(These events took place January 4, 2009.  Cat Ba Island to Hai Phong to Thai Binh.  130 km.)

Very early in the morning, my new friend Zoom and I left the hotel on Cat Ba Island where I stayed and he worked and drove the Fonda 30 km to catch the high speed hydrofoil to the mainland port of Hai Phong.  Zoom had decided to accompany me to Hai Phong for two reasons: to help me find a reputable garage to fix the brake and gas leak problems on my motorbike and to show me the wild and wacky animal market whose reputation for interesting and illegal animal sales spread far beyond the port itself.  

I wasn’t sure what we would see at the animal market, but no matter how interesting or exotic, the thing that held the greatest fascination for Zoom were the chicken fights.  He loves every aspect of chicken fights and was anxious to introduce me the “sport.”  “Some chickens have good kung fu,” he said in all seriousness.  I confess I wasn’t too keen on seeing two chickens maul each other to death, but learning what exactly constituted “good chicken kung fu” did intrigue me a bit.  

The hydrofoil that transported us to Hai Phong was at the opposite end of the spectrum from the slow, clunky, old-lady-and-vegetable-packed boat that the Fonda and I had taken from Hai Phong to arrive in Cat Ba in the first place.  This boat was new, smooth and fast.  I would be willing to swear on a stack of bibles that once the hydrofoil started, it never touched the water but merely hovered above it during the thirty minute ride.  This was light-speed transportation compared to the three hour slow boat I’d taken previously. 

During my five day stay on Cat Ba, I had been giving much thought and energy to my recently broken heart.  Eric and I had discussed the idea of rejoining forces for the motorbike tour after taking a few days apart, both in the Ha Long Bay area.  After taking that time, however, I knew I still needed time and space to allow my heart to fully heal and sent Eric an email to that effect.  As I flew across the water headed toward Hai Phong, I counseled myself to take this opportunity of high speed travel to leave my broken heart on Cat Ba and not to look back.  And for once, I took my own counsel.  

the Fonda on the operating table

Zoom and I arrived at the port about 15 km outside of Hai Phong and started making our way into town.  We were happily discussing chicken kung fu and what new dish Zoom would introduce me to for breakfast when the Fonda apparently grew bored with our discussion and quit.  Just like that.  She wouldn’t restart either.  Uppity Chinese bike.  

We pushed her about 1 km to the closest xe may (Pronuouced “say my” or “see my” depending which part of the country you’re in.  In case you forgot, that means mechanic. Don’t worry, after a few more blog entries, I’m sorry to say that you’ll recognize “xe may” without prompting.) who gave the battery a jump start and sent us on our way for a measly 5,000 dong ($0.30).  Five minutes later, the Fonda again voiced her objections.  I didn’t have the patience to find a xe may jump start every five minutes so instead we flagged down a small truck and loaded the Fonda up in the back for a tow.  We didn’t have straps to tie her securely into place so the truck driver took it slow, but I held my breath with each turn or big bump that we encountered.  

I let my breath out when we pulled up in front of a real garage.  This place practically had a pit crew of mechanics on staff.  They had about seven platforms which I called the motorbike operating tables and, as Zoom had promised, they stocked parts upon parts upon parts.  Hallelujah!  I had entered motorbike mechanic heaven!  Surely if anyone could fix the won’t-start-won’t-keep-going problem, it was these guys.  I felt great confidence as they rolled the Fonda up onto the operating table and began to look inside.

While we were waiting for the diagnosis, Zoom and I walked across the street to grab some breakfast.  For this meal, he wanted to introduce me to a Hai Phong specialty.  Noodle soup is a favorite of the Vietnamese for breakfast.  Most of the time, it contains chunks of pork or beef along with the noodles and broth.  Hai Phong, however, is apparently famous for a type of noodle soup called banh da cua (pronounced “bine da qua”) in which ground up crab meat is used for the broth and there are fish chunks in the soup instead of pork.

banh da cua

There are certain protocols to eating in Vietnam.  The first thing you do once your food arrives is to take the toilet paper, kleenex or squares of wax paper sitting on the table in lieu of real napkins and wipe down your chopsticks and your spoon.  Failure to do so will draw disapproving looks from fellow diners.  One doesn’t eat noodle soup of any kind without first squeezing in lime juice and then adding chili sauce and garlic sauce.  I was well practiced because of my experience with pho and Zoom nodded his approval as I observed the pre-noodle-slurping ritual.  With chopsticks in one hand and a Vietnamese spoon (like the short fat Chinese spoons) in the other, I dug into my banh da cua.  Oh man was this ever good!  It was spicy and flavorful and I garnered brownie points from the locals at the communal table when I pronounced it to be ngon (delicious) - at least that’s how I interpreted their giggles.

Bellies full, Zoom and I waddled back over to the garage.  The Fonda was still being examined so we pulled up chairs and waited.  Zoom took the opportunity to take a hit from the thuoc lao (pronounced took now), a tobacco’d water pipe that is ubiquitous in North Vietnam, but is mysteriously absent the further south one travels in the country.  Every restaurant, tea shop and apparently garage in the North have one.  They are about two feet long, three inches around and made of wood.  The pipes are kept in a bucket under a table and are considered communal and available for anyone to use.  The tobacco is always complimentary.   Zoom tells me that the effects are quite strong and that you can get drunk from smoking, but the buzz only lasts for 5 or 10 minutes.   I tried smoking one once, but it had no effect on me.  

After a bit, the mechanics announced that they had figured out the Fonda’s problem.  I was never clear what the original diagnosis was, but mechanics are all Greek to me anyway (a deficiency which I plan to remedy once I’m back home).  Zoom seemed satisfied that they were onto the right solution so we hopped on moto-taxis in search of some good displays of chicken kung fu while the repairs were underway.  

Because of all the delays due to the Fonda’s temper tantrums, it was already 1 pm by the time we arrived at the animal market.  As we wandered through,  I saw many different sizes of turtles for sale; some for pets and some for soup. There were ducks of many ages and sizes ranging from eggs to adults and all stages in between.  In fact, it seemed that all of the animals for sale came in all stages and sizes.  After five minutes, Zoom announced that we had missed the best of the market which starts around 6 am and ends by 11.  “Stupid motorbike,” I sputtered.  “It’s Chinese,” he responded.  

ducks of all ages and stages

Against all odds, Zoom held out hope that a few chicken fights might still be underway.  I was secretly relieved to see that all the winners of the morning’s matches were already tucked under their proud owners arms or locked away in their bamboo baskets all on their way home.  Disappointed, Zoom settled for showing me the fighting chickens that were for sale.  As in the case of the ducks and turtles, people were selling baby fighting chicks that still had their fuzz, the molting adolescents (puberty is apparently ugly no matter your genus, phylum or species) and the full fledged adults.  

In the same way that many American men like to flex their muscles by displaying a knowledge of cars or sports, Vietnamese men take great pride in knowing how to select a good fighting chicken.  At first, Zoom and I observed the testosterone-charged man-meets-chicken machismo from the sidelines, but after 5 minutes, he couldn’t stand it anymore and had to jump into the fray.  It’s just one more thing about Asia that makes me laugh.  

Zoom reluctantly dragged himself away from his beloved chickens to show me the remains of the market.  Puppies, kittens, cats and dogs galore were for sale.  Given the overcrowded conditions of many of the baskets and cages, I was at first afraid that my furry favorites were being sold for that night’s dinner.  Only ten minutes before when we were still in the chicken section, I heard Zoom say, “Look. Someone just killed a cat.” I let that go in one ear, out the other and refused to turn my head in the direction he was pointing.  I couldn’t escape from the sound of a meat cleaver on the chopping block though. Apparently and oh-so-thankfully, the cats and dogs I saw in the cages were all being sold as pets (Or maybe Zoom just took pity when he discovered my hypersensitivity to these particular tail wagging and paw licking critters.  If so, I was happy to believe the lie.) 

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according to the seller, this chicken has good kung fu. lol

After the cats and dogs, we saw monkeys and many many different kinds of birds.  To my knowledge, none of the animals I saw were endangered or being sold illegally.  But as Zoom had pointed out, we were catching the market’s dregs so it’s possible that the rarer animals had already been sold or taken back home.  

Eventually, all the sellers packed up their wares to head home so we took our cue to head back to the garage and check on the results of the Fonda’s outpatient surgery.  The mechanics reported that she was ready to go.  Starter and keeper-going thingy (Yes, yes! I recognize my deficiency here!) were fixed.  Brakes were repaired.  The gas leak wasn’t fixable, but they advised that if I only put 40 to 50,000 dong worth of gas ($3) at a time instead of filling the tank up to the top, the leak wouldn’t occur.  Fine - I could live with that.  The repairs totaled 450,000 dong (about $26).  

It was now 3 pm.  I had been planning to drive 150 km that day.  There was no way that I would make it to Ninh Binh before dark. 

“You know, I have a few days off from work,” Zoom started. “After all that’s happened with the bike and the late time, I’m concerned about you driving to Ninh Binh on your own.  How about if I come with you that far and then I’ll just take a bus a home?  If we leave now, we won’t make it before dark, but I think we can get there tonight.  What do you think?”  

“I think you’re a doll, Zoom.  That sounds great.” 

So we loaded up the Fonda and headed out of town.  Five km from the mechanic, the Fonda let us know that all was still not completely right.  Ugh, ugh, ugh!  We headed back to the mechanic and, an hour later, with a few more parts changed out, we were on our way one more time.  

