Hanoi and Cat Ba

Easy flight, easy in trip into town from airport. The van dropped us off in the Old Quarter near a guesthouse we wanted to stay. Our money blew like the wind in Hoi An, so we prepicked a place that supposedly had 4 to 6 dollar rooms. A helpful kid was there when the van stopped, grabbed Traci's bag and insisted on carrying it for her saying he knew where it was. His English was good, but not good enough to explain that the guesthouse in question was closed for expansion--cheap rooms are popular--so he showed us the English sign posted on the closed door. Then he said his father owned a hotel, cheap and only a few minutes away. He raced to the other side of town carrying Traci's pack, all the time saying it's only a few more minutes and asking if I was OK. "I'm very strong," he'd say thumping his chest and seeming to imply he'd take my bag as well. He couldn't have been more than 100 pounds. When we got there, I noticed we were where the bus was dropping other passengers off. The kid threw down Trac's bag and collapsed at the reception counter.

Rooms--9$, but with a TV and A/C. On a nearby corner, we found more bia hoi, that curiously good cheap potion we've come to love, and had a few before embarking on our pilgrimage to the temple of literature. There was no literature in the temple, but a few statues of guys who were into it several hundred years ago. Also were the names of all those receiving doctorates from the late twelfth to the late fifteenth centuries. Traci and I were rapt with this intake of haute culture, but we still found the bonsai exhibit temporarily on display for more interesting.

We went to an island honoring a guy who defeated the mongols, walked a little bit of the walking tour in Lonely Planet and ended up going back to our corner to drink more of our favorite potion and watch passersby till dinner. Afterwards we deposited ourselves back, this time sitting on the plastic chairs in the street because, due to the popularity of the beer, the corner was too crowded with locals and tourists. He we drank and talked, and drank and talked until we realized we had to go to bed.

The next morning's bus sucked. Hot, packed, queasy stomach and no room for our bags, our misery was only ameliorated by talking to the couple sitting next to us about their experiences in the Phillipines with Peace Corps. We took a boat, first to a cave, then through some of the most beautiful scenary I've seen. Halong Bay ranks up there with parts of southern Utah as places that make most destinations tourists flock too as drab and bland. The water is green with jagged teeth of limestone jutting towards the sky. In sheltered coves, there are multi-colored floating villages filled with fishing families, complete with several dogs per household. At first we were rankled with the fact that we couldn't get a fast boat to Cat Ba Island, but were glad to take our time.

Cat Ba town this time of year and week is dead. Few tourists and locals contribute to a generally peaceful atmosphere. One constant annoyance is the music playing from loudspeakers. Not overbearing in volume, but its the same two songs, about 20 seconds each, over and over again. One sounds something line a cross between Celine Dion and the slower parts of the Braveheart soundtrack, the second, and far worse, reminds of a movie I never saw, one of those supposedly uplifting ones that shows the audience some redeeming quality in life. One with Steve Gutenberg playing a counselor at a summer camp for kids with social problems. The whistling song is played overtop a montage of camp activities and chubby kids hiking with green hats on. Played over and over again this song is torture. It most likely is some "revolutionary" song about the heroic exploits of Uncle Ho. Unfortunately the summer camp image has stuck.

Our first day we spent reading on cushioned chairs on the beach. There was talk of us pretending we were rich, drinking fruity drinks and eating a large fish dinner at a floating restaurant. These plans were partially dropped when we saw the prices of the mediocre sounding fruity drinks. We did however have some fish at a floating resaurant, where two days later we found a floating dog. Pictures to come.

Yesterday Traci was sick from either the bia hoi or the nasty and expensive sandwich she had for breakfast--comfort food gone terribly awry. I rented a kayak and stroked my way to monkey island where I met someone who had been accosted my the monkeys (one of my fears as I pulled up to the then deserted island) The guy also claimed to have seen the monkeys take the water I'd stashed, something the absense my water sorta confirmed. I found a deserted beach and many cartons of cigarettes that had washed ashore, some still good. If I only smoked . . .

So, sadly these travels are at an end. We fly out of Hanoi tomorrow and have our first day at our new school on Monday. But there are redeeming qualities to Korea, and I'm looking forward to them. From one set of pleasures into another. I would love to hear from anyone who is reading this (comments email). I haven't heard from anyone living in a long while.

Hoi An

We didn't make it up for sunrise. In fact we got a later start than we did the day before, but still not so bad--10a. It was due to the massive quantity of "fresh beer" we drank and also our apathy concerning sunrises. It's the sun, and it's slowly coming up over the water--Boring! If you're lucky that is. Most of the time you lose sleep to see it coming up over a nondescript cloudbank.

The beer was better. I'm not joking, I prefer it to the canned beer.

