I left Singapore, watching the city disappear as I passed overhead in the plane, looking like a replica of a model community made of plastic below me. The perfection of the trees and lakes and buildings below, it’s just fascinating to see in person, Singapore is sterility redefined.
Arriving in Bali, I was excited. Everyone has the most wonderful things to say about Bali and I was eager to experience it for myself. Being the end of my trip, I splurged and checked into the Oberoi on Seminyak Beach, the east coast of the island. It rained much of my time there, but the Balinese style villas and resorts were so peaceful, filled with lily ponds and dark cobblestone walkways throughout the grounds, foot-high torches lighting up the paths at night, service unmatched with suntan lotion and water spritzers refilled hourly at the pool overlooking the beach all day long, ice cream cones of sorbets given at 11:30 AM and 3:30 PM to all guests, ten minute massages in the AM and PM at poolside, as well. It was blissful. And the shopping in Seminyak was insane. The home décor is so colorful and airy, the clothes all authentic Scoop Beach-esque tunics and tank tops, tissue paper skirts and sarongs, beaded flip-flops and necklaces, for a fraction of Scoop prices (needless to say, I did VERY well here in Bali shopping since the rain kept me a slave to the stores), the art post-modern and intriguing. The restaurants along the beach and in the town are divine, the first New York level of food and service yet. And the two Barbie twins at the pool by day, whose bodies folded up perfectly like beach chairs with nary a roll (you know the type), frolicking topless with their perfect tits and asses around a wrinkled and sun-exposed Speedo-ed playboy of, at the very least, 70 years old, had the attention of both staff and guests alike…especially when they sat around Grandpa and caressed each other, then alternatively caressed him. Yeah, the beach side of Bali was great for a few days….
BUT, the real Bali is to be found in Ubud, the interior of the country, an artist community of perfection and culture that absolutely mesmerized me. I could’ve easily stayed in Ubud another week, it was one my favorite places on this trip. I was in love with the people, the landscape, the culture, the little touches of the city and know I will absolutely be coming back to Bali, and spending a lot more time in Ubud when I do.
Ubud is one of those small towns with a ton of charm. The narrow, one-way streets are lined with shops, cafes, art galleries, and villa resorts. Every day, as the town comes to life, small offerings of flowers and incense are placed in doorways, giving the entire town the smell of freshness and flowers. In every shop, in every home, Balinese traditional music plays in the background, a mix of Enya-Enigma type dream music with xylophone and drum beat accents. You almost don’t hear it, and then, when you do, you can’t help but smile – it’s so calming. I checked into a resort where they upgraded my room to a suite (they do this a lot in places where tourism has suffered from either the tsunami or terrorism) that had a verandah which overlooked a rice paddy. Every afternoon, I read on a lounge chair and watched the sunset while the Balinese tended to their paddies below me. Each morning I would either take a drive or a bike ride out of town through the countryside and talk to the people – the Indonesians are the friendliest, warmest people I’ve encountered out here. Their smiles and genuine desire to help you embrace their island is so refreshing, they don’t hawk you (except on the beach side), they don’t beg, they don’t pester, they are just as interested in you, as you are of them, and want to learn simultaneously from the interactions. I talked to so many different types of people, artists, locals, shop owners, holy men, it was amazing. Everyone was approachable and equally interesting.
I indulged in daily Balinese massages, then a run, then took my breakfast, (which I will miss terribly while I’m home for two weeks, the AM spreads) where a couple was on my same schedule EVERY DAY. The British woman of the pair (Cher, a complete clone of Heather Gitlitz) was chatty chatty Cathy, who didn’t shut up from the second she sat down, talking about nonsense to the guy who, I SWEAR, was nodding off during her rants. And the same schtick happened every morning, she would hem and haw over eggs or pancakes, eggs or pancakes, when the waiter would come over to her. “I just dunno today, should I greet the morning with some eggs, or should I allow the pancakes to win out? Hmmm, what do you think?” in her grating British accent. Oh my god….kill myself. She was always done up in some ridiculously formal skirt of a silk or satin, a lacy shirt AND…Tevas. It annoyed the hell out of me. She carried an umbrella for walking in the sun. But, not a pretty little parasol, it was a golf umbrella that could house a small army underneath. Each day, I dreaded getting to the dining area, she killed my tranquility.
But, then, I’d head off onto my day, and forget the bothersome Brit at breakfast. The temples you can find throughout the city and countryside are all gorgeous, and the villages where the Indonesians live were fascinating, each family has it’s own temple, in addition to their living quarters, the tips of which peek from behind the walls of the family compounds. Driving around is a treat, just taking it all in. One of the highlights I was told I had to see was the Monkey Forest, which is a forest of just that, monkeys living in the wild around three Hindu temples. There’s thousands of them and I couldn’t wait to go into the forest. On a trip to Costa Rica a few years back, Ilana and I were a monkey’s plaything (or two) when we found them there, Lukoff hedging off getting rowdy with them, us making fun of her for being apprehensive around the cute little monkeys. Well, Lukoff, you were the wiser. Here’s my Monkey Forest story:
So, I head into Monkey Forest, at the end of aptly named Monkey Forest Road. As you approach, there’s at least 10-15 monkeys hanging around the entrance, waiting for the tourists to feed them bananas. ALL the guidebooks say specifically “Do not feed the monkeys,” and there’s a sign on entry saying the same, but RIGHT UNDER the sign, is a vendor at a little folding table with a sign that reads “Official Monkey Forest Bananas” and is piled high with bunches of about 20 baby bananas. Everyone entering is buying bananas and feeding, taking pictures with and running around with the greeter monkeys. Ok….so, I buy some bananas. If I don’t use them all on the monkeys, I’ll have them for myself to snack on, right? So far, so good. So, I take my bunch, all ready to go play with these cute little guys, like in Costa Rica, I’m a monkey expert. I’m THE monkey girl. As I start giving out the bananas to the monkeys that are jumping on me, climbing up my skirt, sitting on my shoulder, I hand my camera off to a Japanese (maybe Chinese) tourist close by to snap a few pix of me in my monkey glory. A large, hulking monkey approaches. I have two bananas left, one in each hand. I bend down toward him and extend my left hand to him, holding my right a little farther out. He takes the one in my left hand, but reaches for my right hand. WHY I didn’t just it to him, I’m not sure. In my mind, possibly I thought I needed to ration the bananas in an attempt to “be fair” to the other monkeys. What logic is this? They’re monkeys. Well, the monkey didn’t like the logic either, because as he climbed over me to get the other banana that I pulled away again, he FREAKED OUT, and…attacked me. He grabbed my right arm with both hands, and started scratching me, then, biting my arm over and over again, like it was a piece of corn on the cob, jumping up and down all the while, screeching. All of his monkey friends are gathered around watching, clapping, screeching too. All I kept seeing were these little teeth, going into my arm, over and over again. WHAT THE FUCK!?!?! I’m being mauled by a monkey, in Bali, now. Right now. The Japanese (Chinese, maybe) tourists are bugging out, the guards all come running, my arm is scratched open and bloody, and the monkey, both bananas in hand walks off, giving me dirty looks every few minutes as he saunters back into the forest. Calm (why, not sure…?), I walk into the ticket booth, where the staff cleans and dresses my wounds while I ask if the monkeys have diseases. “Like rabies?” you mean, says one monkey forest man. “Sure,” I say, “oh, and like…AIDS.” To which, they say – “no, no, don’t worry, monkeys safe.” So, with a bleeding arm (I cannot be deterred), I re-enter the forest, after getting a refund for my bananas, politely handing them back, and go see the temples. I’m like the walking warning sign for the rest of tourists, different languages being whispered in the ear of the apprehensive partner to the other, as they nod toward my shredded forearm. As if to say, “Look at her, be careful with those bananas, hon.” Quite a day, to say the least. My massages suffered, as my masseuses couldn’t adequately rub my right as vigorously as they rubbed my left arm, and I felt slightly off-kilter after each session, but hey….at least I got all my shots before I left, right. Lesson to all, unison now… DO NOT FEED THE MONKEYS.
At night, I took in different dance ceremonies (there are about 7 different types of Balinese dances performed every night) followed by tasting menus at a variety of local haunts. Balinese dance is an art form, the way they move their bodies, focusing on details like wrist and ankle flicks and rapid (and slightly freaky) eye movements to convey emotions, were mesmerizing. Sure, there were a few too many ants for my liking generally, in Bali, and the heat was overpowering, giving me little water blister rashes when I ran, like in Peru on my Macchu Piccu hike, and obviously, the monkey situation, but overall, Bali was absolutely amazing. A perfect way to wind down my Asia trip.
Now, back to Singapore for another night with Pam and Rich. Then, to Bangkok for a spa day at the Banyan Tree, then one more island to go before I’m home. Can’t wait to see you all. Three months in Asia, while amazing in SO many ways, is a long time. I cannot wait for a fat-ass steak. And a veal chop parm. And a cheeseburger from PJ Clarkes or Melons. Ok, making myself hungry. The consolation – I have pad thai in my future in Bangkok.
xo
Showing posts with label Southeast Asia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Southeast Asia. Show all posts
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Shiny Happy City, Shopping
I know how to shop. This we know. But…
Singapore overwhelmed me. God, did it overwhelm me. I think I’m still recovering from shop shock. And, outside of two beautiful tea sets and a magnet for my dad (he’s charting my route on his garage fridge – for those of you who frequented the Massapequa house/garage, you’re familiar…), I didn’t buy anything. It was just too furious a pace, too frenzied an atmosphere, too wild a spree for, yes…even me.
Singapore is the squeakiest, cleanest city in the world. There rumors are true, well…some of them (they don’t cane you for gum-chewing in public), and the ten-second rule in Singapore is EASILY the ten-minute rule. You can drop ice cream on the floor, let it melt a bit, slop it up with a spoon, and eat it. It’s THAT clean here. It’s mind-boggling. I got to the Singapore airport and immediately had to don my sunglasses. First of all, it’s enormous. But it's also SO bright and shiny and seemingly, new, it’s all glass and chrome and lights and modernity. There’s a spa, a gym, a swimming pool, gardens, hundreds of food courts, and about 200 stores per terminal. There’s Gucci, Prada, Hermes boutiques IN the airport.
I mean….
Finding my way to my friend Pam’s, an old Harper colleauge who lives here with her husband, Rich, the roads are immaculate, landscaped with gardens, flowers, greenery. There is nary a candy wrapper to be seen lying roadside, no roadkill, no postings about apartments for rent, music shows coming to the area, lost children or kittens, just concrete and metal and shrubbery. The cabs smell lemon-fresh, the toll booths are devoid of exhaust residue, the city air is (gasp!) highly breathable. When I arrived at Pam’s apartment complex, Emerald Green, it’s Melrose Place-ian, only nicer. The streets, hilly at points, full of colorful low-rise colonials housing shops and lounges (the whole lounge thing, they’ve got it down pat – everything is Bond Street-esque, it’s great) and cafes, are quaint and inviting. You can hear a pin-drop in Singapore, no one yells, no horns honk, no babies cry. IS THIS REALLY PART OF ASIA?
I spent two days in Singapore, Disney-land for city planners, the wet dream of good government. Part Jetsons, part Chicago, part DC, there’s no traffic, people wait for cabs at stands throughout the city, democratically, PATIENTLY. The gleaming office buildings shine over the Singapore River (I wonder, briefly, how many window washers, garbage men, bathroom attendants, street cleaners, etc… the city employs to keep it so damn sanitary), leading down to Riverside Point, a bit Michigan Avenue lake front, only…yep, you guessed it, cleaner. But, back to the more important stuff. The shopping….
Orchard Road is Sing’s main thoroughfare for shops. It’s like an odyssey of indoor malls with mirrored outsides and formica insides. Floors upon floors of stores, restaurants (all restaurants are in malls, very weird), doctors offices, food courts. And, I’m not talking 4-5 of these malls, there’s HUNDREDS of them. Same stores, over and over again. On both sides of the length of Orchard Road, (and it’s not the length of, like Vanderbilt Ave, it’s more like 2nd Avenue), I probably saw 8-10 Louis Vuittons, 5 Chanels, 5 Dior, 5 Ferregamos. This isn’t your friendly neighborhood Gap kind of shopping (though Gap, Old Navy and Banana are coming to Singapore this fall), this is the real deal, intensified. In addition to the French Connections, the Betsey Johnsons, the Nine Wests (THESE ARE the $$ shoes here...go figure!) the Diesels and Stussys, it’s fast food central, as EVERY mall has a food court. So, you see Starbucks signs on EVERY corner, Burger King next to McDonalds, next to Dairy Queen and Orange Julius. KFC lurks next to Subway, next to the Coffee Beanery and Haagen Daz. It’s consumerism exploded, it’s a nightmare of spending. And, you’d think that because there are so many stores, it wouldn’t be so crowded, right? WRONG. DEAD WRONG. It’s like the Friday after Thanksgiving, Black Friday, I think they call it, EVERY DAY. Asian style. A million tiny Asians, shopping, fiercely pushing, clawing through the racks, buying and charging, and running from mall to mall. Everyone carries a shopping bag, two, four, eight. I, with my measly tea sets and magnet, am appalling to them. I suck at their national pastime. I am a shopping novice in Sing. I bow my head, ashamed at my own failures, and leave Orchard Road (but not before indulging on a DELICIOUS half-BBQ chicken salad chopped at California Pizza Kitchen). Me and my lone bag, defeated.
Spending money gained (for once!!), I head back to Pam’s for a great authentic Chinese meal on a backstreet of Sing’s Chinatown, and then, off to Bali for a final dose of SE Asian culture before returning home to the consumer world I know, love, and can shop oh-so-well . . . NYC.
xoxo
Singapore overwhelmed me. God, did it overwhelm me. I think I’m still recovering from shop shock. And, outside of two beautiful tea sets and a magnet for my dad (he’s charting my route on his garage fridge – for those of you who frequented the Massapequa house/garage, you’re familiar…), I didn’t buy anything. It was just too furious a pace, too frenzied an atmosphere, too wild a spree for, yes…even me.
Singapore is the squeakiest, cleanest city in the world. There rumors are true, well…some of them (they don’t cane you for gum-chewing in public), and the ten-second rule in Singapore is EASILY the ten-minute rule. You can drop ice cream on the floor, let it melt a bit, slop it up with a spoon, and eat it. It’s THAT clean here. It’s mind-boggling. I got to the Singapore airport and immediately had to don my sunglasses. First of all, it’s enormous. But it's also SO bright and shiny and seemingly, new, it’s all glass and chrome and lights and modernity. There’s a spa, a gym, a swimming pool, gardens, hundreds of food courts, and about 200 stores per terminal. There’s Gucci, Prada, Hermes boutiques IN the airport.
I mean….
Finding my way to my friend Pam’s, an old Harper colleauge who lives here with her husband, Rich, the roads are immaculate, landscaped with gardens, flowers, greenery. There is nary a candy wrapper to be seen lying roadside, no roadkill, no postings about apartments for rent, music shows coming to the area, lost children or kittens, just concrete and metal and shrubbery. The cabs smell lemon-fresh, the toll booths are devoid of exhaust residue, the city air is (gasp!) highly breathable. When I arrived at Pam’s apartment complex, Emerald Green, it’s Melrose Place-ian, only nicer. The streets, hilly at points, full of colorful low-rise colonials housing shops and lounges (the whole lounge thing, they’ve got it down pat – everything is Bond Street-esque, it’s great) and cafes, are quaint and inviting. You can hear a pin-drop in Singapore, no one yells, no horns honk, no babies cry. IS THIS REALLY PART OF ASIA?
I spent two days in Singapore, Disney-land for city planners, the wet dream of good government. Part Jetsons, part Chicago, part DC, there’s no traffic, people wait for cabs at stands throughout the city, democratically, PATIENTLY. The gleaming office buildings shine over the Singapore River (I wonder, briefly, how many window washers, garbage men, bathroom attendants, street cleaners, etc… the city employs to keep it so damn sanitary), leading down to Riverside Point, a bit Michigan Avenue lake front, only…yep, you guessed it, cleaner. But, back to the more important stuff. The shopping….
Orchard Road is Sing’s main thoroughfare for shops. It’s like an odyssey of indoor malls with mirrored outsides and formica insides. Floors upon floors of stores, restaurants (all restaurants are in malls, very weird), doctors offices, food courts. And, I’m not talking 4-5 of these malls, there’s HUNDREDS of them. Same stores, over and over again. On both sides of the length of Orchard Road, (and it’s not the length of, like Vanderbilt Ave, it’s more like 2nd Avenue), I probably saw 8-10 Louis Vuittons, 5 Chanels, 5 Dior, 5 Ferregamos. This isn’t your friendly neighborhood Gap kind of shopping (though Gap, Old Navy and Banana are coming to Singapore this fall), this is the real deal, intensified. In addition to the French Connections, the Betsey Johnsons, the Nine Wests (THESE ARE the $$ shoes here...go figure!) the Diesels and Stussys, it’s fast food central, as EVERY mall has a food court. So, you see Starbucks signs on EVERY corner, Burger King next to McDonalds, next to Dairy Queen and Orange Julius. KFC lurks next to Subway, next to the Coffee Beanery and Haagen Daz. It’s consumerism exploded, it’s a nightmare of spending. And, you’d think that because there are so many stores, it wouldn’t be so crowded, right? WRONG. DEAD WRONG. It’s like the Friday after Thanksgiving, Black Friday, I think they call it, EVERY DAY. Asian style. A million tiny Asians, shopping, fiercely pushing, clawing through the racks, buying and charging, and running from mall to mall. Everyone carries a shopping bag, two, four, eight. I, with my measly tea sets and magnet, am appalling to them. I suck at their national pastime. I am a shopping novice in Sing. I bow my head, ashamed at my own failures, and leave Orchard Road (but not before indulging on a DELICIOUS half-BBQ chicken salad chopped at California Pizza Kitchen). Me and my lone bag, defeated.
Spending money gained (for once!!), I head back to Pam’s for a great authentic Chinese meal on a backstreet of Sing’s Chinatown, and then, off to Bali for a final dose of SE Asian culture before returning home to the consumer world I know, love, and can shop oh-so-well . . . NYC.
xoxo
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Goldilocks and the Three Islands
A little book called “The Beach” gave the islands of Thailand a magical aura that wouldn’t subside. Friends who I rendered potentially illiterate read “The Beach.” Possibly, it was due in part to Leonardo di Caprio’s buffed beach physique – his first role post-Titanic, he played Alex Garland’s main character in the movie version - that got them reading. True to my publishing roots, however, I choose to believe it’s all about the book. Regardless, I headed for the Thai islands with stars in my eyes, as nothing was going to tarnish my idea of what the islands should be about: absolutely natural beautiful beaches, relief from travel chaos, fruit-filled meals followed by lazy island sunset cocktails mixed by ex-pat hotties, and the best scuba diving known to man. Some of that vision came from my trips to the islands, some did not. Part of me thinks I’m spoiled, with the beaches of the Caribbean due south, part of me thinks that I held my perfect idea of the islands too close. Either way, I was slightly disappointed. I plan to head to the west coast islands of Phuket and the Similians before I come home, and see that side of things, but for now, my experience is limited to the Gulf of Thailand islands of Koh Tao, Koh Phangan, and Koh Samui.
I arrived from Bangkok to Koh Samui at 9 AM, and had to hang around waiting for a 12:00 Noon ferry to Koh Tao. I asked my hotel (which was providing transfer) if I could take an earlier ferry but the response I got was “Samui airport very nice, you sit in garden, we see you 11 AM to transfer.” Ok – airport hanging. I can handle it. The Samui airport, like the hotel said, is basically one big outdoor garden space, with lots of palm trees, restaurants, shops, massages services and a waiting area for people like me. Patiently, I waited until 11 AM with my book, but, SHOCKER, nobody came for me. So, with the help of two very sweet Thai airline attendants (“you no have transfer?”), I made my way to the Samui pier for the Koh Tao ferry. They had my reservation at the pier, but the help I was promised TO the pier never arrived. The usual reply for mistakes like these is “I sorry, ma’am” with an added blank stare for “now-shut-up” emphasis. Whatever. Why does lack of service even surprise me at this point? After a long ferry, I arrived onto Koh Tao, where me and two Swedes, Peter and his mute wife, were told that we’d be transferred to the hotel when the rest of the people came. An hour later. “Go, walk around Mae Head Town, very nice” was the instruction this time. So, like idiots, we did.