Riding on the motorbike instead of driving was quite advantageous from a photographic standpoint.  From the back of the motorbike, I was able to photograph so much more than if I had been driving.  The everyday life types of things I like to document often involve people. Because people rarely sit still, most of these compositions come and go in a matter of seconds … often longer than it takes to stop a motorbike and grab the camera.  Because I never had to put the camera down, I was able to capture many more of these moments.  

someone's getting a new washing machine

Zoom was fabulous to ride with.  He had a keen sense of the kinds of things I liked to photograph and not only pointed potential subjects out to me, but drove in such a way that maximized my opportunity to capture them.  His absolutely thrived when either of us spotted an overloaded motorbike carrying interesting cargo.  “I can catch them for you!” he would exclaim like a happy child. “I can drive very fast!”  

After a few practice rounds of “catching motorbikes,” we became quite a team.  He knew that I preferred to get one shot from behind, one from the side and one from the front.  He learned how much distance I needed between our bike and the subject bike for an optimal shot and, unless safety kept him from doing so, did his best to accommodate me.  He also went above and beyond by talking to the drivers as we approached.  He would not only get them to look at us, but whatever jokes he told them often made them smile for the camera.  

Zoom enjoyed reviewing the day’s photos with me in the evenings and early on noticed that I would often catch the Fonda’s mirrors in the corners of my shots.  I was touched the next day that he began folding the mirrors in when I was shooting so that they weren’t an obstruction to my shots.  He seemed to take as much joy in helping me get the shots as I got from taking them.  When he would ask, “Did you get it?” what he was really saying was, “Did WE get it?”  He never lost patience on the occasions when I told him I didn’t and asked for another pass.  He would just rev the engine and catch the subject bike all over again.  This was the most fun I’d had behind the camera since I arrived in Vietnam.  Half of the fun was being able to control the shot from a moving bike more than I had when hiring non-English speaking moto drivers, but I think just as much of the fun came from having a partner with whom I could enjoy it.

Zoom also loves to sing. Apparently, the Vietnamese have folk songs about many parts of the country.  As we drove toward Ninh Binh, he sang songs to me about that province.  I couldn’t understand a word of them, but I thoroughly enjoyed hearing them as well as the sweetness of the moment as he sang without inhibition.  

a very heavy looking load of bricks

Although it was a surprise to Zoom-the-perpetual-optimist, it was no surprise to me that, leaving Hai Phong at 4 pm, we did not make it all the way to Ninh Binh that first night.  We did make it a respectable 100 km to Thai Binh though, arriving at 8 pm.  The freezing cold, the dark and the long drive zapped our energy and it was all we could do to drag ourselves to dinner after thawing ourselves out with hot showers.  

I’m convinced that riding a motorbike adds a 20 degree wind chill factor to the actual temperature … and the temperatures in North Vietnam in early January were already cold.   To counter the biting air, I routinely biked wearing three pairs of pants, two pairs of socks, boots, three shirts, a sweater, two winter coats and leather gloves. Seriously.  I looked like the Michelin man, but I didn’t care.  Even then, I would still get cold. 

Virtually all Vietnamese homes, restaurants, shops and hotels are all open-air … even in winter.  They don’t heat their homes or building interiors - probably because they can’t afford to.  With the temperatures and wind chill factor so cold, heat and the ability to get warm became a major point of interest and priority for me.  Although many hotels would tell me their rooms were heated, in reality they only had air conditioners whose thermostats could be set at 30 degrees celcius (that’s 86 F).  Theoretically, that should work but try running your a/c at 86 and see if it feels the same as running your heater at the same temperature.  It doesn’t work.  Hot water became my best friend over the next month until I reached Hoi An.  Fortunately for our friendship, Zoom also detested the cold and shared my sensitivity to it.  He was equally adamant about checking the hot water in a room before we actually agreed to take it as many hotels will often say they have hot water, but don’t.  (My insistence on checking such things has driven some people crazy in the past.)  

in the Vietnamese trinity, Uncle Ho rules

Luckily, the hotel we found in Thai Binh had water so hot, I could only tolerate what they considered “warm.”  After we had defrosted from our bike ride, we went out to find the only remaining restaurant open in this tiny little town.  It happened that the family that owned the place was Catholic, evidenced by the pictures of Jesus and Mary on their wall.  I couldn’t help but notice that in between those pictures and raised slightly above them hung a picture of Ho Chi Minh.  I giggled at what I dubbed the Vietnamese trinity.  Truly, Uncle Ho is considered a god here.  

The Vietnamese are amazingly friendly and curious people.  It was the rare occasion that Zoom and I could enter a restaurant or coffee shop and leave without having been invited to join a group for dinner, tea, coffee, wine or at least just chatter.  I don’t know if that would have been the case if Zoom were traveling by himself or with a Vietnamese woman, but people were definitely curious about the foreigner in their midst.  Zoom later told me that traveling with me meant the end of full meals for him as he invariably had to talk for and translate to me.  

It had begun earlier that day when we stopped for a “bum break” and the family that owned the coffee shop engaged us in conversation.  That night, while we were waiting for our dinner, the Catholic family entertained us.  After asking all kinds of questions about me, the man told us that he had served in the Vietnam military in Cambodia for ten years and told us stories about his travels there.  The lady and her sister kept asking  jokingly (I think!) for my coat.  The Vietnamese holiday, Tet, was fast approaching and getting new clothes for Tet is considered to bring good luck for the year. 

The Vietnamese are also very tactile.  Even grown adults, including men, will touch my hair inspecting each braid.  They’re fascinated by all things foreign to them … my hair, my skin, my full bottom.  They can’t seem to resist patting my bottom (this is primarily the women although one man apparently found it irresistible too).  One woman even felt up my breasts before I knew what was happening!  It’s all in good fun and laughter accompanies it all.  I’m fine with the hair touching and cheek pinching (as in my face cheeks), but beyond that gets a little weird for me. 

After a bit of chatting and hair inspection, our dinner arrived and Zoom and I chowed down on buffalo, frog and eel.  It was a delightful and different start to a new kind of adventure.

Total cost of motorbike repairs to date:  1,180,000 Dong ($69)

Number of road days without motorbike repairs:  0/6

If you’d like to see more photos from the road and of the Hai Phong animal market, check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.

If you’d like to visit the Hai Phong animal market and learn about “good chicken kung fu,”  click here  to see my video.

I came to learn that traveling with Ngueyn Manh Dung (pronounced When Mine Zoom) is always an adventure, particularly of the gastronomic type.  The first dinner I shared with him on Cat Ba Island foreshadowed the experiences I was to have over the next six weeks with this delightfully sweet 35 year old Vietnamese man.   

Zoom, as he’s come to be known on Cat Ba, takes great delight in introducing people to Vietnamese language, culture and especially to the food.  The Vietnamese who live in the South, while certainly no Westerners, are considerably more conservative eaters than their countrymen in the North.  Zoom told me early on about a Vietnamese saying that I’ve come to believe holds true more in the North than in the South:  “Chu cut voi la xoan” which translates “We eat everything except poisonous leaves and shit.”  Having traveled with him extensively, I can attest to this fact.

We first ate dinner together when I treated him as a thank you for coming to my aid in rescuing my motorbike from the hands of an inept mechanic.  During that dinner, Zoom delighted in not only selecting our still swimming seafood, but introducing me to them before they met their ends.  In addition to Joe the Fish, we also ate lobster-size shrimp, snails and clams that squirted water at us protesting their fate.  During dinner, I noticed six large jars of liquid with various objects inside sitting on a counter.  I asked what they were and Zoom became like a kid at Christmas.  

“These are rice wine with different things inside,” he explained.  The “different things inside” were starfish, seahorse & snake (all 3 in one jar), moldy clams, scorpions and tree roots (again, an interesting combo), shark fins, seal penises and last, but certainly not least, goat penises with a bonus goat embryo.  There were 20 goat penises in the jar and one lonely embryo.  They’d all obviously been there for a while because, although they weren’t moldy like the clams, the flesh was only a few shades away from being out-and-out gray and particles from the tissue had separated from the organs and were floating around like a million not-so-brilliant stars in the galaxy of wine.   “We believe drinking this makes the man strong if you know what I mean,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.  “You have to try some of this!”  

"baby goat wine" and "snake wine"

“Well, I’m not a man and don’t really have any need to be strong, if you know what I mean,” I replied.  “C’mon!” he continued. “This is the only chance you’ll ever have!”  If Zoom didn’t know my achilles heal, then he certainly made a lucky and incredibly accurate guess.  I love to try new things.  It takes me a little more time to work up the courage to try some things than others, but if I’m faced with the prospect that I’ll never be able to do it again, that will almost always push me over the edge.  And that’s how I came to drink goat penis wine, timidly I admit, but I did it.  

Oddly, my timidity was caused less by the fact that there were reproductive organs in the wine than by the fact that any almost gray, particle-losing tissue was present, regardless of where on the body it came from.  I made myself ignore the millions of little particles and chugged my half-shot glass size shot glass of the stuff.  Miraculously, it didn’t taste any different from the non-penised rice wine I’d had at the Hai Phong wedding a week before - which isn’t to say I liked it.  I wasn’t crazy about that wine from the wedding either.  It’s pretty strong alcohol (40%) and burns on the way down.  It doesn’t taste exactly like vodka, but that’s probably the closest I can come in describing the taste.  After overdoing it with vodka shots on my twenty-first birthday oh so many years ago, I’ve never particularly liked shooting vodka either.  But there it was … down the hatch.  I could now one more more oddity to the list of weird things I’ve eaten or drunk in Southeast Asia. 