Today we rented a better motorbike, one that had a working headlight and horn--a must in this country where you need to alert just about everyone to your presence by constantly leaning on it. We tried to go to My Son, Cham ruins--they were an ancient people that like you I'd never heard of either. They fought Angkor and the Vietnamese and lost--somewhere around here. Our map didn't show where they were except for a little direction arrow off the corner and 30 km. We found out we took a wrong turn when a woman rode up next to us and said "Hi, where are you from?" We're moving along at maybe 40 kmh (our speedo didn't work this time) and we say America. "Totally Awesome!" And we continued this conversation as we drove with trucks passing us with other motorbikes and bikes congesting the small two lane road. She complimented me on my driving, probably because we weren't dead, and told us we missed our turn but would take us to Marble Mountain instead. Ok. It was near China Beach and we wanted to go there, too. Traci still watches reruns of the TV series. It's her favorite, so this was a really big deal for her.

Marble Mountain was cool--caves filled with incense smoke and buddha statues and chimney cracks to climb through to viewpoints over China Beach. (Traci was thrilled) We rode down the coast, had to make sure the clothes we had made fit us and went back out to the beach where we sat down and drank some beer. Several women tried to foist their wares on us and two succeeded. Fish sandwiches--yum--and Mentos because we liked the woman. She talked to us yesterday and we refused every time she passed. Today she just squatted down and told us that she sold two pineapples today. She was cute, saying "see you later alligator" and don't worry, be happy" trying to win affection and money. She left and a young girl sat down. "My turn!" We didn't buy anything from her, despite the beautiful line: "Try to open your hearts and your wallets."

Tonight only a few beers and early to bed. We booked a flight--the last bus ride sucked so bad that 61$ to cut out a 16 hour journey seemed perfectly reasonable--and have to leave before 7am. On to Hanoi.

Mui Ne

So Traci and I continued a few hours up the coast to a little fishing town called Mui Ne. It's a very boring story to relate. The town has excellent winds yearround but Mr Proactive (me) didn't get around to renting any of the equipment--sailboat, board, kitesurfing rig etc--to enjoy it. The place is also famous as the Sahara of Vietnam for its large sanddunes. We didn't go see them. We did nothing but sit on the beach and read. Occasionally we ate some fish. One night we found ourselves in a deserted restaurant with better than average ambiance. The food was cheap, 3$ for what would have cost 20 in the states. But alas it was so empty the the bored owner/chef came out and played Gin with us for an hour before we left. He was pretty good.

We took one walk. It was blissful after visiting temples and museums of war crimes. On the way out we noticed how easy it would have been to rent a motorbike and go to the dunes ourselves, but the regret quickly turned into boredom then discomfort as we twiddled our thumbs through 16 hours of bus travel to Hoi An. It sucked. One all night bus ride too many and we booked plane tickets to Hanoi from here. 60$ or 16 hours overnight. We chose to part with the former, gladly.

Hoi An is quite nice. This is merely a quick update before we challenge ourselves to Fully enjoy the 20 cent beers several eateries have to offer and wake up for sunrise tomorrow morning. For a full update on this tailor town, check back soon.

Saigon II

Saigon is a nice city, one we could call home for a little while if given the oppportunity. The scooters are intense. Previously I thought a lot of people rode scooters in Korea, more in Thailand and even more in Cambodia, but nothing remotely prepared me for this city. Imagine a the crowds in Times Square celebrating New Years Eve, now put them all on scooters and beat up old Russian motorcylces, a lucky few on newer model Japanese bikes. Then put them in motion, all at different speeds surging through the city, tides to some unseen force. Crossing the street in such mayhem can be a tricky deal. Some suggest praying. Sometimes a kind communist police officer, clad in green, is there to play Moses, blow his whistle and part the sea. Most of the time you're on your own. Intuition says flee across each street and intersection for your life, but this confuses the drivers causing them to slam on their brakes and dodge you. Walking slowly facing into traffic, sorta like fording a river, seems to work fine, although some seem to brush past you like the water in the analogy.

Everywhere we went we stood out as people who seemed to need lift on a moto or cyclo. Guys followed us yelling which vehicle they had, until the 27th "no,thanks" at which point they preyed on some other fellow walking the other way. At times we'd be eating at a streetside table and someone would come over and try to convince us that we needed their help in touring the city. "very cheap!" they'd say. What seemed to convince them best was to grab a hold of my belly and say I'm too fat. I need exercise. They'd laugh and agree and walk away. What sucks is that a lot of the cyclo guys are disenfranchised intellectuals who chose the losing side in the American War. The government cut short their careers, sent them to reeducation camps and now they're forced to earn a living peddling the streets. And we really did want to walk.