Koh Tao was my favorite. Mae Head Town, where the pier is located, is the “busiest” town of the island, with a 7-11 (they’re on EVERY street corner in mainland Thailand, and seemingly, here too) being the main commercial draw. Other than that, Koh Tao housed a few restaurants, a few travel agencies, a few internet café and a million scuba outfits with guest houses for the divers. As we headed up to Sai Ree Beach, where I was staying, the street lights stopped lighting and the roads got progressively worse, as 75% of the island is without hot water and electricity. It’s all about the diving, all about the purity of the island. The Coral Grand Resort (they use the term “resort” VERY loosely here – any accommodation with a working phone and a massage therapist on the premises might be called a resort) was perfectly fine. Not exactly what I pictured, but exactly what I needed. I had a beach bungalow, hot water, electricity (that shut for 2 hours a day to change generators) a porch that overlooked the ocean, and solitude. To some, it might be a shack, as the bathroom was more Flintstone than Four Seasons (I half expected an elephant trunk to be my “running” water hose), but I was happy to just chill out and take time off from traveling. In Koh Tao, I made a friend on my first (and only) dive day, who hung with me each evening, having dinner and conversation, as he was living there for a 2-month divemaster’s course (he MARVELED at my digs and used me for my hot water). (SEE…to some, my bungalow was even considered indulgent.) I spent my days, well…the first two….on the beach, eating fresh pineapple, papaya and watermelon at mealtimes, staring out into the bluest of waters, surrounded by lush hills of palm trees and rocky valleys of boulders. At sunset, the tide would recede and on the wet sand, the locals would play soccer. Brave westerners would often join for some exercise, slowly realizing that this wasn’t their backyard soccer game and retreat just as gingerly as they came. After sunset, the restaurants along the beach put out pillows and mats for people to lazily lounge on while eating/drinking a bit before heading off to bed. Granted, the lounge chairs were unpadded, the bartenders mixing my sunset cocktails were teeny Thais that I could pocket without struggle, and the diving visibility wasn’t great, but all in all, Tao was bliss. I only got to dive for a day. As previously mentioned, monsoons kicked in and rendered anything besides hanging in the bungalow, reading, do-able. It kinda felt like a rainy camp day, for the bunk loser who had no friends.
When my time to leave Tao arrived, I wasn’t ready. With the rain, I lost 2 full days and wanted to stay longer and dive some more, but I had a reservation on Koh Phangan, the party island, and the Full Moon party – one of the largest parties in the world – fell during my time in Thailand. How could I NOT check it out? So, I begrudgingly got onto the ferry down to Koh Phangan to see what the Full Moon scene was all about.
WRONG MOVE. I arrived in Koh Phangan to a throbbing pier of youngsters, half-clad and hungover, waiting for the boat to ferry them OFF Koh Phangan. When my communal taxi driver dropped off a couple about 50 km and a huge hill AWAY from their hotel, calling it a ride, I knew I was in trouble. 15 minutes later, he tried to drop me in a mud pit in the “center” of town that served as a taxi stand. I balked, pointing to my wheelie. Wherein, we proceeded to have a half Thai-half English discussion/fight about door-to-door transportation (my side) and “Why is bag so big? Everyone else carry on their back! Not MY fault you don’t pack good!!” (his side) So I politely told him to fuck off, then gave him another $1 and get proper service.
My hotel was another disaster. I was “lucky” according to every traveler headed to Full Moon, to have been able to secure lodging. But, I promise, The Drop In “Resort” was no picnic. The elevator was broken, there were ants ALL over the bathroom that kept making their way closer to my bed area, the shower curtain had so much mold on it that when my soap slipped out of my hand it was brown when I picked it up from the briefest encounter with the curtain scum, the pool stereo system pumped 50 Cent and Eminem at 10 AM at full blast, and the staff were pissed at me because, guess what, they sent a car for me to the pier and I didn’t show up. ARE YOU KIDDING?? Then, then show me the sign I was supposed to notice on the crazy Koh Phangan pier. It was an index card, used for 2nd grade multiplication tables, not transfer service signage. I mean…..
So, after checking in, I make my way into town. This isn’t for me. I know immediately. As if my Jazz Fest experience (and those of you who experienced me there) wasn’t a telling sign that mass parties taking place in outdoor spaces that bring out the dregs of society looking for an excuse to get wasted in excess wasn’t enough of a warning that I don’t like these types of events, this was the icing on the cake. Town is packed with people, EVERYWHERE. And town, on a good day, wouldn’t pass for A town. It’s just narrow little lanes of crappy stores and rundown cafes, winding toward the beach, on which, everyone will congregate at a later hour. OK. I breathe, walk, survey the scene.
First thing I notice is everyone is white and speaks English. Second thing I notice, I am easily 5-10 years older than most people here. Third, everyone has dredlocks and a messenger bag of some variety slung over their person. I fit in oh-so-well in my little Marc Jacobs skirt, James Perse wife beater and ivory bangle bracelets. Fully....um, right. The cafes are packed with lifeless bodies strewn around, watching movies and reruns of Friends. Everyone in the cafes is comatose, eyes glued to the Joey pees on Monica episode, or a showing of Lost in Translation. Why vacation to sit in a café doing what you would do on your couch at home? I’m not sure I get it. Ok, I don't. I’m starving, so I sit down at a little Mediterranean café. The one thing that people raved about on Phangan was the Mediterranean food, as tons of Israelis live here. There, I indulged in the best falafel I’ve ever had and watermelon shakes (my first of MANY) and was momentarily happy. Heading back to my ant hole, I felt that sleep would probably serve me for the long night ahead. I was determined to get through Full Moon. Of course, I couldn’t sleep, I was just itchy and buggy and waiting for the rodents that I knew were hiding in the walls to come and get me. I’m really not squeamish, but after seeing a cockroach as big as a small sparrow in the internet café downstairs, I felt like the Drop In houses more insects than people.
Around 9 PM, I made my way onto the beach. What a difference a few hours makes. The carnival had begun, sunset had let loose the creatures of the Full Moon universe. Everywhere you turned, people. Most were in various states of undress, glowing with body paint announcing “Full Moon 2-14” or “Full Moon Party.” Glo - sticks, glo -headbands and glo-glasses were being sold like candy (yes, people were buying them like they were gold), as were roses, shell necklaces, hits of X. mushrooms shakes, marijuana, lollipops, water and, the Thai bucket that so enticed me in Chiang Mai. I decided I wanted a proper place for the action and headed down to one of the many lounge areas set up along the beach (pillows, mats and tables in the middle) and ordered…a beer. I just didn’t have it in me to be any more daring than that. Shortly after I sat, two guys sat next to me and became my protectors for the night. I only remember Steve. The other’s name escapes me, if I ever even knew it. We just took it all in. As we walked down the beach, there were fire throwers, rings of fire for the daring (and drunk) to jump through while a crowd jeered, suspension ladders to climb. There were clubs as far as the eye could see, and as you walked, you hit different decades of music with each new venue. 70’s. 80’s. 90’s. Electronica. Trance. Hip-Hop. Dance. Then, high on a mountain top, away from it all, was Mellow Mountain, playing Reggae and Dead in different rooms. The bodies were pulsating, convulsing to the music, everywhere. Walking around, dancing, drinking, all night – Steve, No-name, and I just wandered and watched. It actually was a blast and when I next looked at my watch it was almost 5 AM. 8 hours had passed!?!?!? So, rather than an awkward goodbye, when Steve and No-name went to the bathroom, I bolted. Happy to be back at my anthole, I drifted off to sleep. And….can you guess? I checked out the next morning.
If Koh Tao was the sleepy island and Koh Phangan the island that never sleeps, Koh Samui is somewhere in between. It’s definitely commercialized a bit, as McDonalds and Starbucks have made their way to Samui, but it was a blessing after my time on Phangan. My hotel was on a gorgeous four room beach bungalow (again, me and my 3 kids were staying for the week….) off an infinity pool that opened onto the beach. I stayed on Lamai Beach, a long stretch of sand with unbelievably warm ocean water. While the beach itself wasn’t gorgeous, the background setting again struck me as beautiful about the islands, keeping me smiling. On Samui, the music at the pool was a mix between Maroon 5 and Marc Cohn, rather than rap, and the nightly BBQs dotted along the sand consisting of fresh-caught fish ranging from Barracuda to Tiger Prawns (as big as 3 lb lobster tails!), were fantastic.
Now, as the rain sets in on the last hours of my last day on Samui, I am ready to get back into hardcore travel (after I indulge in just one more spicy beef salad and pad thai). I’ve been idle for almost 10 days now. Sure, the chocolate of my skin will help me fit right into India where I’m heading in a bit (I can’t tell you how many times people have asked if I’m Indian (or Israeli)) and I’ll miss the daily beach massages BUT…I’m ready to move on. I arrive into Delhi tomorrow AM, where I am meeting my friend Matt who lives there. Then, the Hanfts and I are Taj Mahal-ing thru Agra, and I just found out (thank you, Kim) that Ehrenberg is arriving into India for three weeks of work on March 1st. Who knew life would be peopled with such familiar faces….IN INDIA? For the experiences I KNOW I’m about to have there, I absolutely cannot wait.
More soon…
xoxo
I arrived from Bangkok to Koh Samui at 9 AM, and had to hang around waiting for a 12:00 Noon ferry to Koh Tao. I asked my hotel (which was providing transfer) if I could take an earlier ferry but the response I got was “Samui airport very nice, you sit in garden, we see you 11 AM to transfer.” Ok – airport hanging. I can handle it. The Samui airport, like the hotel said, is basically one big outdoor garden space, with lots of palm trees, restaurants, shops, massages services and a waiting area for people like me. Patiently, I waited until 11 AM with my book, but, SHOCKER, nobody came for me. So, with the help of two very sweet Thai airline attendants (“you no have transfer?”), I made my way to the Samui pier for the Koh Tao ferry. They had my reservation at the pier, but the help I was promised TO the pier never arrived. The usual reply for mistakes like these is “I sorry, ma’am” with an added blank stare for “now-shut-up” emphasis. Whatever. Why does lack of service even surprise me at this point? After a long ferry, I arrived onto Koh Tao, where me and two Swedes, Peter and his mute wife, were told that we’d be transferred to the hotel when the rest of the people came. An hour later. “Go, walk around Mae Head Town, very nice” was the instruction this time. So, like idiots, we did.
Koh Tao was my favorite. Mae Head Town, where the pier is located, is the “busiest” town of the island, with a 7-11 (they’re on EVERY street corner in mainland Thailand, and seemingly, here too) being the main commercial draw. Other than that, Koh Tao housed a few restaurants, a few travel agencies, a few internet café and a million scuba outfits with guest houses for the divers. As we headed up to Sai Ree Beach, where I was staying, the street lights stopped lighting and the roads got progressively worse, as 75% of the island is without hot water and electricity. It’s all about the diving, all about the purity of the island. The Coral Grand Resort (they use the term “resort” VERY loosely here – any accommodation with a working phone and a massage therapist on the premises might be called a resort) was perfectly fine. Not exactly what I pictured, but exactly what I needed. I had a beach bungalow, hot water, electricity (that shut for 2 hours a day to change generators) a porch that overlooked the ocean, and solitude. To some, it might be a shack, as the bathroom was more Flintstone than Four Seasons (I half expected an elephant trunk to be my “running” water hose), but I was happy to just chill out and take time off from traveling. In Koh Tao, I made a friend on my first (and only) dive day, who hung with me each evening, having dinner and conversation, as he was living there for a 2-month divemaster’s course (he MARVELED at my digs and used me for my hot water). (SEE…to some, my bungalow was even considered indulgent.) I spent my days, well…the first two….on the beach, eating fresh pineapple, papaya and watermelon at mealtimes, staring out into the bluest of waters, surrounded by lush hills of palm trees and rocky valleys of boulders. At sunset, the tide would recede and on the wet sand, the locals would play soccer. Brave westerners would often join for some exercise, slowly realizing that this wasn’t their backyard soccer game and retreat just as gingerly as they came. After sunset, the restaurants along the beach put out pillows and mats for people to lazily lounge on while eating/drinking a bit before heading off to bed. Granted, the lounge chairs were unpadded, the bartenders mixing my sunset cocktails were teeny Thais that I could pocket without struggle, and the diving visibility wasn’t great, but all in all, Tao was bliss. I only got to dive for a day. As previously mentioned, monsoons kicked in and rendered anything besides hanging in the bungalow, reading, do-able. It kinda felt like a rainy camp day, for the bunk loser who had no friends.
When my time to leave Tao arrived, I wasn’t ready. With the rain, I lost 2 full days and wanted to stay longer and dive some more, but I had a reservation on Koh Phangan, the party island, and the Full Moon party – one of the largest parties in the world – fell during my time in Thailand. How could I NOT check it out? So, I begrudgingly got onto the ferry down to Koh Phangan to see what the Full Moon scene was all about.
WRONG MOVE. I arrived in Koh Phangan to a throbbing pier of youngsters, half-clad and hungover, waiting for the boat to ferry them OFF Koh Phangan. When my communal taxi driver dropped off a couple about 50 km and a huge hill AWAY from their hotel, calling it a ride, I knew I was in trouble. 15 minutes later, he tried to drop me in a mud pit in the “center” of town that served as a taxi stand. I balked, pointing to my wheelie. Wherein, we proceeded to have a half Thai-half English discussion/fight about door-to-door transportation (my side) and “Why is bag so big? Everyone else carry on their back! Not MY fault you don’t pack good!!” (his side) So I politely told him to fuck off, then gave him another $1 and get proper service.
My hotel was another disaster. I was “lucky” according to every traveler headed to Full Moon, to have been able to secure lodging. But, I promise, The Drop In “Resort” was no picnic. The elevator was broken, there were ants ALL over the bathroom that kept making their way closer to my bed area, the shower curtain had so much mold on it that when my soap slipped out of my hand it was brown when I picked it up from the briefest encounter with the curtain scum, the pool stereo system pumped 50 Cent and Eminem at 10 AM at full blast, and the staff were pissed at me because, guess what, they sent a car for me to the pier and I didn’t show up. ARE YOU KIDDING?? Then, then show me the sign I was supposed to notice on the crazy Koh Phangan pier. It was an index card, used for 2nd grade multiplication tables, not transfer service signage. I mean…..
So, after checking in, I make my way into town. This isn’t for me. I know immediately. As if my Jazz Fest experience (and those of you who experienced me there) wasn’t a telling sign that mass parties taking place in outdoor spaces that bring out the dregs of society looking for an excuse to get wasted in excess wasn’t enough of a warning that I don’t like these types of events, this was the icing on the cake. Town is packed with people, EVERYWHERE. And town, on a good day, wouldn’t pass for A town. It’s just narrow little lanes of crappy stores and rundown cafes, winding toward the beach, on which, everyone will congregate at a later hour. OK. I breathe, walk, survey the scene.
First thing I notice is everyone is white and speaks English. Second thing I notice, I am easily 5-10 years older than most people here. Third, everyone has dredlocks and a messenger bag of some variety slung over their person. I fit in oh-so-well in my little Marc Jacobs skirt, James Perse wife beater and ivory bangle bracelets. Fully....um, right. The cafes are packed with lifeless bodies strewn around, watching movies and reruns of Friends. Everyone in the cafes is comatose, eyes glued to the Joey pees on Monica episode, or a showing of Lost in Translation. Why vacation to sit in a café doing what you would do on your couch at home? I’m not sure I get it. Ok, I don't. I’m starving, so I sit down at a little Mediterranean café. The one thing that people raved about on Phangan was the Mediterranean food, as tons of Israelis live here. There, I indulged in the best falafel I’ve ever had and watermelon shakes (my first of MANY) and was momentarily happy. Heading back to my ant hole, I felt that sleep would probably serve me for the long night ahead. I was determined to get through Full Moon. Of course, I couldn’t sleep, I was just itchy and buggy and waiting for the rodents that I knew were hiding in the walls to come and get me. I’m really not squeamish, but after seeing a cockroach as big as a small sparrow in the internet café downstairs, I felt like the Drop In houses more insects than people.
Around 9 PM, I made my way onto the beach. What a difference a few hours makes. The carnival had begun, sunset had let loose the creatures of the Full Moon universe. Everywhere you turned, people. Most were in various states of undress, glowing with body paint announcing “Full Moon 2-14” or “Full Moon Party.” Glo - sticks, glo -headbands and glo-glasses were being sold like candy (yes, people were buying them like they were gold), as were roses, shell necklaces, hits of X. mushrooms shakes, marijuana, lollipops, water and, the Thai bucket that so enticed me in Chiang Mai. I decided I wanted a proper place for the action and headed down to one of the many lounge areas set up along the beach (pillows, mats and tables in the middle) and ordered…a beer. I just didn’t have it in me to be any more daring than that. Shortly after I sat, two guys sat next to me and became my protectors for the night. I only remember Steve. The other’s name escapes me, if I ever even knew it. We just took it all in. As we walked down the beach, there were fire throwers, rings of fire for the daring (and drunk) to jump through while a crowd jeered, suspension ladders to climb. There were clubs as far as the eye could see, and as you walked, you hit different decades of music with each new venue. 70’s. 80’s. 90’s. Electronica. Trance. Hip-Hop. Dance. Then, high on a mountain top, away from it all, was Mellow Mountain, playing Reggae and Dead in different rooms. The bodies were pulsating, convulsing to the music, everywhere. Walking around, dancing, drinking, all night – Steve, No-name, and I just wandered and watched. It actually was a blast and when I next looked at my watch it was almost 5 AM. 8 hours had passed!?!?!? So, rather than an awkward goodbye, when Steve and No-name went to the bathroom, I bolted. Happy to be back at my anthole, I drifted off to sleep. And….can you guess? I checked out the next morning.
If Koh Tao was the sleepy island and Koh Phangan the island that never sleeps, Koh Samui is somewhere in between. It’s definitely commercialized a bit, as McDonalds and Starbucks have made their way to Samui, but it was a blessing after my time on Phangan. My hotel was on a gorgeous four room beach bungalow (again, me and my 3 kids were staying for the week….) off an infinity pool that opened onto the beach. I stayed on Lamai Beach, a long stretch of sand with unbelievably warm ocean water. While the beach itself wasn’t gorgeous, the background setting again struck me as beautiful about the islands, keeping me smiling. On Samui, the music at the pool was a mix between Maroon 5 and Marc Cohn, rather than rap, and the nightly BBQs dotted along the sand consisting of fresh-caught fish ranging from Barracuda to Tiger Prawns (as big as 3 lb lobster tails!), were fantastic.
Now, as the rain sets in on the last hours of my last day on Samui, I am ready to get back into hardcore travel (after I indulge in just one more spicy beef salad and pad thai). I’ve been idle for almost 10 days now. Sure, the chocolate of my skin will help me fit right into India where I’m heading in a bit (I can’t tell you how many times people have asked if I’m Indian (or Israeli)) and I’ll miss the daily beach massages BUT…I’m ready to move on. I arrive into Delhi tomorrow AM, where I am meeting my friend Matt who lives there. Then, the Hanfts and I are Taj Mahal-ing thru Agra, and I just found out (thank you, Kim) that Ehrenberg is arriving into India for three weeks of work on March 1st. Who knew life would be peopled with such familiar faces….IN INDIA? For the experiences I KNOW I’m about to have there, I absolutely cannot wait.
More soon…
xoxo
Monday, February 13, 2006
You can call me Madam Marie...
