into her cooking.

Together with Dao, you'll learn how to make two of our favorite Thai dishes: Panang Seafood Curry, and Pla Muk Gra Pow (chili-basil squid stir-fry). Before we roll the video, a little secret: if you can get your hands on a few of the key ingredients (becoming more accessible by the day), the rest of this Thai cooking thing becomes easy. Sense the flow and surrender your need for kitchen precision and you will begin to unlock the beauty that is Thai cuisine.

Watch the Video: Into the Kitchen with Dao

Recipes for Two Thai Classic Dishes

Forgive us for the imprecision in the recipes below, but we drafted these from watching Dao at work. As you see in the video, she doesn't measure anything. The idea is to experiment with small amounts until you arrive at the perfect combination.

Dao's Panang Curry

1. Heat a bit of vegetable oil in a frying pan or wok.
2. When the oil is hot, add a spoonful of panang curry paste and a smaller dab of shrimp paste (you can find each of these in little tubs in Asian food stores in the U.S.)
3. Heat the pastes for a minute or so until their essence is released. (Mind it so it doesn't burn.)
4. Add the coconut milk. Start with a small portion, you can add more later to taste and thickness. Stir. Let the mixture simmer and bubble for a few minutes.
5. Add your meat (in this case seafood — or you can use chicken, pork, beef etc.) and stir evenly for a few minutes until the meat is cooked through.
6. Add a teaspoon of palm sugar (substitute brown/raw sugar) and a dash of salt (we tend to use fish sauce instead of salt).
7. If you'd like more sauce, add a bit more coconut milk.
8. Add vegetables (baby corn, non-spicy red pepper) and thinly scissor-sliced kaffir lime leaves (the magic ingredient!).
9. Add a little water if mixture is too thick, or if the pan is too dry.
10. Cook and turn for a few more minutes until everything is cooked through.

Dao's Chili Basil Squid Stir-Fry

1. Heat a bit of vegetable oil in a frying pan or wok.
2. When hot, add finely chopped garlic and hot chili peppers (the small, deadly kind). Note: if small and deadly isn't your thing, cut the amount of peppers back, remove the seeds, or skip the peppers altogether (no fun!).
3. Add the chopped squid (or chicken, fish, shrimp, or pork if you like) and stir fry for several minutes until the meat is cooked through.
4. Add a few dashes of soy sauce and a small sweet onion and pepper cut into thin strips.
5. Add a teaspoon of palm sugar (again, substitute a little brown/raw sugar) and a dash of salt.
6. Sprinkle a little oyster sauce (teaspoon or two) into the mixture.
7. Stir well and let cook for a few minutes.
8. Add a bunch of Thai basil (or holy basil). This stuff is truly amazing.
9. If necessary, add a bit of water during the cooking process to prevent sticking and to thin the sauce.

Serve both dishes over your favorite plain white rice (we recommend jasmine rice) and enjoy.

A Note on Eating Well in Tourist Areas

Late last year when we retreated to Haad Yao beach on the northern side of Koh Pha Ngan in the Gulf of Thailand for a return visit, we noticed that the area had seen even more development since our previous visit in 2007. At first we were disappointed by the Thai food options. Many restaurants muted their dishes in spice and flavor in favor of what they believe foreigners prefer. Then we found Dao at her little road-side restaurant with a simple chalkboard menu of classic Thai dishes. We chatted, asked questions. She was up for making just about anything.

This was easily some of the best, high-value Thai food around. Each dish cost 60 BHT ($2).

We ate at Dao's almost every day (we don't even know the name of her restaurant, if it even has one) and never tired of her cooking. If you visit and show some interest, she'll even make off-menu dishes from Isan, the area in northern Thailand where she comes from originally. Her fish larb with sticky rice was fabulous.

Next Thai Cooking Challenge

We're on Koh Samui (the island next door to Koh Pha Ngan) for a few more days and one of our friends has offered to take us into her kitchen to learn how to cook some more Thai food.

Which Thai dishes would you like to learn how to make?

The post Two Thai Classics, Six Minutes: A Video Recipe from an Island Kitchen appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Sound like fun? We thought so.

Watch the video below to find out.

Fish Spa Video: A Dip in a Pool of Flesh-Eating Doctor Fish

So what kind of fish are these? When we asked the woman at the spa, she said “Hungry.”

Further research tells us they are Garra Rufa Fish, also referred to as Doctor Fish. (When I was a kid, my pediatrician was named Dr. Fish, but that's a whole ‘nother story.)

If you think that having the surface of your feet feasted on by schools of flesh eating fish sounds like fun, here's some practical advice to maximize your fish spa experience:

1) Go solo: This may sound selfish, but try to keep the tank to yourself. More feet and limbs in there at once means less fish attention on you.

2) Go early: As the day wears on, the fish lose their appetites as they fill up on the flesh of other clients' feet. Try to get your limbs into the tank in the morning when the fish and their appetites are at their peak. (If anyone knows of a spa where the fish remain unfed for days, please send details.)