Zoom wasn’t going to let me off that easily.  He didn’t quite feel victorious enough with just the one shot it seems.  “Let’s do one more!” he said excitedly, already pouring me another before I could say anything.  Let’s just say that for many years through college and afterwards, I was no stranger to alcohol.  Although I’m not much of a drinker these days, I somehow managed to retain my tolerance for the stuff and for a little gal, I can hold my drinks with the best of them.  So it was less the effect than the taste that I objected to.  But what the heck? I’d already had one and it hadn’t killed me.  I do like to be a good sport.  

another "Zoom special" ... congealed goat's blood

The next night we ate dishes with buffalo, frog and eel.  Zoom seemed to make it his personal mission to make sure that I not only ate a variety of Vietnamese food, but that the variety included animals that were foreign to me or at least unfamiliar parts of beasts already in my diet.  In hindsight, I can now say that buffalo, frog and eel were pretty tame.

Of course I tried to do what I could to introduce Zoom to America too, or at least to correct his many misimpressions of it.  One of those misimpressions was that it was the normal everyday occurrence for American wives to murder their husbands.  “I see it on Desperate Housewives all the time,” he explained.  Wow!  How to undo that propaganda?  My favorite misimpression, however, was that brilliant American scientists had somehow designed and managed to build an invisible shield over the country that would protect it from missiles and various other attacks.  “Do many Vietnamese people believe this Zoom?” I asked after I picked myself up off the floor.  “Everyone thinks this,” he said, completely serious.  

With beliefs like that, I felt like I was starting in the red trying to answer his questions about what America was like.  I spent much time trying to discover his beliefs about my country and to correct the ones that were as outlandish as those first two.  I’m not sure he ever completely believed me.  There are many ways in which our two countries are alike, but just as many in which we are different.  I realized that, in the same way that I love to photograph everyday life in Southeast Asia, I needed to do the same in America and bring the pictures with me next time to show my Asian friends who were curious to learn about the non-TV version of the stars and stripes.  Without such props, I might as well be discussing a different planet … one with an invisible protection shield. 

January 3, 2009

8:15 am

Who has a copy of Robert Pirsig’s book “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance?” I need one immediately! Regretfully, I approached my motorbike purchase with about as much due diligence as I had when renting bikes in the past which constitutes a simple ride around the block.  Against my better judgment, I did not take it to a mechanic to have it inspected as I would have when buying a used car.  I didn’t even personally inspect the body for scratches or scrapes to see if it had been in an accident. I failed to notice that my speedometer didn’t work. Hell, I didn’t even check the mileage (or in this case, kilometerage).  

At the time, I had a boyfriend who had purchased his motorbike with no more care either and who I perceived to be overly anxious to hit the road.  He had scoffed at my idea of taking either bike to a mechanic prior to purchase and, like a schoolgirl, I was anxious to please him.  So I stupidly allowed myself to fall prey to a bit of peer pressure (What was I? Thirteen years old again?) and now was paying the price.

Only four days of actual road time into my motorbike trip and I was at the mechanic AGAIN.  Third time.  The first two times were because my bike, after running along just fine for an hour or two, simply failed to start after I cut the engine to get gas or check a map.  I ended up buying a new battery which I’m still not certain is the answer to the problem, but with language barriers, it will have to do until the next breakdown.  I’m currently having a gas leak repaired and the odd sounds coming occasionally from my front wheel have become as continuous, loud and demanding as a hungry, screaming two year old child.

My bike was all packed up to begin Day 5 of my roadtrip to Ninh Binh.  Naturally, before hitting the road, I stopped at the petrol station to fill up … and a good portion of the contents I’d just put in were now pouring out all over the ground below.  As I pulled away from the petrol station wondering whether I could make it the 150 km I had mapped out for the day’s drive, the front wheel scraped, screeched and made horribly angry sounds as offensive as nails on a chalkboard … times one hundred.  Damn it all to hell!  There was no way that I was going to be able to ignore this.  I needed to get to a mechanic immediately.  

I’m studying Vietnamese in an effort to be able to communicate during my time here.  At this point, I’ve picked up a few phrases and am able to read a few words.  Sadly, one of the phrases that I easily recognize on sight now is “xe may” which is, of course, Vientamese for motorbike mechanic.  There are “xe mays” everywhere in Vietnam … which will probably turn out to be a good thing for me if the Fonda continues its war of aggression at its historical pace.  So it didn’t take me long to find one … only about 5 blocks.  Thankfully, when he took the bike for a spin, I heard the wheel/brakes continue to make the same grinding sound that had alarmed me so at least I didn’t have to worry about the age old problem of saying “I swear, it’s making this sound …” and of course it won’t utter a peep for the guy who can actually diagnose and fix the problem … particularly since I haven’t yet mastered being able to say “I swear, it’s making this sound” in Vietnamese.  I’m still working out the tonal arrangements of “How are you?”

Through sign language and silly gushing sounds, I think I was able to communicate also that petrol was leaking out of the tank and onto the ground.  At any rate, I communicated enough that, as I sit and type this, my little Fonda is in pieces all over the mechanic’s garage, stripped down to her skeletal frame and probably feeling as cold as I am.  

I am aware, of course, that by pulling out my laptop and writing while waiting, I’ve probably doubled or tripled the cost of my bill.  Prices in Vietnam, and Southeast Asia in general, are “flexible” and seem to be primarily based on perceived ability to pay.  I’m certain that the sight of my laptop, in addition to my white skin, has just upped my perceived payment abilities astronomically.  Luckily, a standard motorbike fix runs only a few dollars and writing is good therapy for me; therapy which I greatly need in this moment of frustration.  So I’ve thrown caution to the wind.  I figure whatever extra I’m charged I’ll attribute to therapy rather than motorbike repairs.  

10:30 am

Playing and interacting with the kids here is also good therapy for me; not as productive for my blog, but certainly good therapy.  Within thirty minutes of sitting down and starting to type, the mechanics’ two kids and their two friends surrounded me.  At first, they sat in tiny chairs beside me watching curiously as I typed on my laptop.  We exchanged smiles and hellos, but my linguistic skills don’t extend much beyond that at this point.  Kids being kids, however, they’re not daunted by language barriers in the way adults sometimes are.  They began chattering away at me in Vietnamese and smatterings of English.  Children are great language teachers and our play turned into a mutual linguistics lesson; Vietnamese for me and English for them.  

For the past two hours, they’ve helped me learn my numbers.  Their mother got into the action when she brought out children’s books with animals and vegetables in both English and Vietnamese.  The girls, aged 11 and 14, were particularly interested in the language lesson.  The boy who’s about 6 years old is more interested in jumping around on my luggage and playing with the American and Vietnamese flags I carry with me.  

Time for lunch.

11:00 am

Back from lunch.  This mechanic is brilliant!  It appears that he’s solved the gas leak issue AND has discovered that I have a starter  problem (or rather a “keeper-going” in my high tech motorbike linquistics) too.  He’s not trying to recharge my battery or sell me a new one so I think he’s onto the heart of the matter.  Hopefully he’s also brilliant enough to fix it.  And then onto the scraping wheel/brake issue …

12:00 noon

Starter/keeper-going is still presenting a problem.  Looks like I won’t make it to Ninh Binh today.  And an old man has seated himself next to me.  He’s saying things I don’t understand.  He keeps reaching out and grabbing my hands and pinching my chin.  He’s weirding me out a bit.  Thankfully, he can’t resist giving his opinion on my motorbike issues and has gone to tell the mechanic his business.

12:45 pm

I’ve lost complete confidence in this mechanic.  Did I really describe him as brilliant just one hour and forty-five minutes earlier? He keeps requesting payment from me and trying to give me the bike, indicating that the Fonda is fixed, good as new, but now problems exist now that didn’t before.  Ugh!  The Fonda, which started just fine when I brought it to him, will now barely start.  As I try to head uphill to test drive it, the engine sputters and dies within fifteen feet.  How in the world can he possibly be trying to tell me the bike is fixed and ready to go?  I think the problem is the spark plug (I had a similar problem in Bali and a $4 spark plug solved the problem just fine), but the word for that isn’t in my pinky-thick dictionary. I try to draw a picture of one, but can’t remember exactly how they look.  I used to weld them together to make business card holders, but now their exact appearance eludes me.  I had intended to buy an extra before leaving Saigon, but in my rush to get out of town, I let that detail slip.  Shit shit shit … and other expletives.

1:15 pm

I go back to my hotel, looking for a guy named Zoom who works there and who speaks really good English to come and translate for me and hopefully take up my cause.  He’s not there, so I recruit another guy whose English isn’t as good, but it’s better than the mechanic’s (non-existant) and he seems to understand the concept of a spark plug.  We hike back to the mechanic’s, but my escort isn’t much of an advocate. He does at least get the mechanic to replace the spark plug.  Turns out, however, that I’m not much of a motorbike mechanic.  Even with the new spark plug, the Fonda still fails to start and stay running properly.  I’m my best advocate and the mechanic realizes that the current condition of the bike is unacceptable.  He clearly has no idea what to do to solve the problem but goes back to work trying this and that .  

2:30 pm

The Fonda is still not driveable.  I walk down to the rock climbing gym hoping to find my friend Tim who has toured Vietnam extensively by motorbike.  I’m certain that he’ll know what the problem is or at least have some ideas.  Probably with the amount of time he’s spent in Vietnam, he probably speaks Vietnamese too.  Not there.  Drat.  On my way back to the mechanic’s I pass my hotel and find Zoom standing in the doorway, smoking a cigarette.  

“Zoom!” I exclaimed and excitedly launched into the day’s events in such rapid-fire English I’m sure all he probably heard was what Charlie Brown heard when his teacher talked, “Muah, mah mah mah mah muah mah mah.”  “Slow down,” he said calmly  “What’s the problem?”  Right.  I composed myself and retold my story in a much more understandable fashion.  Zoom became incensed on my behalf (Excellent! Just the reaction I was hoping for.) and said, “Why didn’t you come to the hotel for help sooner?”  Pfffft, I thought.  But off we went on his motorbike.  