The shiny, sleepless city of Bangkok has become my second home. I think it’s fair to say that it’s the second home of most Asia-bound travelers, as all (direct) flights originate in Bangkok. So, after Cambodia, back to Bangkok I went. Upon re-entry into Thailand, I had to switch gears, yet again, acclimating back to the fast, furious pace of city life after the rural poverty of Cambodia. I feel as if I almost subconsciously rebelled against all I saw in Cambodia, setting up shop in a nice hotel, making manicure, pedicure, and massage appointments on arrival. When I realized what I was doing, there was a guilty understanding of it, just how easy it was for me to revert back to the material world, but at the same time, I’m not offering false apologies for it.
Bangkok, this time, would be filled with familiarity. First, Carrie and Mark Pastolove were headed to Thailand on vacation, then my travel “mate” (as he says) Adam was meeting back up before concluding his trip and returning to Melbourne. So, whereas, I was a tourist trying desperately to hit all the Bangkok sights in two days time last trip, I was now merely Marie in Bangkok, making dinner plans and having drinks with friends. Kinda fun…strangely familiar. And, for those who know him, BANGKOK with Mark Pastolove??? Who passes THAT up? Well, I had no idea of the kind of night it was going to be. Hilarious is an understatement.
Mark was VERY EAGER to hit the sex clubs of Patpong. I guess, as a guy, it’s a right of passage to experience those kinds of Bangkok nights. So, to Super Pussy we headed: Mark and his two ladies, out on the town. Immediately we’re accosted by a Thai guy sporting a “menu” of the pingpong show acts that read something like this (there were about 3xs the acts listed on the real “menu”, mind you…):
Pussy use chopsticks
Pussy smoke cigarette
Pussy drink soda
Pussy sewing needles
Pussy razor blades
Pussy paper flowers
Pussy open bottle
Pussy ping pong balls
You get the point.
These little laminated 3x5 cards all with the same Pussy Tricks listed. So, we follow Sex Club Thai Guy into Super Pussy, where he tells us that it’s 100 Baht ($2.50 with a beer included) for the show. Ok, cool. We make our way through a black-lit bar with go-go poles on a raised stage in the middle, our teeth and eyeballs glowing fluorescent like a freshman in the cool-guy-with-the-black-lit-room-in-the-dorms (Hey Cohen, 3rd floor, second from corner room, next to Peter’s…sound familiar…?). On the stage are about 10 stretch-marked, NASTY, fat, Thai women in baby-blue and white striped bikinis that are pulled various ways to expose their body parts – a breast here, a pussy there, an ass cheek there. We’re got a bird’s eye view, front row. We’re Pastoloves! These women are slowly making their way around the bar before the show starts massaging the clients, with staccato motions of NO therapeutic measure. Then, as if they’re really worked a sore muscle in any redeeming way, asking “tip, tip?” Relentlessly. I had a woman tell me “You’re so beautiful…..can I have a tip?” I’m like – for SAYING THAT??? Carrie could mindlessly tell me the same thing, should I truly crave the compliment. I mean – it’s amazing how shameless these women are (besides the obvious professional career choice shamelessness). Anyway, as the massages finish, Carrie pulls out her anti-bacterial gel to clean us all off (…as if the AIR wasn’t laced with disease already….), and we proceed to misinterpret that the massages are just frivolous, nothing to do with the show, and give each of our “therapists” 100 Baht. Schmucks. Right there, all the eyes that were watching us branded us tourist assholes (as if the anti-bacterial didn’t give it away), and from that moment on, we were doomed. The show begins, all the stretch-marked miseries on stage pulling razor strings out of the vags, opening bottle caps (YES, I KID YOU NOT….beer bottles popping right off in the clutches of the Thai nether regions!) with their vags, smoking cigarettes with their vags (is there a such thing as catching “pussy cancer” from smoking with yours? Easily the question on everyone’s minds...) At which point, Mark, disgusted beyond belief at the show, gets told that we have to pay 300 Baht. Remember, we’re the schmucks who gave 100 Baht to the masseuses … and now, we get swindled for 300 Baht each. Mark is protesting. The dirty, nasty, bartender is screaming at us, the bouncers (if you will - they are just beefy pock-marked menacing looking women) behind us barring exit. And Mark is FUMING. Just wild with anger that we’re getting taken advantage of and there are no rules here, etc..etc… In theory, I 100% support him, but you’re in SE Asia, everyone gets taken advantage of a little bit here, no? Yes.
We leave and head to grab a beer. Mark is seething, ranting, giving everyone in his sight the finger. As we walk, we’re seeing stray dogs and silhouettes of rats in the shadows, lady boys with their lady boy lovers strolling down the alleys, street elephants being exploited for cash on the roadways, more ping pong promoters doing their ping pong promoting, and all the while, Mark is bemoaning the state of corruption in Bangkok – ]
“I don’t do well with being taken advantage of."
"Oh my fucking god, I just need to go back to my nice hotel, where they say “How are you Mr. Pastolove? Good evening, Mr. Pastolove. Now!!"
"If I were with my friends, it might be different, but I’m with you ladies.”
Carrie and I were peeing in our pants all the while, at Mark’s rile, Mark’s fury, quiet in the knowledge, that we “ladies” had a better Bangkok stomach than our protective man. ;) A night, as I predicted, I will NEVER forget.
After leaving Mark and Carrie to the tamer Chiang Mai, I spent a day running to the sights that I didn’t get to see last time around, and of course, hitting Ko San Road for a little more eye-candy and street vendor pad thai. Getting back to my hotel, ready for a relaxing night, I get online only to realize that relaxing is just not in my Bangkok future. Someone stole my debit card #s and was running around NYC (of all places?!?!?!) hell bent on buying sporting equipment. Modells, Sports Authority, eating (likely picking up the tab, given the bill size…) at a place called Jimmy Jazz (Anyone know it? What’s it like?). Therein, I spent my night on the phone with Chase, tracking all the charges, reissuing a new card to my sister to send to my friend Matt in India (my next stop), canceling accounts that draw from the old #s. I mean…..never a dull moment for me. Even in Asia. NEVER.
Then, since I’m seemingly the madam of Bangkok, Adam arrived, sheepishly wanting to go to the strip clubs, as he hadn’t been on his past visit here, so….back I went. I should charge for my strip club tour services. This time, we found a more legit (ha) place than Super Pussy, lasted the whole show, didn’t get ripped off, and spent the night without incident. Thought, if I never see another Pussy Ping Pong Show again in my life, I’ll be JUST FINE. Promise.
I am now on Koh Tao, the northernmost of the Thai islands located in the Gulf of Thailand. It’s absolutely beautiful here, I finished a book, and am processing all I’ve seen/done in the last 5 weeks, been diving a few times, and feel great. Unluckily, we seem to have caught a monsoon’s wrath for the past two days, rendering me pretty useless being that the island is very primitive, 90% of it lacking 24-hour electricity and hot water. I’m pretty much stuck in my beachfront cottage, listening to the sound of rain beat on my roof while I write and read the hours away.
Am I REALLY complaining? Yeah….not so much.
More soon.
xoxoxo
Bangkok, this time, would be filled with familiarity. First, Carrie and Mark Pastolove were headed to Thailand on vacation, then my travel “mate” (as he says) Adam was meeting back up before concluding his trip and returning to Melbourne. So, whereas, I was a tourist trying desperately to hit all the Bangkok sights in two days time last trip, I was now merely Marie in Bangkok, making dinner plans and having drinks with friends. Kinda fun…strangely familiar. And, for those who know him, BANGKOK with Mark Pastolove??? Who passes THAT up? Well, I had no idea of the kind of night it was going to be. Hilarious is an understatement.
Mark was VERY EAGER to hit the sex clubs of Patpong. I guess, as a guy, it’s a right of passage to experience those kinds of Bangkok nights. So, to Super Pussy we headed: Mark and his two ladies, out on the town. Immediately we’re accosted by a Thai guy sporting a “menu” of the pingpong show acts that read something like this (there were about 3xs the acts listed on the real “menu”, mind you…):
Pussy use chopsticks
Pussy smoke cigarette
Pussy drink soda
Pussy sewing needles
Pussy razor blades
Pussy paper flowers
Pussy open bottle
Pussy ping pong balls
You get the point.
These little laminated 3x5 cards all with the same Pussy Tricks listed. So, we follow Sex Club Thai Guy into Super Pussy, where he tells us that it’s 100 Baht ($2.50 with a beer included) for the show. Ok, cool. We make our way through a black-lit bar with go-go poles on a raised stage in the middle, our teeth and eyeballs glowing fluorescent like a freshman in the cool-guy-with-the-black-lit-room-in-the-dorms (Hey Cohen, 3rd floor, second from corner room, next to Peter’s…sound familiar…?). On the stage are about 10 stretch-marked, NASTY, fat, Thai women in baby-blue and white striped bikinis that are pulled various ways to expose their body parts – a breast here, a pussy there, an ass cheek there. We’re got a bird’s eye view, front row. We’re Pastoloves! These women are slowly making their way around the bar before the show starts massaging the clients, with staccato motions of NO therapeutic measure. Then, as if they’re really worked a sore muscle in any redeeming way, asking “tip, tip?” Relentlessly. I had a woman tell me “You’re so beautiful…..can I have a tip?” I’m like – for SAYING THAT??? Carrie could mindlessly tell me the same thing, should I truly crave the compliment. I mean – it’s amazing how shameless these women are (besides the obvious professional career choice shamelessness). Anyway, as the massages finish, Carrie pulls out her anti-bacterial gel to clean us all off (…as if the AIR wasn’t laced with disease already….), and we proceed to misinterpret that the massages are just frivolous, nothing to do with the show, and give each of our “therapists” 100 Baht. Schmucks. Right there, all the eyes that were watching us branded us tourist assholes (as if the anti-bacterial didn’t give it away), and from that moment on, we were doomed. The show begins, all the stretch-marked miseries on stage pulling razor strings out of the vags, opening bottle caps (YES, I KID YOU NOT….beer bottles popping right off in the clutches of the Thai nether regions!) with their vags, smoking cigarettes with their vags (is there a such thing as catching “pussy cancer” from smoking with yours? Easily the question on everyone’s minds...) At which point, Mark, disgusted beyond belief at the show, gets told that we have to pay 300 Baht. Remember, we’re the schmucks who gave 100 Baht to the masseuses … and now, we get swindled for 300 Baht each. Mark is protesting. The dirty, nasty, bartender is screaming at us, the bouncers (if you will - they are just beefy pock-marked menacing looking women) behind us barring exit. And Mark is FUMING. Just wild with anger that we’re getting taken advantage of and there are no rules here, etc..etc… In theory, I 100% support him, but you’re in SE Asia, everyone gets taken advantage of a little bit here, no? Yes.
We leave and head to grab a beer. Mark is seething, ranting, giving everyone in his sight the finger. As we walk, we’re seeing stray dogs and silhouettes of rats in the shadows, lady boys with their lady boy lovers strolling down the alleys, street elephants being exploited for cash on the roadways, more ping pong promoters doing their ping pong promoting, and all the while, Mark is bemoaning the state of corruption in Bangkok – ]
“I don’t do well with being taken advantage of."
"Oh my fucking god, I just need to go back to my nice hotel, where they say “How are you Mr. Pastolove? Good evening, Mr. Pastolove. Now!!"
"If I were with my friends, it might be different, but I’m with you ladies.”
Carrie and I were peeing in our pants all the while, at Mark’s rile, Mark’s fury, quiet in the knowledge, that we “ladies” had a better Bangkok stomach than our protective man. ;) A night, as I predicted, I will NEVER forget.
After leaving Mark and Carrie to the tamer Chiang Mai, I spent a day running to the sights that I didn’t get to see last time around, and of course, hitting Ko San Road for a little more eye-candy and street vendor pad thai. Getting back to my hotel, ready for a relaxing night, I get online only to realize that relaxing is just not in my Bangkok future. Someone stole my debit card #s and was running around NYC (of all places?!?!?!) hell bent on buying sporting equipment. Modells, Sports Authority, eating (likely picking up the tab, given the bill size…) at a place called Jimmy Jazz (Anyone know it? What’s it like?). Therein, I spent my night on the phone with Chase, tracking all the charges, reissuing a new card to my sister to send to my friend Matt in India (my next stop), canceling accounts that draw from the old #s. I mean…..never a dull moment for me. Even in Asia. NEVER.
Then, since I’m seemingly the madam of Bangkok, Adam arrived, sheepishly wanting to go to the strip clubs, as he hadn’t been on his past visit here, so….back I went. I should charge for my strip club tour services. This time, we found a more legit (ha) place than Super Pussy, lasted the whole show, didn’t get ripped off, and spent the night without incident. Thought, if I never see another Pussy Ping Pong Show again in my life, I’ll be JUST FINE. Promise.
I am now on Koh Tao, the northernmost of the Thai islands located in the Gulf of Thailand. It’s absolutely beautiful here, I finished a book, and am processing all I’ve seen/done in the last 5 weeks, been diving a few times, and feel great. Unluckily, we seem to have caught a monsoon’s wrath for the past two days, rendering me pretty useless being that the island is very primitive, 90% of it lacking 24-hour electricity and hot water. I’m pretty much stuck in my beachfront cottage, listening to the sound of rain beat on my roof while I write and read the hours away.
Am I REALLY complaining? Yeah….not so much.
More soon.
xoxoxo
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Cambodia
The New York Times published a travel piece about a week or so ago called “Why is everyone going to Cambodia?” (or similar…) I wound up reading it out here and found myself enormously pissed after doing so. It basically is a piece about how all of these luxury resorts are springing up in these far-flung destinations, and how people are going to these places and having a Mercedes-Benz driven, 5-star restaurant meal eating, in-house tour-desk-planned “vacation” in these countries. And, glorified that.
Now, I’m 100% all about the 5-star, as we all are aware. Hell, I’ve stayed in about 5 of the “resorts” in Asia the piece mentions. But, it’s such a shame that people aren’t at those hotels SLEEPING only. They need to be out IN the country, experiencing everything it has to offer, outside of the 5-star to really get a sense of it. And, I felt the writer didn’t get a remote sense of the situation in Cambodia. It’s dire, it’s devastating and it affected me like no other place I’ve been yet. I have the utmost respect for people like Angelina Jolie and the light she’s trying to shed on places like Cambodia, for how she’s spending her time and her money, after seeing this (I’m dead serious…). Cambodia will never leave me, what I saw there, smelled there, experienced there, is probably indescribable in words. I’m still reeling from the 5 days I spent there. I traveled with a friend from Toronto, Nick. And, if I didn’t have him to share some of these experiences with, some of these moments, some of these emotions, I don’t know that I’d still be in SEAsia. Cambodia rocked my world, I’m not sure if it did so in a good or bad way, even. I’m still processing. I think I’ll be digesting Cambodia for a long time.
Part of the difference, for me, of this trip compared with South America, is how much I’ve seen in the last month. I feel like I need a vacation from my travels, just to sit and think about, remember, recapture all the things that are floating around in my head about each distinctly different country. South America shares language and culture, it was semi-easy to navigate that continent and process continually. Here, every country here has their own language, their own culture, their own rules, SO MUCH painful history, and to keep going, to keep seeing, and keep experiencing has been a challenge everyday. And, Cambodia just added to that feeling of exhaustion trying to keep up.
Cambodia is an INTENSE country, especially after the slow-paced, peaceful Laos. There's been so much atrocity and war here from the Khmer Rouge regime of the 70's that they're JUST starting to straighten their country out (one of the poorest in the world with the most illiteracy and crime, not to mention 60% of the country is under age 20 b/c many of their parents were slaughtered during the Khmer Rouge's genocide). Cambodia is still corrupt. They’re just starting to see the tourist dollar and they exploit that to no end. The cops, the kids, the tourist attractions all suck you dry. You turn around and you’ve spent $25 in five minutes. And, you can’t help but do so, b/c the alternative to NOT doing so is sketchy. You really don’t know where you’ll wind up if you don’t do what they say, what they ask. I spent more in Cambodia in 5 days, than I did in almost 20 in Vietnam. Because I’m a tourist and, in Cambodia, tourists pay for that luxury.
The streets of Siem Reap are chaos. There construction everywhere, streets half open, open sewers line the streets that, by night, are sanded over with café tables and chairs on which you eat your dinner (!!). The SAME place that 5 hours earlier was an open undrained sewer with floating feces and debris in plain sight. Kids are ALL over the streets (only 20% actually GO to school), beautiful (and I mean, BEAUTIFUL), smiling filthy children wearing shirts that they probably haven’t taken off in months. And those are the lucky kids. Half of the children on the streets of Cambodia don’t HAVE shirts, or pants. They beg in a way that I haven’t seen yet. They beg in a way I’ve only seen in National Geographic magazines and Discovery Channel specials. They just stare, stand and sear through you with their eyes as they put out their hands and say how hungry they are. Children of 4 carry newborns of 4 months in slings under their arms for sympathy. Girls of 14 are pregnant, mothers of 7 sit idly on the sidewalk watching their brood surround you. You want to give money to all of them, but you can’t give to any, there’s just TOO many eyes watching you open that wallet and then, you’re pounced upon. And, if you don’t give them money, they turn nasty, giving you the finger or shouting “Fuck you!” and spitting at your feet.
On the first night, my friend Nick and I were sitting in a streetside café. We saw the most adorable girl and boy, probably about 5 years old each. As we passed, the boy just started holding Nick’s hand as we were harassed by a tuk-tuk driver that I didn’t re-use for a ride I took earlier in the day (blah blah…). It was the sweetest thing, this little guy, just holding Nick’s big hand. Not asking for money, not talking, just holding onto him. So…we brought the boy and girl back to our table with us at the café, and after taking many pictures (THEY took them – they love seeing themselves on the digital cameras), we ordered them French fries. The duo are just hanging on us and clinging to us, hugging and kissing us, and then, the french fries come and like, literally ALL of Cambodia came out to eat them, kids ages 2-12, clawing at the plates, hitting each other, yelling for the fries. It was just anarchy and sensory overload. I took pix, but they look like cute kids eating French fries. But it was not as simple as that, those pix CANNOT convey the absolute scene that we created.
As if that wasn’t enough, watching nearby was this PREGNANT mother nursing a blind, 1 year old, with no pants on. After begging another woman for a milk box that she squeezed into a bottle, dripping half on herself and the baby, she started trying to talk to us, sitting on the ground by our table. While she’s talking, the baby starts urinating all over here, while she was just watching us feed the kids and begging us for money, talking to me. SHE DIDN’T FLINCH. Then, when we wouldn’t give her money, she got up, dress SOAKED in urine and walked away. Meanwhile, we saw her the next two days in the same dress, same baby, same scenario. As I said, VERY intense. Nick and I were speechless.
I felt that I had to see more than just the temples in Siem Reap after experiencing so much on the streets, so I took a ride to the Tonle Sap Lake, the biggest in SEAsia, on the outskirts of Siem Reap. There are floating villages there, the rural life of the Cambodians that make up most of the population of the country. The definition of hut changed drastically the closer I got to the lake. The Cambodians living in one-floor bamboo thatched houses, as big as a bathroom in a Manhattan apartment. 7-8-9 people under each roof, caving in, reeking of defecation and urine. Unclothed, unfed children and adults wandering the streets, navigating barefoot on sharp rocks and waste. The huts, if you can even call them that, went on for miles, bordered on both sides by canals of muddy, garbage-filled water that people were bathing in, couples delousing each other’s heads in the shadows of the sunset. Some Japanese and Korean tourists shoving cameras in their faces as they laugh and gleefully smile – HOW? How do they smile in their plight and how do the fucking tourists feel they have a right to take photos of this, THIS? I watched the sunset on the lake, miles away from the poverty – beautiful, sure. But, in my tuk-tuk back into town, under the cover of darkness, I cried my way home. I couldn’t stop. I just couldn’t handle how this country, so wonderful in so many ways, survives.
I know this blog is a lot…. Angkor Wat was one of the most amazing places I’ve ever seen, a manmade wonder of the world, and I’ll write about it next, but the real Cambodia, not the tourist trimmings, just overwhelmed me in a way I didn’t expect. I don’t think anyone would expect. And, if the New York Times writer REALLY got out there, he would’ve expected either.