3) Spread your toes: OK, this may be more information than you really wanted. Spread your toes apart and the fish will love it…as will you.

Cost: A cheap thrill for the bucket list. The spa where we took a dip is located across from Phra Sumen Fort on Phra Athit Road near the Chao Phraya River in Bangkok. 15 minutes in the tank costs 150 BHT ($5) with $1.75 for each additional 5 minutes.

In case you are ever considering opening a fish spa of your own, think about the business model: you don't really need to feed the fish. You can rely on your clients' flesh to do that for you.

The post In Bangkok, My Feet Are Fish Food appeared first on Uncornered Market.

But it wasn’t the fabled Route 40 of Patagonia that would provide the exclamation point on our time in Argentina. It was a week-long road trip across the quebradas of Northwest Argentina, where chilies dry in the midday sun, llama comes served with wine pressed just down the road, and gauchos hold harvest festivals in the hills.

We had begun our road trip with a climb out of Salta on a Saturday morning. As midday approached and lunch options looked slim to none, we passed a hand-painted sign strapped to the side of a bridge. Neither of us recalls exactly what the sign said other than the mention of food, festival and gauchos (a cowboy, roughly)…and today’s date.

What more could we need?

After divining the turn-off on the unmarked road, we snaked our way over a well-underestimated 5 kilometers. En route, we helped a distressed local Argentine family push their aging wheels after they’d stalled in the middle of a hill.

When we arrived at the end of the road (both literally and figuratively), it was pretty well clear that we’d hit the cultural mother lode. This was a gaucho harvest festival, and it was stocked with people who had poured in from the hills.

Apparently not many foreigners make it to these parts. For our pluck and persistence, we were rewarded with curiosity and – with the passage of time – increasing interest and hospitality. We paid our 15 pesos ($4.25) at the door and were led into a tented area. This year’s corn and cowboy festival was sold out, and the capacity crowd gave us a look like we were, well, from places far away.

A grill covered in various cuts of cow smoked away in the corner. An all-ages crowd of men and women ladled servings of locro (a local stew made from beans, corn, vegetables and meat) from large white plastic buckets. Others worked various kettles and carved bits of meat, while teens performed bus duty, running plates and bowls back to the hungry crowd.

Stomachs rumbling, we awaited our turn in line, but the organizers hand-guided us to an empty space between the crowd and the stage, where in minutes they would set up a table especially for us.

Next came plates of asado (Argentine barbecue), bowls of locro, and a two liters of cola for the four of us, including Jason and Aracely, our fellow roadtrip buddies, to share. The meat was well-exercised, but we made our way through it while fielding questions from passers-by as to where we were from and how we discovered their annual village festival.

One man engaged us. “So, where are you from? How did you get here?”

“We're from the United States, but we drove from Salta today. We saw the sign for the festival on the side of the road.”

Then he offered the contrast of his own arrival. “Oh, that's good. I live 25 kilometers away. I don't have a car, so I came by horse.”

Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

The emcee, a jovial man with salt and pepper hair peeping out under his broad-brimmed cowboy hat, shook our hands heartily and gave us a big, personal welcome before he took the stage. After a rundown on local issues – from the importance of maintaining gaucho traditions to protecting local land from outsiders (i.e., city folks) to the promotion of local agriculture – we were treated to the first of the day’s entertainment: live gaucho music. The full meaning of the words were lost us – what with our conversational Spanish — but the mood was proud and celebratory with hints of melancholy.

This is the song of the land.

Local children’s dance troupes and an adult troupe from Salta followed, with members of the crowd sneaking in from time to time to join their favorite dance. A man that looked like he’d walked out of a lineup of colonialists — a cross between a 400-pound Christopher Columbus and a character out of a de Bernières novel – captured my attention. He was pasty-white, bubbling of flesh and dressed in what looked like a period outfit. I wondered whether he wore it often – but I didn’t have the courage to ask.

Video: Where Gauchos Go To Party

The music and dance continued; the afternoon lazed away. We resisted the urge to stick around for the raffle: “You should stay. You could win 50 kilos of corn or flour.”

Instead, we handed our stubs to our neighbors and made the rounds to say goodbye. We left with handshakes, hugs and a warm invitation to return next year at the same time.

So the travel lesson of the day: next time you see a handwritten sign on the side of the road, follow it. You just may find a group of gauchos on the other side.

Photo Gallery of Gaucho Harvest Festival in Northern Argentina

The post Road Trip Northwest Argentina: Where Gauchos Go To Party appeared first on Uncornered Market.

If memory serves, it's a cruel dating world out there. For those of you still in the game, take comfort that the animal kingdom knows no more forgiveness than our human one.

Were Charles Darwin to lead a voyage into the realm of dating advice, perhaps this is where he’d take us:

Note: We are not ornithologists. The information below comes from first-hand observations and the humorous, grain-of-salt commentary from Jorge, our guide in the Galapagos.

