The Doha airport is nothing special, in no way luxurious, at least in the parts I'm admitted. The toilets smell pretty awful and the floor is covered in an inch of water, which an attendant pushes around with a Squeegee. At least, they aren't the squats, or a trough, or a simple hole in the ground.
There's a prayer room, carpeted like a mosque, so I don't imagine I'm exactly welcome. But no worry, I did enough praying on the flight here to last a lifetime. A family room, a smoking room and quiet room follow the prayer room. This morning two gentlemen walked into the quiet room, which I have called home since 11 pm last night, and lit up. As they chatted away over a cigarette, I spoke up. The only Westerner in the room, seemingly, and the only person with any objection to cigarette smoke...or balls...I didn't ask that they leave. I ordered. They didn't speak English, but another quiet roomer motioned and translated. Quietly. And so they moved. They wore tunics and pants, and one had pink and orange hair, a dye job gone all wrong, I'm guessing. Nearing 7 hours of almost falling asleep, jerking myself awake every 20 minutes for fear of missing my flight, I was neither a pretty nor patient lot.
Moments later, I watched two Japanese women wheel their bags into the prayer room and set up shop. It seems I'm not the only one a bit turned around this morning.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Take off, hoser!
I have never ridden in a car going as fast as I just did on the way to the Bangkok airport. Not as a teenager, my brother trying to scare me so badly as to make me pee my pants. Not as a passenger when a certain cop friend o' mine is driving. I was running a bit behind, true, and there was a good deal of traffic. But once on the highway, no major trouble. Still, for the last 12 mile stretch to the airport, my cabdriver must have been inspired by the planes overhead. If the car'd had wings, we'd have lifted off the ground for sure. Now, I don't mind an assertive driver, even aggressive, but this was a bit too close to nuts for me.
It's weird the waiting game. Waiting a few more days, a few more (as in 26) hours before being home.
Feelings of nervousness and anxiety to return, but in a good way, mixed with feelings of sadness that the adventure is done. The pilot just came on the PA in the airplane to let us know that we should expect turbulence for the first 3 hours of our flight to Doha, Qatar, my layover. THREE HOURS?!? Really, buddy? Couldn't you just say that we may experience some turbulence? No, it shall be.
Great. The first hour wasn't so bad. Yes, some turbulence. Then dinner was served and drinks. And all hell broke loose. I have never witnessed what must have been 10 foot jumps while on a plane before. My tray went flying. I actually considered whether I should drink the rest of my mini-bottle of red or if I'd prefer to be sober for the crash.
Lights flickered on and off inside the cabin. The nearest person to me, a sexpat with old school tattoes, I had seen him drop a few pills at takeoff. No reassuring glances from him, looks like I'm going to have to talk myself through this one. I clutched the armrests and repeated the word calm for what felt like hours. Flying over the Bengal Sea during a storm, man? No. Thank. You.
I would have never thought I could be so happy to reach the Arabian Peninsula.
It's weird the waiting game. Waiting a few more days, a few more (as in 26) hours before being home.
Feelings of nervousness and anxiety to return, but in a good way, mixed with feelings of sadness that the adventure is done. The pilot just came on the PA in the airplane to let us know that we should expect turbulence for the first 3 hours of our flight to Doha, Qatar, my layover. THREE HOURS?!? Really, buddy? Couldn't you just say that we may experience some turbulence? No, it shall be.Great. The first hour wasn't so bad. Yes, some turbulence. Then dinner was served and drinks. And all hell broke loose. I have never witnessed what must have been 10 foot jumps while on a plane before. My tray went flying. I actually considered whether I should drink the rest of my mini-bottle of red or if I'd prefer to be sober for the crash.
Lights flickered on and off inside the cabin. The nearest person to me, a sexpat with old school tattoes, I had seen him drop a few pills at takeoff. No reassuring glances from him, looks like I'm going to have to talk myself through this one. I clutched the armrests and repeated the word calm for what felt like hours. Flying over the Bengal Sea during a storm, man? No. Thank. You.I would have never thought I could be so happy to reach the Arabian Peninsula.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Happy day
I met a fun Spaniard on the bus back to Bangkok. Miguel. And it's his birthday! The Spanish lisp on the letter z, zeta pronounced theta, and it makes me laugh! Miguel and I had a ball. So "gracias" in Spanish Spanish is pronounced "grathia." Hmm...doesn't 
that mean that the c as well as the z are spoken with a (I don't what else to call it) lisp? Guess I'll have to make Spain next in my ventures.
So I took Miguel out for a birthday dinner and night out. In his honor, as well as in honor of the many lovely Geminis I have in my life whose birthdays have just passed, or are today or tomorrow. There are a boatload of them in my life. Thanks to all of you for your understanding and pizazz!
that mean that the c as well as the z are spoken with a (I don't what else to call it) lisp? Guess I'll have to make Spain next in my ventures.So I took Miguel out for a birthday dinner and night out. In his honor, as well as in honor of the many lovely Geminis I have in my life whose birthdays have just passed, or are today or tomorrow. There are a boatload of them in my life. Thanks to all of you for your understanding and pizazz!
Friday, June 12, 2009
Stuck?
We get stuck sometimes. In places, on things. I'm having the same dinner as I did last night at 15 Palms. Red curry with prawns. It's just that good that I couldn't not have it again. On the beach, toes in the sand, a lovely breeze. Soon I'll be going home. Here's to hoping I don't get stuck. Everything will work out. It always does.
Monkeys sea, monkeys Rum
As has happened on several occasions on this getaway, again I am alone. There are others whom I have mentioned. And every hour or so, a random or two strolls the north of White Sands up to Independent Bo. More than not they take pictures of these jungle bungles, stuck in a cove, sheltered in trees. A real getaway, it's like a ship wrecked into the trees and rocks, 
planks of the ship the floors, extraneous bits of rope linking all things. It's found through word of mouth and only that way. No frills. Bungalows have a fan. A shower head and nozzle. A bucket and porch. Oh, and monkeys. Don't leave food in your bungalow. Never mind the ants, the monkeys are what will truly do you in. Oh, and the rum...have I mentioned that?
As will the ocean. The waves crash at the foot of my bungalow. The sea is angry, not safe for swimming on this part of the island. I've ventured knee high at most.
I can exhale here. I am contented. A perfect close to my holiday. I dream of my friends and those I love. Soon.
planks of the ship the floors, extraneous bits of rope linking all things. It's found through word of mouth and only that way. No frills. Bungalows have a fan. A shower head and nozzle. A bucket and porch. Oh, and monkeys. Don't leave food in your bungalow. Never mind the ants, the monkeys are what will truly do you in. Oh, and the rum...have I mentioned that?As will the ocean. The waves crash at the foot of my bungalow. The sea is angry, not safe for swimming on this part of the island. I've ventured knee high at most.
I can exhale here. I am contented. A perfect close to my holiday. I dream of my friends and those I love. Soon.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The mechanics of life
At Independent Bo, there is an English couple and two French twins and their Cambodian...uh...working girl? I talked to her today for a while. She beamed about the 53 year-old Canadian father of her 2 kids. She's 27 and they are married. He took the kids to Canada, and bought her a house and car in Cambodia. Their first child is a girl. But their second child? What luck...a boy! From what she said, once she got pregnant with the boy, everything changed. The husband got tons of job offers, loads of money, although she has no idea what his job is. She's just thrilled that her womb was the lucky one, her son the golden boy. She had even consulted a monk who she said told her her son would look like the Buddha. From what she said, it's all worked out. 
He got what he wanted, a family. She got what she wanted. A house, car and cash. He's had a vasectomy. But when I asked about her tubes, "Oh no. I have more babies." I know. Who am I to judge? But how do you say condom in French?
It's hard to see. Strapping westerners walking by with Thai women (often quite young) clutching their arms. It's not real. They're not a couple. Shared time? Hired time. Jacqui said it ruins the men here. Some lovely young lady walks by. Yes, sir. You can have her. For a price. Whatever you want is available to you. At a premium. Almost like a gas station. What do you need? Car wash? Oil change? Fuel, wiper blades? Come on down to Sheila's. We're always open.
It's a different life. Every single one. And I guess we're all doing what we can to survive. And be happy.
He got what he wanted, a family. She got what she wanted. A house, car and cash. He's had a vasectomy. But when I asked about her tubes, "Oh no. I have more babies." I know. Who am I to judge? But how do you say condom in French?It's hard to see. Strapping westerners walking by with Thai women (often quite young) clutching their arms. It's not real. They're not a couple. Shared time? Hired time. Jacqui said it ruins the men here. Some lovely young lady walks by. Yes, sir. You can have her. For a price. Whatever you want is available to you. At a premium. Almost like a gas station. What do you need? Car wash? Oil change? Fuel, wiper blades? Come on down to Sheila's. We're always open.
It's a different life. Every single one. And I guess we're all doing what we can to survive. And be happy.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Outside in
Koh Chang is dead. I like it. People, but not that many. And none concerned with me. What. So. Ever. It's nice being left to ponder, to enjoy, to chill. I've settled in to the Apocalypse Now of Koh Chang, Independent Bo. 
I have a bungalow on the sand one story up from the water. Palatial, no? But A-ok.