More soon…
~M
Now, I’m 100% all about the 5-star, as we all are aware. Hell, I’ve stayed in about 5 of the “resorts” in Asia the piece mentions. But, it’s such a shame that people aren’t at those hotels SLEEPING only. They need to be out IN the country, experiencing everything it has to offer, outside of the 5-star to really get a sense of it. And, I felt the writer didn’t get a remote sense of the situation in Cambodia. It’s dire, it’s devastating and it affected me like no other place I’ve been yet. I have the utmost respect for people like Angelina Jolie and the light she’s trying to shed on places like Cambodia, for how she’s spending her time and her money, after seeing this (I’m dead serious…). Cambodia will never leave me, what I saw there, smelled there, experienced there, is probably indescribable in words. I’m still reeling from the 5 days I spent there. I traveled with a friend from Toronto, Nick. And, if I didn’t have him to share some of these experiences with, some of these moments, some of these emotions, I don’t know that I’d still be in SEAsia. Cambodia rocked my world, I’m not sure if it did so in a good or bad way, even. I’m still processing. I think I’ll be digesting Cambodia for a long time.
Part of the difference, for me, of this trip compared with South America, is how much I’ve seen in the last month. I feel like I need a vacation from my travels, just to sit and think about, remember, recapture all the things that are floating around in my head about each distinctly different country. South America shares language and culture, it was semi-easy to navigate that continent and process continually. Here, every country here has their own language, their own culture, their own rules, SO MUCH painful history, and to keep going, to keep seeing, and keep experiencing has been a challenge everyday. And, Cambodia just added to that feeling of exhaustion trying to keep up.
Cambodia is an INTENSE country, especially after the slow-paced, peaceful Laos. There's been so much atrocity and war here from the Khmer Rouge regime of the 70's that they're JUST starting to straighten their country out (one of the poorest in the world with the most illiteracy and crime, not to mention 60% of the country is under age 20 b/c many of their parents were slaughtered during the Khmer Rouge's genocide). Cambodia is still corrupt. They’re just starting to see the tourist dollar and they exploit that to no end. The cops, the kids, the tourist attractions all suck you dry. You turn around and you’ve spent $25 in five minutes. And, you can’t help but do so, b/c the alternative to NOT doing so is sketchy. You really don’t know where you’ll wind up if you don’t do what they say, what they ask. I spent more in Cambodia in 5 days, than I did in almost 20 in Vietnam. Because I’m a tourist and, in Cambodia, tourists pay for that luxury.
The streets of Siem Reap are chaos. There construction everywhere, streets half open, open sewers line the streets that, by night, are sanded over with café tables and chairs on which you eat your dinner (!!). The SAME place that 5 hours earlier was an open undrained sewer with floating feces and debris in plain sight. Kids are ALL over the streets (only 20% actually GO to school), beautiful (and I mean, BEAUTIFUL), smiling filthy children wearing shirts that they probably haven’t taken off in months. And those are the lucky kids. Half of the children on the streets of Cambodia don’t HAVE shirts, or pants. They beg in a way that I haven’t seen yet. They beg in a way I’ve only seen in National Geographic magazines and Discovery Channel specials. They just stare, stand and sear through you with their eyes as they put out their hands and say how hungry they are. Children of 4 carry newborns of 4 months in slings under their arms for sympathy. Girls of 14 are pregnant, mothers of 7 sit idly on the sidewalk watching their brood surround you. You want to give money to all of them, but you can’t give to any, there’s just TOO many eyes watching you open that wallet and then, you’re pounced upon. And, if you don’t give them money, they turn nasty, giving you the finger or shouting “Fuck you!” and spitting at your feet.
On the first night, my friend Nick and I were sitting in a streetside café. We saw the most adorable girl and boy, probably about 5 years old each. As we passed, the boy just started holding Nick’s hand as we were harassed by a tuk-tuk driver that I didn’t re-use for a ride I took earlier in the day (blah blah…). It was the sweetest thing, this little guy, just holding Nick’s big hand. Not asking for money, not talking, just holding onto him. So…we brought the boy and girl back to our table with us at the café, and after taking many pictures (THEY took them – they love seeing themselves on the digital cameras), we ordered them French fries. The duo are just hanging on us and clinging to us, hugging and kissing us, and then, the french fries come and like, literally ALL of Cambodia came out to eat them, kids ages 2-12, clawing at the plates, hitting each other, yelling for the fries. It was just anarchy and sensory overload. I took pix, but they look like cute kids eating French fries. But it was not as simple as that, those pix CANNOT convey the absolute scene that we created.
As if that wasn’t enough, watching nearby was this PREGNANT mother nursing a blind, 1 year old, with no pants on. After begging another woman for a milk box that she squeezed into a bottle, dripping half on herself and the baby, she started trying to talk to us, sitting on the ground by our table. While she’s talking, the baby starts urinating all over here, while she was just watching us feed the kids and begging us for money, talking to me. SHE DIDN’T FLINCH. Then, when we wouldn’t give her money, she got up, dress SOAKED in urine and walked away. Meanwhile, we saw her the next two days in the same dress, same baby, same scenario. As I said, VERY intense. Nick and I were speechless.
I felt that I had to see more than just the temples in Siem Reap after experiencing so much on the streets, so I took a ride to the Tonle Sap Lake, the biggest in SEAsia, on the outskirts of Siem Reap. There are floating villages there, the rural life of the Cambodians that make up most of the population of the country. The definition of hut changed drastically the closer I got to the lake. The Cambodians living in one-floor bamboo thatched houses, as big as a bathroom in a Manhattan apartment. 7-8-9 people under each roof, caving in, reeking of defecation and urine. Unclothed, unfed children and adults wandering the streets, navigating barefoot on sharp rocks and waste. The huts, if you can even call them that, went on for miles, bordered on both sides by canals of muddy, garbage-filled water that people were bathing in, couples delousing each other’s heads in the shadows of the sunset. Some Japanese and Korean tourists shoving cameras in their faces as they laugh and gleefully smile – HOW? How do they smile in their plight and how do the fucking tourists feel they have a right to take photos of this, THIS? I watched the sunset on the lake, miles away from the poverty – beautiful, sure. But, in my tuk-tuk back into town, under the cover of darkness, I cried my way home. I couldn’t stop. I just couldn’t handle how this country, so wonderful in so many ways, survives.
I know this blog is a lot…. Angkor Wat was one of the most amazing places I’ve ever seen, a manmade wonder of the world, and I’ll write about it next, but the real Cambodia, not the tourist trimmings, just overwhelmed me in a way I didn’t expect. I don’t think anyone would expect. And, if the New York Times writer REALLY got out there, he would’ve expected either.
More soon…
~M
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Biking Laos
Luang Prabang is giving Hoi An a run for it’s money as my favorite city thus far. There’s a tranquility and peacefulness here, a pace of relaxation that envelops you the second you land in this quaint little town and doesn’t let go, even after you leave. I’m in Vientiane right now, and on a larger scale, Laos, as a country is awesome, there’s a Zen charm to it, an authenticity of place. If I had the time, I’d stay in this country for a few weeks (or months).
Luang Prabang sits right on the Mekong River, and every night at sunset you could find me at one of the many riverside cafés, a BeerLao and my journal in hand, watching the amazing sight in front of me. I spent four nights in LP, and all four of those sunsets were fantastic. My days were filled with lazy bike rides through the town – which is really comprised of two main streets, one bordering the Mekong, the other a boulevard, if you will, of open-air restaurants, internet cafes, silk and wood shops and tour companies. In between ran little alleys lined with guest houses and lodging for the many tourists that come to Luang Prabang, another UNESCO World Heritage site that’s having it’s tourist hey day (which detracts a little from the experience, but not TOO much). The Laotians are the kindest, gentlest people I’ve met yet. They all smile as you go by, saying “Sabaidee!” which is a greeting in Lao or “Hello Miss!” with these huge grins on their faces. I’ve been to so many poverty striken places at this point and it NEVER ceases to amaze me how happy these people are, regardless of their lot in life. It’s so refreshing. Sabaidee! (I’m such a loser…)
I arrived to my guest house, Le Calao Inn, in the early morning to be shown to the only room they had left, a super-large, super-luxe family suite on the downstairs level. Right, me and my three kids are staying here, did I mention? PERFECT. Three beds, a foyer, an outdoor patio as big as my apartment in Manhattan overlooking the river – why argue? “I’ll take it!” From there, I went to explore the town. Being past dark on the night of my arrival, I merely walked thru the Restaurant Boulevard, I’ll call it (since Laos has been occupied by the French, the Burmese, and the Thais, depending on who you ask the streets all have different pronunciations. Maps – depending on the client they’re catering to – Asian, European, American -- all have different spellings so “Restaurant Blvd” is just easier) and into the Night Market, which is basically the sidewalks of the main street, on both sides, lined with vendors selling silks, paper lamps, silver and wood trinkets, CDs, BeerLao t-shirts (yes, I bought one), and other assorted souvenirs of Laos time. The city, being small and devoutly pious, shuts down at around 11:30 PM – LATEST – and the only place to go is the Laos disco, a $.50 tuk-tuk ride outside of town. At dinner my first night, I met a group of six people, who had all met the night before – Swedes, Danish, Brits and Canadians. I added American into the mix. We, obviously, headed to the disco, anyone looking in from the outside would think we’d know each other for years…
My next days in LP were spent seeing the various wats (I must confess, I’m getting “watted out” at a ferocious speed…there’s just TOO DAMN MANY WATS over here in Asia), hiked Mount Phousi in the middle of town, toured the Royal Palace, and got a Lao massage (not as good as Thai massage). Everywhere you go in Laos (as in the temples in other cities), you have to take your shoes off to enter. I always worry about coming out to stolen flip-flops, as someone I met in Hoi An was wearing the nappy shoes of a stranger (the only “choice” in his size), after his were swiped while inside a wat. How un-Buddhist, right? Meanwhile, since you have to take off your shoes everywhere, I’ve noticed that I have freakin’ gorgeous feet, comparatively. I know you’ve all made fun of my potato-toes, but lemme tell you – these Asians are funghi-friendly folk when it comes to toenail cleanliness. I cannot tell you how many nasty ass feet reign supreme here in the Far East, tap dancing through the temples. And it makes me and my potatoes feel just gorge…sans pedicure and all.
Of course, the other thing that stays with you about Laos is the monks. 60-80% of Laotians are practicing Buddhists and any faithful male Buddhist must serve as a monk to complete his duty to the Buddha. But, the monks in LP are different than in other places, they are so friendly and talkative and just looking to learn from you, as you learn from them. You sit and shoot the shit with them at any hour of the day. The LP monks have to serve six years in a monastery, (continuing after that is their choice) living in the wats and off the generosity of the town. So, every morning at 7 AM, the 500 monks, who only eat one meal a day, at noon, make their daily alms, collecting food from the people that they will eat for their meal. They cannot buy food, it must be given to them. So, at dawn, you see the barefoot, orange-clothed monks each day, being handed rice, cakes, food, for the day’s meal. It’s one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. A parade of men, living off the kindness of others, every day. It blew me away.
One of the attractions of LP is also the waterfalls that are about 25 miles out of town. Everyone in LP rides bikes around the area, so on day three, I took my rented bike to get in some exercise, y’know – feel productive. So, about 30 minutes into my bike ride, I see a sign that says “waterfalls” (or some Lao variation) and decide I’m going to take my pink bike with basket up to the ‘falls. How hard (or far) can it be…? About an hour later, without any water, roadsigns or paved roads, I sweat through my first village where I say “Oh, I’m FINE” and continue past the huts of the Laotians without buying a bottle of water. Who I was proving what to, I’m not sure…. About another 30 minutes later, I smell and drip my way into village number two, stop for water, where the ladies of the village start cooling me with makeshift fans and admonishing me in Lao amongst themselves. I’m sure they were saying things like “You fool of a girl – nobody basket-bikes to the falls!” And, they would be correct in that I hadn’t seen one other BIKER along the way. After my water-break the ladies help me get the bike back to pedal-position (it had a weird kickstand that seemingly confused me) and send me off with a whole lot of “Tsks, Tsks” as I went. At this point, I pass two or three tuk-tuks carrying foreigners, with flat tires (!!), on the sides of the roads. People yelling and asking me if I was crazy in English. I’m dirty as hell, the trucks that pass me on the unpaved are kicking mountains of dust and gravel into my face, nevermind the lack of proper exhaust systems they drive with over here. My contacts are dry as the desert, my knees are cramping, I’ve finished my water, there’s no new town in site, I can’t read the Lao street signs that are telling me (possibly) how far I have left to go, the tuk-tuks are all breaking down and I might as well have showered in the Mekong to my right, I’m so damn mud-drenched. Two hours – time to turn around. And bike home. I still feel semi-satisfied at my efforts.
The next day, curious to see both the falls and how far I got on my ride, I hire a tuk-tuk to take me there. The same ladies that fanned me and giggled at my idiotic attempts wave as I pass, beaming like the Laos just do. I am QUITE proud to say that I probably went ¾ of the way, the last part being all uphill at an impossible angle. At this point, I’m feeling that Lance Armstrong couldn’t complete the trip. So, I get there, and after seeing waterfalls that had beautiful aqua blue water (but urination-strength volumes of actual “falls”) I start to head home and am flagged down by a 65 year old, 200 pound, New Zealand woman . . . . . .
Yeah – SHE biked all the way to the falls. Was looking for a ride back.
I’ve decided I’m sticking to beers and sunsets. ;)
Xoxo
Luang Prabang sits right on the Mekong River, and every night at sunset you could find me at one of the many riverside cafés, a BeerLao and my journal in hand, watching the amazing sight in front of me. I spent four nights in LP, and all four of those sunsets were fantastic. My days were filled with lazy bike rides through the town – which is really comprised of two main streets, one bordering the Mekong, the other a boulevard, if you will, of open-air restaurants, internet cafes, silk and wood shops and tour companies. In between ran little alleys lined with guest houses and lodging for the many tourists that come to Luang Prabang, another UNESCO World Heritage site that’s having it’s tourist hey day (which detracts a little from the experience, but not TOO much). The Laotians are the kindest, gentlest people I’ve met yet. They all smile as you go by, saying “Sabaidee!” which is a greeting in Lao or “Hello Miss!” with these huge grins on their faces. I’ve been to so many poverty striken places at this point and it NEVER ceases to amaze me how happy these people are, regardless of their lot in life. It’s so refreshing. Sabaidee! (I’m such a loser…)
I arrived to my guest house, Le Calao Inn, in the early morning to be shown to the only room they had left, a super-large, super-luxe family suite on the downstairs level. Right, me and my three kids are staying here, did I mention? PERFECT. Three beds, a foyer, an outdoor patio as big as my apartment in Manhattan overlooking the river – why argue? “I’ll take it!” From there, I went to explore the town. Being past dark on the night of my arrival, I merely walked thru the Restaurant Boulevard, I’ll call it (since Laos has been occupied by the French, the Burmese, and the Thais, depending on who you ask the streets all have different pronunciations. Maps – depending on the client they’re catering to – Asian, European, American -- all have different spellings so “Restaurant Blvd” is just easier) and into the Night Market, which is basically the sidewalks of the main street, on both sides, lined with vendors selling silks, paper lamps, silver and wood trinkets, CDs, BeerLao t-shirts (yes, I bought one), and other assorted souvenirs of Laos time. The city, being small and devoutly pious, shuts down at around 11:30 PM – LATEST – and the only place to go is the Laos disco, a $.50 tuk-tuk ride outside of town. At dinner my first night, I met a group of six people, who had all met the night before – Swedes, Danish, Brits and Canadians. I added American into the mix. We, obviously, headed to the disco, anyone looking in from the outside would think we’d know each other for years…
My next days in LP were spent seeing the various wats (I must confess, I’m getting “watted out” at a ferocious speed…there’s just TOO DAMN MANY WATS over here in Asia), hiked Mount Phousi in the middle of town, toured the Royal Palace, and got a Lao massage (not as good as Thai massage). Everywhere you go in Laos (as in the temples in other cities), you have to take your shoes off to enter. I always worry about coming out to stolen flip-flops, as someone I met in Hoi An was wearing the nappy shoes of a stranger (the only “choice” in his size), after his were swiped while inside a wat. How un-Buddhist, right? Meanwhile, since you have to take off your shoes everywhere, I’ve noticed that I have freakin’ gorgeous feet, comparatively. I know you’ve all made fun of my potato-toes, but lemme tell you – these Asians are funghi-friendly folk when it comes to toenail cleanliness. I cannot tell you how many nasty ass feet reign supreme here in the Far East, tap dancing through the temples. And it makes me and my potatoes feel just gorge…sans pedicure and all.
Of course, the other thing that stays with you about Laos is the monks. 60-80% of Laotians are practicing Buddhists and any faithful male Buddhist must serve as a monk to complete his duty to the Buddha. But, the monks in LP are different than in other places, they are so friendly and talkative and just looking to learn from you, as you learn from them. You sit and shoot the shit with them at any hour of the day. The LP monks have to serve six years in a monastery, (continuing after that is their choice) living in the wats and off the generosity of the town. So, every morning at 7 AM, the 500 monks, who only eat one meal a day, at noon, make their daily alms, collecting food from the people that they will eat for their meal. They cannot buy food, it must be given to them. So, at dawn, you see the barefoot, orange-clothed monks each day, being handed rice, cakes, food, for the day’s meal. It’s one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. A parade of men, living off the kindness of others, every day. It blew me away.
One of the attractions of LP is also the waterfalls that are about 25 miles out of town. Everyone in LP rides bikes around the area, so on day three, I took my rented bike to get in some exercise, y’know – feel productive. So, about 30 minutes into my bike ride, I see a sign that says “waterfalls” (or some Lao variation) and decide I’m going to take my pink bike with basket up to the ‘falls. How hard (or far) can it be…? About an hour later, without any water, roadsigns or paved roads, I sweat through my first village where I say “Oh, I’m FINE” and continue past the huts of the Laotians without buying a bottle of water. Who I was proving what to, I’m not sure…. About another 30 minutes later, I smell and drip my way into village number two, stop for water, where the ladies of the village start cooling me with makeshift fans and admonishing me in Lao amongst themselves. I’m sure they were saying things like “You fool of a girl – nobody basket-bikes to the falls!” And, they would be correct in that I hadn’t seen one other BIKER along the way. After my water-break the ladies help me get the bike back to pedal-position (it had a weird kickstand that seemingly confused me) and send me off with a whole lot of “Tsks, Tsks” as I went. At this point, I pass two or three tuk-tuks carrying foreigners, with flat tires (!!), on the sides of the roads. People yelling and asking me if I was crazy in English. I’m dirty as hell, the trucks that pass me on the unpaved are kicking mountains of dust and gravel into my face, nevermind the lack of proper exhaust systems they drive with over here. My contacts are dry as the desert, my knees are cramping, I’ve finished my water, there’s no new town in site, I can’t read the Lao street signs that are telling me (possibly) how far I have left to go, the tuk-tuks are all breaking down and I might as well have showered in the Mekong to my right, I’m so damn mud-drenched. Two hours – time to turn around. And bike home. I still feel semi-satisfied at my efforts.
The next day, curious to see both the falls and how far I got on my ride, I hire a tuk-tuk to take me there. The same ladies that fanned me and giggled at my idiotic attempts wave as I pass, beaming like the Laos just do. I am QUITE proud to say that I probably went ¾ of the way, the last part being all uphill at an impossible angle. At this point, I’m feeling that Lance Armstrong couldn’t complete the trip. So, I get there, and after seeing waterfalls that had beautiful aqua blue water (but urination-strength volumes of actual “falls”) I start to head home and am flagged down by a 65 year old, 200 pound, New Zealand woman . . . . . .
Yeah – SHE biked all the way to the falls. Was looking for a ride back.