1. When your man brings gifts, be choosy.

The blue-footed booby female is. When a suitor brings her trinkets and twigs for the new nest, she inspects them. And if she doesn't like what she sees, she lets him know with a disapproving honk.

Don't accept just any old piece of flair. Inspect it. Make sure it's valuable and that your man had to search far and wide to obtain it.

2. It's perfectly acceptable to poop in his general direction if he brings inadequate gifts.

Iron-clad advice straight from the Galapagos. Blue-footed booby females will turn their backs on male suitors if they don’t like what they see in the way of gifts. And if the booby male gift-giving really falls flat, she'll turn her back, bend over and give a squirt of her own white paint.

Now I don't suggest going quite this far with your dissatisfaction, but you get the gist.

3. Make sure your man gets decked out.

The frigate bird male chooses a good bush and parks it. He primps, puffs out a red sac between his neck and chest, and struts his stuff to communicate his availability to the ladies flying by.

Yes, that’s right — males know they need to look their best in order to attract the right attention. But women make the choice.

4. Look for the guy with the best dance moves.

The man on the islands with the best moves: the blue-footed booby. In front of an interested female, he flares his wings, whistles and does a little jig with his big blue feet. If his moves are good enough, the booby bachelor will find himself one step closer to being mated for the season.

Watch a Video of Blue Footed Booby and Waved Albatross Dancing

5. Use the numbers to your advantage.

Be selective. Blue-footed booby females are…because they know they are outnumbered by their male counterparts. They build demand and make the men work for their attention.

So, next time you are at a bar and it's all men (i.e., a sausage hang), know that like the blue-footed booby, you have an advantage.

6. When choosing a mate, consider his taste in architecture.

During mating season, female frigate birds fly overhead and consider not only the size of a potential mate’s red pouch, but also the quality of the home (or bush) he has chosen.

When evaluating the man, look closely at his nest.

7. Make sure your man can sing.

The blue footed booby sings (whistles, really) his way into his beloved's heart. Be certain your mate is confident enough to serenade you in public.

8. Keep the romance alive by dancing every day.

After you've paired up, keep the spark alive by taking a cue from the waved albatross. Make sure you dance — and cross beaks — every day. Watch the video above for a how-to.

9. Make sure he's willing to share responsibilities.

Galapagos birds are remarkably egalitarian when it comes to sharing responsibilities between the sexes. Boobies, albatross, and frigates all divide time caring for the egg and newborn chicks.

Once you've chosen your guy, be clear about the responsibilities ahead. Is he willing to spend half the time warming the egg in the nest? Or taking care of the little one while you go out to fetch food?

10. Not everyone is monogamous.

In the bird kingdom, as in the human one, there are some birds that remain faithful and there are those who cannot help but choose someone new each season.

Figure out whether your man is more like a waved albatross (monogamous) or a nazca booby (a new mate every season). If you insist on straying, make sure you do so during the off season. Otherwise, everyone in the neighborhood will discover the indiscretion and next year's mating season could be awfully lonely.

Editor's Note (a.k.a, A Word From Dan): The editor will not entertain any personal questions regarding whether his behavior is more like that of a booby or that of an albatross.

The post Dating Advice from Galapagos Birds (or, When Charles Darwin Meets Cosmo) appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Trust us, you really don’t want to see all of it.

But there are moments where a helmet-cam would communicate our circumstances better than a pen, better than a camera (although we did our best with the video below). Moments of on-the-run multi-hop transport and cultural over-immersion that leave our heads spinning and our bodies reeling.

This time it’s Guatemala. But what we are about to describe could well have been in Armenia, Uzbekistan or Nepal, albeit with a few cultural adjustments.

This is our amazing race, one that doesn’t finish at the end of this year’s TV season.

Woo-hoo: The chicken bus from Xela to Totonicapan

We ponder a Guatemalan riddle: why post a sign inside the bus that reads “Christ lives” when virtually all bus drivers insist on driving like hell?

We lose track of the stops on this 90-minute bus ride – one that was supposed to take only 45. The irony: twice as long, double the frenzy.

At each stop, vendors pour into the front as others hop off the back — all while the bus continues to move. Peanuts, bananas and bags of water all make sense. But school geography stencils, cheap perfumes, and a Guatemalan version of Spirograph? (The vendor assures your child will get straight A’s if you buy him one.)

Then, in the middle of nowhere Guatemala in this chicken bus full of locals, an indigenous couple turns and asks us – the only gringos on the bus – for directions to a small village.

Do we really look like we have any idea where we're going?

Happy Hour at 5 AM

We're in Totonicapan to photograph microfinance borrowers for Kiva. That night, we forgo earplugs because we have an early start and fear sleeping through the alarm.

Little did we know that a full-blown happy hour would break out in our guest house at 5 AM. The common-area TV blares just outside our door (soap operas start early in these parts). An unrelenting parade of footsteps, morning chatter and laughter competes.