Last night I went to a friend of Jacqui's house. She'd just moved in and decorated. Charming! And thanks for the invite! We were eight. Then six. Let me mention Anuska. Belgian married to a Thai man. Intense.
We all joked and drank whiskey and whatever else, and near the close of the night, she mentioned that we (the US of A) should be ashamed of what we did to the American Indians. I mentioned that I am proud of my country, granted not for the treatment of people native to the continent. But that for me, as a general feeling, there's something unique and special about the States that I love and am proud of. I responded. And didn't back down to her. Bring it on, Belgium. Well, she lost it and started screaming at Jacqui. Quote: "You're not Espana. You're Jew! You're ashamed to say you're a Jew, but you know what you are! You Jew!" Hmm...as though one's religion indicated nationality. Jacqui was born in Spain, and her mother is Jewish. Are all Catholics from Vatican City? Strange, this Anuska and her reasoning. Of course, it could be the Sangsom Thai Rum.
Jacqui told her to leave, which she did, just after pointing at me and saying, "And you! Your country is shit!" Woah. Thank God. Allah. Buddha, Shiva, Zeus we were drinking not tequila.
We think we know, but we have no idea what it's like to be from somewhere else. Or what's going on in anyone else's head. A Belgian living in Thailand, I'm sure she fights feeling like an outsider every day of her life. But is that a reason to beat up on other more obvious outsiders? Jacqui mentioned that this can become a way of life here. Drinking beyond your limits, and often. An island of alcoholics. Oh, also. Anuska teaches SCUBA certification. For her living. To outsiders.
I have a bungalow on the sand one story up from the water. Palatial, no? But A-ok.Last night I went to a friend of Jacqui's house. She'd just moved in and decorated. Charming! And thanks for the invite! We were eight. Then six. Let me mention Anuska. Belgian married to a Thai man. Intense.
We all joked and drank whiskey and whatever else, and near the close of the night, she mentioned that we (the US of A) should be ashamed of what we did to the American Indians. I mentioned that I am proud of my country, granted not for the treatment of people native to the continent. But that for me, as a general feeling, there's something unique and special about the States that I love and am proud of. I responded. And didn't back down to her. Bring it on, Belgium. Well, she lost it and started screaming at Jacqui. Quote: "You're not Espana. You're Jew! You're ashamed to say you're a Jew, but you know what you are! You Jew!" Hmm...as though one's religion indicated nationality. Jacqui was born in Spain, and her mother is Jewish. Are all Catholics from Vatican City? Strange, this Anuska and her reasoning. Of course, it could be the Sangsom Thai Rum.Jacqui told her to leave, which she did, just after pointing at me and saying, "And you! Your country is shit!" Woah. Thank God. Allah. Buddha, Shiva, Zeus we were drinking not tequila.
We think we know, but we have no idea what it's like to be from somewhere else. Or what's going on in anyone else's head. A Belgian living in Thailand, I'm sure she fights feeling like an outsider every day of her life. But is that a reason to beat up on other more obvious outsiders? Jacqui mentioned that this can become a way of life here. Drinking beyond your limits, and often. An island of alcoholics. Oh, also. Anuska teaches SCUBA certification. For her living. To outsiders.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The last of the Kohs
My cab driver this morning told me, "I love you!" Well, maybe it's a city versus non-city people thing with me? I ventured out last night with Nampu, 
one of the gals who works the front desk and remembers me (and she I) from my stay at Lamphu Tree Hotel three months ago. We hit Koh San Road, and let me tell ya, it hits back. The one thing to watch out for, in my case anyway, is Sangsom Thai Rum. They serve it in buckets, people.
You've been warned. As seems often the case, we danced the night away to a band covering all the hits. From The Scorpions to No Doubt to Guns 'N Roses. The best part, which have I mentioned?, are the singers' interpretations of the lyrics. Love it! Oh, and a lovely gentleman did walk me home. I say, these city-folk seem to receive me much better than did the Islanders. Thankful.
I am headed to the Ekkamai Bus Station
for the bus then ferry to Koh Chang. The manager of the hotel wrote out 'Ekkamai Bus Station' in Thai for me to hand my cabdriver. Either this man has the most exquisite handwriting I've ever seen or Thai is the most beautiful written language. Either way, I considered having it tattooed on my body. While others get Chinese characters meaning peace, longevity, truth...me...Ekkamai Bus Station.
Koh Chang is the Thai island closest to Cambodia, only about 5 hours from Bangkok. I have only a few days left in this adventure and thought, "Why not, one more excursion?" I had thought of crossing into Lao from North-western Viet Nam, but it is truly the road less traveled. And Lao is not known for its timeliness. Or airlines. Five days in Lao and I may easily have found myself stuck.
On the back of my cabbie's seat reads this sticker: "In a zoo, we do for animals what we have done for ourselves in houses. We bring together in a small space what in the wild is spread out."
Considering the size of my apartment, that makes me most like a Tasmanian Devil. Or proportionally perhaps some kind of frog.
With a coffee from Dunkin Donuts, I am ready. And the only farang on this bus. Three Buddhist monks. Three Thais, one with a baby. I love the details. For example, what do payphones look like in Thailand?
Remain open to the universe and it will present itself to you. And amazing what it presents. Often presents. The zipper on my bag from Sapa broke on our stop for lunch. Only problem, it broke closed, not open. The only foreigner on this bus, except Jacqui. A jewelry maker, she shoved her way into my bag problem, determined to fix it. And so it began. Turns out, Jacqui knows a few of the Islanders I encountered at the start of my trip. Small. Small this Earth.
So Jacqui offered me a ride. Off the bus, we awaited her driver. Jayin (jiy-yin). We met up with her around the corner of the bus' last stop.
Jay is fabulous. And a lady-boy. We ran a few errands, had some lunch and chatted into the afternoon. On the ferry over to Koh Chang, we encountered Robin Hood, a drunk former cargo captain who had seven golden Buddhas around his neck. The sea rough, the ferry was buffeted about, but never fear. Robin Hood is here! Apparently, as long as he's on your ferry, nothing bad is going to happen. A six pack of Heinekin and we'll all tell ourselves anything.
one of the gals who works the front desk and remembers me (and she I) from my stay at Lamphu Tree Hotel three months ago. We hit Koh San Road, and let me tell ya, it hits back. The one thing to watch out for, in my case anyway, is Sangsom Thai Rum. They serve it in buckets, people. 
You've been warned. As seems often the case, we danced the night away to a band covering all the hits. From The Scorpions to No Doubt to Guns 'N Roses. The best part, which have I mentioned?, are the singers' interpretations of the lyrics. Love it! Oh, and a lovely gentleman did walk me home. I say, these city-folk seem to receive me much better than did the Islanders. Thankful.I am headed to the Ekkamai Bus Station
for the bus then ferry to Koh Chang. The manager of the hotel wrote out 'Ekkamai Bus Station' in Thai for me to hand my cabdriver. Either this man has the most exquisite handwriting I've ever seen or Thai is the most beautiful written language. Either way, I considered having it tattooed on my body. While others get Chinese characters meaning peace, longevity, truth...me...Ekkamai Bus Station.Koh Chang is the Thai island closest to Cambodia, only about 5 hours from Bangkok. I have only a few days left in this adventure and thought, "Why not, one more excursion?" I had thought of crossing into Lao from North-western Viet Nam, but it is truly the road less traveled. And Lao is not known for its timeliness. Or airlines. Five days in Lao and I may easily have found myself stuck.
On the back of my cabbie's seat reads this sticker: "In a zoo, we do for animals what we have done for ourselves in houses. We bring together in a small space what in the wild is spread out."
Considering the size of my apartment, that makes me most like a Tasmanian Devil. Or proportionally perhaps some kind of frog.With a coffee from Dunkin Donuts, I am ready. And the only farang on this bus. Three Buddhist monks. Three Thais, one with a baby. I love the details. For example, what do payphones look like in Thailand?
Remain open to the universe and it will present itself to you. And amazing what it presents. Often presents. The zipper on my bag from Sapa broke on our stop for lunch. Only problem, it broke closed, not open. The only foreigner on this bus, except Jacqui. A jewelry maker, she shoved her way into my bag problem, determined to fix it. And so it began. Turns out, Jacqui knows a few of the Islanders I encountered at the start of my trip. Small. Small this Earth.
So Jacqui offered me a ride. Off the bus, we awaited her driver. Jayin (jiy-yin). We met up with her around the corner of the bus' last stop.
Jay is fabulous. And a lady-boy. We ran a few errands, had some lunch and chatted into the afternoon. On the ferry over to Koh Chang, we encountered Robin Hood, a drunk former cargo captain who had seven golden Buddhas around his neck. The sea rough, the ferry was buffeted about, but never fear. Robin Hood is here! Apparently, as long as he's on your ferry, nothing bad is going to happen. A six pack of Heinekin and we'll all tell ourselves anything.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Back to Bangkok
I got to Bangkok late last night and was supposed to get a 7 am wake-up call to go head out to Koh Chang today. 
Instead, I slept til noon. I stayed at Lamphu Tree Hotel my first few days in BKK, and enjoyed so much, I'm back! Tonight I'm going out with Nampu. She works the front desk and remembers me from before. This place seems to get a fair amount of repeat clients. Quick note: they no longer stock Chang beer in the mini-bar.