When I first met Zoom, I thought that he had a tough, almost mean look about him.  He always wears a black leather jacket that added to this impression. (I failed to notice at the time that stitched on the front were the words “Sport Girl” which of course made me realize that he wore the jacket out of necessity, not to establish a certain look.)  Now having gotten to know him very well, I can’t imagine how I ever thought he looked mean as I’m now convinced that every bone in his body is made of 100 percent sugar.  He’s always smiling and was from the first time I met him when he invited me to join him and some other hotel employees for drinks and karaoke.  At any rate, however, a tough Vietnamese guy was what I saw at the time and a tough Vietnamese guy was exactly what I needed.

When we arrived at the xe may, Zoom calmly discussed the matter with the man.  After five minutes of the mechanic sputtering, Zoom offered some of his own ideas about the solution to the problem.  He then got a semi-stern look on his face and I imagined he said something to the effect of “You have only a short time to fix this bike or else.”  Of course I have no idea what he actually said.  Knowing him as I do now, it was probably more like, “Good luck. We’ll leave you alone to work on it so we’re not in your way and will come back in a while.”  And I probably imagined the stern look as well.  

“We come back here at 4:00,” Zoom told me.  “Go rest and relax for right now.  You obviously can’t leave the island tonight, so I’ll get a new room ready for you and will bring your bag up.  Just take it easy.  You’ve had a hard day.”  Geez.  What a guy.

7:00 pm

Four and a half hours, four mechanics, several arguments and 200,000 dong (about $12) later, the Fonda is back in my hands.  She’s starting and running again, although she still has the gas leak (turns out it wasn’t fixed afterall) and the crunching wheel/brake sound that I originally brought her in for.  In other words, I’ve spent money, energy and emotion and nothing’s changed except that I’m $12 poorer.  The twelve bucks went to some later mechanics to fix the things the first “brilliant” mechanic broke.  Sure, in America we would have tried to get the first mechanic to pay to fix what he broke, but you can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip, it’s only $12 and this ain’t America, Toto. 

Zoom offered to accompany me to Hai Phong, the mainland, the next day to help me find a reputable garage to repair the gas leak and brakes.  He was also going to take the opportunity to show me Hai Phong’s animal market at which there were chicken fights (his favorite) and many exotic, and probably illegal, animals for sale.  

To thank him for his help, I treated him to a seafood dinner at the same restaurant the two Vietnamese couples had introduced me to the night before.  Cousin Joe the Fish got sent to the frying pan afterall. 

hiking in Cat Ba National Park

(December 30 - January 2) The weather forecast for my first full day on Cat Ba Island was overcast with scattered showers. I had heard that it was best to visit surrounding Ha Long Bay on a sunny day because the clouds often obscured the beautiful limestone cliffs, the main feature for which the Bay is famous. Accordingly, I opted to postpone my tour of Ha Long Bay for the following day and instead arranged to do an all-day hike in Cat Ba’s national park that included one of my trip goals: climbing a mountain. I was told that group hikes through the park could include groups as large as 15 which didn’t sound especially peaceful to me. So I booked a solo guide for my hike.

I was waiting for my guide to pick me up at 7:30 am as arranged when a large tour bus pulled up in from of my hotel. An older man came into the lobby. “This man is your guide,” the desk clerk told me. I followed him outside and he motioned for me to get on the bus. I obeyed, but of course a million thoughts began racing through my head. Why, when I had arranged a solo hike, was I on a bus with about 40 other people? Then I began to notice that many of the Vietnamese women on the bus were wearing high heels. Now Vietnamese women wear high heels almost all the time. They go places in them that I would never dream of wearing stillettos. But hiking a mountain??!! Surely there must be some mistake. I must be on the wrong bus. “Are you going hiking?” I asked the stilettoed woman sitting next to me. She didn’t speak English. Learning to suspend my curiosity and my desire to be in control has been one of the greatest learning experiences I’ve had while traveling throughout Asia.

After a thirty minute bus ride, my guide got off and motioned for me to follow. Two other Vietnamese men and three Western women also got off. The bus rumbled on and left us at a trailhead. Long story short (which after 6 months you must know I’m not good at), my solo hike turned into a group one, but at least the group was small and the company fairly enjoyable.  

most water in Vietnam still comes from a well

We hiked up and down for about five hours before stopping at a small village in the middle of a number of rice fields for lunch. Just before we finished our hike, our guide announced that we had just hiked 14 km, up and down three mountains and across the width of the island. THREE mountains? I had only signed up for one. Three was fine with me … except that I never got the spectacular views that I expected from summiting a mountain … or frankly even the knowledge that I HAD summited a mountain, much less THREE. Given that we accomplished all of that in 5 hours, I think the word “mountain” must be used loosely on Cat Ba. Although I got some great exercise, I don’t quite feel like I’ve yet climbed a mountain as I had envisioned it so I’m going to refrain from checking that one off my list.

Lunch in the village was lovely. I tried out the little Vietnamese that I knew on the family hosting us, probably butchering every word (the night before, Chung and his family had taught me how to say delicious, how are you and good bye expanding my vocabulary from mere hello and thank you) and they were delighted. People in these Southeast Asian countries are so gracious. If you make any effort to speak their language, they act as though you are fluent and praise you up and down. As usual, my Western dining companions/fellow hikers, although nice gals, had not ventured beyond the restaurants serving Western food and were pleasantly surprised at how delicious the homey Vietnamese food was.

woman carrying firewood

After lunch, we hiked some more (this time all on flat ground) to the boat which would cruise through Ha Long Bay and take us back to our side of Cat Ba Island. The walk was lovely, cutting through villages and rice fields surrounded by mountains. I saw people using water buffalo to plow their rice fields and a woman carrying two large baskets of firewood using a long piece of wood that stretched across her shoulders and suspended the two baskets. Although most of the houses in the village were made of concrete, about one third were made of mud and straw. I don’t think any of the houses had running water, but instead utilized a well. Almost all the houses, however, including the mud and straw ones, had a TV as evidenced by the old fashioned antennas strung up in a variety of ways outside each house.

The villagers were all quick to either initiate or return smiles and greetings. I caught one old woman as she emerged from behind her house carrying an armload of firewood. When I said hello to her, she smiled so big her face couldn’t contain it. She threw down her load of firewood and ran to hug and kiss me like I was a long lost daughter. She invited me and the German woman I was walking with into her house as did many of the other villagers. At that point, I was greatly disappointed that my solo hike had become a group hike because all the rest of the group along with my guide had walked on ahead, leaving me unable to accept any of the friendly villagers’ invitations. What I didn’t know at the time is that over the next month I would have an abundance of similar invitations as well as the time to accept and enjoy them.  

a typical Cat Ba landscape

The hike became more and more beautiful as we got closer to the harbor that housed our boat. The water was green and crystal clear at the same time. The mountains that surrounded it (probably the same size “mountains” I had hiked that day) reflected in pools that were so still they looked like glass. The sun even peaked out a time or two and everything felt absolutely perfect.

We caught a sailboat back to the side of Cat Ba Island where the hotels were located. I had seen many pictures of Ha Long Bay but could still scarcely believe the beauty of the limestone karsts emerging from the water in craggy, interesting shapes that, like clouds, which simply invited comparisons to animals and people.

In addition to its beauty, Ha Long Bay has a colorful history. Difficult as it is to imagine, during the 1970s, this beautiful water park was once stocked with mines, placed there by the American military during the war. Thankfully, one year later most of the mines were removed although some undiscovered ones still remain and pose threats to shipping and tourism.

me in Ha Long Bay

Pirates roamed the Bay as recently as the mid 1980’s. During that time, many exceedingly poor Vietnamese families, starving and desperate, made world headlines as “the boat people.” They sold all their belongings for gold, packed into small fishing junks and sailed, among many places, through Ha Long Bay headed for international shipping lanes, hoping to be rescued and taken to Hong Kong, China or anywhere where they could find food to eat. These boats were easy prey for pirates who would attack them, kill the people and steal their gold. As the boat people either resettled into refugee camps or met varying other fates, the pirates who preyed on them gradually disappeared as well.

The Vietnamese are very imaginative, poetic people as well as great storytellers. The say that they are the prodigy of a dragon king and a phoenix queen. Ha Long means “descending dragon” and the local legend of Ha Long Bay is that many years ago, when their ancestors were fighting off prospective invaders from the north, a family of dragons descended upon the bay to help the Vietnamese people defend their land. The dragons spat out pearls and jade which turned into all of the thousands of stone islands. The islands created a stronghold which permitted the ancestors to force out the invaders. The dragons were enchanted with their beautiful creation and decided to stay in the Ha Long Bay area. I was enchanted too and decided that the 1 hour cruise through the Bay that afternoon wasn’t enough. I booked a second, full day cruise two days later.  

stunning Ha Long Bay

That evening after the hike, Chung came to check on me to see how it went. (I came to learn that the Vietnamese are very protective of their guests in this way and Chung had come to regard me as his family’s personal guest.) We went for a drink and ran into the girls who had been on the hike with me so we all had drinks together. Chung, ever hospitable and gracious, extended an invitation to all of us to come to his house the following evening, New Year’s Eve, for a crab dinner. “We can all meet here at 5:00 and go to the market together. I’ll teach you how to buy crabs. Then we can go to my village and have dinner with my family. We’ll be finished by 8:00 and then you can go party as I’m sure you must want to,” he told us.

I was thrilled and immediately accepted. My jaw dropped with Abby and Emily declined in unison without missing a beat. “We’re planning on partying really hard for New Year’s so we were thinking we’d go for a really heavy pasta dinner early to soak up all the alcohol. I know you’re probably getting the best cultural experience, Beverly, but I think will pass. Thanks anyway though.”