We did the tourist things like walking to the Reunification Palace (reunified with boredom) Benh Than market (not as cool as I was expecting) and around the river area (expensive and hip). We had beer in the Continental, we had too, and almost had one in the Rex Hotel but couldn't find a nice enough table to justify the price. (On coming out I was horrified to think I wouldn't spend 2.50$ for a bottle of beer on a rooftop garden terrace, but 37,000 dong seems just so expensive when the going price is 10,000) We went to the Cu Chi tunnels where we watched a one-sided presentation on how the Americans came in and sundered a peaceful way of life, while slaughtering innocent civilians, which is probably more or less true. But it was still a little over-the-top considering the gloating murals of GI stepping in nasty traps of spikes. (pictures to come)

Saigon

We bought tickets to Siem Riep Cambodia from a guesthouse that had a great big sign advertising them for 30 US$ each. Every guesthouse travelagent etc had the same sort of sign, some larger than others so what could be wrong? We found out while we were crossing the river to get to our bus that the trip would take a day and a half. Naturally we didn't believe them, and naturally they were proved completely correct at about noon the next day when we arrived in Siem Reap. The border was a little dodgy--a singletrack dirt road, cratered and potholed leading through forest with little else than the landmines I imagined inhabiting it. We had to drive down a road, take a right to go stamp out of Laos, than drive back the same way and take another right down the dirt road. 15 minutes later when we arrived at the cambodian side we met another group of 4 Africans trying to leave Cambodia. All had overstayed their visa, and the border guards were trying to extract some enormous sum of money from them. They were swearing up and down it was misunderstanding and that there must be some other way of handling the situation. The border guards said 10%, which was still outrageous, and the men went and continued to sit in the shade near the station. Traci and I paid 25$ for an arranged visa because we were skeptical of getting a visa issued at small forest outpost border station. A mistake. The service we received was the man handing our passports and 21 of our dollars over to the border guard doing the paperwork. We jealously watched as our Dutch bus companions handed theirs over themselves. Traci found a blank page in her passport and got through, but my only pages we the one's dedicated to modifications and endorsements in the back. The man wouldn't issue me a visa--despite my vowing it was ok with my government to use those pages in just such a case, that it happens all the time--until he placed a 5$ call to his boss, at my expense. "otherwise, it my mistake." I argued and just gave up after seeing the Africans sitting in the shade and clarifying that the phone would ensure my visa. I got my visa, he got his money and I had to pay another 1$ to get my last remaining unblemished page stamped. You'd think the dolts would realize what they were doing.

Into Cambodia. The potholes and desultory state of the roads you hear is no exageration. Our driver took us through some village on a shortcut dirt road where we needed to dish out immodium to two of our bus mates after two seperate emergency stops, both times me wondering about landmines and the Aussies searching for a modest place to pinch a loaf. We stayed Kampong Cham, a city famous for it's barbecued tarantulas. Sadly, I couldn't find any to sample.

I can't sing the praises of the temples of Angkor loudly enough and description and pictures do nothing for it. I never fully grasped how immense the place was from pictures. After three long, long days of walking around a dozen temples in hot dust, we were ready to leave. The kids hustling the temples are cute and pernicious. Some of my favorite quotes:

kid: buy book for boyfriend
woman: i don't have a boyfriend
kid: becuase you don't buy my book. no money no honey

kid: where you from?
New Zealander: New Zealand
kid: you buy my book?
NZ: no
kid: you give me money?
NZ: no
kid New Zealand bad. hope you fall down temple!

One kid outside a temple near Srah Srang resevoir started his postcard pitch 10 for a dollar, the same ten for a dollar that 573 other kids are passionately trying to get you to buy, and was counting them. I was about to say sarcastically to Traci that wow the kid can count, when he launched into German, then French, the Spanish, then Dutch, and some others I didn't know. Traci asked "how about Korean?" "il, i, sam, sa, o, yuk . . ." was his immediate response. He told us his mother and tourists taught him and asked again to buy his cards. We relented, bought them and some are on they way to Korea and the States now. The random kids speak better English than our most advanced students in Korea do.

Phnom Penh is a city that grew on me despite the way people looked at us as if we were meat on a stick, despite the nastiness of the killing fields and S-21, the dust and noise and begging children trying to get you to buy anything--at the killing fields kids would ask "take a picture of us, 1,2,3 smile?" When you refused they would just start moaning like thirsty zombies in the desert "muhhneeeey . . . muhhneeey" and following you. We heard later that some of these kids will pose with you next to the tree the Khmer Rouge used to smash babies before tossing them into the pit, holding them over it. "They don't care, they just want a dollar," the guy who told us said. I liked it despite the constant attention of cyclo, moto and tuktuk drivers trying reel you in.

Drunk and wandering the streets of the water festival on the Tonple Sap river we sat down to get something to eat and of course some more beer. (This was shortly after my bug eating experience where my courage failed me after eating a cricket the size of my thumb. I did, though, take a deep look into its stirfried eyes for reassurance before biting its head off.) We ordered and three kids walked up to us and just pointed at their mouths. When the rice soup came and we gave it to the children, we immediately drew the ire of the vendors, but the kids ate it all, the little girl even chewing and cooling the food for the infant she carried on her hip.

We got visas, dodgy dodgy visas paperclipped into our passports for Vietnam due to the fact we had no pages left. And they worked! Without even a little bribe. The ride sucked, but who would expect anything less. We had to wait 3 hours to cross the Mekong by ferry where there was no bridge, seems there was an exodus scheduled for that day. But we're back where things are cheap and have two weeks to make it up the coast. Too little time.