I’ve decided I’m sticking to beers and sunsets. ;)
Xoxo
Monday, January 30, 2006
The art of Sangsom
Chiang Mai is a city that is getting it’s share of air time in the world right now. Any trip to Thailand seems no longer SOLELY about the islands, but also a trip north to Chiang Mai and the surrounding region. Rightfully so. Different than modern Bangkok, Chiang Mai’s center is the Old City, surrounded by a wall and moat, with four “gates” or entry points. There’s a certain feel of authenticity inside the Old City, as the surrounding city of Chiang Mai has started to modernize, filling the streets with good shopping and restaurants. The contrast, though, works.
My first night in Chiang Mai was a blast. First, I walked around the Night Bazaar, which is on ChangKlan Road every night from 6-midnight. The street lines itself with vendors, hundreds of hundreds of them, selling silks, bags, trinkets, CDs, jewelry, etc… for pennies. Like in Bangkok, you just wander and watch it all go on around you. Believe it or not, I’m not REALLY tempted to buy too much out here (so far, I know myself better than to never say never about shopping…) so, more than anything, all the bazaars are just great people-watching time for me. Then, Reiter put me in touch with her friend’s brother, Andrew, who’s been living in Chiang Mai for about five years. He was great, so helpful accommodating in planning my trip, so we met for dinner and immediately hit it off. He took me, by motorcycle (love the motobikes travel out here in Asia, it’s all so Cool-Rider-esque), to dinner on the Ping River, which at night has a good scene, restaurants are big, serve great Thai food, and local bands cover American music with uncanny ability. It AMAZES me how by day, these people ONLY speak Thai, and by night, they’re Bob Dylan complete with the Minnesota twang on random syllables.
Indeed dinner became an extra special night, for I was introduced to "the" Thai whiskey, which is really a rum called Sang Som, which we proceeded to kill two, yes two, bottles of (I’m since hooked…). Everyone drinks it out here, you order bottles, albeit small bottles, not glasses of the stuff and hope for the best. Then, we proceeded to a local Thai club called Bubble and danced our asses off. I mean…. Meanwhile, the Thai people, while they can party, have NO rhythm. I’ve noticed this in Asia. No ability to clap, kick, step-ball-change, or shake to the beat. It’s all off, and if you’ve got rhythm (and I KNOW I’ve got rhythm…), you’re a little upset at the lack thereof. Someone should open a chain of dancing schools out here, call it ‘Johnny America Dances’ or something equally Western, and make a fortune….
I woke Day Two of Chiang Mai a MISERABLE rummed-out bitch. So, I hired a car to take me to out of town to Wat Doi Suthep (the premiere temple in Chiang Mai that overlooks the city) alone, because I really couldn’t deal with having to be anything but quiet and hungover. Buddhist hospitality, though, couldn’t even do the trick. I was snappish and cranky to my ever-sweet driver, who finally got pissed off and duped me into seeing the Sam Kaempang Road “tourist trap” local factories after the temple (which was beautiful, but after the Grand Palace in Bangkok, little can compare), and wound up buying a silver bracelet that I’ve probably seen about 10 renditions of for a quarter of the price in various marketplaces since. Asshole. But, likely serves me right for my attitude. I guess even Buddhist are allowed revenge sometimes.
The third day in Chiang Mai was the best day, as I took a cooking class. It’s a big thing in Thailand to learn, assuming you like the food as much as I have, how to cook Thai. So, I signed up for the Chiang Mai Thai Cookery school, a one-day class taught by the “Emeril” of Thailand, Sompon. A great, great, day. We learned how to make 6 traditional courses (Marisa, mine were: chicken in coconut milk soup, fish with red curry, fried wide noodles with brown sauce, stir-fried mushrooms and baby corn with chilis, papaya salad with sticky rice and banana (I subbed pumpkin) cake in banana leaves), first going to the market and picking our ingredients, then eating every morsel of what we made. Parting gift: Thai cookbook. So, when I get home next, I’ll cook y’all some curry, k? Of course, I went a little overboard on flipping the wok all around and “tossing” my food in and out of it, that I scalded my foot with about a 1/3 cup of boiling oil when it slopped out of my wok. Now, I have a discolored left foot b/c of the burn. Yeah. But, a true champ (read: embarrassed), I didn’t tell anyone. I suffered silently. Maybe I’ll check into a 5-star hotel in the next city for “successfully battling the oil….”
Day four’s trek was supposed to start at 8 AM, but getting downstairs for the bus, the very polite Thai lady at the Tour Desk realized she booked me for the wrong day. BUT, I WAS SUPPOSED TO GO ON A VILLAGE TREK AND RIDE THE ELEPHANTS TODAY… “I sorry, I sorry, Miss Marie.” Swallow, breathe, does this really matter? You’re in Thailand, trekless. Big freakin’ deal. YOU’RE IN THAILAND, Marie. THAILAND. No, it doesn’t matter one bit… Sometimes, you just need to check yourself. So after kicking around town, exploring more of Chiang Mai, I signed online and got a nice surprise ~ Adam from Nha Trang and his friends arrived today, looking for me. So fun! The best part of SEAsia travel is that everyone is on the same route and the paths cross over and over again. So, you’re continually able/bound to see the people you enjoy. That became Day 4 in Chiang Mai, meeting up with Adam, Sang Som-ing it, obviously... He taught me a different way to enjoy my Thai whiskey. Buckets. Basically, you get a bucket of ice, a Coke, a Red Bull, and a bottle of Sang Som. You dump them all into the ice bucket. Voila, your cocktails....drink up.
So, as you might've guessed, considering I learned buckets last night, I almost didn’t make it to the rescheduled, now half-day, elephant camp tour, but luckily my Thai Travel desk friend woke my Sang-Som’d ass outta slumber at 8:15 with a “Miss Marie…you sleepy?” I felt awful, but knew that I had to go. Who goes to Chiang Mai and doesn’t see the elephants? And, I was flying out to Laos in the afternoon, today was my last chance. I jumped unshowered and exhausted into the van, begging my stomach to hold on just a little longer until we got to the camp. Well, as we arrived, I lost it. I had to sit down on the side, work out of my nausea and light-headedness. A rush of Thais, all looking confused at my behavior, could be seen offering me Mentos, baguettes, smelling salts, water, juice, anything to get me smiling again. I wasn’t sure that was going to happen… After a circus-like performance by the 77 elephants in the camp (They paint! They dance! They sing! They give rides!), which made me a little sad over the way they’re exploited for the idiotic tourist population, I decided to take a ride on an elephant. Yeah, not the best move. Has anyone ever ridden an elephant? Very slow, up-down, move-one-big-fat-elephant-leg-at-a-time bumpy ride that is cake with a good night’s un-alcohol-fueled sleep, I’m SURE. Not for me. I had to be taken OFF the elephant, all the Thais talking in Thai to get me (quickly, ha!) back to the loading-unloading dock where I could disembark (you can’t just like, jump off) mid-way through. Loser loser loser, Marie, So, there I was, sitting in like, the sick-bay infirmary, of elephant camp while the rest of my group got to play and frolic with the animals. What a morning….
Off to Laos, but after a fun five days in Chiang Mai. Wonder when I’m next drinking Sang Som….? Yeah, right.
More soon…
xoxo
My first night in Chiang Mai was a blast. First, I walked around the Night Bazaar, which is on ChangKlan Road every night from 6-midnight. The street lines itself with vendors, hundreds of hundreds of them, selling silks, bags, trinkets, CDs, jewelry, etc… for pennies. Like in Bangkok, you just wander and watch it all go on around you. Believe it or not, I’m not REALLY tempted to buy too much out here (so far, I know myself better than to never say never about shopping…) so, more than anything, all the bazaars are just great people-watching time for me. Then, Reiter put me in touch with her friend’s brother, Andrew, who’s been living in Chiang Mai for about five years. He was great, so helpful accommodating in planning my trip, so we met for dinner and immediately hit it off. He took me, by motorcycle (love the motobikes travel out here in Asia, it’s all so Cool-Rider-esque), to dinner on the Ping River, which at night has a good scene, restaurants are big, serve great Thai food, and local bands cover American music with uncanny ability. It AMAZES me how by day, these people ONLY speak Thai, and by night, they’re Bob Dylan complete with the Minnesota twang on random syllables.
Indeed dinner became an extra special night, for I was introduced to "the" Thai whiskey, which is really a rum called Sang Som, which we proceeded to kill two, yes two, bottles of (I’m since hooked…). Everyone drinks it out here, you order bottles, albeit small bottles, not glasses of the stuff and hope for the best. Then, we proceeded to a local Thai club called Bubble and danced our asses off. I mean…. Meanwhile, the Thai people, while they can party, have NO rhythm. I’ve noticed this in Asia. No ability to clap, kick, step-ball-change, or shake to the beat. It’s all off, and if you’ve got rhythm (and I KNOW I’ve got rhythm…), you’re a little upset at the lack thereof. Someone should open a chain of dancing schools out here, call it ‘Johnny America Dances’ or something equally Western, and make a fortune….
I woke Day Two of Chiang Mai a MISERABLE rummed-out bitch. So, I hired a car to take me to out of town to Wat Doi Suthep (the premiere temple in Chiang Mai that overlooks the city) alone, because I really couldn’t deal with having to be anything but quiet and hungover. Buddhist hospitality, though, couldn’t even do the trick. I was snappish and cranky to my ever-sweet driver, who finally got pissed off and duped me into seeing the Sam Kaempang Road “tourist trap” local factories after the temple (which was beautiful, but after the Grand Palace in Bangkok, little can compare), and wound up buying a silver bracelet that I’ve probably seen about 10 renditions of for a quarter of the price in various marketplaces since. Asshole. But, likely serves me right for my attitude. I guess even Buddhist are allowed revenge sometimes.
The third day in Chiang Mai was the best day, as I took a cooking class. It’s a big thing in Thailand to learn, assuming you like the food as much as I have, how to cook Thai. So, I signed up for the Chiang Mai Thai Cookery school, a one-day class taught by the “Emeril” of Thailand, Sompon. A great, great, day. We learned how to make 6 traditional courses (Marisa, mine were: chicken in coconut milk soup, fish with red curry, fried wide noodles with brown sauce, stir-fried mushrooms and baby corn with chilis, papaya salad with sticky rice and banana (I subbed pumpkin) cake in banana leaves), first going to the market and picking our ingredients, then eating every morsel of what we made. Parting gift: Thai cookbook. So, when I get home next, I’ll cook y’all some curry, k? Of course, I went a little overboard on flipping the wok all around and “tossing” my food in and out of it, that I scalded my foot with about a 1/3 cup of boiling oil when it slopped out of my wok. Now, I have a discolored left foot b/c of the burn. Yeah. But, a true champ (read: embarrassed), I didn’t tell anyone. I suffered silently. Maybe I’ll check into a 5-star hotel in the next city for “successfully battling the oil….”
Day four’s trek was supposed to start at 8 AM, but getting downstairs for the bus, the very polite Thai lady at the Tour Desk realized she booked me for the wrong day. BUT, I WAS SUPPOSED TO GO ON A VILLAGE TREK AND RIDE THE ELEPHANTS TODAY… “I sorry, I sorry, Miss Marie.” Swallow, breathe, does this really matter? You’re in Thailand, trekless. Big freakin’ deal. YOU’RE IN THAILAND, Marie. THAILAND. No, it doesn’t matter one bit… Sometimes, you just need to check yourself. So after kicking around town, exploring more of Chiang Mai, I signed online and got a nice surprise ~ Adam from Nha Trang and his friends arrived today, looking for me. So fun! The best part of SEAsia travel is that everyone is on the same route and the paths cross over and over again. So, you’re continually able/bound to see the people you enjoy. That became Day 4 in Chiang Mai, meeting up with Adam, Sang Som-ing it, obviously... He taught me a different way to enjoy my Thai whiskey. Buckets. Basically, you get a bucket of ice, a Coke, a Red Bull, and a bottle of Sang Som. You dump them all into the ice bucket. Voila, your cocktails....drink up.
So, as you might've guessed, considering I learned buckets last night, I almost didn’t make it to the rescheduled, now half-day, elephant camp tour, but luckily my Thai Travel desk friend woke my Sang-Som’d ass outta slumber at 8:15 with a “Miss Marie…you sleepy?” I felt awful, but knew that I had to go. Who goes to Chiang Mai and doesn’t see the elephants? And, I was flying out to Laos in the afternoon, today was my last chance. I jumped unshowered and exhausted into the van, begging my stomach to hold on just a little longer until we got to the camp. Well, as we arrived, I lost it. I had to sit down on the side, work out of my nausea and light-headedness. A rush of Thais, all looking confused at my behavior, could be seen offering me Mentos, baguettes, smelling salts, water, juice, anything to get me smiling again. I wasn’t sure that was going to happen… After a circus-like performance by the 77 elephants in the camp (They paint! They dance! They sing! They give rides!), which made me a little sad over the way they’re exploited for the idiotic tourist population, I decided to take a ride on an elephant. Yeah, not the best move. Has anyone ever ridden an elephant? Very slow, up-down, move-one-big-fat-elephant-leg-at-a-time bumpy ride that is cake with a good night’s un-alcohol-fueled sleep, I’m SURE. Not for me. I had to be taken OFF the elephant, all the Thais talking in Thai to get me (quickly, ha!) back to the loading-unloading dock where I could disembark (you can’t just like, jump off) mid-way through. Loser loser loser, Marie, So, there I was, sitting in like, the sick-bay infirmary, of elephant camp while the rest of my group got to play and frolic with the animals. What a morning….
Off to Laos, but after a fun five days in Chiang Mai. Wonder when I’m next drinking Sang Som….? Yeah, right.
More soon…
xoxo
MAYBE, it was just Bangkok...
Everyone warned me about Bangkok… (except Sarah, yes…)
“Get in, get out.”
“I guess you have to SAY you’ve been to Bangkok, but it sucks.”
“It’s a dirty, gross city. Stay overnight. You’ll hate it.”
In my opinion, they were all wrong. I loved Bangkok. From the minute I landed to the minute I left, I just felt the energy of the city and knew it was going to be a place that worked for me. I actually will get back there a few more times, once before the Thai islands, and then, I fly home from Bangkok. I couldn’t be happier it worked out that way.
Why, you ask? Well, let me tell ya a few things….
Now MAYBE I was just a little tired at the end of Vietnam, you know, working off like one lung and all… MAYBE it was that in 15 degree winds blowing off Momma China in Sapa, I was stuck in a hotel room with no heat for two days and a refilled thermos (yes, a bring- your-coffee-to-work-THERMOS) of hot water to make tea, or MAYBE I’ve decided that my max in ONE country is two weeks. Whatever it is, when I got to Thailand, I felt whole again. Just invigorated and refreshed.
Now, MAYBE part of it could’ve been that my intro to Thailand started off a little more “right” at the Banyan Tree Resort/Spa that I booked on AmEx points to reward myself for successfully ‘fighting the bronchitis.’ MAYBE it was my suite on the 47th floor overlooking the whole city, or possibly, the state-of-the-art gym and spa on the 21st floor WAITING for me to indulge in them. I can’t say that didn’t HELP the situation, but…more than the temporary luxury, I really fell for the people (so sweet and good humored – everyone just laughs at themselves, aiming to please but not killing themselves over being unable) and the culture. From the stewardesses on the Air Asia flights to the taxi drivers, to the street vendors, to the shop owners, all the Thai people are just adorable. Adorable is the right word because they’re tiny and cute and loving. Adorable people, the Thais. And they all evoke this Buddhist, live and let live, aura about them. Very laid back, happy, relaxed people, just loving up the Buddha. Love them.
Then, you knew I was going here, the FOOD.
Ok, I have NO idea what rock I’ve been living under never having been exposed to Thai food. I’m sure at points, because I merely didn’t KNOW what it was all about, I asserted to a good many of you WHY I didn’t like Thai food, assorted made up reasons, all convincing, blah blah blah... (Translation: because I didn’t know it…) Well, while I was happy under my Thai-food-less rock, I’m MUCH happier under my new I eat Thai food rock. OH MY, Pad Thai, spicy beef salad, squid prepared any way, the curries – oh the curries, the soups, the prawns. Coconut, peanut, and cilantro everywhere. And….the chilis. Hollow your head out, burn your stomach apart, chilis. I literally cry through every meal, begging for more spice. I love it. The food is cheap as hell ($.50 from the street vendors, which is the BEST food in Bangkok, bar none), and delicious as anything you’ve ever tasted. I’m hooked.
Then, as previously mentioned, the Thai massage. A most sensual, relaxing, mind-blowing experience. I’ve been in Thailand for 5 days at this point and have already had three massages. Tonight’s was 3 hours with a scrub and a body wrap. I can’t get enough. They’re SOOO good. And, again, cheap. You can get them for as little as $3/hour or as much as $80/hour. It’s wonderful. Because I’m so stressed and all…right. Cherilyn, you would LIVE for them.
Anyway…Bangkok. On first look, a very modern city filled with tall glass and chrome buildings. Thriving Western business logos litter the bill boards, the busy streets are filled with taxis and tourists and tuk tuks by day, and the bustle of the night bazaars selling every knock-off of every item from DVDs to Dior bags to diamonds begs travelers to buy buy buy after the sun goes down! “Pretty lady, you buy now, I give you good price. How much you want to pay?” Looking past the sellers world of Bangkok, you see a city of sex filled with a bit of trash, and a lot of sleaze – the red light district of Patpong where clubs like “Super Pussy” hold court. Ladies holding poles and step-touching to the beat in bikini bottoms and pasties on the stages. More than anything, looking bored as hell. You can catch the women powdering their faces with white face make up to make themselves appear more fair skinned, catering to the Western consumers that raucously loiter in the doorways. You can overhear the haggled deals for “anything goes” being transacted in the glow of the fluorescent lights of the bars. And, it makes your skin crawl. BUT, if you get past all of that (which, by the way, makes for GREAT people watching), Bangkok is also a city of history and Buddhist piety, the Wats of Bangkok rising up against the skyline, mixing old with new, modernity with the culture of an ancient civilization. The result is, as far as I was concerned, a fantastic city with a mix of Thai cultures and traditions, all easy to embrace and interesting to be a part of.
The Wats along the river, which are best viewed by boatride, stopping along the way to walk each wat, are phenomenal. As I made my way through them, I couldn’t help but sing the soundtrack to Aladdin in my head. It’s all like a magical Disney movie. The temples, the colors, the jewels and golds of the architecture, the buddhas, people praying on site, the surrounding grounds, it’s all astounding. Pictures cannot convey these places with accuracy, you have to see them, be inside of them, to get the sense of importance, the sense of worship that the Thai people place above all else. Magnificent. I found myself just wandering around Bangkok for two days, in a dumb stupor, inhaling sights and sounds (and pad thai) at a furious rate. It’s no wonder Thailand claims many off the Khao San Road backpacker circuit (a street that is a literal jungle of people under 30, getting dreadlocks, eating street food, walking barefoot and chatting it up with other travelers, buying cheap wears from the boutiques that front the hundreds of hostels that line the street). There’s a reason Thailand is able to mesmerize people. It mesmerized me, for sure.
And that’s only after two nights in Bangkok…I cannot wait to come back. I feel like I just scratched the surface.
More soon from Chiang Mai...
~M
“Get in, get out.”
“I guess you have to SAY you’ve been to Bangkok, but it sucks.”
“It’s a dirty, gross city. Stay overnight. You’ll hate it.”
In my opinion, they were all wrong. I loved Bangkok. From the minute I landed to the minute I left, I just felt the energy of the city and knew it was going to be a place that worked for me. I actually will get back there a few more times, once before the Thai islands, and then, I fly home from Bangkok. I couldn’t be happier it worked out that way.
Why, you ask? Well, let me tell ya a few things….
Now MAYBE I was just a little tired at the end of Vietnam, you know, working off like one lung and all… MAYBE it was that in 15 degree winds blowing off Momma China in Sapa, I was stuck in a hotel room with no heat for two days and a refilled thermos (yes, a bring- your-coffee-to-work-THERMOS) of hot water to make tea, or MAYBE I’ve decided that my max in ONE country is two weeks. Whatever it is, when I got to Thailand, I felt whole again. Just invigorated and refreshed.