Instead, I slept til noon. I stayed at Lamphu Tree Hotel my first few days in BKK, and enjoyed so much, I'm back! Tonight I'm going out with Nampu. She works the front desk and remembers me from before. This place seems to get a fair amount of repeat clients. Quick note: they no longer stock Chang beer in the mini-bar.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Planes, trains and taxi cabs
I bid Sapa adieu today, back to Hanoi on the overnight train for an early morning flight back to Bangkok. I think the sleeper train may be a bit of a scam. I'm in a normal seat and we shall see. I get the feeling everyone pumps the sleeper cars because they're double the price. But I think I may have finally learned a traveler's lesson. Do for yourself. And don't be lazy. You can rely on agencies to book things for you and pay higher prices for the ease of not having to take care of things yourself. And I do. But more often than not, if you go directly to the source, a train station, the ferry, the airport, whatever it may be, you'll get the same ticket for the actual price. People will say many a thing to help you part with your cash all over this Earth.
Ok. The sleeper cars are worth it if you want to sleep on the overnight train. In the main cars, where I found myself last night wide awake, people drink, talk, listen to music, cry (at least kids). It's not the worst thing, but it's not the most relaxing or restful either. And when traveling from Sapa to Hanoi, make sure you get a ticket returning you to the main Hanoi train station. I got dropped off at an alternate stop this morning, had to search for a main thoroughfare and taxi, and yes, missed my flight to Thailand. My poor cabbie. There is no international symbol or signal for airplane. Putting your hand in the air and making a whistling sound does not mean "airport." Stressed, I am not always a nice person. So, we tried another cab. Got out a guidebook to indicate Noi Bai airport, started out on our way, and got cut off by the former cabbie. I guess he wanted our fare. So kicked out of the cab by the second driver, loaded back into the first, I repeated, "Noi Bai...Noi Bai...NOI BAI!" The second driver explained that we needed to get to the airport. During the trip I also learned that screaming, "Fast! Drive faster!" isn't universal cab speak. Somehow in a cab New York City comes out of me. Our driver called a friend who spoke English and passed the phone to me. All the while, I'm getting even more aggravated that the driver is going 30 KPH so that he can make a phone call. Nonetheless, the driver, the talker and I all agreed on a price, including an incentive if we made it to the airport in time.
And hey. We did make it to the airport. And I missed my flight. Thankfully, Air Asia has an office upstairs where I was able to change to a later flight for a nominal fee. Phew! One week only left of this journey. Hope all goes smoothly, more smoothly than today, at least.
Ok. The sleeper cars are worth it if you want to sleep on the overnight train. In the main cars, where I found myself last night wide awake, people drink, talk, listen to music, cry (at least kids). It's not the worst thing, but it's not the most relaxing or restful either. And when traveling from Sapa to Hanoi, make sure you get a ticket returning you to the main Hanoi train station. I got dropped off at an alternate stop this morning, had to search for a main thoroughfare and taxi, and yes, missed my flight to Thailand. My poor cabbie. There is no international symbol or signal for airplane. Putting your hand in the air and making a whistling sound does not mean "airport." Stressed, I am not always a nice person. So, we tried another cab. Got out a guidebook to indicate Noi Bai airport, started out on our way, and got cut off by the former cabbie. I guess he wanted our fare. So kicked out of the cab by the second driver, loaded back into the first, I repeated, "Noi Bai...Noi Bai...NOI BAI!" The second driver explained that we needed to get to the airport. During the trip I also learned that screaming, "Fast! Drive faster!" isn't universal cab speak. Somehow in a cab New York City comes out of me. Our driver called a friend who spoke English and passed the phone to me. All the while, I'm getting even more aggravated that the driver is going 30 KPH so that he can make a phone call. Nonetheless, the driver, the talker and I all agreed on a price, including an incentive if we made it to the airport in time.
And hey. We did make it to the airport. And I missed my flight. Thankfully, Air Asia has an office upstairs where I was able to change to a later flight for a nominal fee. Phew! One week only left of this journey. Hope all goes smoothly, more smoothly than today, at least.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
This land is your land, this land is my land...
We spent the day hiking into the valley. Surrounded by local village women, Bee, her sister, and mother led our group down the mountains. 
Looking back on my travels, I have met people from several groups of indigenous cultures across continents. Of those, Bee (the one in the middle in the picture, wearing a bumble bee turtleneck) speaks the most incredible English and maintains the sunniest disposition. Villagers walk the streets of Sapa, talking to all tourists, to be friendly as much as to request purchases of their goods. They carry mostly handmade tapestries, bags and jewelry. And as is often the case, a sale is a symbol of luck and coming fortune. And if you show interest, be prepared to buy at least something.
It's a strange thing, this life. And money and all.
Sapa is breath-taking. Green terraced rice fields, mountains, a chill in the air. Five different tribes live among the hills and highlands around Sapa. Hiking down and through mud proved difficult at times. So comfortable with the landscape, however, our guides grabbed our flailing arms and legs at almost every turn. I have to admit, while I appreciated the help, it was also a bit unnerving. Do I look as uncoordinated and unfit as the offered support seems to suggest? Oh, I guess we all need a little help from time to time.
Our group led by family also consisted of a mother and daughter traveling team. Pretty adventurous, if you ask me, to be hiking in the mud down the mountains of Vietnam in your sixties. Shout out to Jen's mom!
It's amazing to think how removed so many of us are from the natural landscape of the lands on which we live. For Bee and her family, trekking down a mountain, we were all essentially walking what would in the States be her subdivision, street, then driveway. When was the last time I hiked a mountain to feed or clothe my family? How liberating in some ways to live on the land. No mortgage payments to worry about. But then again, I wonder if it's a struggle to feed your family.
We did make it to Bee's house. Several children, one pants-less, and Bee's husband and mother were home.
The house was three rooms. Dirt floors, a kitchen with a fire pit, and two bedrooms. Simple. Funny how the notion of mountain people here seems so different than what the term conjures back home. Everyone here seems happy. Friendly. Interested. The pulse of humanity, whether you're of a tribe, from the city, from a different country, everyone here in Sapa seems curious and accepting. Open. It's catching.
Looking back on my travels, I have met people from several groups of indigenous cultures across continents. Of those, Bee (the one in the middle in the picture, wearing a bumble bee turtleneck) speaks the most incredible English and maintains the sunniest disposition. Villagers walk the streets of Sapa, talking to all tourists, to be friendly as much as to request purchases of their goods. They carry mostly handmade tapestries, bags and jewelry. And as is often the case, a sale is a symbol of luck and coming fortune. And if you show interest, be prepared to buy at least something.
It's a strange thing, this life. And money and all. Sapa is breath-taking. Green terraced rice fields, mountains, a chill in the air. Five different tribes live among the hills and highlands around Sapa. Hiking down and through mud proved difficult at times. So comfortable with the landscape, however, our guides grabbed our flailing arms and legs at almost every turn. I have to admit, while I appreciated the help, it was also a bit unnerving. Do I look as uncoordinated and unfit as the offered support seems to suggest? Oh, I guess we all need a little help from time to time.
Our group led by family also consisted of a mother and daughter traveling team. Pretty adventurous, if you ask me, to be hiking in the mud down the mountains of Vietnam in your sixties. Shout out to Jen's mom!It's amazing to think how removed so many of us are from the natural landscape of the lands on which we live. For Bee and her family, trekking down a mountain, we were all essentially walking what would in the States be her subdivision, street, then driveway. When was the last time I hiked a mountain to feed or clothe my family? How liberating in some ways to live on the land. No mortgage payments to worry about. But then again, I wonder if it's a struggle to feed your family.
We did make it to Bee's house. Several children, one pants-less, and Bee's husband and mother were home.
The house was three rooms. Dirt floors, a kitchen with a fire pit, and two bedrooms. Simple. Funny how the notion of mountain people here seems so different than what the term conjures back home. Everyone here seems happy. Friendly. Interested. The pulse of humanity, whether you're of a tribe, from the city, from a different country, everyone here in Sapa seems curious and accepting. Open. It's catching.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Not so lonely, my planet
Let's talk about guidebooks. Now, many of you may view guidebooks as wasteful or weak. Those with a more pioneering spirit may dive into a new country without having done any research. Me? Sometimes. Bolivia, Australia, I didn't have a guidebook for either of those. Often enough on the road, however, you find yourself surrounded by the Lonely Planet traveler's circuit. As a source for maps and as a general guide on where to go, it's ok, but lately, talking with others, it seems its recommendations have been stale, even raunchy. Within a year's time, a lot can change. And, apparently, especially in Asia. Sometimes I'm left wondering if anyone from that guidebook actually dined or slept in the spots recommended. From what I can tell, the savvy traveler these days does independent research and relies more on Trip Advisor than a particular guidebook.
For example, the Nature Bar and Grill in Sapa? What a sad lunch. Ernesto had to order two meals, the first neither that tasty or filling. Sapa town is small and quaint, with many options for lodging and dining. What you'd expect of a mountain village, complete with its own cultures, cuisine and handicrafts. And cool weather, also a welcome relief from the heat of Viet Nam's climate. But even finding a decent Vietnamese coffee can be harder than you'd think.
After scouting out local spots, my friends and I decided to give our hotel's menu a shot for dinner. And I'm telling you, Boutique Sapa is the way to go. They even offer room service!