Who are these people living it up at this hour? We are the only foreigners; the other guests didn't look like vacationers. And this guest house is no place for a vacation: tiny rooms, separate beds, and bed linens that murmur “u-use your slee-eep sacks.”

As the party disperses (where did they go?), silence descends and we fall back asleep.

Five minutes later, the alarm goes off.

Totonicapan to San Francisco El Alto – “It’s only a 15-minute ride”

It’s 5 PM; our photo shoot is over and it’s time for a microbus to the bus station. The bus, designed to hold 17 people packed like sardines, now holds 30. School kids indicate we missed our stop. Fortunately it’s only a few blocks back. Backpacks at the ready, we hop off, the bus still moving.

Minutes later, we're on another chicken bus to Quatro Caminos (Four Roads), a transit frenzy where four roads meet. The drunk man behind us prompts us to forget all the Spanish we picked up the previous week.

“No comprendo.”

Although locals assured us that we would arrive in San Francisco El Alto in 15 minutes, we are already almost one hour into the journey. Is this what's meant by the Mayan calendar?

Up the Hill, Squashed

At Quatro Caminos we disembark and get pointed in the direction of yet another chicken bus. A young man ushers us on, promising a quick arrival in San Francisco. If only we had a nickel for every promise like this.

This bus is stuffed. Three or more seated on each side, aisles packed. The bus sways as it tackles switchbacks up the mountain. All eyes are on us, our large gringo frames and backpacks flailing with the turns.

We’d love to take a photo of sunset over the hills – if we weren’t certain to slam our lens right through the window. Laden, we clutch the luggage rack above with two hands as the bus driver accelerates out of one hairpin turn and into another (see the first part of video below).

As darkness descends, the bus driver curiously turns off all interior lights. There's an upside to this darkness: if we go careening off a cliff – a distinct possibility given the way he’s driving – we won’t see it coming.

When are we supposed to arrive in San Francisco El Alto again? We turn to a crowd of school kids for help. One girl shrieks and retreats at our inquiry. Another boy, armed with middle-school confidence – urges us: “Get off now!”

A Town with No Map

Edge of town. Edge of night. We’re without a map and we stand out in the darkness as the only foreigners in town. This town hosts one of the – if not the – largest market in Central America each Friday, but our guidebook doesn't see fit to provide a map. It's also a place our Spanish teachers described as dangerous — the kind of place where thieves cut your pockets to steal.

As we consider our circumstances, the lights from local tiendas (shops) shine through the day’s unsettled dust. Under weak bulbs dangling on flimsy strings, vendors and families set up stands for the following day’s market. Although this lends the place an ethereal quality, we are still on alert and directionless. We walk briskly, deliberately, and with feigned purpose. We pause occasionally to ask directions and dodge the town drunks who wish to practice their English.

Hotel Galaxia

Dark, fairly bleak. This must be our place. It’s supposedly the best of the accommodation options in town.

The woman running the hotel gives us the rundown of the market schedule. Stalls go up at 3 AM. People start buying at 5 AM. Animals are sold behind the Catholic Church.

Our room: only cold water. A convenient excuse not to take a shower before tomorrow’s market. Our room evinces a dilapidation so complete that renders it impossible to imagine the place as new. It hangs together, but falls apart. The walls are leprous, pallid, and punctuated with holes that once served as electrical outlets.

But a few functioning holes remain. We have electricity. And the room has a wastebasket. In our book, this is almost luxury.

But the bed sheets still sing the song of sleep sacks.

Market Day

5 AM alarm is brutal. It’s the kind that leaves the body burning with sleep deprivation. Maybe that's just the effect of the recent bed bug bites on our legs.

The weekly market beckons as we hear it unfold on the streets outside.

As we exit, we dodge men carrying heavy loads on their backs and women baskets on their heads. The food stalls appear almost medieval – black cauldrons of chicken, rice and beans simmer atop burning wood fires. Women open lids to let us peek inside. “Come back. It will be ready later.” Genuine smiles, we are all tired.

Light falls on a stack of cowboy hats under the shadow of the church. Women unpack large Chinese market bags full of dried, salted fish. Young girls bob and weave the maze of rickety wooden tables, carrying large metal kettles filled with hot chocolate. They giggle as they pour our cups. Hot chocolate at 6 AM never tasted so good.

Above the Catholic Church, pigs squeal for their lives, geese peck at small puppies, sheep crowd close to their owners, cows stubbornly refuse to move. The animal market disappoints on only one account: no donkeys, as we were promised.

Video: Market Day in San Francisco El Alto, Guatemala

The market crowds swell at 9 AM. So does the heat. It’s time to go. Another chicken bus and we’re back where we started two days before: Xela.

Just in time for us upload photos and prepare for a three-day, 40 kilometer (25 miles) hike to Lake Atitlan that leaves the next morning.