Now, MAYBE part of it could’ve been that my intro to Thailand started off a little more “right” at the Banyan Tree Resort/Spa that I booked on AmEx points to reward myself for successfully ‘fighting the bronchitis.’ MAYBE it was my suite on the 47th floor overlooking the whole city, or possibly, the state-of-the-art gym and spa on the 21st floor WAITING for me to indulge in them. I can’t say that didn’t HELP the situation, but…more than the temporary luxury, I really fell for the people (so sweet and good humored – everyone just laughs at themselves, aiming to please but not killing themselves over being unable) and the culture. From the stewardesses on the Air Asia flights to the taxi drivers, to the street vendors, to the shop owners, all the Thai people are just adorable. Adorable is the right word because they’re tiny and cute and loving. Adorable people, the Thais. And they all evoke this Buddhist, live and let live, aura about them. Very laid back, happy, relaxed people, just loving up the Buddha. Love them.
Then, you knew I was going here, the FOOD.
Ok, I have NO idea what rock I’ve been living under never having been exposed to Thai food. I’m sure at points, because I merely didn’t KNOW what it was all about, I asserted to a good many of you WHY I didn’t like Thai food, assorted made up reasons, all convincing, blah blah blah... (Translation: because I didn’t know it…) Well, while I was happy under my Thai-food-less rock, I’m MUCH happier under my new I eat Thai food rock. OH MY, Pad Thai, spicy beef salad, squid prepared any way, the curries – oh the curries, the soups, the prawns. Coconut, peanut, and cilantro everywhere. And….the chilis. Hollow your head out, burn your stomach apart, chilis. I literally cry through every meal, begging for more spice. I love it. The food is cheap as hell ($.50 from the street vendors, which is the BEST food in Bangkok, bar none), and delicious as anything you’ve ever tasted. I’m hooked.
Then, as previously mentioned, the Thai massage. A most sensual, relaxing, mind-blowing experience. I’ve been in Thailand for 5 days at this point and have already had three massages. Tonight’s was 3 hours with a scrub and a body wrap. I can’t get enough. They’re SOOO good. And, again, cheap. You can get them for as little as $3/hour or as much as $80/hour. It’s wonderful. Because I’m so stressed and all…right. Cherilyn, you would LIVE for them.
Anyway…Bangkok. On first look, a very modern city filled with tall glass and chrome buildings. Thriving Western business logos litter the bill boards, the busy streets are filled with taxis and tourists and tuk tuks by day, and the bustle of the night bazaars selling every knock-off of every item from DVDs to Dior bags to diamonds begs travelers to buy buy buy after the sun goes down! “Pretty lady, you buy now, I give you good price. How much you want to pay?” Looking past the sellers world of Bangkok, you see a city of sex filled with a bit of trash, and a lot of sleaze – the red light district of Patpong where clubs like “Super Pussy” hold court. Ladies holding poles and step-touching to the beat in bikini bottoms and pasties on the stages. More than anything, looking bored as hell. You can catch the women powdering their faces with white face make up to make themselves appear more fair skinned, catering to the Western consumers that raucously loiter in the doorways. You can overhear the haggled deals for “anything goes” being transacted in the glow of the fluorescent lights of the bars. And, it makes your skin crawl. BUT, if you get past all of that (which, by the way, makes for GREAT people watching), Bangkok is also a city of history and Buddhist piety, the Wats of Bangkok rising up against the skyline, mixing old with new, modernity with the culture of an ancient civilization. The result is, as far as I was concerned, a fantastic city with a mix of Thai cultures and traditions, all easy to embrace and interesting to be a part of.
The Wats along the river, which are best viewed by boatride, stopping along the way to walk each wat, are phenomenal. As I made my way through them, I couldn’t help but sing the soundtrack to Aladdin in my head. It’s all like a magical Disney movie. The temples, the colors, the jewels and golds of the architecture, the buddhas, people praying on site, the surrounding grounds, it’s all astounding. Pictures cannot convey these places with accuracy, you have to see them, be inside of them, to get the sense of importance, the sense of worship that the Thai people place above all else. Magnificent. I found myself just wandering around Bangkok for two days, in a dumb stupor, inhaling sights and sounds (and pad thai) at a furious rate. It’s no wonder Thailand claims many off the Khao San Road backpacker circuit (a street that is a literal jungle of people under 30, getting dreadlocks, eating street food, walking barefoot and chatting it up with other travelers, buying cheap wears from the boutiques that front the hundreds of hostels that line the street). There’s a reason Thailand is able to mesmerize people. It mesmerized me, for sure.
And that’s only after two nights in Bangkok…I cannot wait to come back. I feel like I just scratched the surface.
More soon from Chiang Mai...
~M
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Monday, January 23, 2006
Ummm...Water Puppets???
After Hue, I was curious to see what Hanoi could possibly offer . . .
Thinking on it, it’s amazing how much of Vietnam I’ve seen in the last few weeks. I don’t know that I thought I’d see so much and be here so long, but it’s been a wonderful experience.
Hanoi. Another bustling city, smaller than Ho Chi Minh, and less developed, but equally overwhelming. In Hanoi, the streets are narrower, so the motobikes ride on the sidewalk to escape the traffic on the street. You just feel the chaos a bit more here. But, what makes Hanoi a little more charming than Ho Chi Minh are the lakes, Hoan Kiem in the center of the city, and West Lake in the north. Both are expansive and offer a bit of tranquility amidst the frenzy of the surrounding city. Most of my time was spent in the Hoan Kiem district, north of the lake, in the Old City. I literally spent hours wandering the streets, getting lost, getting found and watching the people live their daily lives. Continually fascinated by how the Vietnamese live, observing them has been my favorite part of traveling Vietnam.
Now, while there are so many wonderful Vietnamese people who smile these huge, friendly smiles at you as you pass, want to talk to you, want you to listen to their stories, there are an equal amount of annoying, ridiculous Vietnamese people who you want to strangle b/c they’re so eager to please (story in a bit – my Halong Bay tour guide), or on the other end of the spectrum, so eager to scam you, that you just lose patience. My first moment in Hanoi was one of those experiences. My taxi driver. A kid, possibly sixteen years old MAX, was driving me from the airport to Hanoi. While many of the taxis advertised being metered rides, the meters are often rigged so they charged at a higher rate. Getting into his taxi, I said, real meter or high meter?? “Meter, Meter. Correct. Meter,” was the answer I got in return. Ok, fine…let’s just get to the hotel. “Vietnam happy you here, lady. What you hotel?” I tell him. Fine. About ten minutes into the ride, “16” turns around again, “What hotel you say?” I tell him again. Turns around again. “Music? Me like music.” Me: “Sure.” Well, I wouldn’t have agreed had I know he was about to render his own rendition of all the songs he put on. “16” started singing at the top of his lungs to Seal-like Vietnamese classics that sounded like “Kiss From a Rose,” or “Future Love Paradise.” I mean, save-your-shit-for-shower-or-when-you-don’t-have-a-passenger BELTING out song, kids. I almost died. I couldn’t even laugh, I was so annoyed. And we’re stopped dead in traffic. And, we’re only ten minutes into the 45-minute drive and already the meter is higher than the whole ride should cost. Needless to say, when I got to the hotel (2 whole discs of tortures later), the concierge took care of me, making sure I only gave him ¼ of the actual fare on the meter b/c he was scamming me AND made me listen to his puberty-ridden falsetto the entire way.
My sightseeing in Hanoi, with respect to the war, consisted of visiting the Hanoi Hilton and the Army Museum. Since I was in the North of the country, the slant is so pro-Communism. At the Hanoi Hilton, the holding tank for downed pilots (most famously John McCain – who was an inmate for SIX years), there’s a room that depicts the American experience at the Hanoi Hilton. The captions under the photos are ridiculous. They say things like:
“American pilots wearing loose, comfortable, clothing that they enjoyed.”
(pilots in prison issued uniforms)
“Happy American pilots receiving mail and presents from their loved ones at home.”
(getting mail – one assumes. That is what is depicted in the photo.)
“American pilots walking with polite Vietnamese soldiers on quiet city streets.”
(being led, heads down through people-packed streets, to their new home at the prison)
“American pilots singing joyful songs of their hometown at evening get togethers.”
(a prisoner with a guitar)
I was laughing out loud going through, as the photos are rare moments of normalcy (possibly) that have been caught on film, with narration. Mind you, only THESE are the photos that are plastered on the walls of the Hanoi Hilton of the Vietnam War. You KNOW what side is telling the story here. Interesting to see. Then, I went to the Army Museum, which also showcases the North Vietnamese struggle during the French and American wars. I’m in Hanoi, I completely understand that the war is going to be told their perspective, 100%. But, at the Army Museum, I found a virtual graveyard of downed American warcraft, with corresponding facts like, location destroyed, date, Vietnamese lieutenants names, # of enemy KILLED in each mission – very disturbing. The outside of the museum is a trophy chest of such machinery, in the middle standing a HUGE plane, tail-end up, layers upon layers of mangled metal, that perished and is preserved on site. It’s very sobering to see all of this, PROUDLY displayed.
Having had enough of the war, I decided to go to see the Water Puppets Show. Water puppetry is a Vietnamese folk art that has persevered through the years. Everyone told me that I HAD to go to see the Water Puppets while in Hanoi. Now, I was very torn on whether to bother doing this or not. I’ve never been a big puppet fan, whether the puppet being of the marionette or sock-on-hand variety. I wasn’t the child who engaged in puppet shows as recreation. I stuck more to playing house or doctor. And, as an adult, I have vehemently refused to see Avenue Q (I know, Kim….I’m still very sorry), after seeing The Lion King where they use sticks to make Lion puppets over their heads which I found VERY distracting and made for a sub-par evening of theater. Add to all of that (as if it’s not enough of a reason NOT to go), I’m not into Asian dance, music, theater, for the most part. Don’t think me closed-minded, please. I just know what I’m going to have patience for. And, as you all might’ve guessed, the Water Puppets of Hanoi – yeah, not so much. I walked out. Puppets + Vietnamese song + WATER (?) = MISERY. And yet, all the people around me were clapping as if they were watching the Royal Ballet perform Swan Lake. I just don’t get. And….. I’m very much OK with that. ☺
On my last day in Hanoi, I went to see all the sights decided to the life of Ho Chi Minh, or Uncle Ho, as the Vietnamese refer to him. He is so revered, so loved in this country, especially here in Hanoi, that contrary to his wishes to be cremated, HCM’s body is actually preserved and on display Tues-Thurs-Sat and Sunday mornings. (But, not during the months of August thru October, when he is sent out for “maintenance.”) The whole experience was interesting. Considering he’s HCM, you’d think there would be more security, but because the people honor him and his teachings to the letter, there isn’t need for “high” security, nobody would DARE dishonor HCM in his resting place. Imagine the same for George Bush? HA… Anyway, I had to borrow a long sleeve shirt, out of respect – a pretty yellow chiffon number – to view the body and then you walk in a single file line to the mausoleum, up many levels of red-carpeted stairs, into a square, cool marble room, with a glass tomb. There lies a spot-lighted, smiling Uncle Ho. Maintained. It’s all a little weird, but also, incredibly fascinating.
From Hanoi, I took a day trip to Halong Bay, about four hours to the east. Here, rising up from the clearest emerald colored water are about 3000 limestone formations, many of which house caves that are wonderlands of stalagmite and stalagtite. Also on the bay, are villages, where Vietnamese people live in houseboats, fishing for their livelihood. Amazing and beautiful place. Sobering to view such daily life. But, in the ‘annoying Vietnamese that try too hard category’ is Hai (pronounced “Hi”), my tour guide. Hai is thirty, and according to him “single but not sure why” and Vietnamese born. Here’s the catch: Hai speaks like he’s lived in London his whole life. Like, grating, put your fingers in your ears to make it stop, cockneyed London accent spoken in movies like Snatch, Trainspotting, etc… And guess why? That’s where Hai learned his English from. THOSE MOVIES. When he first spoke, I thought he was imitating the English couple on the tour. Then, he kept talking like that – using words like posh and bullocks and snog, asking the couple if his English is “up to snuff” and if they would like some “fish and chips” for lunch instead of the Vietnamese “grog” they serve on the boat. And this continued ALL DAY LONG. Everytime he spoke, if I closed my eyes, there was a skinny, crooked-tooth, fair-skinned white guy with a skull cap and week’s worth of scruff, a mug of beer in one hand, cigarette in the other, staring back at me.
Finally, I took an overnight train to Sapa, or the rice-terraces up north. Getting into my overnight carriage, I’m greeted by “Kay and Alan from Connecticut.” Kay immediately gives me a sick attitude because my bag doesn’t fit under the beds in the compartment, out of her eyesight. Does it matter? It’s next to my bed, she can walk and get up w/o touching it. We’re sleeping for the duration – it’s 10 PM, we arrive at 6 AM – are you doing seniors yoga in the crawl space, Kay???
Me: “Is this really a problem for you?”
Kay: “Well, it’s huuuuge. It’s in my way and maybe you should just put it on your bed.”
Me: I’m not putting it ON my bed. And how, exactly, is it in your way?”
Kay: Well…. (looks away from me and to the upper bunk to her husband) Aaaallllaaan, it’s HUGE. I’m just going to take a pill so I don’t have to deal with it. (Back to me) I just think it’s very large.”
Me: And why does that concern you? You’re going to sleep, no? Didn’t you just say you’re going to “take a pill?”
Alan: “You do that, Kay. Take your pill.” (Rolls eyes at me.)
I’m still sick, have NO patience for whiny moms from CT to survey my baggage issues, so I turn to her, give her a disgusting forced smile and go “Oh, and goodnight.” She never spoke again. Success. The Marie you all know and love. Hehe….
Sapa turned out to be a mess. It was 20 degrees tops because of how the wind was coming off of China while I was there. I had wifebeaters, a North Face and bronchitis to keep me warm. So, I never left my hotel room for two days except to eat soup in the restaurant, sleeping off my illness.
Onto Thailand. Vietnam was awesome, but I think I’m ready for a change…
More soon…
xoxoxo
Thinking on it, it’s amazing how much of Vietnam I’ve seen in the last few weeks. I don’t know that I thought I’d see so much and be here so long, but it’s been a wonderful experience.
Hanoi. Another bustling city, smaller than Ho Chi Minh, and less developed, but equally overwhelming. In Hanoi, the streets are narrower, so the motobikes ride on the sidewalk to escape the traffic on the street. You just feel the chaos a bit more here. But, what makes Hanoi a little more charming than Ho Chi Minh are the lakes, Hoan Kiem in the center of the city, and West Lake in the north. Both are expansive and offer a bit of tranquility amidst the frenzy of the surrounding city. Most of my time was spent in the Hoan Kiem district, north of the lake, in the Old City. I literally spent hours wandering the streets, getting lost, getting found and watching the people live their daily lives. Continually fascinated by how the Vietnamese live, observing them has been my favorite part of traveling Vietnam.
Now, while there are so many wonderful Vietnamese people who smile these huge, friendly smiles at you as you pass, want to talk to you, want you to listen to their stories, there are an equal amount of annoying, ridiculous Vietnamese people who you want to strangle b/c they’re so eager to please (story in a bit – my Halong Bay tour guide), or on the other end of the spectrum, so eager to scam you, that you just lose patience. My first moment in Hanoi was one of those experiences. My taxi driver. A kid, possibly sixteen years old MAX, was driving me from the airport to Hanoi. While many of the taxis advertised being metered rides, the meters are often rigged so they charged at a higher rate. Getting into his taxi, I said, real meter or high meter?? “Meter, Meter. Correct. Meter,” was the answer I got in return. Ok, fine…let’s just get to the hotel. “Vietnam happy you here, lady. What you hotel?” I tell him. Fine. About ten minutes into the ride, “16” turns around again, “What hotel you say?” I tell him again. Turns around again. “Music? Me like music.” Me: “Sure.” Well, I wouldn’t have agreed had I know he was about to render his own rendition of all the songs he put on. “16” started singing at the top of his lungs to Seal-like Vietnamese classics that sounded like “Kiss From a Rose,” or “Future Love Paradise.” I mean, save-your-shit-for-shower-or-when-you-don’t-have-a-passenger BELTING out song, kids. I almost died. I couldn’t even laugh, I was so annoyed. And we’re stopped dead in traffic. And, we’re only ten minutes into the 45-minute drive and already the meter is higher than the whole ride should cost. Needless to say, when I got to the hotel (2 whole discs of tortures later), the concierge took care of me, making sure I only gave him ¼ of the actual fare on the meter b/c he was scamming me AND made me listen to his puberty-ridden falsetto the entire way.
My sightseeing in Hanoi, with respect to the war, consisted of visiting the Hanoi Hilton and the Army Museum. Since I was in the North of the country, the slant is so pro-Communism. At the Hanoi Hilton, the holding tank for downed pilots (most famously John McCain – who was an inmate for SIX years), there’s a room that depicts the American experience at the Hanoi Hilton. The captions under the photos are ridiculous. They say things like:
“American pilots wearing loose, comfortable, clothing that they enjoyed.”
(pilots in prison issued uniforms)
“Happy American pilots receiving mail and presents from their loved ones at home.”
(getting mail – one assumes. That is what is depicted in the photo.)
“American pilots walking with polite Vietnamese soldiers on quiet city streets.”
(being led, heads down through people-packed streets, to their new home at the prison)
“American pilots singing joyful songs of their hometown at evening get togethers.”
(a prisoner with a guitar)
I was laughing out loud going through, as the photos are rare moments of normalcy (possibly) that have been caught on film, with narration. Mind you, only THESE are the photos that are plastered on the walls of the Hanoi Hilton of the Vietnam War. You KNOW what side is telling the story here. Interesting to see. Then, I went to the Army Museum, which also showcases the North Vietnamese struggle during the French and American wars. I’m in Hanoi, I completely understand that the war is going to be told their perspective, 100%. But, at the Army Museum, I found a virtual graveyard of downed American warcraft, with corresponding facts like, location destroyed, date, Vietnamese lieutenants names, # of enemy KILLED in each mission – very disturbing. The outside of the museum is a trophy chest of such machinery, in the middle standing a HUGE plane, tail-end up, layers upon layers of mangled metal, that perished and is preserved on site. It’s very sobering to see all of this, PROUDLY displayed.
Having had enough of the war, I decided to go to see the Water Puppets Show. Water puppetry is a Vietnamese folk art that has persevered through the years. Everyone told me that I HAD to go to see the Water Puppets while in Hanoi. Now, I was very torn on whether to bother doing this or not. I’ve never been a big puppet fan, whether the puppet being of the marionette or sock-on-hand variety. I wasn’t the child who engaged in puppet shows as recreation. I stuck more to playing house or doctor. And, as an adult, I have vehemently refused to see Avenue Q (I know, Kim….I’m still very sorry), after seeing The Lion King where they use sticks to make Lion puppets over their heads which I found VERY distracting and made for a sub-par evening of theater. Add to all of that (as if it’s not enough of a reason NOT to go), I’m not into Asian dance, music, theater, for the most part. Don’t think me closed-minded, please. I just know what I’m going to have patience for. And, as you all might’ve guessed, the Water Puppets of Hanoi – yeah, not so much. I walked out. Puppets + Vietnamese song + WATER (?) = MISERY. And yet, all the people around me were clapping as if they were watching the Royal Ballet perform Swan Lake. I just don’t get. And….. I’m very much OK with that. ☺
On my last day in Hanoi, I went to see all the sights decided to the life of Ho Chi Minh, or Uncle Ho, as the Vietnamese refer to him. He is so revered, so loved in this country, especially here in Hanoi, that contrary to his wishes to be cremated, HCM’s body is actually preserved and on display Tues-Thurs-Sat and Sunday mornings. (But, not during the months of August thru October, when he is sent out for “maintenance.”) The whole experience was interesting. Considering he’s HCM, you’d think there would be more security, but because the people honor him and his teachings to the letter, there isn’t need for “high” security, nobody would DARE dishonor HCM in his resting place. Imagine the same for George Bush? HA… Anyway, I had to borrow a long sleeve shirt, out of respect – a pretty yellow chiffon number – to view the body and then you walk in a single file line to the mausoleum, up many levels of red-carpeted stairs, into a square, cool marble room, with a glass tomb. There lies a spot-lighted, smiling Uncle Ho. Maintained. It’s all a little weird, but also, incredibly fascinating.