THIS is the reason I avoid hanging out with Westerners when I travel! I will never understand why people are content to travel to foreign countries, take pictures of the beautiful touristy sights that every other tourist sees, eat only at restaurants that serve Western food and make zero effort to get off that beaten path to discover the real essence of the country, particularly when it’s right in their laps as Chung’s offer was for these girls. I realize that I’m incredibly elitist about this but I think these kinds of tourists might as well stay home, buy a coffee table book and save their money … or spend it getting drunk there. Why obliterate your mind when you can open it by having real adventures just by stepping in a different direction from the crowd? Don’t get me started. Whatever. I got Chung’s family all to myself.

boats on Cat Ba Island

Chung and I made plans to meet at 5 pm the next day. When 5:30 rolled around and I hadn’t seen him, I called. For a while, I stepped into the Twilight Zone. “Are we still going to the market to buy crabs?” I asked. “Oh there won’t be any fresh crabs at the market at this time of day.” Hmmm. “Ok … Am I still joining you for dinner?” “Oh. You want to eat dinner with me and my family?” It was as though the exchange from the previous day had never occurred which was odd because Chung was extremely organized and very punctual.

“I don’t want to intrude if you weren’t planning on me coming for dinner.” “Well, we don’t have much for dinner tonight, but please come out and eat with us anyway. Maybe we can get an extra chicken.” “Oh, I don’t want to be a burden, Chung. I just thought you had invited me to come for dinner.” “OK, then you can buy the chicken.” I laughed. “Sure, I’ll be happy to buy the chicken.”

I drove my motorbike out to Chung’s and when I arrived, we drove down the road to the chicken farmer’s house. Chung selected a plump chicken from all those running around and it was weighed, tied up and carried home. I still haven’t gotten over this live food business. It bothers me terribly, but I still eat the meat which tastes delicious. However, I feel I’m daily becoming closer and closer to becoming vegetarian. I didn’t start that night, however, and dinner was amazing. Chung’s father warmed to me even more than he had the first time I was there for dinner. “My whole family is so happy that you like our home enough to eat dinner here twice,” Chung told me. “Like your home? I LOVE your home!” I told him.  

shrimp boat in the bay on Cat Ba Island

After dinner and a visit over tea, I headed back into town and joined the party already in progress. I’m thrilled to say that not all Western tourists are like Abby and Emily, but the good kind are needles in a tourist haystack. I had managed, however, to meet a couple of really cool ones, both American, who ran a rock climbing business on Cat Ba and was looking forward to winding up the old year with them. Unfortunately, they were no shows at the party (smart guys!), but I met a couple of beginning travelers at the bar. We talked travel, of course, and I evangelized about getting off the beaten path. One, obviously in the Abby-and-Emily camp, drifted away to do shots. The other was obviously like-minded and we swapped stories. After a bit, conversation ran short so I began to speculate with him about who in the bar had the best travel stories. I selected a dread-locked, tattoo’d guy across the room. His appearance certainly indicated that he wasn’t afraid to go against the grain. I asked Ben who he chose. “You! You’re about to motorbike Vietnam! You have the best stories!”

Amazing Cave ... as big as 3 football fields

I appreciated the vote of confidence, but since I hadn’t started my trip yet, my money was still on Mr. Nonconformist. Thirty minutes later, he bellied up to the bar for another round and I took the opportunity to bestow the compliment. “I’m betting that you have the best travel stories here. Will you tell me a good travel story?” I asked. “You have the wrong guy,” he replied. “You ought to talk to my friend here. He’s been traveling for a long time. Jim! Tell this lady a good travel story,” MN ordered. “Yeah! Well, the other day I booked one of those boat tours and we brought tons of liquor on board with us. We started doing shots and by lunch we were so hammered! You should try it! It accentuated the waves of the boat and all the big rocks looked like animals swimming.” Oh my god. That was the best travel story he could come up with? Sheesh! With that competition, I had to agree with Ben. I was bored, but it was 11:45. I stuck it out until midnight, counting the minutes. Midnight rolled around and Ben gave me the obligatory peck then said, “My hotel has a really big lobby. You can park your motorbike there tonight if you want.” Whoa! Time to go … and park my motorbike in my own hotel lobby. So that’s how 2009 rolled in for me. Thank goodness for my Vietnamese friends.  

the friendly Vietnamese honeymooners

The next day, I boarded the boat for my full day cruise through Ha Long Bay. My jaw was on the floor in disbelief at the beauty just as it had been on the first day I saw the Bay. In addition to sailing through Ha Long Bay, we stopped and explored several caves. One was very appropriately called Amazing Cave and it was just that. The interior was cavernous, probably able to hold 3 football fields inside. The rock formations were astonishing. Lit with colored lights, I felt like I was walking through a rocky fairytale land, a stone version of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

After exploring Amazing Cave, we had a delicious and traditional Vietnamese lunch on board the boat and then went kayaking in the Bay. The sun was out (finally!) and the day was spectacular if a little chilly. It was too cold to swim, but still a fabulous day to be out on the water and I soaked up the sunshine.

On the boat with me were two absolutely precious young Vietnamese couples. It turns out that they had each just gotten married and were on their honeymoon. We all hit it off and they invited me to join them for dinner. They knew of an amazing seafood restaurant where the fish was so fresh, it was still swimming in the tank until you selected the one you wanted for dinner. I realize my hypocrisy in eating meat but not wanting to be the executioner, but that’s just the way it is. Fortunately, my new friends did not have the same qualms and were adamant that they would order for me anyway so I was relieved of any guilt for having sent Ralph the Fish to the frying pan instead of his cousin Joe. Dinner was spectacular and my kind friends insisted on treating as a “welcome to Vietnam” present. Needless to say, I was touched.

All in all, my time on Cat Ba had been lovely, but I was anxious to hit the road and see the rest of the country. So I packed my bags and went to bed by 10 pm so I could catch the early ferry back to the mainland and get an early start for my trip to Ninh Binh.

Take a cruise through Ha Long Bay with me via video by clicking here.

If you’d like to see more photos of Cat Ba Island and Ha Long Bay, check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.

(December 29)  The morning after the wedding in Hai Phong, I bought a new battery for the Fonda and a boat ticket to take us both (the Fonda and me) to Cat Ba Island.  To pass the time before I needed to board the boat, I explored the streets of Hai Phong, Vietnam’s largest port.  I came across a small market where women were selling live chickens and ducks.  I parked my bike and walked over to investigate … and of course to take photos.  

As I approached, the ladies waved me away … or more accurately, they waved away my camera.  So I put it aside and started just to visit with them.  Although my Vietnamese has gotten pretty good since then, at the time, the only words I knew were hello and thank you.  I used those but then relied on my smile and willingness to make an absolute fool of myself which usually involves lots of miming.  These methods usually get people laughing and get my foot in the door … and didn’t fail me with these ladies.  

chicken vendor snoozing

I got the sense that they were asking me where I was from, so I ran to my bike and came back with my little American flag along with my Vietnamese one.  The next thing I knew, the women were crawling over themselves (and their chickens and ducks) to get their hands on the flags.  They took turns waiving them and then started requesting to have their photos made.  Now we were talking!  Once the camera was out, these once shy ladies started hamming it up.  They even began pointing out photo opps to me … like one of their peers who was taking a nap and was so far into dreamland, he didn’t hear the commotion they were creating.  They laughed hysterically as I took the snoozer’s photograph.

So it was with happy feelings that I boarded the boat for Cat Ba Island an hour later.  The boat almost overflowed with passengers who filled every seat and then some (all Vietnamese except for me and one other Westerner I spotted who seemed to be trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible in the corner).  It seemed that everyone had bags of fruit, vegetables or some kind of food that they stuffed in all the crevices on the bench seats that bodies weren’t filling and all over the floor. The Fonda was parked outside by the railing and every square inch around it was filled with bags of vegetables and lettuces which islanders were importing from the mainland.  Space was certainly not wasted on this boat.

a Hai Phong mattress vendor with a serious load

Although I enjoyed visiting (or at least sharing smiles) with the old woman seated next to me who kindly shared her fruit, the density of passengers coupled with the lack of air circulation pushed my curiosity about what we were cruising past over the edge and I squeezed past lettuce and vegetables to to out to join the Fonda for a breath of fresh air.  I was photographing some boats as we passed them when a Vietnamese man who appeared to be about my age approached me and started chatting me up in English.

He introduced himself as Chung Ngoc and began asking about my camera.  I don’t like “how much did you pay” questions, especially from people in developing countries about electronic and photographic equipment that usually represents a years’ worth of earnings to them so I dodged it as I always do with “I can’t remember” or “too much.”  Then he started asking me more traditional questions which I’ve since come to learn are asked by almost all Vietnamese:  Where are you from? How old are you? Are you married?  

Not sure if he was just making conversation or making a move, I fibbed (as I often do on this topic to Asian men my age) and told him I was married.  He asked me a few more questions about my fictitious husband for which I made up answers.  The topic changed and I promptly forgot my lie.  Chung was a Cat Ba Island resident who had made a trip to the mainland on behalf of his handicapped brother.  Chung’s father had fought in the American War (as the “Vietnam War” is called in Vietnam) and had been exposed to Agent Orange.  As a result, his son, Chung’s brother, was born with a number of birth defects that rendered him unable to walk or talk normally.  

the Fonda on the ferry before being packed in with lettuce

Somehow, his brother had managed to meet a minority girl (a girl from an ethnic tribe) who lived in the mountains on the mainland, had developed a relationship with her via telephone and had fallen in love with her. Chung was returning from a trip to visit the girl’s family to propose a marriage between the girl and Chung’s brother.  He was returning with good news and was anxious to share it with me.  

He then told me that he was married and had a young son and invited to give me a tour of the island, including a visit to his village to meet his family.  Oh, a family!  He was safe!  So naturally, I accepted. 