View Photos from Totonicapan

View Photos from San Francisco El Alto

Totonicapan and San Francisco el Alto Travel Information

What to Do: Both Totonicapan and San Francisco El Alto are known for their weekly markets when – mostly indigenous – vendors and buyers from neighboring hill villages and towns descend for a day of trade. The Totonicapan market is on Tuesday and Saturday. San Francisco El Alto, Friday. These are truly local markets, meaning you won't find souvenir or other stands geared towards foreigners. Go to Chichicastenango for that.

We highly recommend arriving in San Francisco the night before so you can wake early and enjoy the market before it becomes crowded and hot, ideally between 5:30 and 8 AM. You'll have the market to yourself. Travelers that do visit usually arrive by tourist shuttles from Xela.

Where to Stay: You don't come to either location for luxury accommodation. In Totonicapan we stayed at Hospedaje San Miguel (tel: 7766 1452) next door to the Casa de la Cultura (8 Avenida and 3 Calle). Rooms are basic (bring ear plugs and sleep sacks), but showers in the shared bathrooms have surprisingly hot water. Cost: $10 for a double room with shared bathroom.

Hotel Galaxia (2 Calle, 1-81, tel: 7738 4007) in San Francisco El Alto is right below the main square and in the middle of all the market action. The woman who owns it is very kind. Cost: $10 for a double room with private bathroom (cold water).

How to Get There: Both places are serviced by direct chicken buses from the Rotunda or Minerva bus stations in Xela (Quetzaltenango).

The post Our Amazing Race: 48 Hours in the Hills of Guatemala appeared first on Uncornered Market.

“You know, I have a car here. We could drive. You can just give me some gas money.”

Sounded like a reasonable alternative.

Just as we turned to leave, the boat ticket salesman's voice rose, “Carretera. Banditos. Peligroso.” (Highway. Bandits. Dangerous.) In other words: the highway is unsafe, so my boat is your only option. Assuming his opinion was a thinly veiled attempt to profit from fear, we dismissed it.

More Talk of Banditos

On the way out of town, we asked for directions. “Up there, right then left. But it’s dangerous. And there are bandits,” one taxi driver offered, without skipping a beat.

“Just up this hill and then a left. But are you sure you want to drive there? It’s notorious for bandits,” another man added in perfect English just a few blocks later.

We looked at one another, taking stock of our situation. Natasha attempted to reassure us, “I checked at my hostel. They said the road is in good condition. Otherwise I wouldn’t risk it.”

“So if there’s a bandito in the road, what would you do? Run him over?” Dan asked as he practiced his ducking skills.

“I guess so,” Natasha offered with an anxious laugh. “But, I can’t guarantee anything. So if you want to get out I completely understand.”

Dan and I sat there looking at each other, not quite sure what to do. We considered the odds. When was the last time anyone actually saw a bandito on this road?

Although personal safety was our primary concern, our photo equipment came a close second. Natasha too, for she’s a photojournalist. The compromise we negotiated with ourselves: hide our camera equipment in the trunk under blankets and bags.

Certainly no bandito would look there, now would he?

We Hit the Road

Initially, the road was superb – one of the Guatemala’s newest and smoothest. Our anxiety receded. Who could ever stop us here? We were virtually bandito-proof. But secretly we stole looks into the jungle and to the tops of hillsides for masked men.

Thirty minutes later, the highway crumbled into a hilly moonscape. We slowed and bounced to a crawl amidst huge clouds of dust. We couldn’t outrun anyone here. Roads like this dropped mufflers. Broke axles, too. I peered into the brush and coffee bushes each time we slowed, looking to see if anyone was approaching. I locked my door, rolled my window up.

Whenever a person appeared by the side of the road, I wondered suspiciously, “Now what’s he doing there?” Invariably, it was just a local carrying bags of coffee berries or a farmer returning from the fields. I wallowed in sheepishness because of my paranoia.

At the edge of one village, we pulled up to chat with and photograph some workers shoveling coffee berries into burlap sacks. Even the most innocent of scenes – men working, children playing, mothers cooking – couldn’t prevent a glance or two into the bushes to ensure the banditos weren’t coming our way.

The Road Hits Back

After enjoying Santiago, we piled back into the car. The return journey would be doubly difficult, for all those dusty moonscapes now pitched uphill.

At the first broken patch of road, Natasha drove like a champ – bobbing, weaving, and creating traction where there should have been none. But when the drive wheel finally began to spin freely, I could feel the tension rise in the car.

We kept the conversation going, chatting about the photojournalism projects Natasha might enjoy in places like Georgia (Republic of) and Xinjiang, China.

She deftly navigated the uphill, boulder-strewn dustbowl. Upon clearing it, she remarked, “I’m sweating. Thanks for continuing to talk to me through that ordeal – it helped take my mind off the situation.”

Silence is to fear what gasoline is to fire.

Fifteen minutes later we hit the hill. It was deeply rutted and covered in fine dust and stones. Natasha spun the wheel this way and that, making her way with wide turns. But halfway up, we were defeated. The drive wheel cried as it spun against a boulder. The cloud of dust was punctuated by the distinct scent of roasted clutch.

