Neither here nor there

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Cigs

Camel is not international! Just an observation.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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!

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?"

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.