For breakfast, afternoon tea, I'm sure even dinner, although we preferred it on the rooftop terrace. Another lovely thing about this hotel is the clientele. We've all become fast friends. Ranging in ages from early twenties to late sixties, coming from China, headed to Lao, back to Hanoi, whichever direction, we all meet up at some point in the day to exchange the latest details. And the owners themselves, pictured, are also wonderful sources of information.
For example, the Nature Bar and Grill in Sapa? What a sad lunch. Ernesto had to order two meals, the first neither that tasty or filling. Sapa town is small and quaint, with many options for lodging and dining. What you'd expect of a mountain village, complete with its own cultures, cuisine and handicrafts. And cool weather, also a welcome relief from the heat of Viet Nam's climate. But even finding a decent Vietnamese coffee can be harder than you'd think.
After scouting out local spots, my friends and I decided to give our hotel's menu a shot for dinner. And I'm telling you, Boutique Sapa is the way to go. They even offer room service!
For breakfast, afternoon tea, I'm sure even dinner, although we preferred it on the rooftop terrace. Another lovely thing about this hotel is the clientele. We've all become fast friends. Ranging in ages from early twenties to late sixties, coming from China, headed to Lao, back to Hanoi, whichever direction, we all meet up at some point in the day to exchange the latest details. And the owners themselves, pictured, are also wonderful sources of information.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Boutique Sapa Hotel
Word to the wise, the minibuses from Lao Cai to Sapa are only 30,000 VND. Woken up just before 6 am by the coffee vendor, hopping off the night train, don't let anyone con you into paying more than 30,000 VND for a minibus ticket to Lao Cai. It's an onslaught and, flustered and half-asleep, the experience can be more chaotic than taking a baseball bat to a bee hive. And don't, under any circumstances, pay anyone any amount in US dollars!
One girl in our group got charged $30, over 20 times the actual price. And when we all hopped on our minibus together, the culprit tried to prevent Sarah from getting on the same bus as us, given that she had bought a ticket from a different company. He held on to her luggage and tried to separate her from the rest of us. I wasn't having it.
I loaded her stuff on the van and made her get in. He could have me, but not Sarah. Something about living in New York makes you quicker to get in someone's face in the midst of confrontation, especially when you know someone's taken advantage. Luckily, a woman was loading the people in our van and organizing tickets. I looked at her and knew that she knew what had happened. She held onto Sarah's ticket and yelled at the man, as if to say, "Fine! You made your money off this girl, but now I have the ticket you sold her. Pay me half the money you charged her, go away, the girl stays with us and I'll return the ticket to you later." I'm guessing they have to account for every ticket sold.
As well, they run another racket once you get to Sapa. You may find yourself dropped off at a hotel, not necessarily the one you've chosen and named for the driver.
So be polite, but be specific and be firm. You may see a few hotels before you reach the one you have reserved. As if often the case in traveling, the driver gets a commission if you stay at any of the random first stops taken.
At the first hotel we were shown, Ernesto called the hotel he'd already contacted. He reached the owner and she sent three motorbikes to gather us and our things. They showed up within minutes and whisked us away. Do yourself a favor in Sapa. Stay at Boutique Sapa Hotel. Affordable prices, new rooms, an amazing view and rooftop terrace, it's all worth it! And the owners are
delightful. We were met with warm towels and tea once in the lobby and cafe. I stumbled in with glass in my foot and before I knew it, the owner had tweezers and alcohol...ready for surgery! And, do not be mistaken, my feet were nowhere near the loveliest thing in the lobby. On to our room, the owners added a bed to our room at no added charge, and at total of $21 a night?!? And then, the view? Sa Pa is gorgeous.
In the evening, the owners set up moto rentals for all of us to visit a nearby waterfall and catch the sunset over the mountains. I'd never driven a scooter but I'm great on a bicycle! Turns out, I'm not too shabby on a moto either. Two wheels, hand controls, big whoop. Sarah, my partner in crime, drove at one point. Not such a good idea.
Having lost control of the bike, she pretty much threw it to the ground with me still on it. And I nearly ended up with what seems to be the Southeast Asia traveler's initiation: a nasty, motorbike exhaust pipe burn on your right leg. They're as ubiquitous here as rice fields. Hopefully, I've met my quota with the gashed knee fiasco on Koh Phan Gan, the rusty nail scare on the Ton Le Sap and the glass shards from Cat Ba Island. All in all, if those are the most of my worries, how easy I've got it.
One girl in our group got charged $30, over 20 times the actual price. And when we all hopped on our minibus together, the culprit tried to prevent Sarah from getting on the same bus as us, given that she had bought a ticket from a different company. He held on to her luggage and tried to separate her from the rest of us. I wasn't having it.
I loaded her stuff on the van and made her get in. He could have me, but not Sarah. Something about living in New York makes you quicker to get in someone's face in the midst of confrontation, especially when you know someone's taken advantage. Luckily, a woman was loading the people in our van and organizing tickets. I looked at her and knew that she knew what had happened. She held onto Sarah's ticket and yelled at the man, as if to say, "Fine! You made your money off this girl, but now I have the ticket you sold her. Pay me half the money you charged her, go away, the girl stays with us and I'll return the ticket to you later." I'm guessing they have to account for every ticket sold. As well, they run another racket once you get to Sapa. You may find yourself dropped off at a hotel, not necessarily the one you've chosen and named for the driver.
So be polite, but be specific and be firm. You may see a few hotels before you reach the one you have reserved. As if often the case in traveling, the driver gets a commission if you stay at any of the random first stops taken. At the first hotel we were shown, Ernesto called the hotel he'd already contacted. He reached the owner and she sent three motorbikes to gather us and our things. They showed up within minutes and whisked us away. Do yourself a favor in Sapa. Stay at Boutique Sapa Hotel. Affordable prices, new rooms, an amazing view and rooftop terrace, it's all worth it! And the owners are
delightful. We were met with warm towels and tea once in the lobby and cafe. I stumbled in with glass in my foot and before I knew it, the owner had tweezers and alcohol...ready for surgery! And, do not be mistaken, my feet were nowhere near the loveliest thing in the lobby. On to our room, the owners added a bed to our room at no added charge, and at total of $21 a night?!? And then, the view? Sa Pa is gorgeous.In the evening, the owners set up moto rentals for all of us to visit a nearby waterfall and catch the sunset over the mountains. I'd never driven a scooter but I'm great on a bicycle! Turns out, I'm not too shabby on a moto either. Two wheels, hand controls, big whoop. Sarah, my partner in crime, drove at one point. Not such a good idea.
Having lost control of the bike, she pretty much threw it to the ground with me still on it. And I nearly ended up with what seems to be the Southeast Asia traveler's initiation: a nasty, motorbike exhaust pipe burn on your right leg. They're as ubiquitous here as rice fields. Hopefully, I've met my quota with the gashed knee fiasco on Koh Phan Gan, the rusty nail scare on the Ton Le Sap and the glass shards from Cat Ba Island. All in all, if those are the most of my worries, how easy I've got it.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Shared berths
On the bus back to Hanoi, I took pictures of our group, individuals as well as a group shot.I know, I'm silly.
I guess I wanted us to all live on together somewhere, even if only in the memory of a photograph. What an amazing group of people! Everyone got along. Everyone was kind, fun, interesting and interested. I feel blessed.
Back in Hanoi, several of us continued to travel on together to Sapa, the highlands, on an overnight train. Jazmine, the wicked funny Canadian, and I were in a berth with two Singaporeans. How advantageous! My parents have been living in Singapore for the past 2+ years,
so we had plenty to discuss. Another man also joined us in our berth for a bit of the conversation. He was Chinese but they referred to him as the Chinaman. We talked about life and family, but more than anything I think they were aghast at how friendly and outgoing we were. Three days on a party boat, not much sleep, we were a nutty pair to encounter. 
Jaz even pull a quick-change into her nightie in front of them. Blond, blue-eyed and bra-less. Classic!
We booked the night train to Sapa at Hanoi Backpackers' as well. And all things considered, we should have asked a few more questions. Ernesto ended up in a berth with strangers instead with any of us. And while it's not such a big deal, I would have been really uncomfortable had it been me.
I guess I wanted us to all live on together somewhere, even if only in the memory of a photograph. What an amazing group of people! Everyone got along. Everyone was kind, fun, interesting and interested. I feel blessed.Back in Hanoi, several of us continued to travel on together to Sapa, the highlands, on an overnight train. Jazmine, the wicked funny Canadian, and I were in a berth with two Singaporeans. How advantageous! My parents have been living in Singapore for the past 2+ years,
so we had plenty to discuss. Another man also joined us in our berth for a bit of the conversation. He was Chinese but they referred to him as the Chinaman. We talked about life and family, but more than anything I think they were aghast at how friendly and outgoing we were. Three days on a party boat, not much sleep, we were a nutty pair to encounter. 
Jaz even pull a quick-change into her nightie in front of them. Blond, blue-eyed and bra-less. Classic!We booked the night train to Sapa at Hanoi Backpackers' as well. And all things considered, we should have asked a few more questions. Ernesto ended up in a berth with strangers instead with any of us. And while it's not such a big deal, I would have been really uncomfortable had it been me.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Cat Ba Island
Snaking through the trees on Cat Ba Island, reported to mean sad woman, renamed when the men left to fight in the war, many in our group myself included struggled up one of the larger limestone hills. 