Natasha backed up to take another rutted approach.

We were going nowhere.

No more than 30 seconds later, a pickup truck full of passengers rode over the crest of the hill. They stopped, realizing our predicament. A group of locals and tourists (dressed in life vests, oddly enough) hopped off. One guy took the driver’s seat of Natasha's car. The others– together with Dan – pushed the car up and over the hill.

Video: Dust-Covered and Relieved

“It’s a minor miracle that you guys showed up when you did,” I suggested to one of the tourists in a life vest.

He laughed, “If our boat hadn’t broken down on the lake, we wouldn’t be here.”

One man’s misfortune is another man’s savior.

The remainder of the journey was pleasantly uneventful, but we breathed a sigh of relief upon arriving in San Pedro anyhow.

Travel Fear in Guatemala

Reflecting on the day's emotions, I realized that travel fear is relatively new to us. Aside from a rifle being aimed at us by Tajik army guys at the Afghan border and almost getting crushed at the Uzbek-Kazakh border, our travels throughout Asia were relatively – and fortunately – free from fear.

The risk of violence is higher in Guatemala. And the perception of that risk is higher still. Melodramatic local media plaster dead bodies on page one of the morning newspaper. And breakfast talk with locals, full of the latest busjackings, kidnappings, and murders doesn't inspire much confidence either. Those conversations offer unsettling parallels with the infamously dire travel warnings issued by the local U.S. Embassy and The State Department.

All of this is difficult to reconcile with the fact that our interactions with Guatemalans have generally been warm and welcoming. So instead of accepting the first dire warning, we consider data from all sources. After all, we didn’t travel to Guatemala (and Latin America) to sit in our hotel room and on tour buses. But we also don't want to tempt fate.

So are there really banditos on the road from San Pedro to Santiago? Or is this just a well-circulated local legend now taken as truth?

We may never know.

The post A Road Trip, Some Banditos, and a Dose of Fear appeared first on Uncornered Market.

So instead of a typical early morning Spanish lesson grinding through verb conjugations and placement of indefinite articles, we set off for a local market in Xela (Quetzaltenango) to buy ingredients with our Spanish teachers, Karla and Maria-Luisa. Then we returned to the school kitchen for some hands-on instruction on how to make a fabulous Guatemalan national dish known as pepian.

Roughly speaking, pepian is chicken (boiled then lightly fried) served in a recado – a rich, blended sauce composed of various roasted ingredients. At first look, the recado resembles mole, a sauce known well in Guatemala's northern neighbor, Mexico. Its flavor, however, is remarkably distinct due to roasted sesame and squash seeds.

No wonder Guatemalans often reserve this dish for special occasions (e.g., weddings, birthdays, holidays). In their words, it's muy rico (very rich)!

Please give the pepian recipe below a try and let us know how it goes. As you'll see in the video, it's fairly easy to make, so long as you can find the ingredients. Hint: look for the nearest Latin American grocery store – or Whole Foods – near you. Enjoy!

Video Recipe: How to Cook Pepian

Note: This all happened on day #8 of our Spanish lessons. Bear that in mind as you withstand our butchered Spanish.

Pepian Recipe

Ingredients:
2 oz. green squash seeds (pepitoria)
2 oz. sesame seeds
1.5 inch piece of cinnamon, broken into several pieces
4-5 roma tomatoes (whole, unpeeled)
2 oz. tomatillos
1/2 dried guaque chili
1/2 dried pasa chili
10 peppercorns
salt
2 lbs chicken, cut into pieces
1 1/2 liters water
2-3 hot dog buns (in Guatemala, they use about 3 pieces of pan frances, which look more like blunt hot dog buns than baguettes)

Place the chicken parts in a large pot with about 1.5 liters of water. Cover and simmer for about 20 minutes until chicken is done and a golden broth emerges.

Dry roast the sesame seeds until they are slightly brown. Place them on a paper towel to cool. Do the same with the squash seeds.

Place the tomatoes, cinnamon fragments, tomatillos and chilies on a flat, non-teflon metal roasting plate (called a comal in Guatemala) atop a burner (preferably gas) and allow everything to roast and blacken slightly. Turn occasionally to allow all ingredients to roast evenly.

Pour the roasted sesame and squash seeds into a blender and blend until finely ground, or about 30 seconds. Add the roasted cinnamon stick fragments and pepper corns and grind for another 30 seconds. Then add the wet ingredients – tomatoes, tomatillos, chilies – and top with the broken pan frances and about 1 cup of chicken broth. Blend until everything is smooth; add more chicken broth or pan frances fragments until you achieve the desired consistency. The sauce should drip slowly from the spoon (see the video).

Heat a pan with a bit of oil. Remove the chicken pieces from the remaining broth and fry for about 5 minutes, until golden. Then add the chicken pieces to a large pot and pour in the recado from the blender. Simmer for about ten minutes; the sauce will darken. Add a couple of pinches of salt to taste. If your sauce is thinner than you'd like, cook a bit longer; if it's too thick, add some of the remaining broth.

