Saturday, March 03, 2007

Halfway House

Today marks the halfway point of our trip, one we can look upon favorable. Nothing major misplaced, no real injuries save a blister and a bug bite or two. No unsafe episodes, despite our inclination at times to walk around at night with three heavy bags; one on our backs and one slung over each shoulder. Come, take our wallets, we have the agility of pregnant hippopotamuses and can't really stand up straight, let alone run after you. Our diet has been good, keeping to a high bread content mantra and washing down any suspect local meat and veggies with generous portions of local beer, as to effectively kill any bacteria. So far, so good; only a few stomach flutters from either of us. Knock on wood.

Also, Peggy and I feel as if we have hit the jackpot here in Vietnam as the exchange rate has made us certified (as opposed to certifiable) millionaires. In fact, our recent ATM statement reveals that we're worth the greater part of a billion dong. After I make my first billion, the rest of them are just going to come easy. Shit, I'm carrying a million units of the local currency in my pocket as we speak. , maybe I'll just sit back and live off the interest for awhile. Then again, you know what they say, mo' dongs, mo' wrongs.

The Sapa weekend has just begun. We took an uneventful, but luxurious train ride through the night up to this city amongst the clouds. We got off at 6am only 3km from the Chinese border, at the transfer station of Lao Cai. Our guest house room rate included a minibus pickup, who were waiting for us with placard in hand as we got off the train. I had called to confirm in broken English a few days ago to confirm that they would indeed pick us up and this caused some confusion. A gentleman with the sign reading Cawthon was standing next to a man with a sign saying Cawtham. Apparently this failed to ring any bells at the guest house in that it might be the same reservation. As we piled into the minibus for and waited twenty minutes for the other guests to filter in, the Cawtham gentleman was seen still dejectedly wandering around the parking lot looking for his lost connection. We were not in the mood to try to set the record straight.

We were the only people in the 14 person capacity minibus initially. Then we were joined by three French women (ribbit). Then nearly a dozen teenage rejects from the regional quarterfinals of the Vietnamese Idol television show piled in, bringing the total to 17, including the driver. The trip was to be a 45-minute extremely windy drive up and over the mountain, with four of the boys tellingly choosing to pile into the back row.

>As we were puttering out of town, there was some implicit banter going on between the teenage drama class and the Vietnamese driver. A few blocks later, and only three minutes since we had left the station, the minibus pulled over at a small sidewalk produce store. I thought, 'sweet, he's getting us all bananas to pass around'. Unfortunately, he only brought a bunch of clear pink plastic bags and proceeded to pass them directly to the back of the bus.

Here's where the drama really began. We began to slowly wind our way up the mountain, making switchback turn after switchback turn. The rambunctious teenagers in the minibus suddenly grew eerily quiet. I've had an experience like this before, where on the way back from a Sierras choir camp as a kid, one of the boys (who was sitting in the back row) got sick and puked directly into his friend's shoes. This quickly set off a chain reaction that cataclysmicly caused nearly the entire bus to start blowing chunks. Eventually, the bus had to be pulled over and hosed down because the stench got to be so bad. As an 11-year old with little empathy at the time, I was immensely entertained by these events.

As a 31-year old with now even less empathy, I still did not wish to repeat the experience. Peggy and I closed our eyes, retreated into the confines of our tired minds and just tried to maintain even keel. Waiting, cringing for the damn to burst. The calm that settled in the bus was unnerving. The kid to the right of me fell asleep and played the game of allowing his head to rest against my shoulder to 10 seconds before realizing he was doing it. He'd then jerk his neck back upright and repeat the process all over again. About halfway up the mountain, the boy who had the noodle soup for dinner last night finally had them again for breakfast. I unplugged my hearing aids as to better block out his convulsions of nausea. He slid open the window immediately to Peggy's left and began to deposit his homemade pink plastic bombs every five minutes or so, the last payload being indiscriminately dropped in the middle of Sapa town square. We're absolutely thrilled to be sharing the guest house with this outgoing, yet unapologetic group for the entire weekend.

posted by ncawthon at 7:23 PM

Friday, March 02, 2007

Stepping Out of the Sideshow

Cambodia is now effectively behind us, we rumbled through that country like a pair of drunken elephants. There was so much recent political history that would have been interesting to talk about in depth with a local, but with such a loaded subject and given our country of origin, we tread cautiously. Cambodia has so many little quirks that make it such an interesting place; like the rural weddings which pack enough audio firepower to rival a heavy metal stadium concert, stack and stacks of speakers blasting traditional Khmer music two villages in either direction.