Little-to-no sleep, having had drinks to boot, the hike did in even some of us who did sleep.
At the top of the mountain is an observation tower. Rickety to say the least, almost at the top, with one final stair to climb, you find no stair at all. The last landing before stepping onto the wooden platform at the top is altogether missing. Probably not the best combination. Lack of sleep, possible hangovers, hiking and a safety hazard or two...ah, life is indeed an adventure! Thankfully, I took out a travel policy with the heli-vac option.
Many of the islands out in the bay are said to have been used as hospitals during the war. With more than 2,000 of these islands, it would be more than difficult to locate anyone in hiding.
People live in the Cat Ba bay, as well. Mostly on fishing boats, much like on the Ton Le Sap in between Cambodia and southern Vietnam.
On the boat-ride out yesterday, still close to the mainland, I started thinking about garbage. Often enough this earth is used as our dumping ground. In Northern Peru, on the ride from Piura to Chiclayo, for example, in the shoulders on each side of the highway lay gutters of refuse. Does anyone know of any global trash pick-up efforts? Just a thought...
Little-to-no sleep, having had drinks to boot, the hike did in even some of us who did sleep. At the top of the mountain is an observation tower. Rickety to say the least, almost at the top, with one final stair to climb, you find no stair at all. The last landing before stepping onto the wooden platform at the top is altogether missing. Probably not the best combination. Lack of sleep, possible hangovers, hiking and a safety hazard or two...ah, life is indeed an adventure! Thankfully, I took out a travel policy with the heli-vac option.
Many of the islands out in the bay are said to have been used as hospitals during the war. With more than 2,000 of these islands, it would be more than difficult to locate anyone in hiding.
People live in the Cat Ba bay, as well. Mostly on fishing boats, much like on the Ton Le Sap in between Cambodia and southern Vietnam.On the boat-ride out yesterday, still close to the mainland, I started thinking about garbage. Often enough this earth is used as our dumping ground. In Northern Peru, on the ride from Piura to Chiclayo, for example, in the shoulders on each side of the highway lay gutters of refuse. Does anyone know of any global trash pick-up efforts? Just a thought...
Ha Long forever
After a three-hour bus ride out of Hanoi, we boarded the Jolly Roger, the Hostel's boat, and cruised out into the bay for about two more hours. It's breath-taking out here. Small limestone hills leap out the water everywhere you turn. And in the most unusual shapes. 
Legend has it that dragons cane down from heaven to protect Vietnam from invaders to the north. The dragons spouted jewels and jade into the water, forming the islands and a natural barrier and protection for the country. 
Myth further has it that the dragons so loved the bay, its calm waters and people that they stayed, the longest beaches the dragons' tails.
Once far enough into the bay and away from any other boats, Viet, our local guide, laid down the law. Rules on the boat:
1. Be careful buying anything from the women circling the boat. The water they sell, for example, is not purified.
2. No swimming alone.
3. No drinking alone.
4. No sleeping alone.
Simple enough, I guess. Dexter, the American who speaks only American and is a bit unusual, thus nicknamed after the serial killer show, was the only one to challenge a rule. Everything he bought
was from the women in the boats. He's in law school. Figures.
After the rules, we all jumped from the top deck into the water. Geronimo! Harry, our English-speaking guide, mentioned that they frequently have to get people to mingle and chat on the boat.
Our group instant friends, Harry confided that Canadians are the friendliest. When they're on the boat, everyone gets along well. Beauty, eh?
The sunsets out here are unforgettable. I think I could stay here forever. We watched the sun slip behind the jade hills. And then the party started. And lasted until dawn. No. Sleep. Til Brooklyn!
Legend has it that dragons cane down from heaven to protect Vietnam from invaders to the north. The dragons spouted jewels and jade into the water, forming the islands and a natural barrier and protection for the country. 
Myth further has it that the dragons so loved the bay, its calm waters and people that they stayed, the longest beaches the dragons' tails.Once far enough into the bay and away from any other boats, Viet, our local guide, laid down the law. Rules on the boat:
1. Be careful buying anything from the women circling the boat. The water they sell, for example, is not purified.
2. No swimming alone.
3. No drinking alone.
4. No sleeping alone.
Simple enough, I guess. Dexter, the American who speaks only American and is a bit unusual, thus nicknamed after the serial killer show, was the only one to challenge a rule. Everything he bought
was from the women in the boats. He's in law school. Figures.After the rules, we all jumped from the top deck into the water. Geronimo! Harry, our English-speaking guide, mentioned that they frequently have to get people to mingle and chat on the boat.
Our group instant friends, Harry confided that Canadians are the friendliest. When they're on the boat, everyone gets along well. Beauty, eh? The sunsets out here are unforgettable. I think I could stay here forever. We watched the sun slip behind the jade hills. And then the party started. And lasted until dawn. No. Sleep. Til Brooklyn!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Into the bay
So midday yesterday, I signed up for a boat tour of Ha Long Bay with Hanoi Backpackers' Hostel. I wasn't interested in staying at the hostel, but the main selling point for booking the tour through them was the woman working their tour desk. Her name is Rio. Yep, not sure if she dances on the sand, but she's one of the the nicest and most helpful people I've met on this trip. And all in all, I wanted to book a trip with other fun travelers...and on the bus now, I think it's going to work out.
Jazmine, a Canadian is to my my right, and I don't think I've laughed this hard in months. Next to her is Hadas, an Israeli who just finished her two years in the army. We keep exchanging glances after hearing the words coming out of Jazmine's mouth.
She's one of those people who hasn't traveled much yet, or been exposed to much outside of Alberta. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, in school to be a nutritionist, everyone on the bus thought she was from Callie. She's naive and doesn't even know it yet. It's great.
This group is going to be a blast. Several French Canadian girls, several English-speaking Canadians, a dude from Mexico, a Spaniard, a Swiss girl, the Israeli, two Scottish guys, two guys from Philly, and several Brits thrown in for good measure. Getting to know each other, our guide Viet asked us to describe ourselves, maybe what languages we speak, where we're from, etc. Some of us speak several languages, some only one. And then there's another guy from the States, next to last to introduce himself. And here's what he said, "I'm from America. I speak American." I responded, "I'm sorry. Can someone please translate?"
Jazmine, a Canadian is to my my right, and I don't think I've laughed this hard in months. Next to her is Hadas, an Israeli who just finished her two years in the army. We keep exchanging glances after hearing the words coming out of Jazmine's mouth.
She's one of those people who hasn't traveled much yet, or been exposed to much outside of Alberta. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, in school to be a nutritionist, everyone on the bus thought she was from Callie. She's naive and doesn't even know it yet. It's great.This group is going to be a blast. Several French Canadian girls, several English-speaking Canadians, a dude from Mexico, a Spaniard, a Swiss girl, the Israeli, two Scottish guys, two guys from Philly, and several Brits thrown in for good measure. Getting to know each other, our guide Viet asked us to describe ourselves, maybe what languages we speak, where we're from, etc. Some of us speak several languages, some only one. And then there's another guy from the States, next to last to introduce himself. And here's what he said, "I'm from America. I speak American." I responded, "I'm sorry. Can someone please translate?"
At night
Last night, Sean and I ventured out into the city. We sat on kiddie stools in the street with other tourists and locals alike and drank Bia Hoi into the wee hours. It's local draft beer, mini-brewed at small shops around the city. When finished with one beer, the woman at the pony keg dumps the swill into a bucket and pours you another. Just wondering...where does the swill go? Is it twice brewed? Ah, who cares. The beers work out to about 15 cents each.
After a kebab, a small triangular meat sandwich, we moved on to a "proper" bar and joined several teachers for a drink. Each of them mentioned how rough it was teaching in Hanoi, wink, wink. Apparently, the situation is good enough for them to want to prevent word from getting out. A bit of bumping and grinding on a few of the teachers' parts, and Sean and I moved on again.
In the doors to a small bar with a pool table, we snuggled into a booth with four locals, Linh (lean), Duc (dook), Tho (tawh) and Hai (hi). Vietnamese is a tonal language, which stumps me. Hai, for example, can mean some six different things in Vietnamese. It means the number two. It can be a proper name. It may be used as an adjective. The meaning depends upon the tone and emphasis on syllables. Hai's name refers to him when pronounced in an arc of sound. Woah, where to begin? A few hours into our discussion, we were shushed, the doors closed and gates of the bar locked. From what I could discern, bars are supposed to close at a certain hour. Police cruise the streets to ensure cooperation, at which point all the bars simply close their gates and quiet all customers. Interesting. In Banos, Ecuador, the cops would enter the bars and send everyone home, the nightly raid. In Hanoi, they don't seem quite as vigilant.
After a kebab, a small triangular meat sandwich, we moved on to a "proper" bar and joined several teachers for a drink. Each of them mentioned how rough it was teaching in Hanoi, wink, wink. Apparently, the situation is good enough for them to want to prevent word from getting out. A bit of bumping and grinding on a few of the teachers' parts, and Sean and I moved on again.