It got cold outside the boat and my extra coat was packed away on my motorbike underneath all the vegetable so I excused myself from my visit with Chung and went back inside.  In my absence, the old lady who had been sitting next to me had curled up in both of our seats and gone to sleep.  I wandered into the next compartment and found an unoccupied space on a wooden bench.  The boat rocked me to sleep, but thirty minutes later, I was awakened by some women in their mid-thirties tugging on my hair (my braids are always a source of curiosity for the Vietnamese) and on my coat sleeves.  They seemed equally curious about one as the other.  All five of the women smiled widely except for one who actually looked a bit stern and seemed as though she was reserving judgment about me.  

the "stern looking lady" ... now all smiles

The stern looking lady made sharp gestures that she wanted to try on my coat.  I knew I would be cold without it but I was willing to be a sport for a little bit so I handed it to her.  Once she snuggled into its warmth, I wasn’t sure I was ever going to get it back.  The ladies all tried to talk to me but at that point, I didn’t speak or understand any Vietnamese (just hello and thank you) so they settled for inspecting my hair.  Apparently something I did or said won the “stern lady” over and suddenly she was all smiles like the others.  She began pulling food from her pockets and sharing it with me.  And just as  the boat was pulling into the bay at Cat Ba Island, she grabbed a pen and my hand and wrote her phone number in my palm.  

This wasn’t the first time a non-English speaking Asian woman had given me her phone number.  And I continue to be amused and confused each time.  We are obviously not able to communicate verbally so I’m not sure what they expect me to do with the number.  The best I can figure is that they’ve enjoyed our connection and want to walk away feeling like that connection isn’t lost.  At any rate, I was touched.

When we arrived at the island, Chung waited while my motorbike was unloaded from the boat.  In Hai Phong, I was able to drive my bike right onto the boat.  Not so on Cat Ba.  Immediately after stepping off the boat, everyone had to climb about 15-20 feet up some very steep steps.  There was no way I could drive my motorbike up there so I had to hire five porters to carry my bike up the steps for me.  It was a pretty precarious maneuver and I was a bit anxious for a few minutes, but they made it safely with my little Fonda so, after dropping off my bags at a hotel, off Chung and I went, zipping around the island to his village, Khe Sau.  

view of Cat Ba Island harbor from my hotel room

After showing me around the village, he invited me into his home to meet his family.  He and his wife and three year old child lived in one room (in one bed) in his parents’ house while he saved money to build his own house down the street some day.  His brother was unable to walk up and down the four steps that lead to the family house so he lived alone in a building toward the front of the house from which he ran a dry goods store.  I was present when Chung delivered the good news to him about his engagement.  It was quite sweet to see how happy he was.  

Chung invited me to join his family for dinner which made me quite excited.  It was my first such invitation in Vietnam and my opportunity to see what a Vietnamese home looked like inside. 

a shrimp boat in the harbor at Cat Ba Island

The living room floor, and in fact the entire house, was made of concrete.  As is common in Vietnam, the double front doors which separated the living room from the outdoors were wide open.  It was about 45 to 50 degrees outside … and, because the doors were open, inside as well.  It’s the custom throughout Asia to take off one’s shoes before entering the home.  I can’t tell you how grateful I was that cold night in a room with concrete floors to have on my socks (which are permitted indoors).  Seeing Chung and his family walk around barefoot made my feet feel cold anyway.  I also kept my coat on and I noticed that Chung and all of his family did as well.  

Against the wall was an old leather sofa and opposite it, a wood and glass coffee table and some chairs.  The set up was somewhat formal and also reminiscent, on a much more humble scale, of the living room feeling set up in the Vietnam consulate’s office in Battambang, Cambodia where I received my Vietnam visa.  Against the wall and to the right of the sofa was a formal glass case which housed some seemingly precious, yet dusty and forgotten objects including several lovely tea sets.  In the far corner of the room was a giant entertainment center made of honey colored wood (or pressed particle board) with gold trim that looked like it had come from Sears.  Housed inside - the precious and “always on” TV.  Next to the entertainment center was the bed used by Chung’s parents.  

Chung and his brother who's just received the news that he's officially engaged

I offered to help Chung’s wife cook, but she would have none of it.  So I sat with Chung on his couch in the living room (which also served as his parents’ bedroom and, when the straw mat was placed on the floor, the dining room as well) and shared a beer while we waited for dinner to be served.  

“So why isn’t your husband traveling with you?” Chung asked me.  Husband? What husband? I thought.  Then I remembered the little white lie I’d told earlier in the day.  Embarrassed to admit to my new friend that I had lied to him and not sure he’d understand why if I did admit it, I carried on with the fib.  I know this is going to sound crazy, but I didn’t want Chung to think I was in an unhappy marriage so I told him that my husband was going to be meeting me in one week in Hue.  If you’re going to tell a lie, you might as well make it a good one, eh?  I tried to change the subject, but Chung was relentless with his questions about my husband.  How long had we been married? (Three years) What does he do for a living?  (He’s a professor) Did we have children? (I kept it simple on this one … no).  Why not? Married for three years already.  Did we want children? (Sure … someday).  

Finally dinner was ready.  Saved by the bell.  

dinner with Chung's family

I was a little nervous about meeting Chung’s father.  Afterall, the man had not only fought in the American/Vietnam war, but was still living with its effects on a daily basis in his deformed second son who couldn’t even climb the house steps to eat dinner with the family.  He was the first such person I had met and I figured surely he must be bitter and would not be excited to have an American visiting his home.  To the contrary, when the straw mat was spread on the floor and everyone sat down to eat, he toasted with me and welcomed me to his country as well as to his house.  I was amazed and appreciative.  We didn’t discuss the war.  I was rather afraid to bring it up, but I enjoyed my first glimpse at how Vietnam has forgiven, if not necessarily forgotten.

Goof around with me and the lady chicken vendors in Hai Phong, bite your nails while the Fonda is unloaded off the ferry and join me for dinner at Chung’s house all via video by clicking here.

If you’d like to see more photos of Hai Phong and Cat Ba Island, check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.

riding in the rain

On December 28, I packed my bags, ready to depart Hanoi and relaunch my motorbike exploration of Vietnam, this time on my own.  I’ve come to really enjoy the traditional Vietnamese breakfast of beef noodle soup called pho.  The night before, I discovered a little gem of a restaurant that only serves pho (pho - it’s not just for breakfast anymore!)… and the best I’ve had my entire time in Vietnam.  The restaurant is one room only (save for a tiny, bathroom sized kitchen) down a very narrow hallway just off the street.  Except for their sign out front, I never would have known it existed.   

The delicious spices from the previous night’s dinner were still practically on my tongue and I needed a last fix before hitting the road.  

After filling my tummy, I started loading up the Fonda (my motorbike).  This time, I was better prepared for a motorbike tour with warmer clothes (including an extra winter coat to wear on top of the one I had purchased the week before) and I was heading south … or at least not into the wintery north.  My first stop was actually east of Hanoi by 100km … Hai Phong, near Ha Long Bay which had been high on my list of places to see in Vietnam.

Hanoi and the Ha Long Bay area were in the midst of a three day rain forecast and I had been advised that in the rain, one can’t see much in Ha Long Bay.  Thus, my decision to stop in Hai Phong first and from there launch to Cat Ba Island where I could do some hiking and cross off another “trip to do item” … climb a mountain … and of course, take a boat to Ha Long Bay.  

goat vendor in transit

As I was loading up my bike to start my trip, a young Vietnamese guy named Cong who worked at the hotel where I stayed asked if he could ride with me to Hai Phong.  He explained that he had a friend getting married there in the evening.  I’ve always wanted to be able to pick up hitchhikers at home because I thought it would lead to interesting and unexpected adventures. Of course the safety factor always stopped me.  On a motorbike though, things are different and I love giving rides to strangers.  So naturally, my response was, “Of course!” 

I don’t know if it was because Cong was being chivalrous or because he thought as a foreign woman I might not be a good motorbike driver, but he offered repeatedly to drive.  I knew that getting out of Hanoi, I would need to stop and consult my maps numerous times whereas he knew the way so I didn’t mind letting him take the wheel.  The upside for me was that riding in the back gave me a chance to photograph while driving.

chicken vendor and son

The drive itself had the potential to be miserable.  The overcast skies in Hanoi gave way to slight drizzle about 45 minutes out of town.  The drizzle gave way to a full out rain although thankfully not a downpour.  During all of this, Cong insisted on driving, taking the brunt of the weather.  I managed to stay warm and dry in my many many layers of clothes.  He finally relented and allowed me to loan him my scarf and rain poncho, but drew the line at using my leather driving gloves although his cotton ones were soaked. 

I was appreciative not only for the rain reprieve but for the ability to photograph while we drove.  I was able to keep my camera out and relatively dry.  I ended up capturing what I think is one of my best “motorbike cargo” shots … a bike hauling five live goats (another favorite was a second bike with a cage full of chickens). 

Apparently my motorbike battery was still on the fritz, because when we stopped for gas, the Fonda wouldn’t re-start and Cong and I had to walk the bike a couple of kilometers to the nearest mechanic.  Thankfully, that was during the drizzle stage of the rain.  Evidence of inspired ingenuity is rampant throughout Southeast Asia.  My motorbike situation was no exception.  The mechanic didn’t have the proper battery for my bike so he attached two extra wires to the old battery contacts and sold me a new non-fitting battery.  If the Fonda doesn’t start, I simply hold the wires to the new battery contacts while starting the bike and va-voom … I have power.  This field-expedient fix, he explained via Cong, would get us to Hai Phong where I could trade in the new non-fitting battery and purchase the right one for my bike.  Interesting.  I was glad to have Cong with me to translate as well as to convince me that I wasn’t being “taken” by being sold a non-fitting battery.  

the Fonda undergoes minor outpatient surgery

At some point during the drive, Cong invited me to come with him to his friend’s wedding.  I was delighted at the invitation, but was concerned I didn’t have the appropriate clothes.  I was prepared to go buy a dress, but Cong looked through my clothes and, after declaring a number of items “unsuitable,” finally assembled and ensemble that he determined would be “suitable”:  my black jeans, a semi-dressy little black top, my white coat and some silver high heels that I bought for my birthday party a few weeks ago.  I was dubious since he was wearing a suit, but it turns out he was right.  The girls sitting at our table were almost all dressed in jeans and dressy sweaters.