From Hanoi, I took a day trip to Halong Bay, about four hours to the east. Here, rising up from the clearest emerald colored water are about 3000 limestone formations, many of which house caves that are wonderlands of stalagmite and stalagtite. Also on the bay, are villages, where Vietnamese people live in houseboats, fishing for their livelihood. Amazing and beautiful place. Sobering to view such daily life. But, in the ‘annoying Vietnamese that try too hard category’ is Hai (pronounced “Hi”), my tour guide. Hai is thirty, and according to him “single but not sure why” and Vietnamese born. Here’s the catch: Hai speaks like he’s lived in London his whole life. Like, grating, put your fingers in your ears to make it stop, cockneyed London accent spoken in movies like Snatch, Trainspotting, etc… And guess why? That’s where Hai learned his English from. THOSE MOVIES. When he first spoke, I thought he was imitating the English couple on the tour. Then, he kept talking like that – using words like posh and bullocks and snog, asking the couple if his English is “up to snuff” and if they would like some “fish and chips” for lunch instead of the Vietnamese “grog” they serve on the boat. And this continued ALL DAY LONG. Everytime he spoke, if I closed my eyes, there was a skinny, crooked-tooth, fair-skinned white guy with a skull cap and week’s worth of scruff, a mug of beer in one hand, cigarette in the other, staring back at me.
Finally, I took an overnight train to Sapa, or the rice-terraces up north. Getting into my overnight carriage, I’m greeted by “Kay and Alan from Connecticut.” Kay immediately gives me a sick attitude because my bag doesn’t fit under the beds in the compartment, out of her eyesight. Does it matter? It’s next to my bed, she can walk and get up w/o touching it. We’re sleeping for the duration – it’s 10 PM, we arrive at 6 AM – are you doing seniors yoga in the crawl space, Kay???
Me: “Is this really a problem for you?”
Kay: “Well, it’s huuuuge. It’s in my way and maybe you should just put it on your bed.”
Me: I’m not putting it ON my bed. And how, exactly, is it in your way?”
Kay: Well…. (looks away from me and to the upper bunk to her husband) Aaaallllaaan, it’s HUGE. I’m just going to take a pill so I don’t have to deal with it. (Back to me) I just think it’s very large.”
Me: And why does that concern you? You’re going to sleep, no? Didn’t you just say you’re going to “take a pill?”
Alan: “You do that, Kay. Take your pill.” (Rolls eyes at me.)
I’m still sick, have NO patience for whiny moms from CT to survey my baggage issues, so I turn to her, give her a disgusting forced smile and go “Oh, and goodnight.” She never spoke again. Success. The Marie you all know and love. Hehe….
Sapa turned out to be a mess. It was 20 degrees tops because of how the wind was coming off of China while I was there. I had wifebeaters, a North Face and bronchitis to keep me warm. So, I never left my hotel room for two days except to eat soup in the restaurant, sleeping off my illness.
Onto Thailand. Vietnam was awesome, but I think I’m ready for a change…
More soon…
xoxoxo
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Long/Luong/Loong
It’s funny how when you expect the worst, you always wind up surprising yourself and having a blast.
For me, that was what Hue was all about.
I arrived into Hue after sleeping late in Hoi An to TRY to shake this latest bout of bronchitis that has plagued me since Argentina. Coughing the entire way, I was tired and cranky, and when I got to town, the backpacker’s strip was congested and dirty and I just had no energy for it. Part of the crazyness of Vietnam is beating off the natives hawking their hotels, fruits, silks, motobike and cyclo rides, tour packages, etc..etc..etc... Within minutes of the bus pulling into the stop, there were AT LEAST 15 men yelling at me (on the bus, mind you – in MY personal space):
“Missus, where you stay?”
“You have hotel?”
"Excuse me, excuse me. I talk to you."
“See my hotel. Cheap.”
“Where you stay expensive? Me, not expensive.”
“Miss America, look here.”
“USA lady, I have good place.”
On top of the verbal harassment, they’re pushing their flyers, held by dirty, long-ass fingernails in my face and breathing their stenchy, nasty, smoky mouth’s smells onto me. I just lost it.
“NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!!! I have a hotel, get out of my way, stop touching me! NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!!” Pushing through them with my backpack, my wheelie, my sick little body. Just fuck the fuck off, people! OH MY GOD. I can’t deal…. I just wanted to be home in my apartment, under my yummy down covers, matzoh ball soup and toast and TROPICANA O.J. having been just consumed, half-watching Oprah on TiVo and half-dozing. Away from Vietnam, away from all the goddamn people.
After getting to my hotel, going for a QUICK dinner of noodle soup (here it’s called “pho”), and putting myself to bed, I awoke the next day, still not even close to 100%. So, I cancelled the DMZ tour (demilitarization zone tour – a visit to the 17th parallel and Vinh Moc tunnels) that would go from 6 AM to 8 PM and slept in. I just couldn’t handle another long, tourist bus day of war sites, tunnels, and depression after seeing all of it. What would I do today? Me, without a plan? Everyone comes to Hue to see the DMZ zone, which I’ve been told is less than exciting and similar to Cu Chi. What else do they do here? I’m unprepared. Shit. I’m not good at unprepared. So at 10 AM, I ventured out, not exactly sure what my day would entail.
As I walked along the Perfume River, which divides Hue into two sides, I saw a prettier side of the city. The riverbank was lined with modern art plazas, the sun was shining, the hawkers were less obvious. I figured I’d check out the Imperial City or Citadel (much like the Forbidden City in China), a fortress city that belonged to the emperors of the Nguyen dynasties of Hue through the ages. But because Hue saw the most attacks in both the French and American wars, much of the Imperial City was destroyed. I was curious. As I was about to find a taxi, I was approached by a really sweet cyclo driver (cyclos being little one-seat carriages with a bicycle on the back that a driver pedals to get you from place to place). He introduced himself, started talking to me like a person, not a vendor and won my ride. I jumped in and let Long (possibly spelled Luong or Loong – one can never know here) pedal me across the river to the Imperial City.
There I spent a few hours in awed wonder at this massive enclosed city, blasted in most places to smithereens by war. But the architecture that survived was amazing. The temples and living quarters, just divine. Long/Luong/Loong had promised to pick me up after my tour of the Imperial City, to take me onto the Thien Mu Pagoda, and then, the tombs of the past emperors of Hue. I was game.
Long/Luong/Loong came back a bit different. He traded in his cyclo for a motobike. His floppy fisherman’s hat for a baseball cap. Waving like a madman as I exited the Citadel, he wore a huge grin and said:
“Mawie, you ride motobike, yes?”
I didn’t even hesitate. My friend Chris and I rode one back from an outskirt bar in Hoi An a few nights back and, the thing to do here in Vietnam that I had resisted on a safety kick, it was a blast (and I’ve always been a sucker for a guy on a bike…not that Long/Luong/Loong was really doing it for me…).
“Of course…”
So began my day motobiking around the villages surrounding Hue, as well as the tombs (or small towns with temples, lakes, residences, courtyards) built for past emperors. I asked Long/Luong/Loong to take me to see how the people really lived, off the tour bus circuit, as we traversed Hue and beyond to get to each tomb (they’re spread over a 30 km radius outside of the city limits). It was amazing. We rode through forest towns on dirt roads, through tiny villages preparing for Tet or Lunar New Year by hanging decorations on their makeshift doorways. I talked to little roadside water vendors who had family in the States and they had been saving for 15 years (!!) for a visa.
“Three more years and I go to San Jose,” said one.
“My brother send for me soon to come to California,” said another.
And everyone was so happy to shake my hand, to talk to me, to hear about America. It was absolutely wonderful to be communicating with these people, so easily and effortlessly. Then, to hop back on a bike, ride along the Perfume River (which is really beautiful) and just feel outside of the Vietnam that had me tearing my hair out yesterday, was so refreshing.
At the end of the day, I asked Long/Luong/Loong to take me for his favorite Vietnamese meal. He took me to some joint that would’ve had all of you balking and calling the Board of Health. But, it was absolutely the most delicious food and drink I’ve had here. For $1.35. And Long sat with me and told me about his family (my age, three children – oldest is 14!), and his life, the stall his wife tends to at the Central Market, how happy he is here in Vietnam. I hung on every mispronounced word. Then, he dropped me back at my hotel, 7 hours after we met, with a handshake, a “happy new year,” and a “you a cool girl, marie….luck in travels tomorrow.” Talk about feeling great after a long day….
Hue. Perfect.
xo
For me, that was what Hue was all about.
I arrived into Hue after sleeping late in Hoi An to TRY to shake this latest bout of bronchitis that has plagued me since Argentina. Coughing the entire way, I was tired and cranky, and when I got to town, the backpacker’s strip was congested and dirty and I just had no energy for it. Part of the crazyness of Vietnam is beating off the natives hawking their hotels, fruits, silks, motobike and cyclo rides, tour packages, etc..etc..etc... Within minutes of the bus pulling into the stop, there were AT LEAST 15 men yelling at me (on the bus, mind you – in MY personal space):
“Missus, where you stay?”
“You have hotel?”
"Excuse me, excuse me. I talk to you."
“See my hotel. Cheap.”
“Where you stay expensive? Me, not expensive.”
“Miss America, look here.”
“USA lady, I have good place.”
On top of the verbal harassment, they’re pushing their flyers, held by dirty, long-ass fingernails in my face and breathing their stenchy, nasty, smoky mouth’s smells onto me. I just lost it.
“NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!!! I have a hotel, get out of my way, stop touching me! NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!!” Pushing through them with my backpack, my wheelie, my sick little body. Just fuck the fuck off, people! OH MY GOD. I can’t deal…. I just wanted to be home in my apartment, under my yummy down covers, matzoh ball soup and toast and TROPICANA O.J. having been just consumed, half-watching Oprah on TiVo and half-dozing. Away from Vietnam, away from all the goddamn people.
After getting to my hotel, going for a QUICK dinner of noodle soup (here it’s called “pho”), and putting myself to bed, I awoke the next day, still not even close to 100%. So, I cancelled the DMZ tour (demilitarization zone tour – a visit to the 17th parallel and Vinh Moc tunnels) that would go from 6 AM to 8 PM and slept in. I just couldn’t handle another long, tourist bus day of war sites, tunnels, and depression after seeing all of it. What would I do today? Me, without a plan? Everyone comes to Hue to see the DMZ zone, which I’ve been told is less than exciting and similar to Cu Chi. What else do they do here? I’m unprepared. Shit. I’m not good at unprepared. So at 10 AM, I ventured out, not exactly sure what my day would entail.
As I walked along the Perfume River, which divides Hue into two sides, I saw a prettier side of the city. The riverbank was lined with modern art plazas, the sun was shining, the hawkers were less obvious. I figured I’d check out the Imperial City or Citadel (much like the Forbidden City in China), a fortress city that belonged to the emperors of the Nguyen dynasties of Hue through the ages. But because Hue saw the most attacks in both the French and American wars, much of the Imperial City was destroyed. I was curious. As I was about to find a taxi, I was approached by a really sweet cyclo driver (cyclos being little one-seat carriages with a bicycle on the back that a driver pedals to get you from place to place). He introduced himself, started talking to me like a person, not a vendor and won my ride. I jumped in and let Long (possibly spelled Luong or Loong – one can never know here) pedal me across the river to the Imperial City.
There I spent a few hours in awed wonder at this massive enclosed city, blasted in most places to smithereens by war. But the architecture that survived was amazing. The temples and living quarters, just divine. Long/Luong/Loong had promised to pick me up after my tour of the Imperial City, to take me onto the Thien Mu Pagoda, and then, the tombs of the past emperors of Hue. I was game.
Long/Luong/Loong came back a bit different. He traded in his cyclo for a motobike. His floppy fisherman’s hat for a baseball cap. Waving like a madman as I exited the Citadel, he wore a huge grin and said:
“Mawie, you ride motobike, yes?”
I didn’t even hesitate. My friend Chris and I rode one back from an outskirt bar in Hoi An a few nights back and, the thing to do here in Vietnam that I had resisted on a safety kick, it was a blast (and I’ve always been a sucker for a guy on a bike…not that Long/Luong/Loong was really doing it for me…).
“Of course…”
So began my day motobiking around the villages surrounding Hue, as well as the tombs (or small towns with temples, lakes, residences, courtyards) built for past emperors. I asked Long/Luong/Loong to take me to see how the people really lived, off the tour bus circuit, as we traversed Hue and beyond to get to each tomb (they’re spread over a 30 km radius outside of the city limits). It was amazing. We rode through forest towns on dirt roads, through tiny villages preparing for Tet or Lunar New Year by hanging decorations on their makeshift doorways. I talked to little roadside water vendors who had family in the States and they had been saving for 15 years (!!) for a visa.
“Three more years and I go to San Jose,” said one.
“My brother send for me soon to come to California,” said another.
And everyone was so happy to shake my hand, to talk to me, to hear about America. It was absolutely wonderful to be communicating with these people, so easily and effortlessly. Then, to hop back on a bike, ride along the Perfume River (which is really beautiful) and just feel outside of the Vietnam that had me tearing my hair out yesterday, was so refreshing.
At the end of the day, I asked Long/Luong/Loong to take me for his favorite Vietnamese meal. He took me to some joint that would’ve had all of you balking and calling the Board of Health. But, it was absolutely the most delicious food and drink I’ve had here. For $1.35. And Long sat with me and told me about his family (my age, three children – oldest is 14!), and his life, the stall his wife tends to at the Central Market, how happy he is here in Vietnam. I hung on every mispronounced word. Then, he dropped me back at my hotel, 7 hours after we met, with a handshake, a “happy new year,” and a “you a cool girl, marie….luck in travels tomorrow.” Talk about feeling great after a long day….
Hue. Perfect.
xo
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Good Morning Vietnam, Part Two.
Ok, hi -- I'm back.
After recovering from the unbelievable culture shock of Ho Chi Minh City, as NOTHING is familiar on this side of the world, I began to adapt to the city. I would even say that by the time I left, I came to really like it. Over the four days I spent there I think I saw all the city has to offer, historically and currently. Joy took me around town on a whirlwind city tour, starting with the markets that were brimming with vendors begging you to browse their booths. Everyone approaches you to enter their shops "Lady, come into my shop" and there's so much stuff everywhere. I have no idea how any one shop could ever sell all of the merchandise they have, there's just so much junk!! She also took me to eat authentic Vietnamese food at a little, non-descript outdoor restaurant in a back alley that I would NEVER have found on my own. We munched on Vietnamese pancakes -- a fried-ish pancake that's a cross between bread and egg consistencies, filled with noodles, bean sprouts, shrimp, pork -- that you wrap in giant lettuce leaves and dip into chili sauce. Rice paper spring rolls (not fried and so fresh) and bamboo, shrimp and pork salad. All so good, and things I would never know to choose to try had I not had her as a guide. Another night we ate Vietnamese BBQ ($20 total for ALL of us to have about 4-5 main dishes and appetizers) where they bring you the prawns (here, shrimp are those tiny little guys, prawns are the meaty big suckers) LIVE in a clear pot and you have to cook them at the table while they freak out and jump around the pot as they, um....die, then eat them (Lukoff, you would've been VERY upset). All in all, B&J helped me appreciate Vietnamese daily life in a way I couldn't have done as a mere tourist.
Speaking of being a tourist, I spent two days at all the "sites" of HCMC. Day one was spent at the Cu Chi Tunnels, Reunification Palace, the War Remnants Museum and other war-related places. Day two was spent along the Mekong River Delta, glimpsing that kind of Vietnamese life. The day that focused on the war was actually a very depressing day. I don't think, no matter how much you read, watched, saw, heard about the war, you can REALLY get a feeling for it, without seeing the actual places and ways in which the war was fought. At Cu Chi, there are preserved bomb sites, remains of demolished US tanks, man-made booby traps that look like the ground of the forest (but you step into and fall into spikes), torture devices, and foxholes (that you can actually get into, cover with leaves, and go undetected). It's all part of the perspective that you come away from Cu Chi with, but the most surreal experience is crawling through the Cu Chi Tunnels. The tunnels were used by the North Vietnamese to attack Saigon. The intricate underground tunnels are 90 ft deep, each "level" 30 ft lower than the one above and are comprised of passageways, living spaces, weapons arsenals, sleeping and cooking facilities. We were able to replicate a crawl through the tunnels. You slowly descend via hidden staircases into tunnels AT MOST 3x3 feet. Then, you crouch through them. After about 400 feet of sweltering hot, twisting, turning darkness, you come to another descent, and go down another 30 feet to crawl space where you are on your hands and knees. I cannot even begin to describe how I felt doing that. Completely overwhelmed, locked in my head, even nervous at points. I was emotional at the idea that people actually lived this way in order to preserve their country's way of life. Then, you emerge into the fresh air again and you have crossed what might be the length of a football field, undetected. It's VERY frightening when you put that in the context of war. After seeing all of that, the range of ways that Ho Chi Minh's forces confounded the US forces, it's no wonder they won. Of course, being in Vietnam, a Communist country, it's very obvious that there's a slant against the American forces when you visit these sites. But, nevertheless, it didn't dull the sad feeling I had all day. How anyone can visit Vietnam and not reconsider their feelings on American led war efforts, in any region, is beyond me. Let's just say that I did a lot of thinking that day about wars that are waged on countries that might not be in our best interests to fight.
After Ho Chi Minh, I headed north to Nha Trang by bus for 2 nights. Nha Trang is a beach town, ala Jersey Shore. Very cheesy, lacking charm, mediocre restaurants but beautiful beaches. Sorry, my Jersey friends.... The trip up to Nha Trang was pretty uneventful until my Ipod ran out of batteries and the little Aussie kid in the seat in front of me who had no idea what the concept of "quiet time for 6 hours on a bus because the people around you have NO escape" was decided to use his "flashers" (flash cards with the alphabet on them) to name a word for each letter. About 15 times. I don't know how many times his parents could hear 'e is for elephant' or 'i is for iguana' without wanting to kill him. I give you ALL credit. You know who you are.... ;) On arrival in Nha Trang, I checked into my hotel, then headed out for a meal. I was STARVING as I hadn't really eaten all day. Outside of the food I ate with Joy, I really still haven't gotten eating in Asia down to a science. And tonight was no different. The soup could've passed for dishwater, the tuna could've been name-your-nastiest-meat-here, and the dim, lovely, candlelit ambience of the Sailing Club restaurant didn't help me IDENTIFY my food or see the bugs eating my legs alive so I looked like a sea-faring victim of scurvy by meal's end, so I merely went hungry (and itchy). Yet again. I am so determined to learn to eat Vietnamese, Thai, Indian food, and yet.....I'm having a hard time in my mastery. Upside, weight loss. Downside, starvation never really agreed with me. What I'd give for a chicken parm right about now....
The Sailing Club restaurant also fancies itself a beach club, so the next day, I went there to lay out on the beach in style. The beach chairs were amazing -- oversized and comfy -- and the people watching, fantastic. Still hungry, I tried a burger this time, thinking maybe ordering something I know will work for me. No dice. It was shit, too. But, what wound up being great about Nha Trang was that I got to feel like a traveler again. Starting in Nha Trang, I was on my own again. No Joy or Brian to help guide me and it felt nice. In SEAsia, such a well-trodden path, people abound and, likely, they're on the same tour as you are. So, I met Rich and Michael, two Aussies on their way up to Hoi An like me. We decided to take an overnight train together. Through them, I met Emma and Lee. Girls from NZ, same route. Adam, Johnny and Johnny's cousin (can't remember name...), who I'm bound to see through Cambodia in Feb. It's just this undercurrent of people, repeating in each place, making it comfortable. For me (now in Hoi An with many of the abovementioned folk), that part of this trip began in Nha Trang at the Sailing Club where all the travelers go for their night's kicks. It was also at the Sailing Club that I had my Page Six moment, the first this trip....