In the doors to a small bar with a pool table, we snuggled into a booth with four locals, Linh (lean), Duc (dook), Tho (tawh) and Hai (hi). Vietnamese is a tonal language, which stumps me. Hai, for example, can mean some six different things in Vietnamese. It means the number two. It can be a proper name. It may be used as an adjective. The meaning depends upon the tone and emphasis on syllables. Hai's name refers to him when pronounced in an arc of sound. Woah, where to begin? A few hours into our discussion, we were shushed, the doors closed and gates of the bar locked. From what I could discern, bars are supposed to close at a certain hour. Police cruise the streets to ensure cooperation, at which point all the bars simply close their gates and quiet all customers. Interesting. In Banos, Ecuador, the cops would enter the bars and send everyone home, the nightly raid. In Hanoi, they don't seem quite as vigilant.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Consider the source
Hanoi. A new place. The capital. We got in early this morning, maybe 1 am, and everything was closed. Even our hotel. Not much for nightlife? On a Saturday night/Sunday morning? Hmm. So we sacked out, planning a full day ahead.
Man, is Hanoi confusing. We're staying near a huge lake, which would normally be a great landmark for getting my bearings. But apparently not in Hanoi. Street names change from block to block.
And there are more eleven-way intersections than I've ever seen in my life.
Hence, our taxi to the Temple of Literature. Whether a symbol of education or art, or homage to those ancestors who so revered study and teaching, the temple is highly trafficked by tourists and locals. Surrounded by gardens upon entry, visitors pass through four main gates.
In the first section is a pool. I wonder if like in many of the temples in Cambodia, the pool was used for cleansing prior to prayer and/or study. Another section of the temple is devoted to doctors with rows of huge stone scrolls mounted on the backs of sculpted turtles. As we walked, children and their parents alike rubbed the heads of the turtles and dropped small donations at their feet. 
For luck, for honor, for health, many people I've met say the Vietnamese are a superstitious people. Whatever helps, I say. A building at the end of the temple showcases the history of the temple with shrines to its influential men.
Oh, almost forgot. The taxi fare was 15,000 Vietnamese Dong. Our driver tried to charge us 150,000...not so fast.
Next we visited the Hoa Lo Prison, known also as the Hanoi Hilton. Built by the French in the late 1800s and used to house Vietnamese prisoners, it was taken over by the Vietnamese in the 50s. As has been the case throughout much of my journey in Vietnam, I am familiar with names and places mostly because of Vietnam war history and movies. It's curious to think back in the history of humanity...is there a place, a plot of land on this earth where war has not occurred?
Walking through the exhibit, statues of Vietnamese prisoners are locked in foot shackles in a row. Winding further back into holding cells, getting to what must have been solitary confinement, peeping through the opening in the door, there sits another statue. I gasped. I wasn't expecting to see any representation of a body in the cell. And the detail of the sculptures? They may look goofy upon close examination, but at first glance, they're life-like.
Further into the prison still, is a section on the American soldiers who were kept there, most notably John McCain. Photos of American soldiers in the exhibit are shocking. In pretty much all of them, the men are smiling. There are photos of Christmas and the prisoners exchanging gifts. In others the men are exercising or cooking dinner.
It seems that the Vietnamese are quite concerned with showing how well the prisoners were treated. I wrote down a quotation in the exhibit that I found striking, and hope there are no inaccuracies in my copying it. "American servicemen participating in the war of aggression by US administration in Viet Nam and caught in the act while perpetrating barbarous crimes against Vietnamese land and people should have been duly punished according to their criminal acts, but the government and people of Viet Nam, endowed with noble and humanitarian traditions, have given those captured American servicemen the opportunity to benefit a lenient and generous policy by affording them a normal life in the detention camps as practical conditions of Viet Nam permit it and conforming to the situation in which war was still on."
As has been the case here in Vietnam, I am learning a different perspective on the war. In history class, the Vietnam war was painted as the US defending south Viet Nam in a civil war. Here in Viet Nam, I haven't seen a single mention of it. The war seems to be viewed as an act of US aggression. Whether this is the propaganda the Vietnamese government is teaching its people, perhaps as is the US with its slant and version, or fact, who knows? Are there three sides to ever story: yours, theirs and the truth?
Man, is Hanoi confusing. We're staying near a huge lake, which would normally be a great landmark for getting my bearings. But apparently not in Hanoi. Street names change from block to block.
And there are more eleven-way intersections than I've ever seen in my life. Hence, our taxi to the Temple of Literature. Whether a symbol of education or art, or homage to those ancestors who so revered study and teaching, the temple is highly trafficked by tourists and locals. Surrounded by gardens upon entry, visitors pass through four main gates.
In the first section is a pool. I wonder if like in many of the temples in Cambodia, the pool was used for cleansing prior to prayer and/or study. Another section of the temple is devoted to doctors with rows of huge stone scrolls mounted on the backs of sculpted turtles. As we walked, children and their parents alike rubbed the heads of the turtles and dropped small donations at their feet. 
For luck, for honor, for health, many people I've met say the Vietnamese are a superstitious people. Whatever helps, I say. A building at the end of the temple showcases the history of the temple with shrines to its influential men. Oh, almost forgot. The taxi fare was 15,000 Vietnamese Dong. Our driver tried to charge us 150,000...not so fast.
Next we visited the Hoa Lo Prison, known also as the Hanoi Hilton. Built by the French in the late 1800s and used to house Vietnamese prisoners, it was taken over by the Vietnamese in the 50s. As has been the case throughout much of my journey in Vietnam, I am familiar with names and places mostly because of Vietnam war history and movies. It's curious to think back in the history of humanity...is there a place, a plot of land on this earth where war has not occurred?
Walking through the exhibit, statues of Vietnamese prisoners are locked in foot shackles in a row. Winding further back into holding cells, getting to what must have been solitary confinement, peeping through the opening in the door, there sits another statue. I gasped. I wasn't expecting to see any representation of a body in the cell. And the detail of the sculptures? They may look goofy upon close examination, but at first glance, they're life-like.
Further into the prison still, is a section on the American soldiers who were kept there, most notably John McCain. Photos of American soldiers in the exhibit are shocking. In pretty much all of them, the men are smiling. There are photos of Christmas and the prisoners exchanging gifts. In others the men are exercising or cooking dinner.
It seems that the Vietnamese are quite concerned with showing how well the prisoners were treated. I wrote down a quotation in the exhibit that I found striking, and hope there are no inaccuracies in my copying it. "American servicemen participating in the war of aggression by US administration in Viet Nam and caught in the act while perpetrating barbarous crimes against Vietnamese land and people should have been duly punished according to their criminal acts, but the government and people of Viet Nam, endowed with noble and humanitarian traditions, have given those captured American servicemen the opportunity to benefit a lenient and generous policy by affording them a normal life in the detention camps as practical conditions of Viet Nam permit it and conforming to the situation in which war was still on." As has been the case here in Vietnam, I am learning a different perspective on the war. In history class, the Vietnam war was painted as the US defending south Viet Nam in a civil war. Here in Viet Nam, I haven't seen a single mention of it. The war seems to be viewed as an act of US aggression. Whether this is the propaganda the Vietnamese government is teaching its people, perhaps as is the US with its slant and version, or fact, who knows? Are there three sides to ever story: yours, theirs and the truth?
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Dang, Danang!
The Danang airport is 30 minutes north of Hoi An. The airport itself? There were three people in line ahead of me at check-in. Red alarm clock font glows above each counter indicating flight and destination. At least it's not blinking. 
Simple security check, a scanner. Inside, there are three gates from which to board your aircraft. The waiting room is like a hospital, or maybe the Social Security Administration. Rows of 1970s beige round rump seats all attached to a metal plate at your feet. A souvenir shop, a restaurant and can beer bar, people playing cards.
We left Hoi An at 9pm, for our 10:55 pm flight. An hour and 10 minutes from Danang to Hanoi and it's 12:30 am. All for under 50USD start to finish, can beer excluded. Not bad, not bad.
Simple security check, a scanner. Inside, there are three gates from which to board your aircraft. The waiting room is like a hospital, or maybe the Social Security Administration. Rows of 1970s beige round rump seats all attached to a metal plate at your feet. A souvenir shop, a restaurant and can beer bar, people playing cards. We left Hoi An at 9pm, for our 10:55 pm flight. An hour and 10 minutes from Danang to Hanoi and it's 12:30 am. All for under 50USD start to finish, can beer excluded. Not bad, not bad.
Triple mint
"It's like Eskimo fairies blowing on my nether regions!" That's what Sean thinks of my triple mint soap. I think I've mentioned them before, Copa Soaps. I packed three bars, saving the triple mint best for last! 
I'm not fond of sharing soaps with people, really. Or tooth brushes. But on occasion, it does happen. Anyway, Sean was smitten. Go 'head, Copa.
I'm getting away from Hoi An easy. I only bought one jacket and one dress. We had planned to spend the day at China beach. Raining and gross, we took to the tailors. I guess no one will have these two new additions to my wardrobe in New York, right?
And I'm flying out of the Danang airport tonight. Good bye, sleeper buses!
Just before we loaded into the taxi, Sean and Chen (one of our Israeli counterparts) jammed out. She plays guitar. Our going away song was "Leaving on a Jet Plane." I cried.