Hai Phong wedding

When we arrived, I thought that we had somehow missed the wedding ceremony and were only attending the reception as everyone was already assembled at a banquet hall.  I guess I was expecting to see a church wedding or some sort of religious ceremony, but I was later told that since the couple wasn’t Christian, they simply hold the ceremony and the reception together.  So I did actually witness a wedding … I just didn’t know it at the time! 

The bride and groom were holding a receiving line when we arrived.  We congratulated them and then went upstairs to join Cong’s friends who were very kind and welcoming.  Thirteen of us sat at a table.  By my calculations, close to 500 people were in attendance at this obviously very upscale wedding.  Twelve different dishes from simple soups to elaborately prepared fish and giant prawns were presented for our sit-down dinner.  At some point while we were eating, the lights abruptly went out.  A man with a microphone assumed the position of announcer and spotlights circled wildly.  I felt like I was at a Chicago Bulls basketball game at the announcement of the lineup.  And, along those lines, that’s the way the bride and groom were presented.  

wedding dancers

As they walked down the middle of the room on the red carpet, volcanos of sparklers erupted on the tables.  The spotlights followed the newlywed to the main stage were they were applauded by all in attendance.  The parents of the bride and groom made similar appearances and joined their children on stage.  Poems were read and toasts were made - all in Vietnamese of course so I couldn’t understand anything.  I think in retrospect, that this may have been the actual wedding ceremony but I’m still not completely sure.  Then the lights came back up and everyone resumed eating as the bride and groom circulated around the banquet hall. 

Cong's friends at the wedding

In most ways, the reception was very similar to those in the US.  There were obvious Asian twists.  Of course, the foods and serving styles were different.  One of the dishes was roasted chicken.  The chicken was cut up into into parts so it was easy to eat with chopsticks.  At least that was the theory.  I’ve always had a tough time eating chicken off the bone with a knife a fork.  Doing it with chopsticks was no easier.  All parts of the chicken were served, including the heads.  At first, I thought perhaps the heads were just for looks in the same way that we Westerners serve whole fish with the head.  I was almost immediately proved wrong as the daintiest girl at the table gracefully took a chicken head with her chopsticks and began munching away, starting with the beak.  Probably it’s no worse than eating fried crickets, worms, spider legs or snakes - all of which I’ve had on this trip.  Nonetheless, that night I didn’t add another item to my list of weird foods I’ve eaten.  Another difference in eating styles was that chicken wings were eaten bones and all.  I’m not sure my teeth could have handled that but knowing this solution might have eliminated my struggle with separating meat from bone with chopsticks.  

the bride and groom invite me to join their group photo

Another interesting difference was the entertainment.  As the bride and groom circulated, several groups of women got up on stage and danced.  They weren’t quite “pole dancing” but the style was certainly a bit less “refined” (and therefore very comical to me) than I would have expected for a wedding.  After the groups of dancers, a man named Viet Hoang, an apparently famous Vietnamese singer from Hanoi, took the stage and performed Ave Maria and O Sole Mio.  The crowd went wild with applause and a number of them brought him flowers.  I had the feeling that he may have upstaged the bride a bit, but surely she knew what she was in for when she booked a famous singer to entertain at her wedding.

The reception was cut short as many of the attendees departed early to watch the final soccer match between Thailand and Vietnam.  The game ended up in a tie which meant Vietnam won the AFF (Asian East) Cup for the first time in ten years.  Although I knew there was a game, I was oblivious to the significance at the time as I sat in my hotel room and “scribbled away” on my laptop while Cong watched the game on TV.   He went nuts at the end, which I thought was strange given that the game was a tie, but eventually figured out what was going on and went out for some drinks with him to celebrate.  As on Christmas Eve, Vietnamese were roaring through the streets on their motorbikes flying large Vietnamese flags and just generally going nuts.  It was fun and festive and, I felt, a great start to my solo roadtrip.

If you would like to enjoy a bowl of pho with me in Hanoi via video, click here. Experience the excitement of a Vietnamese wedding - click here.

December 26

It’s probably no surprise that after spending 24/7 with a handsome guy who loves independent travel and esoteric analysis of it as much as I do that, Eric, my traveling companion, evolved into a romantic interest. It’s probably also no surprise that spending 24/7 with just about anyone will slowly frazzle one’s nerves.   Throw a little stress into the mix (purchasing and transporting motorbikes in a foreign country, beginning a road-trip only to discover that it’s too cold to continue, motorbike breaking down, constant language barriers of being in a foreign country, etc) and sadly, things just unraveled between the two of us.  Of course there was more involved, but this is my travel blog, not my diary so let’s just leave it at that.

Who am I kidding? I’m a broken-hearted extrovert all alone in a foreign country so of course I need an emotional outlet!  I’ll try to strike a balance between a diary and a travel blog; hopefully not one that Eric will find invasive of his privacy.  

Given that we were together for 24/7, it felt like we had dated for closer to 6 months than the almost 2 that we actually shared.  After experiencing such deep emotions over that actual or perceived time, I knew that immediately switching to “just friends” status and continuing to travel together would be torturous to my heart.  I guess Eric felt the same.  We both needed some space, but it was a shame for many reasons that this need arose on the eve of our month-long motorbike trip through Vietnam.  

But when you need space, you need space.  So we decided to part ways for some undetermined amount of time.  I wasn’t ready to leave Hanoi immediately, but Eric was. We both had the same general itinerary (basically, head to Ha Long Bay and then South to Saigon - the same, but obviously more of a skeletal outline than an actual itinerary) so we decided he’d set out a day ahead of me, leaving us the option of joining forces down the road if and when we both decided we’d had the space we needed.  

So there I sat, alone in the dark in my hotel room, on the eve of Eric’s departure from Hanoi. For some reason, out of the blue, a tidal wave of panic washed over me.  My heart started pounding so hard in my chest, I thought it was trying to break out of its confines and start its own trip … to where I wondered?  

Perhaps I was recalling the spill I took on my motorbike a few days earlier in the Hanoi rush hour traffic (It was minor. I didn’t even get a scrape. I simply got too far over onto the edge of the street and my tire got caught on the break of the asphalt. Luckily for all of us, the biker behind me and all those behind him had terrific braking reflexes.)  Or perhaps I was having separation anxiety just from having lost my travel partner.  Regardless of the cause, I was immensely afraid …. something extremely odd for me in general, but particularly after having traveled on my own throughout Southeast Asia for the past five months.  

It’s amazing how healing a good night’s sleep can be.  Thankfully, in the morning, I felt 90% better on the “fear factor front” and, through a Skype conference, my fabulous family pushed me right up to 100% (thanks Mom, Dad, John and Maria!).  So I filled my last day in Hanoi with errands to prepare for my now solo motorbike trip of Vietnam:  purchasing a compass to replace the one I’d lost a month back, better weather-proof gear to keep me warmer and drier when driving, an Allen wrench to keep my bike mirrors tight, etc.  Supplies stocked, I felt much more confident and ready to launch.  

With all the administrative to do’s complete, it was time to start checking off “touristy to do’s” before leaving Hanoi.  I’d been playing around Hanoi’s Old Quarter for a few days enjoying the millions of photo opps, but had not gone to see a single touristic highlight.  

I started with the most definite “must see”:  the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum where Ho Chi Minh lies in state, embalmed for all eternity against his wishes.  Ho Chi Minh is revered like a god in Vietnam.  He never married and had no children, always saying that all the Vietnamese people were his children.  In return, the Vietnamese call him “Bac Ho” or Uncle Ho.

When I visited Brazil seven years ago, I stayed a few days with a delightful Brazilian woman named Rosangela and her family.  Brazilians pronounce their R’s like H’s so her name was pronounced “Hosangela.”  But of course that was a mouthful so when we met, she told me, “My name is Hosangela, but you can call me Ho.”  On the third day that I stayed with her, I finally got up the nerve and the sufficient Portuguese to laugh with her about why calling her Ho was difficult for me at first.  

Naturally, I reminisced about my Brazilian friend, Ho, as I went to visit Uncle Ho.  The Mausoleum was fascinating.  After Ho Chi Minh’s death in 1969, it took one year to embalm his body.  The job was done by Soviet Dr. Sergei Debrov.  Each year, Uncle Ho’s body is returned to Russia for two months to for maintenance … sort of an annual post mortum face lift.  Apparently, the technology to do the job doesn’t yet exist in Vietnam.  Luckily for me, Bac Ho returned to his bed in Hanoi just two weeks before my visit. 

The mood at the mausoleum was very solemn.  Only groups of 12-15 were permitted to enter at a time.  There’s red plastic “carpet” throughout giving an air of pomp and circumstance as though one were going to visit a king.  For the Vietnamese, a visit to Uncle Ho, dead or alive, amounts to as much.  