Also in Cambodia, a visitor would be welcomed into the country with the humiliating process of public passport claim. After dubiously paying off your immigration official (Peggy had to pony up an extra $20 because she didn't have an blank page for her visa stamp), you assembled with a crowd of several dozen people to have your passport returned. Then, a female public official wearing a serious looking uniform and even more dower looking scowl, would stand up on her podium and show a given passport to the crowd waiting captively. She'd first attempt to absolutely butcher whatever name was on the passport, grinning maniacally all the while. The unlucky holder of said passport, the one consistently awful photograph, would have to sheepishly raise their hand in accept public humiliation. Each time, the crowd would let out a muffled chuckle in many foreign languages as they compared the awkward portrait to their real-life example.

There was this one hussy of a woman who, on the plane from Bangkok to Cambodia, would not stop talking. She went on and on about how hot and sweaty she was, how her tour took the bus, but she decided to fly, how tired she was... incessantly obnoxious. Although she had been 'rode hard and put up wet', she had really big breasts and was wearing a loose fitting summer dress. As a result, the guys surrounding her were captivated with all of her titillating adventures. She had a couple of potential suitors until the debacle that was her passport photo was presented for public display. She looked like Courtney Love after a three-night stint performing in Las Vegas. Hair color indecipherable, make-up applied via shotgun blast, expression a mix between confused and comatose. The crowd gasped instead of chuckling. Fittingly, it turns out she was from Sacramento.

Hanoi is loud. Scooters here seem to outnumber people by a three to one margin, filling every road, street and alleyway like a swarm of locusts. Street too crowded? Just stack the scooters three deep on the sidewalk. Our mantra has been to use the cars and buses as bell weathers, if we can avoid those larger moving objects, the scooters will figure themselves out. Crossing the street requires one's head to swivel as if watching a fast-paced tennis match. Our cab ride from the airport almost got Peggy t-boned by not only another taxi, but the dozen scooters surrounding it. All this accompanied by an atrocious Vietnamese cover version of In the White Room by Cream, playing over the taxi's radio.

Nonetheless, we're enjoying a much more relaxed atmosphere here than in Bangkok and can see the French influence in the architecture and the food. It does feel quite foreign; all the places have had a heavy English language emphasis up until Hanoi. Say what you will about the French (ribbit), but mon dieu, those baguettes c'est magnifique.

Merchants in Hanoi seem to gather themselves according to product offering, contrary to capitalist thought of the over saturation of a dozen like stores in a single area. Our hostel is located somewhere between the scooter repair district and the uniform embroidery / official hanging banner district. Earlier today, we walked through the street haircut district, the autocad / graphic designer district, the laptop district and the wooden gearshift knob district.

The communist influence is certainly felt here as well, with the cadres watching over every corner in their bright green outfits and May Day parade style uniforms. Around the streets of the Old Quarter, you'll see veterans of the American war; seniors still dressed in their fatigues and helmets, with a ghastly expression looking very shell shocked, grey and much worse for the wear.

We spent the day doing the tourist walk, lapping a lake that still today contains a massive 200 lb. ancient turtle, whose sole reproductive pair is already embalmed in the gift shop. We visited Uncle Ho in his mausoleum and saw all of the iconic highlights of pagodas and palaces. I must say, you really gotta love the public bong smoking by men and women, young and old. Feels like the 60's all over again.

Tonight we're getting on a train to head overnight North to Sapa, where the indigenous village tribes come out to trade in weekend mercantile markes. Should be a tourist crush of a small village town, but I can always Photoshop them out.

posted by ncawthon at 9:07 PM

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Wrestling with Reality

More temples today, bringing our total templeton activity to somewhere around nine or ten. They each have their own style and flavor, some old and abandoned, some restored and adopted. We took the tuk tuk on an hour and a half trip out of town to visit some of the more outlying temples, whose names escape me. The driving in the open air along Cambodian dirt roads really exposes you to the poverty in this country. Within 10km outside of Siem Reap, you're not going to find electricity in homes or running water. Many naked children running around dry fields with pigs, ducks, buffalo and chickens in tow. We're in the dry season, so all animals are looking fairly paltry with ribs showing.

Also, the driving in a metal box attached to a motor scooter is a good way to give yourself ulcers. When a car or bus wants to pass, it is a courtesy laying on the horn as they blow by you going 70 mph or so. Our tuk tuk probably maxes out at 30mph. This intermingled with traffic coming the other way, bikes, buffalo, children and anything you can imagine on the road just is a free for all. Cambodia is unique in that they've adopted a neutral stance on which side of the car the steering wheel is on. You've got a fifty-fifty chance of getting the correct one coming at you from the opposite direction. I would guess that it might be because of all the foreign delegations who come to the country offering diplomatic assistance with the health and the landmines.