I'm not fond of sharing soaps with people, really. Or tooth brushes. But on occasion, it does happen. Anyway, Sean was smitten. Go 'head, Copa.I'm getting away from Hoi An easy. I only bought one jacket and one dress. We had planned to spend the day at China beach. Raining and gross, we took to the tailors. I guess no one will have these two new additions to my wardrobe in New York, right?
And I'm flying out of the Danang airport tonight. Good bye, sleeper buses!Just before we loaded into the taxi, Sean and Chen (one of our Israeli counterparts) jammed out. She plays guitar. Our going away song was "Leaving on a Jet Plane." I cried.
Friday, May 29, 2009
The uke
It's not easy this life. Well, I think it's much easier if you're lucky enough to have been born in a place like me. You can do things, travel the world, many things are just givens. But, I guess we all struggle in our own ways. Still, it must suck to see groups of tourists cruising your hometown if you can hardly leave it. Or do you see it, realize it's different, and prefer what you already have?
This afternoon, Sean and I met up with Andreas, a German from the Nha Trang boat ride. We sat in an open-air restaurant drinking beer, Sean playing his ukulele. He picked it up in Saigon.
It's the best. Music. I love it. And miss it. At the restaurant, a toddler of a woman we came to know as Huong snuck out from the back and took over the ukulele. Giddy, he danced and played with Sean. And he ate a whole box of cookies. Good fun.
An instrument turns individuals into groups. A person with a guitar joining, voices, maybe someone has a drum or drumsticks or something. Walking down a street with an instrument, it's an instant hoot!
This afternoon, Sean and I met up with Andreas, a German from the Nha Trang boat ride. We sat in an open-air restaurant drinking beer, Sean playing his ukulele. He picked it up in Saigon.
It's the best. Music. I love it. And miss it. At the restaurant, a toddler of a woman we came to know as Huong snuck out from the back and took over the ukulele. Giddy, he danced and played with Sean. And he ate a whole box of cookies. Good fun.An instrument turns individuals into groups. A person with a guitar joining, voices, maybe someone has a drum or drumsticks or something. Walking down a street with an instrument, it's an instant hoot!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Hoi Anne!
Back on the night sleeper bus headed to Hoi An, the guidebook I have states that the stretch from Nha Trang to Hoi An is the fifth circle of hell. Great. One of the bus attendants strung a hammock up in the stairwell at the foot of my bed. At his insistence, any time I wanted to exit the bus, I had to climb over someone else in his or her bed. "Pardon me, bud, but you're working. Wake up. Move. Move. Please. Thank you." And piss off. Argh.
My blanket smelled soiled. And my pillow left my face feeling...waxy. Oh, the joys of traveling. The upside: I met a lovely Israeli trio and yet another bad-ass New Yorker! Funny how less than desirable circumstances can bring people together. We made it to Hoi An and scoped out one hotel before settling in at Hoang Trinh Hotel. The ladies of the house greeted us with cloths to wipe our faces (yes, still waxy) and glasses of cool water, even before the discussion of room and board began.
Such a simple gesture, but so appreciated. It's so nice to be treated like a person from time to time, not just a disgusting, dare I say, backpacker. If you're in Hoi An, please stay at this place. A double is $12 a night with a full tub, t.v., air conditioning, internet, and the hotel even serves food. The upstairs rooms have balconies overlooking a Chinese temple. But really, the staff is what makes the stay worth it. They're just so nice.
Out and about, Sean (New Yorker by birth now living in Hawaii) and I cruised the town and the river. Hoi An is small and quaint.
A city of wooden shophouses, streets and a Japanese bridge, and named a UNESCO world heritage site, it has some of Viet Nam's oldest remaining structures and streets. It's small and great for walking. And tailors. Hoi An is the spot to have clothes made. Mannequins of all colors and cuts, you can't imagine trying on winter coats, dripping with sweat. But it happens! All fit and cut for you, your measurements. This place is magic.
P.S. Did you see the classic pink Vespa??
My blanket smelled soiled. And my pillow left my face feeling...waxy. Oh, the joys of traveling. The upside: I met a lovely Israeli trio and yet another bad-ass New Yorker! Funny how less than desirable circumstances can bring people together. We made it to Hoi An and scoped out one hotel before settling in at Hoang Trinh Hotel. The ladies of the house greeted us with cloths to wipe our faces (yes, still waxy) and glasses of cool water, even before the discussion of room and board began.
Such a simple gesture, but so appreciated. It's so nice to be treated like a person from time to time, not just a disgusting, dare I say, backpacker. If you're in Hoi An, please stay at this place. A double is $12 a night with a full tub, t.v., air conditioning, internet, and the hotel even serves food. The upstairs rooms have balconies overlooking a Chinese temple. But really, the staff is what makes the stay worth it. They're just so nice.Out and about, Sean (New Yorker by birth now living in Hawaii) and I cruised the town and the river. Hoi An is small and quaint.
A city of wooden shophouses, streets and a Japanese bridge, and named a UNESCO world heritage site, it has some of Viet Nam's oldest remaining structures and streets. It's small and great for walking. And tailors. Hoi An is the spot to have clothes made. Mannequins of all colors and cuts, you can't imagine trying on winter coats, dripping with sweat. But it happens! All fit and cut for you, your measurements. This place is magic.P.S. Did you see the classic pink Vespa??
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Bites
To the islands around Nha Trang today, I hopped on a boat with 30 or so others. 
A short bus ride from town out to the marina, a cable car hangs above the water, spotted itself with a bit of garbage.
We snorkeled and swam for the first hour. Well, the locals drank beer, the tourists swam. In the water, I kept feeling small things biting me. Turned out to be mini jellies. Yikes! I'm not too big on lurking sea creatures. We lunched on the roof of the boat, squid, shrimp, spring rolls, spicy tofu.
And after lunch came the entertainment. Our crew Viet Nam's number one boy band, our cruise director did a little karaoke in a coconuts bra. Hmm...
After the show came the floating bar and happy hour. Side note: it's always happy hour in Viet Nam. A life buoy chucked into the water, our bartender balanced himself and bunches of bottles of mulberry wine, served with a touch of pineapple. Too sweet for me. I met a couple from Sydney and a German, good people. The rule for the floating bar is that everyone drinking has to keep a foot attached to the life buoy, as much for silliness and to secure that none float off or drown.
Our group turned into a chain of bobbers, all linked one to one. And I at the helm am amazed how much drag a baker's dozen of people can cause.
The clouds rolled in at our last island and we sat on the top of the boat in the rain.
Back in town the Aussies and I went to dinner at Mecca Restaurant. In usual form, I asked our host and server what I should eat. Canh Chua Ca is what showed up, delicious sour fish soup. When in Nha Trang, ORDER THIS! Carla and Chops helped me polish off the soup, there was so much of it.
A short bus ride from town out to the marina, a cable car hangs above the water, spotted itself with a bit of garbage.We snorkeled and swam for the first hour. Well, the locals drank beer, the tourists swam. In the water, I kept feeling small things biting me. Turned out to be mini jellies. Yikes! I'm not too big on lurking sea creatures. We lunched on the roof of the boat, squid, shrimp, spring rolls, spicy tofu.
And after lunch came the entertainment. Our crew Viet Nam's number one boy band, our cruise director did a little karaoke in a coconuts bra. Hmm...After the show came the floating bar and happy hour. Side note: it's always happy hour in Viet Nam. A life buoy chucked into the water, our bartender balanced himself and bunches of bottles of mulberry wine, served with a touch of pineapple. Too sweet for me. I met a couple from Sydney and a German, good people. The rule for the floating bar is that everyone drinking has to keep a foot attached to the life buoy, as much for silliness and to secure that none float off or drown.
Our group turned into a chain of bobbers, all linked one to one. And I at the helm am amazed how much drag a baker's dozen of people can cause.The clouds rolled in at our last island and we sat on the top of the boat in the rain.
Back in town the Aussies and I went to dinner at Mecca Restaurant. In usual form, I asked our host and server what I should eat. Canh Chua Ca is what showed up, delicious sour fish soup. When in Nha Trang, ORDER THIS! Carla and Chops helped me polish off the soup, there was so much of it.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Nha Trang
I got off the night bus this morning about 6 am to a swarm of motos and hotel hawkers. Walking has always suited me, even with a 30 pound bag on my back. 
I still haven't managed to switch successfully to metrics. Nha Trang is lovely. Beach? Hell, yes! I found accommodation pretty quickly and headed for a dip. My room is $14 with a balcony overlooking the street, a view of the ocean from one block away. There's a rooftop terrace will great views of the beach and town, too. While what I'm paying is probably expensive compared to what you pay traveling with others, I have to pinch myself from time to time, considering NYC prices.
To the Four Seasons cafe beach front in Nha Trang, I'm lunching on spring rolls and, yes, a cool beverage.
Although, I imagine Viet Nam only has two seasons, hot and hot and wet. Ahh, what do I know? Yesterday, a woman shoved me out of her photo of Ho Chi Minh at the Parliament building in Saigon. I'm pretty sure she was Chinese. Personal and physical space here aren't a concern. Whatsoever. In Cambodia, people who bumped into you would turn to apologize but not so much here. Trampled, you may be, shoved, bumped, run over. Check yourself, before you wreck yourself.