So, I'm sitting with a bunch of people and two very pretty blonds pull up chairs next to me. They had been with my group the night before. We start talking, they're both 30 as well, men, life, blah blah blah... And, as we're talking, people keep coming up to Natalie. I'm half paying attention b/c I'm talking to Tanya (Natalie's friend), and finally it hits me.
Me: Natalie -- are people asking you for AUTOGRAPHS?
Natalie: Nah, yeah. Whatever.
Tanya: Yes, they 100% are.
Me: WHO ARE YOU? Are you a little star in another country that I don't know about?
Natalie: It's no big deal.
Tanya: Yes, she's on a soap called Neighbours.
Natalie: Yes, yes...but it's nothing.
Tanya: And she is a pop-star in Australia, she has a hit now on the charts.
Turns out that Natalie is Natalie Bassingthwaighte, following the career paths of Kylie Minogue and Natalie Imbruglia who started on Neighbours and now, are pop stars, as you likely know. This Natalie is on a similar track. And, she was lovely. Just so normal and down to earth, having her holiday with a friend through Vietnam. We hung out through the Sailing Club nights and just talked about life. When I told Sarah (from Sydney) that I met her and showed her all the pictures, she keeled over with delight, rattling off a bunch of facts about Natalie like any of us would do about Gwyneth or Brad and Angelina. That'll be valid for Page Six in about 6 years when Natalie makes it in the US, but for now, that's my brush with celebrity...
Hoi An is where I'm at now, taking a night to myself after two long (and wonderful) days with sweet Sarah from Argentina who's traveling SEAsia too. We met here and took some time in the made-to-order-tailoring capital of the region laying at the pool of my ultra-fabulous hotel, running around getting clothes made (1 suit, 2 skirts, 3 shirts, 2 dresses), avoiding the hordes of locals by saying "No speak English" (it's hilarious - they have NO idea what to do with that, and actually, leave you alone!), and wound up in somebody's garage outside of town that they call "Dream Bar, Good Shit" (since Hoi An closes at around 11 PM, officially) drinking jam jars of "wodka" juice until 4 AM with a hot Aussie named Chris. Amazing to be with Sarah. It's like we left each other in Argentina yesterday, the familiar is good and we have a blast together. Tomorrow, I head up to Hue, then Hanoi. Tonight, time for bed.
More from the north....
xoxo
~M
After recovering from the unbelievable culture shock of Ho Chi Minh City, as NOTHING is familiar on this side of the world, I began to adapt to the city. I would even say that by the time I left, I came to really like it. Over the four days I spent there I think I saw all the city has to offer, historically and currently. Joy took me around town on a whirlwind city tour, starting with the markets that were brimming with vendors begging you to browse their booths. Everyone approaches you to enter their shops "Lady, come into my shop" and there's so much stuff everywhere. I have no idea how any one shop could ever sell all of the merchandise they have, there's just so much junk!! She also took me to eat authentic Vietnamese food at a little, non-descript outdoor restaurant in a back alley that I would NEVER have found on my own. We munched on Vietnamese pancakes -- a fried-ish pancake that's a cross between bread and egg consistencies, filled with noodles, bean sprouts, shrimp, pork -- that you wrap in giant lettuce leaves and dip into chili sauce. Rice paper spring rolls (not fried and so fresh) and bamboo, shrimp and pork salad. All so good, and things I would never know to choose to try had I not had her as a guide. Another night we ate Vietnamese BBQ ($20 total for ALL of us to have about 4-5 main dishes and appetizers) where they bring you the prawns (here, shrimp are those tiny little guys, prawns are the meaty big suckers) LIVE in a clear pot and you have to cook them at the table while they freak out and jump around the pot as they, um....die, then eat them (Lukoff, you would've been VERY upset). All in all, B&J helped me appreciate Vietnamese daily life in a way I couldn't have done as a mere tourist.
Speaking of being a tourist, I spent two days at all the "sites" of HCMC. Day one was spent at the Cu Chi Tunnels, Reunification Palace, the War Remnants Museum and other war-related places. Day two was spent along the Mekong River Delta, glimpsing that kind of Vietnamese life. The day that focused on the war was actually a very depressing day. I don't think, no matter how much you read, watched, saw, heard about the war, you can REALLY get a feeling for it, without seeing the actual places and ways in which the war was fought. At Cu Chi, there are preserved bomb sites, remains of demolished US tanks, man-made booby traps that look like the ground of the forest (but you step into and fall into spikes), torture devices, and foxholes (that you can actually get into, cover with leaves, and go undetected). It's all part of the perspective that you come away from Cu Chi with, but the most surreal experience is crawling through the Cu Chi Tunnels. The tunnels were used by the North Vietnamese to attack Saigon. The intricate underground tunnels are 90 ft deep, each "level" 30 ft lower than the one above and are comprised of passageways, living spaces, weapons arsenals, sleeping and cooking facilities. We were able to replicate a crawl through the tunnels. You slowly descend via hidden staircases into tunnels AT MOST 3x3 feet. Then, you crouch through them. After about 400 feet of sweltering hot, twisting, turning darkness, you come to another descent, and go down another 30 feet to crawl space where you are on your hands and knees. I cannot even begin to describe how I felt doing that. Completely overwhelmed, locked in my head, even nervous at points. I was emotional at the idea that people actually lived this way in order to preserve their country's way of life. Then, you emerge into the fresh air again and you have crossed what might be the length of a football field, undetected. It's VERY frightening when you put that in the context of war. After seeing all of that, the range of ways that Ho Chi Minh's forces confounded the US forces, it's no wonder they won. Of course, being in Vietnam, a Communist country, it's very obvious that there's a slant against the American forces when you visit these sites. But, nevertheless, it didn't dull the sad feeling I had all day. How anyone can visit Vietnam and not reconsider their feelings on American led war efforts, in any region, is beyond me. Let's just say that I did a lot of thinking that day about wars that are waged on countries that might not be in our best interests to fight.
After Ho Chi Minh, I headed north to Nha Trang by bus for 2 nights. Nha Trang is a beach town, ala Jersey Shore. Very cheesy, lacking charm, mediocre restaurants but beautiful beaches. Sorry, my Jersey friends.... The trip up to Nha Trang was pretty uneventful until my Ipod ran out of batteries and the little Aussie kid in the seat in front of me who had no idea what the concept of "quiet time for 6 hours on a bus because the people around you have NO escape" was decided to use his "flashers" (flash cards with the alphabet on them) to name a word for each letter. About 15 times. I don't know how many times his parents could hear 'e is for elephant' or 'i is for iguana' without wanting to kill him. I give you ALL credit. You know who you are.... ;) On arrival in Nha Trang, I checked into my hotel, then headed out for a meal. I was STARVING as I hadn't really eaten all day. Outside of the food I ate with Joy, I really still haven't gotten eating in Asia down to a science. And tonight was no different. The soup could've passed for dishwater, the tuna could've been name-your-nastiest-meat-here, and the dim, lovely, candlelit ambience of the Sailing Club restaurant didn't help me IDENTIFY my food or see the bugs eating my legs alive so I looked like a sea-faring victim of scurvy by meal's end, so I merely went hungry (and itchy). Yet again. I am so determined to learn to eat Vietnamese, Thai, Indian food, and yet.....I'm having a hard time in my mastery. Upside, weight loss. Downside, starvation never really agreed with me. What I'd give for a chicken parm right about now....
The Sailing Club restaurant also fancies itself a beach club, so the next day, I went there to lay out on the beach in style. The beach chairs were amazing -- oversized and comfy -- and the people watching, fantastic. Still hungry, I tried a burger this time, thinking maybe ordering something I know will work for me. No dice. It was shit, too. But, what wound up being great about Nha Trang was that I got to feel like a traveler again. Starting in Nha Trang, I was on my own again. No Joy or Brian to help guide me and it felt nice. In SEAsia, such a well-trodden path, people abound and, likely, they're on the same tour as you are. So, I met Rich and Michael, two Aussies on their way up to Hoi An like me. We decided to take an overnight train together. Through them, I met Emma and Lee. Girls from NZ, same route. Adam, Johnny and Johnny's cousin (can't remember name...), who I'm bound to see through Cambodia in Feb. It's just this undercurrent of people, repeating in each place, making it comfortable. For me (now in Hoi An with many of the abovementioned folk), that part of this trip began in Nha Trang at the Sailing Club where all the travelers go for their night's kicks. It was also at the Sailing Club that I had my Page Six moment, the first this trip....
So, I'm sitting with a bunch of people and two very pretty blonds pull up chairs next to me. They had been with my group the night before. We start talking, they're both 30 as well, men, life, blah blah blah... And, as we're talking, people keep coming up to Natalie. I'm half paying attention b/c I'm talking to Tanya (Natalie's friend), and finally it hits me.
Me: Natalie -- are people asking you for AUTOGRAPHS?
Natalie: Nah, yeah. Whatever.
Tanya: Yes, they 100% are.
Me: WHO ARE YOU? Are you a little star in another country that I don't know about?
Natalie: It's no big deal.
Tanya: Yes, she's on a soap called Neighbours.
Natalie: Yes, yes...but it's nothing.
Tanya: And she is a pop-star in Australia, she has a hit now on the charts.
Turns out that Natalie is Natalie Bassingthwaighte, following the career paths of Kylie Minogue and Natalie Imbruglia who started on Neighbours and now, are pop stars, as you likely know. This Natalie is on a similar track. And, she was lovely. Just so normal and down to earth, having her holiday with a friend through Vietnam. We hung out through the Sailing Club nights and just talked about life. When I told Sarah (from Sydney) that I met her and showed her all the pictures, she keeled over with delight, rattling off a bunch of facts about Natalie like any of us would do about Gwyneth or Brad and Angelina. That'll be valid for Page Six in about 6 years when Natalie makes it in the US, but for now, that's my brush with celebrity...
Hoi An is where I'm at now, taking a night to myself after two long (and wonderful) days with sweet Sarah from Argentina who's traveling SEAsia too. We met here and took some time in the made-to-order-tailoring capital of the region laying at the pool of my ultra-fabulous hotel, running around getting clothes made (1 suit, 2 skirts, 3 shirts, 2 dresses), avoiding the hordes of locals by saying "No speak English" (it's hilarious - they have NO idea what to do with that, and actually, leave you alone!), and wound up in somebody's garage outside of town that they call "Dream Bar, Good Shit" (since Hoi An closes at around 11 PM, officially) drinking jam jars of "wodka" juice until 4 AM with a hot Aussie named Chris. Amazing to be with Sarah. It's like we left each other in Argentina yesterday, the familiar is good and we have a blast together. Tomorrow, I head up to Hue, then Hanoi. Tonight, time for bed.
More from the north....
xoxo
~M
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Good Morning Vietnam!
(what did you think I'd call it .... !?!?!?!)
And so....Round two.
Sorry for the delay. I've been a little busy, you know, adjusting to
a) Asia
b) a 12-hour time difference
c) my life
Yeah. So, hi.
Currently, I am in the beach town of Nha Trang, awaiting my bus pick-up for a 12 hour drive up the coast to Hoi An, another beach town, but a more quaint one filled with tailors that are ready and waiting to make (in 24 hours, mind you) ANY little piece of clothing your heart desires. For next to nothing...my kind of town. But, I know I've been lax about writing, so I'll try to catch you up to speed in the half hour until I leave. Might be hard. Vietnam is going to be very hard to desribe in a half-hour.
Let's start here. Vietnam is AMAZING. I actually still don't think I'm grasping that I'm actually HERE. It's on the other side of the world, and you feel that at every turn. There's nothing at all familiar about this place, but it's absolutely fantastic and very very beautiful. And that's only having seen two cities and the Mekong Delta!!
My trip started in Ho Chi Minh City (fka Saigon) about a week ago, I flew through Tokyo on a fifteen hour flight, in coach. I was DREADING the trip, obviously. Cross-country-transPacific in COACH. Not so fun. But, it was actually not as bad as I imagined it would be. Looking out my window, I was continually awed by the wing span of the plane that I was in, one that needed to go 15 hours non-stop. And, then, as the Japanese coastline came into view, I think I caught myself, catching myself...if you know what I mean. I was flying over JAPAN. Narita Airport was a trip, it's almost hokey how overdone on ettiquette the Japanese are. Everyone is in uniforms that seem fake, like from a 1970's movie about Japan, shaped in design like girl and boy scouts, with matching hats and white gloves. They are polite and delicate and everything is done with care and order, and serious little bows. It's pretty wild.
Then, onto Ho Chi Minh, where I stayed with Jordan's friends Joy and Brian, who works for Mersk over there. They live in District 1 (HCMC is divided into districts), where most of the shops, hotels, and restaurants are centered. Since I came into HCMC late at night, I didn't get a sense of the city until morning. But, oh what a morning!!! Walking out onto the streets of HCMC, you cannot stop looking around. You are bombarded by sights and sounds and smells, coming at you from every angle. The first thing you notice are the motorbikes, which are the main means of transportation in Vietnam. Everywhere, motorbikes, racing by at breakneck speeds, carrying men, women, children. 10, 50 and 90 year old drive motorbikes and looking down the streets, seeing them gather at stoplights, it's absolutely like nothing you've ever seen. They are mixed in with the taxis and cars, and there are NO RULES. Taxis U-turn at will in the middle of the streets, traffic lights hold no real stopping-potential, pedestrians (myself included) just cross the lanes of traffic wherever it is necessary to cross. Slowly, with care, looking as you do it. It's nerve-wracking at first, you think you're going to get killed, but you don't. Both the traffic and you develop a sense of crossing. I don't know how it works, but it works....
Then, you notice, the people. Hanging around. Everyone in Vietnam hangs doing nothing ALL DAY LONG. So congregated all over the streets on these little plastic chair/table sets (that you all have bought your 2 year old children, FULLY...) are Vietnamese people. Kicking it on the colored plastic. Eating, usually. They eat all the time, from the vendors on the street (which are at every turn, hawking pineapples, rice, pho -- or noodle soup, live lobsters and crabs that they cook in front of you, spring rolls (currently my staple food b/c nothing else is quite doing it for me...) For all the eating these people do, all the rice and noodles and baguettes (remember, Vietnam was French once upon a time ago), I have NO IDEA how these people are so freakin' skinny! Very jealous of them. I wish I could rice it out and not gain. Not in my lifetime. No one is sure what all these people actually DO, but they're so happy, friendly and smiley. And when they ask you where you're from (well, me....) and I say the United States, a lot of times, I get a handshake and smile and a "Hello, America" response. Very interesting..... The other thing you notice about the people is that many are handicapped in some way, whether it's missing limbs, palsied faces, limps, blindness, there is a lot of hardship for a lot of people here. You want to give money to everyone that asks, you really do, because the poverty here is different, but you can't. And it breaks your heart....
Another random thing -- everyone wears pajamas. Women, usually silk ones. Like sets that I would reserve for a romp in the hay, possibly. Camisoles and pants, you name it -- if WE sleep in it, THEY work in it. And the men wear like Hugh Hefner smoking jacket pajamas. I guess if you think about it, it's pretty damn smart -- get up, get out of bed for the day, but goddamnnit, be comfortable!!! They MIGHT be onto something. But, I didn't exactly get used to it. It's a little off...
Ok, time for my bus. Part two, HCMC and Nha Trang next . . .
~M
xoxo
And so....Round two.
Sorry for the delay. I've been a little busy, you know, adjusting to
a) Asia
b) a 12-hour time difference
c) my life
Yeah. So, hi.
Currently, I am in the beach town of Nha Trang, awaiting my bus pick-up for a 12 hour drive up the coast to Hoi An, another beach town, but a more quaint one filled with tailors that are ready and waiting to make (in 24 hours, mind you) ANY little piece of clothing your heart desires. For next to nothing...my kind of town. But, I know I've been lax about writing, so I'll try to catch you up to speed in the half hour until I leave. Might be hard. Vietnam is going to be very hard to desribe in a half-hour.
Let's start here. Vietnam is AMAZING. I actually still don't think I'm grasping that I'm actually HERE. It's on the other side of the world, and you feel that at every turn. There's nothing at all familiar about this place, but it's absolutely fantastic and very very beautiful. And that's only having seen two cities and the Mekong Delta!!
My trip started in Ho Chi Minh City (fka Saigon) about a week ago, I flew through Tokyo on a fifteen hour flight, in coach. I was DREADING the trip, obviously. Cross-country-transPacific in COACH. Not so fun. But, it was actually not as bad as I imagined it would be. Looking out my window, I was continually awed by the wing span of the plane that I was in, one that needed to go 15 hours non-stop. And, then, as the Japanese coastline came into view, I think I caught myself, catching myself...if you know what I mean. I was flying over JAPAN. Narita Airport was a trip, it's almost hokey how overdone on ettiquette the Japanese are. Everyone is in uniforms that seem fake, like from a 1970's movie about Japan, shaped in design like girl and boy scouts, with matching hats and white gloves. They are polite and delicate and everything is done with care and order, and serious little bows. It's pretty wild.
Then, onto Ho Chi Minh, where I stayed with Jordan's friends Joy and Brian, who works for Mersk over there. They live in District 1 (HCMC is divided into districts), where most of the shops, hotels, and restaurants are centered. Since I came into HCMC late at night, I didn't get a sense of the city until morning. But, oh what a morning!!! Walking out onto the streets of HCMC, you cannot stop looking around. You are bombarded by sights and sounds and smells, coming at you from every angle. The first thing you notice are the motorbikes, which are the main means of transportation in Vietnam. Everywhere, motorbikes, racing by at breakneck speeds, carrying men, women, children. 10, 50 and 90 year old drive motorbikes and looking down the streets, seeing them gather at stoplights, it's absolutely like nothing you've ever seen. They are mixed in with the taxis and cars, and there are NO RULES. Taxis U-turn at will in the middle of the streets, traffic lights hold no real stopping-potential, pedestrians (myself included) just cross the lanes of traffic wherever it is necessary to cross. Slowly, with care, looking as you do it. It's nerve-wracking at first, you think you're going to get killed, but you don't. Both the traffic and you develop a sense of crossing. I don't know how it works, but it works....
Then, you notice, the people. Hanging around. Everyone in Vietnam hangs doing nothing ALL DAY LONG. So congregated all over the streets on these little plastic chair/table sets (that you all have bought your 2 year old children, FULLY...) are Vietnamese people. Kicking it on the colored plastic. Eating, usually. They eat all the time, from the vendors on the street (which are at every turn, hawking pineapples, rice, pho -- or noodle soup, live lobsters and crabs that they cook in front of you, spring rolls (currently my staple food b/c nothing else is quite doing it for me...) For all the eating these people do, all the rice and noodles and baguettes (remember, Vietnam was French once upon a time ago), I have NO IDEA how these people are so freakin' skinny! Very jealous of them. I wish I could rice it out and not gain. Not in my lifetime. No one is sure what all these people actually DO, but they're so happy, friendly and smiley. And when they ask you where you're from (well, me....) and I say the United States, a lot of times, I get a handshake and smile and a "Hello, America" response. Very interesting..... The other thing you notice about the people is that many are handicapped in some way, whether it's missing limbs, palsied faces, limps, blindness, there is a lot of hardship for a lot of people here. You want to give money to everyone that asks, you really do, because the poverty here is different, but you can't. And it breaks your heart....
Another random thing -- everyone wears pajamas. Women, usually silk ones. Like sets that I would reserve for a romp in the hay, possibly. Camisoles and pants, you name it -- if WE sleep in it, THEY work in it. And the men wear like Hugh Hefner smoking jacket pajamas. I guess if you think about it, it's pretty damn smart -- get up, get out of bed for the day, but goddamnnit, be comfortable!!! They MIGHT be onto something. But, I didn't exactly get used to it. It's a little off...
Ok, time for my bus. Part two, HCMC and Nha Trang next . . .
~M
xoxo
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