We found out that there are three different political parties in this kingdom. A socialist party called Cambodian Peoples Party, a democratic party and the political party of the king. Aren't these all mutually exclusive? Why does this king need a political party, isn't being king enough? The king here cannot hold a candle to his Thai counterpart. Haven't seen a single picture of the king, other than the one outside of his palace. He'd feel really awkward in Thailand when seeing the adolation they have for their monarch. I'm not sure why a socialist party exists in this country either, they've seemed to have moved beyond that somewhat.

Lastly, wrestling. One really bizzare aspect of Cambodian society, and for that matter, all of South East Asia, is their love of American Wrestling. Morning, noon and night you'll find men and women, young and old, centered around television sets to watch degenerates in tights roll around on the ground. There is even a 'Wrestling' brand red wine (poorly pictured), but whether it increases testosterone, I'm afraid to try. I haven't had this much exposure to wrestling since I was 11 years old. I asked our guide who his favorite wrestler was and he giggled and said he likes the same ones his daughter likes. What is it about wrestling that gives it such widespread appeal? It could be the larger than life characters, thier over the top expressions and glistening man-boobs. One doesn't need to know much english to figure out who the bad guys are, or what the plot is. You'll find everywhere that kids and teenagers are wearing t-shirts with their favorite wrestling stars. If soccer is the world game, wrestling can't be too far behind.

posted by ncawthon at 8:40 PM

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Kingdom Come

Cambodia! Come for the temples, stay for the mosquitoes. After a very intimate, peaceful time in Laos, the Kingdom of Cambodia is jarringly active. The development of the tourism industry here is in full swing, despite having being held back by a repressive political regime until the 80's. There are dozens and dozens of hotels here that wouldn't look out of place in Las Vegas, if Sin City had dirt roads, tuk-tuks, lethargic dogs and street children outside in the parking lot. Siem Reap is tour central because of its' proximity to Angkor Wat. Bus after bus comes rumbling down the road full of their tour groups, whom have tendencies to be quite loud and annoying. South Koreans seem to be disproportionate in their representation.

Siem Reap's name translates into 'Defeat of Thailand', presumably because of the Ancient Spring Roll recipe theft back in 1325. The aggressiveness which we found so ugly in Bangkok and refreshingly absent in Laos is back with a vengeance here in Cambodia. The quality of craft leaves something to be desired, although we haven't yet explored the markets fully.

The multicultural aspect is very much felt here as well. If there was a Jerusalem of the East, where two major religions have come to merge, this is it. With Angkor Wat being one of the largest religious structures in the world (second only to Dallas Cowboy Stadium), and a shrine to both the Buddhist and Hindu religion, you get a real diverse vibe from the sightseers. Certainly not the Lonely Planet crowd that we've been immersed in (and a part of) for our other destinations. Many poor are making a pilgrimage here from various parts of the world. One group of what I would guess to be South East Asian, perhaps Indonesian, approached Peggy at the top of one of the temples, wanting to have their picture taken with her. Peggy was a bit puzzled as to why a random family wanted to pose with her at a 1100 year old shrine, surmising that it was either her freckles or clothing adjourned with various floral patterns. I though it could be a resemblance to the carved stone Monkey Warriors from the army of Suryavarman II in the early 12th century.

We get up and do a morning looking at a temple or two, climbing the steep stone steps and getting lost in the various caverns and galleries. Interposed with cans of sour sop juice (tastes a bit like mango) we then have our driver and guide, Mr. Luong bounce us to the next ruins. Lunch is back 5kms to town, followed by a rest and then back to the temples in the evening for sunset.

posted by ncawthon at 5:46 PM

Wide Eyed and Dreaming

Hello from the airport of Luang Prabang. We're through immigration after paying a departure tax of $10. When we arrived, we payed an arrival tax of $35. They had a sliding scale of what to pay for visitors from each country of the world. The vast majority were at the $35 dollar mark, the exception being the Swedes, who are only $31 dollars to enter Laos. Not sure what the $4 differential is between Swedes and the rest of the world, perhaps some of their diplomatic work entitles some discount.