Oh me, oh my...have I failed to mention Vietnamese coffee? Lord have mercy, it is the greatest thing on this earth...at least lately. Potent? Um, yeah. And they serve it with condensed milk.
And over ice. Papa Joe Peek put it best. It is indeed "the elixir of the gods!" I'm up to two a day. One in the morning, and then the afternoon coffee. It's a culture here. In fact, I think it's Southeast Asian. Afternoon coffee. Fine, some of us may do it in New York. Or the US. But everyone does it here. Across countries. Across peoples. And condensed milk?! Delicious in your coffee. I have yet to explore its fat content, et cetera, and for now prefer to stay in the rich, bitter, cocoa-colored darkness. What we don't know, can't hurt us...cliche for a reason that I'm hoping applies to me!
I still haven't managed to switch successfully to metrics. Nha Trang is lovely. Beach? Hell, yes! I found accommodation pretty quickly and headed for a dip. My room is $14 with a balcony overlooking the street, a view of the ocean from one block away. There's a rooftop terrace will great views of the beach and town, too. While what I'm paying is probably expensive compared to what you pay traveling with others, I have to pinch myself from time to time, considering NYC prices.To the Four Seasons cafe beach front in Nha Trang, I'm lunching on spring rolls and, yes, a cool beverage.
Although, I imagine Viet Nam only has two seasons, hot and hot and wet. Ahh, what do I know? Yesterday, a woman shoved me out of her photo of Ho Chi Minh at the Parliament building in Saigon. I'm pretty sure she was Chinese. Personal and physical space here aren't a concern. Whatsoever. In Cambodia, people who bumped into you would turn to apologize but not so much here. Trampled, you may be, shoved, bumped, run over. Check yourself, before you wreck yourself.Oh me, oh my...have I failed to mention Vietnamese coffee? Lord have mercy, it is the greatest thing on this earth...at least lately. Potent? Um, yeah. And they serve it with condensed milk.
And over ice. Papa Joe Peek put it best. It is indeed "the elixir of the gods!" I'm up to two a day. One in the morning, and then the afternoon coffee. It's a culture here. In fact, I think it's Southeast Asian. Afternoon coffee. Fine, some of us may do it in New York. Or the US. But everyone does it here. Across countries. Across peoples. And condensed milk?! Delicious in your coffee. I have yet to explore its fat content, et cetera, and for now prefer to stay in the rich, bitter, cocoa-colored darkness. What we don't know, can't hurt us...cliche for a reason that I'm hoping applies to me!
Monday, May 25, 2009
Night moves
Viet Nam is known for having a good postal system...we shall see. So today I mailed out a whopper package for 1,000,000 some odd Dong. Yep, the money is called Dong. Quite efficient, a clerk behind the counter even packed the box for me. I haven't been buying tons of stuff, but it's a relief to unload as much as you can to lighten your load.
Here's what I've gotten myself into now. An eleven hour sleeper bus ride to Nah Trang. The bus has bunk beds, seven beds per row, three rows, two aisles running between them, each bed maybe six feet long and a foot and a half across. It's a sight.
There's a shelf for your shoes, which the driver made me remove before entering the bus. Thank god I wore socks. It cost $23 for an open ticket of two overnight bus trips, Saigon to Nha Trang, then Nha Trang to Hoi An. It works out to about a dollar an hour, much like in Ecuador.
The all-night experience involves fifteen minute intervals of almost sleep strung together with speed bumps taken at such a pace that you're almost thrown from your bunk. That, in combination with repetitive blasting of the horn almost every five seconds spells a sleepless night. I have moved seventeen times, completed five full rotations. Were I the hands of time, I'd have circled the face of the clock following in synch minute by minute. We stop every hour or two as well for a break. I never thought I'd say it, but I miss the M14.
Here's what I've gotten myself into now. An eleven hour sleeper bus ride to Nah Trang. The bus has bunk beds, seven beds per row, three rows, two aisles running between them, each bed maybe six feet long and a foot and a half across. It's a sight.
There's a shelf for your shoes, which the driver made me remove before entering the bus. Thank god I wore socks. It cost $23 for an open ticket of two overnight bus trips, Saigon to Nha Trang, then Nha Trang to Hoi An. It works out to about a dollar an hour, much like in Ecuador.The all-night experience involves fifteen minute intervals of almost sleep strung together with speed bumps taken at such a pace that you're almost thrown from your bunk. That, in combination with repetitive blasting of the horn almost every five seconds spells a sleepless night. I have moved seventeen times, completed five full rotations. Were I the hands of time, I'd have circled the face of the clock following in synch minute by minute. We stop every hour or two as well for a break. I never thought I'd say it, but I miss the M14.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Seeing Saigon
I checked out of Yellow House Hotel first thing and into Kim Hotel just down an alley. Clean, a huge bed and balcony, now we're talking! A family run spot, they are all so welcoming. Oh, and there's a mini-bath tub, too!
I am a tourist today. First to Independence Palace, I toured what was set to be the fortress of Diem, who our guide referred to as the US puppet leader of South Viet Nam. Ok. The palace was build in 1868 originally by the French, refurbished by Diem, but finished only after his death. Built as the hub for receiving international and domestic guests, as well as housing the leader and his family, the palace has been left decorated as it was in the 60s. Conference rooms, a convention hall, a full bomb shell war room basement, a casino room, even an entertainment room with a view of the house chopper, the palace is a 1960s fortress. The dining room in the living quarters reminds me of my grandmother's house, now my uncle's place, totally renewed and refreshed. Leaning against the glass of the dining room I am transported back to Christmas dinners and pot roast. Fancy glasses and heavy silverware, soft light and gauzy curtains glowing in the light of dusk.
Next to the War Remnants Museum.
First things first, you are greeted by US tanks and jets just inside the entry past the ticket counter. And once inside the exhibit, the first words you see are from the Declaration of Independence, also translated into Vietnamese. The stage is set, the ironies and atrocities soon to be revealed. Scary to say, I am thankful I haven't eaten yet today. 
My lunch would've come up. Walking through this museum, I alternate between shock and chills. It's a physical reaction to the visual displays. Disgust, horror cannot even come close. I am proud of my country and proud to be from my country. Looking at these images, war-torn bodies, you see what war means. Whether in the name of democracy, liberty, religion, gasoline, however complex, staring at the faces of the aftermath of war, it seems so unnecessary. I cannot imagine what it must be like to be a soldier fighting on foreign soil or to be a civilian living through a war waged in your own country. It occurred to me. What would happen if they were no armies? What would this world be like without any defense forces? Utter chaos? Or more harmonious?
The exhibit chronicling the devastation the war exacted on future generations was also gutting. Agent Orange and napalm not only affected those involved in the war at the time, but also generations to come. Birth defects in the children of civilians and soldiers alike, malformations, disease, reproductive malfunctions, limbs missing, it's hard to look.
Upstairs, there is also an exhibit about the journalists who covered the war, many of whom are still missing. Several countries sent troops into Viet Nam and several others sent journalists. Civilian, military and professional casualties, this exhibit is comprehensive and stark. I have never worn camouflage in my life and, from this day forward, hope I never have to.
I am a tourist today. First to Independence Palace, I toured what was set to be the fortress of Diem, who our guide referred to as the US puppet leader of South Viet Nam. Ok. The palace was build in 1868 originally by the French, refurbished by Diem, but finished only after his death. Built as the hub for receiving international and domestic guests, as well as housing the leader and his family, the palace has been left decorated as it was in the 60s. Conference rooms, a convention hall, a full bomb shell war room basement, a casino room, even an entertainment room with a view of the house chopper, the palace is a 1960s fortress. The dining room in the living quarters reminds me of my grandmother's house, now my uncle's place, totally renewed and refreshed. Leaning against the glass of the dining room I am transported back to Christmas dinners and pot roast. Fancy glasses and heavy silverware, soft light and gauzy curtains glowing in the light of dusk.
Next to the War Remnants Museum.
First things first, you are greeted by US tanks and jets just inside the entry past the ticket counter. And once inside the exhibit, the first words you see are from the Declaration of Independence, also translated into Vietnamese. The stage is set, the ironies and atrocities soon to be revealed. Scary to say, I am thankful I haven't eaten yet today. 
My lunch would've come up. Walking through this museum, I alternate between shock and chills. It's a physical reaction to the visual displays. Disgust, horror cannot even come close. I am proud of my country and proud to be from my country. Looking at these images, war-torn bodies, you see what war means. Whether in the name of democracy, liberty, religion, gasoline, however complex, staring at the faces of the aftermath of war, it seems so unnecessary. I cannot imagine what it must be like to be a soldier fighting on foreign soil or to be a civilian living through a war waged in your own country. It occurred to me. What would happen if they were no armies? What would this world be like without any defense forces? Utter chaos? Or more harmonious?The exhibit chronicling the devastation the war exacted on future generations was also gutting. Agent Orange and napalm not only affected those involved in the war at the time, but also generations to come. Birth defects in the children of civilians and soldiers alike, malformations, disease, reproductive malfunctions, limbs missing, it's hard to look.
Upstairs, there is also an exhibit about the journalists who covered the war, many of whom are still missing. Several countries sent troops into Viet Nam and several others sent journalists. Civilian, military and professional casualties, this exhibit is comprehensive and stark. I have never worn camouflage in my life and, from this day forward, hope I never have to.
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