Serve chicken pieces topped with recado. Sprinkle remaining sesame seeds on top for garnish. Serve with rice pilaf (see recipe below).

Rice preparation:
Brown the rice kernels, diced onion and garlic in a bit of butter or oil. Add water (ratio of 2:1 to rice) and chopped vegetables. Add a couple of pinches of salt. Simmer until water is absorbed.

¡Buen Provecho!

The post Guatemalan Pepian: Please Try This at Home appeared first on Uncornered Market.

We followed a recommendation and stayed at Art’s Riverview Lodge. The lodge is built at the end of the road, on the bend of a river. We passed by banana flowers and brightly colored flowers along the dirt road and were serenaded by the wail of insects that had taken over the forest. Rainforests, limestone mountains and cliffs were a welcome change of scenery from the beaches we’d become accustomed to.

Several tables and gazebos at the restaurant overlook the river and boast the best views of gibbon monkey (macaque) playtime in the evening. Our tree house was down another small path where insects seem to wind up upon our approach. It was more luxurious than we expected, however, with views over a little stream, good bedding and a mosquito net that wasn't half-eaten and full of holes already.

Home to the largest flower in the world (Rafflesia), Khao Sok National Park is known for its old rainforests and the still waters of Cheow Lake (formed by a dam in 1982).

The next day we walked over to the park entrance and got a simple hiking map. The farthest waterfall was marked as seven kilometers away, with six waterfall stops beforehand. We figured we’d be back in a couple of hours.

The trail began, wide and easy, but progressively got steeper, making it necessary to hold onto roots and vines to maintain balance. The humidity was intense; our shirts were soaked through with sweat. The stops at waterfalls along the way helped to cool us down and the sight of iridescent lizards and butterflies and the sound of gibbon monkeys kept our senses heightened.

When we reached the last waterfall, we didn’t have much time to rest because the day was quickly coming to an end. We were also reaching exhaustion and down to the last bottle of water. Wasn’t it uphill on the way in? Why is it now uphill on the way back? We made it, eventually, but we were soaked and spent. The folks who marked the trail had surely forgotten several kilometers.

We returned to the lodge in time to cross the stream for an up-close and personal look at the gibbons (macaques). Accustomed to humans, they went about their evening fun – wrestling, grooming, climbing over a bicycle and swinging from tree to tree – as if we didn’t exist.

After showering and downing a zippy vegetable green curry, we were in bed…by 8:00 for a sound sleep despite the full bug and frog symphony outside our treehouse.

Khao Sok Accommodation and Transport

• How to get there: Take a bus to Takuapa and transfer to a another bus heading in the direction of Surathani. Just tell the bus driver to let you off at Khao Sok. There is also a direct bus from Krabi that goes all the way to the national park entrance. Entrance fees to the National Park are 400 BHT per person – a bit spendy, but good for one week.
• Where to stay: Art’s Riverview Lodge is a lovely place to stay. Fan bungalows are 550 BHT per night. Similar guesthouses line the road to and from the main road, some more luxurious, some less.
• What to do: Hike in the National Park, visit Lake Cheow, enjoy the dramatic surroundings, and relax.

The post Monkeys and a Tree House appeared first on Uncornered Market.

We were surprised by Patong's overdevelopment. Many areas had been rebuilt bigger and “better” after the tsunami (2004), as if no one learned any lessons about responsible planning and building. It looked more like the New Jersey shore than Thailand, save the tsunami evacuation sign on every corner.

The tourist population consisted heavily of single western men, with a Thai woman or “katoey” (transsexual man) on the arm. Scandinavian, British and German men were well-represented. We spoke to several who come each year for 2-3 months. For a country where prostitution is illegal but “special services” are not, this whole scene was over the top.

Eating on a Budget in Patong

Patong’s restaurants are expensive and often unremarkable. We quickly sought out local food stands and self-catering instead and were rewarded with some surprisingly good food.

The sushi counter at the newly build Carrefour in Jungceylon shopping center blew us away. We ate tuna and salmon sashimi almost daily. Although buying sushi at a grocery store may disgust some purists, this sashimi was clean, fresh and remarkably tender. Salmon was buttery and the varieties of tuna were all satisfyingly clean. We could both eat well for $6-$7, making it one of the cheapest meals in all of Patong.

We made a habit of yogurt, fruit and muesli each morning for breakfast, including two to three kinds of fresh tropical fruits from the stand just down the street. The couple who owned the fruit stand began to predict what we wanted before we opened our mouths – papaya or pineapple, watermelon or dragon fruit, melon or mango.