The airport here is a bit awkward. We approached the counter and asked to check into our flight. They crew of three looked at us as if we had asked them if they might have had any good recipies using human brains. All check in procedures were done by the collective group, each pointing and muttering instructions at the computer screen simultaniously. Their working computer was a laptop that looked like it belonged to somebody's cousin. Our bags were whisked off an open loading dock into the back of a truch, which we hope is headed to the same airplane we are. To my left in the waiting area is a woman standing by the trash can whose job it seems is to stand by the trash can. Admittedly, one good things about asian airports and their airlines is that they always leave the emergency exit rows for the long-legged foreigners like myself. Sometimes being a wide-eye has its' privledges. We just heard an announcement over the single-speaker loudspeaker which sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher with a bad comical Chinese accent. No idea what it was meant to convey, but nobody seems too concerned.

Nonetheless, our stay in Luang Prabang was an overwhelmingly positive one. The Thong Bay Guest House was as hospitible and welcoming as anyone could ask for. We'd certianly stay there again. The town itself was a very unique and spiritual place, I can see why it is being preserved. The bugs and mozzies haven't been too bad, a few bites here and there, but we're winning the battle. Peggy has been touched by a slight case of Mekong River revenge, but has managed to soldier through it.

We've also found a scattered few who've either been on the same flight or seen walking around town. We're committed to meet up with a retired dentist and his eccentric Manhattanite wife in Hue next week. They were in the same hotel as us in Bangkok and we saw them in Siem Reap as well. I was lucky enough to run into a former co-worker from about six years ago at a cafe in Luang Prabang. Small world.

posted by ncawthon at 5:20 PM

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Peggy, Me and Mister Thongby Makes Three

Tomorrow is our last day in the charming city of Luang Prabang. Laos' second largest city, but still relatively quiet and intimate. Peggy took a cooking class yesterday; I got really lost on my bike looking for Colonel Kurtz somewhere upriver. Both were memorable. Peggy's class was invigorating, re-educating her as to the origins of most types of Thai food. Seems as if those cheeky Thais have ripped off the culinary techniques and recipes of the Lao people for generations. She's looking forward to busting out the banana leaf and sticky rice for you all soon.

Today we're headed out on a boat to visit the cave of a thousand Buddha. We'll be stopping at a silk weaving village on the way home to get a sense of the local flavor. Our guide is Mister Thongby, a chatty old dude who has spent some of his formative years in the U.S. and A., knowing a little about San Francisco. Mr. Thongby's claim to fame was that we was written up in a two-sentence description in the Rough Guide: Laos Edition back in 1982. Mister Thongby was described as a good person to do guided tours with. Spoke good English. Mister Thongby's knowledge of American politics began and ended with a justifiable disdainful opinion of Richard Nixon. He also mentioned that his mother is 105 years old, only a half dozen off the pace of the world's oldest woman.

The locals here are absolutely nuts for bocce ball, the game which is always changing. There are dozens of courts (square patches of dirt) set up all across town. The men can be found huddled by the dozen around the bocce pits, wagering in what seems to be a jovial and friendly atmosphere. I parked myself court side for a few games, hoping to get the call into action. As some of you know firsthand, my skills at bocce ball are world renown, so I was a bit surprised none of the more professionals didn't recognize me. Their loss.

Last night we attended a puppet and dance show at the children's center, put on by 20 of the local kids. We watched as they did different dances depicting traditional Lao courtship, farming and combat rituals. One of the UNICEF workers and organizers of the even gave us a dinner recommendation, only to join us for a nightcap later on. We again at another french restaurant, great food, cocktails, beer and wine, Cuban cigars. I had the Fillet Mignon, Peggy a traditional Lao dish. Total bill, again, $35. Additionally, the cost of my lunch consisting of noodle soup, rice cakes and bottled water: 85 cents. Feels as if this entire town can be purchased for $10 or less. Although, Bushonomics has plunged the exchange rate from 10,000 to 9,600 kip per dollar. Many locals are weary about accepting the greenback instead of their local kip, can't say that I blame them.

In the mornings, the monasteries have their monks bang on gong and drums as early as 3:30am. This, in chorus with their chanting, wakes up the roosters, both of which in turn wakes up the tourists who wonder what the hell all the racket is about. Everyday the monks line up and receive rice from the town residents, whom place some in every bowl of young monk trainees. This is a way for the Buddhist community to look after one another, the monks don't eat unless people contribute. As with Luang Prabang as a whole, the introduction of the tourist have complicated things somewhat, with 50 photographers on every corner and over-zealous (presumably) non-Buddhists baiting monks with their rice in order to get a candid close-up picture. It would be as if during the Catholic service of communion, a non-follower processed up to the altar, only to break out a camera and fire a strobe flash in the priest's face. Something to meditate on.

posted by ncawthon at 5:04 PM