The food stalls down the street from our guesthouse dished out local specialties all for around $1. A heaping portion of pad Thai with fresh squid and mussels was only 40 BHT ($1.15). We worked our way up from one chili pepper to two at the green papaya salad stand, earning a little respect. The soup stand on the corner served beautiful bowls of steaming noodle soup topped off with Thai basil and fresh long beans (also about $1). The friendly curry stand a few doors down offered three different curries each day. We earned their respect on the first day by choosing the spiciest kind of curry on offer. Afterwards, we got waves and greetings in Thai each time we walked by.

In front of Carrefour was a small strip of food stalls making food to order. We became regulars at the one stall, where the owner dished up virtually anything on request. It all came out nicely and spiced as we liked. Fried rice with shrimp, squid and vegetables, or a spicy chicken curry with Asian eggplant. While we could both eat extremely well, including fruit shakes, for $2-$3, most restaurants were charging two to four times as much for the same.

We were occasionally tempted by the endless choices of western restaurants, including Pen and Franks (Nenai Road), recommended to us for remarkably gooey lasagna. Swede-owned, their lasagne was the real deal; eight layers filled with a rich, ground beef and pork in a béchamel sauce.

Once we figured out where to fill our curry, pasta and sushi cravings, we decided it was time to move on.

Video – Patong and Southern Thai Street Food

Patong Travel Tips: Transport, Accommodation and Food

• How to get there: Air Asia or Thai Airlines from Bangkok to Phuket (check flights and prices on Skyscanner). Take the train from Bangkok to Suratthani and transfer by bus to Phuket town.
• Where to stay: We stayed at Ferb Guesthouse for the ADSL connection in the room. It is about a 10-minute walk to the beach, but conveniently located for food (next to Carrefour and Banzaan Food Market) and other services. Search and compare prices for other hotels in Patong.
• Where to eat: See above.
• What to do: Patong’s white sand beach and clear, blue waters beckon most visitors. And, if sex tourism if your thing – hetero or homo – this is the place.

The post Patong Patterns appeared first on Uncornered Market.

The night before we took the boat, Dan received an email from a friend who had taken the same journey a year ago with her mother. From the email, we gathered that the highlights of their trip included arriving to an already overloaded boat, numerous breakdowns along the way, including one where the crew took the motor apart on the roof of the boat. Her mother saved the day, pulling out a full-sized monkey wrench out of her daypack, which was apparently just what was needed to repair the motor. They made it, eventually.

Our Experience

We were picked up at 6 AM at our guesthouse. The driver arrived with a pick-up truck already brimming with people and luggage, and managed to squeeze us and three others, and our luggage somewhere on the tail end of the sagging truck. All good, we thought, until another stop where four others waited. The driver insisted they join the back of the truck. He motioned as if to say “no problem” but these folks were sensible and and hailed a taxi to follow the truck to the pier instead.

The pier is located on the outskirts of Siem Reap, past fishing villages and tucked away in an inlet. The smell in the villages leading up to the dock was pungent, like poverty and rotten fish stewed to the point of putrefaction. Anyone familiar with the movie Silence of the Lambs remembers the scene with the body in the morgue. As the body bag gets pulled away, the characters swoon at the stench. This was one of those moments, but we had to endure it without the aid of smelling salts. This was a bit more than most of us could take at 6 AM. We couldn't imagine living in it full time, filling our lungs with the smell of death.

Boarding the boat was nothing exceptional, for us. We were one of the first trucks to arrive at the pier, so seats inside were plentiful. Others were relegated to the top deck to bake in the sun. And while we appreciated the shelter from the sun, our bums were quickly aching from the hard benches even curiously harder cushions.

The reason everyone takes the boat is to see the many floating villages and communities on the Tonle Sap lake near Siem Reap, complete with electricity, TV, schools and churches. People get around everywhere by boat, with boats carrying kids to school, selling breakfast soups and all manner of goods. We saw floating churches, but the Buddhist temples always always seemed to be securely fixed on land.

A large number of ethnic Vietnamese also live here. Many came to Cambodia after 1979 when the Vietnamese helped overthrow the Khmer Rouge. We were told that since they are not full Cambodians, they can't own land. As a result, they build their homes and businesses at the margin – in this case, the water.

Bruised Bottoms

Since we were traveling in the dry season (February), the water level in the river wasn't high enough to allow us to make the entire trip to Battambang by boat. Eventually, the longtail motor, apparently accustomed to turning heavy mud, became bogged down with trees and water weeds. After eight hours on the boat, 20+ of us got in the back of a pick-up truck for the remainder of the journey, some 90 minutes over washed out ruts passing as roads. Our driver managed an impressive, yet bouncy ride through steep craters and pits. Burdened with loosely strapped bags and weary passengers, our truck listed heavily sideways, testing its rollover tolerance with each obstacle. Our asses were sore and we were alien-like, covered in brown dust. But our truck didn't tip over and we eventually arrived in Battambang…and were thrilled to do so in one piece.

Photo Essay: Boat Trip from Siem Reap to Battambang

Video: Life on Tonle Sap Lake

The post Bruised Bottoms to Battambang appeared first on Uncornered Market.