Many guards were stationed throughout the mausoleum.  Unaware that viewing Ho’s body was taken so seriously by the Viets, I was chatting away with my guide on the way into the mausoleum, asking about Vietnamese homes and other aspects of their culture.  The first guard I encountered “shushed” me.  The second guard I passed instructed me to remove the hood of my rain coat from my head.  Wow! This was really serious business.  I was torn between not looking any more guards in the eye for fear they’d correct me further.  Of course, I was equally curious to see what else they would correct me for so I couldn’t resist a few more peeks at them.  Sure enough, I received further citations.  I had been holding my long pant legs up a slight bit with my hands to prevent them from soaking up the rain water that had collected on the plastic carpet … and was instructed to drop them to the floor.  

After many stairs and numerous twists and turns through hallways, I suddenly was in the room where Ho Chi Minh lay embalmed in his coffin.  The light in the room was soft and slightly eerie.  Nine guards were posted in the room; the four guards posted immediately next to the body were armed. Did they suppose someone would try to run off with Ho’s body?  

After my guide and I emerged from the mausoleum, he began singing Ho’s praises as we toured the rest of the grounds where Bac Ho lived and worked.  He told me that Ho spoke ten languages and described him as “magic.”  The grounds were lovely but quite simple for a head of state.  Of course, simplicity and humility were precisely what Ho was known and celebrated for.  At first I found it odd that people would revere a man so much as to keep his used cars on display … until I saw that they were “regular old cars” like the farmer next door might drive, not limousines or fancy, expensive toys.  I think their purpose in being displayed was less “Ho touched this item” than “Look at what a normal life he lived.”  Ho’s house and office were likewise plain and simple.  Ordinary in fact.  

entrance gate to the lovely Temple of Literature

The museum was closed the day I visited (unclear if it was the day or just an early lunchtime that was the problem) but sadly, I wasn’t able to experience it. The rest of the  was all quite interesting and a nice tribute to a man so beloved by his country.  Unfortunately, it was raining that morning so I didn’t take my camera … so no photos.  Sorry.  

From there, I visited the Temple of Literature. I had no guide and, ironically, there wasn’t really any literature to explain what I was seeing, but it was beautiful and enchanting. To enter, I walked through an ancient gate into a lovely garden courtyard.  I continued passing through several more gates into more courtyards.  The second courtyard was fascinating with, what I later read, were 82 stone stelae mounted on tortoises.  The stelae are large stones onto which are engraved the names of successful candidates for a state examination given from 1442 - 1779.  

stelae at the Temple of Literature

A ceremonial hall in a later courtyard contained statues of to which many Vietnamese  were offering incense and prayers.  The statues looked nothing like Buddha, but he seems to come in many forms.  I decided to ask one girl after she finished her prayers.  She told me that the statue was Confucius and on his sides were his four main disciples.  She told me that Vietnamese come to pray to the Temple to pray to Confucius for intelligence and success in school.  She herself had an important exam the next day and had come to the Temple hoping to get an extra edge.  Very interesting!

Although it wasn’t listed high on my guide book’s list of sights to see, as an artist, I couldn’t pass up the Vietnam Fine Arts Museum.  I was amazed at the lacquer paintings, a specialty of Vietnam.  In addition to the centuries old paintings and sculptures, I particularly enjoyed a section of the museum that specialized in folk art and the art of ethnic minorities. 

Hanoi is an incredibly delightful city; one in which I could easily live.  Wandering around it and enjoying its friend people and interesting sights was just the salve that my heart needed.  By that evening, I was back on top of my game - or as much at the top of my game a broken-hearted girl can be.  Hearts don’t heal in the course of a day, of course, but at the end of that day, my heart was a little less raw.  Most importantly, my fears were vanquished and I was ready to hit the road to receive more of that salve that I knew exploring Vietnam would provide. 

There are far more photos of lovely and interesting Hanoi than I have room to post here. To see more of them, check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.

Christmas ... brought to you this year by Heineken!

December 25

Christmas in Vietnam didn’t quite feel like Christmas at home … or Christmas in general for that matter. A relatively high percentage of Vietnamese people are Catholic. Catering to them and probably marketing to the Christian tourists, Christmas decorations abounded in both Hanoi and Saigon. Christmas trees (some even “sponsored” by Heineken!), fake styrofoam snow and skinny Vietnamese Santas with motorbike helmets under their clothes to create fat bellies abounded. Christmas tunes were in the air. Certainly the chilly air in Hanoi felt more seasonally appropriate than the heat of Saigon. But as with Thanksgiving, the real signs of Christmas were missing: being around my family, gift wrapping while picturing the smiles on my family’s faces as they opened my gifts (I had already sent gifts home from Bali and from Thailand), the smell of Mom’s amazing pumpkin bread filling the house, my brother making cheese and sausage balls in the kitchen while chatting about sports with my Dad. Through my travels I’ve discovered that holidays are only meaningless days on a calendar if I’m not with my family. So I enjoyed a fancy French dinner on Christmas Eve and, although it tasted delicious, it was simply a fancy French dinner completely unrelated in my mind to the holiday at hand.

Interestingly, walking “home” from dinner, I encountered thousands of Vietnamese celebrating like mad in the streets. They gathered in droves on their motorbikes and waived huge Vietnam flags. At the time, I thought they were celebrating Christmas Eve. I later found out they were going nuts because their soccer team had bested Thailand for the first time in ten years in the AFF (Asian East) Cup (a soccer cup played for by eight different Asian teams). With one more win (or even a tie, as it turns out happened four days later), the AFF Cup title would be Vietnam’s for the first time in history. Even though I didn’t understand the reason for the celebration at the time, I appreciated the festive spirit which, oddly, imbibed me with a bit of excitement about Christmas.

my Christmas Eve dinner ... rack of lamb

Christmas Day, however, was pretty “un-Christmassy.” Eric and I exchanged gifts (Coincidentally, we got each other the same thing: Hans Kemp’s “Bikes of Burden” book which we’d both been eyeing and enjoying in the bookstores. It’s the one I mentioned a few entries back with hundreds of photos of motorbikes in Vietnam and their interesting and humorous cargo). Neither of us could find Christmas paper to wrap the presents in so, on top of the general “day like every other day feeling,” the exchange didn’t feel quite as festive as we both might have liked.

I had read about some interesting alleyways in Old Quarter Hanoi where street kitchens (ranging from mobile food stalls to permanent “restaurants” where all the food is cooked outside on the street) specialized in a variety of traditional Vietnamese noodle dishes such as bun cha, bum nem cua be and pho bo, so we went to check it out for lunch. We found just such an alley and seated ourselves among a group of Vietnamese at a knee high table on the kid-sized stools and ordered two of whatever was being served (naturally, no one spoke English). We were the only Westerners in sight so it seemed we were on the right track. Turns out “what was being served” was fried tofu, chunks of fresh rice noodles (bun moc) and a plate of veggies served with shrimp sauce (mam tom).

a shrimp sauce lunch

Shrimp sauce is generally made the same way the Vietnamese make their infamous fish sauce (nuoc mam): by fermenting shrimp in vats of salt for six months to one year then extracting the liquid which, not surprisingly, smells pretty rank. The street kitchen owner showed us obvious newbies how to prepare our shrimp sauce by squeezing lime into it causing it to froth up. I dunked the noodles and tofu in the sauce as I saw the other locals doing and popped them in my mouth … eeeeeewwwwww! Shrimp sauce tastes nasty! (Just as you would expect the juice of rotten salty shrimp to taste!) I was determined to eat this Vietnamese specialty though, or at least give it a second try. Adding sugar, garlic, chili and every other condiment on the table to my shrimp sauce made it more palatable, but I was quite careful after that first bite to only nominally dip, not dunk.

After lunch, we spent the afternoon wandering and photographing around Hanoi’s delightfully intriguing Old Quarter where I observed the new trend in Vietnamese baby-wear: hats with locks of long blond hair flowing from the top like a ponytail. Seeing cute little brown-faced Vietnamese babies with long blond hair was pretty funny. Down the street, funerary shops cut and engraved the marble for headstones right on the sidewalk. In fact, it’s quite common for people to operate heavy-duty power tools and welding equipment within inches of where the public walks throughout Southeast Asia. Many times as I’ve been boarding or de-boarding a boat, the only walkway to or from leads right over a man welding some portion of the dock that’s only inches away from my feet. OSHA employees would be pulling their hair out over here!

a colorful little shop in Hanoi's Old Quarter

Other highlights of Old Quarter Hanoi were the food markets with beautiful fruit artfully displayed along with interesting fish and sea creatures for sale, both whole and chopped up, some still wiggling, alongside a myriad of pieces and parts of other animals just waiting to become someone’s supper. Asian markets, while fascinating, are not for the feint of heart or stomach.

Old Quarter is a riot of colors with shops carrying all kinds of handicrafts and souvenirs such as bright red Chinese lanterns, multi-colored bamboo rice bowls, bags and stuffed animals made by ethnic hilltribes of intricately stitched fabrics, gorgeous silk ao dais and jackets. Knockoffs of North Face, Samsonite and many other kinds of backpacks and luggage are on every other corner. On the corners where knockoff backpacks are not sold, pirated DVDs of the latest movies are, usually for as cheap as $1. I’ve learned that the newer the movie, the less likely the quality is to be good. On more than one occasion, I’ve been left holding my breath at the climax of the movie when the disc froze and flashed the message “Skipping damaged sections” … only to skip all the way to the the credits.

very cozy friends

Although the Vietnamese eat dog, particularly in the North (and winter is apparently prime dog-eating season … and I hear they’re served with shrimp sauce … double blechk!), dogs are surprisingly abundant in Vietnam as pets. Many of these pet dogs are dressed in shirts and sweaters, perhaps to keep them warm although I think it’s equally plausible that dressing them marks them as “not for dinner.” I got tickled by two such comical canines on the Old Quarter streets each wearing fleece dresses while playing, and eventually humping, in the street.

 I love the walls in Hanoi’s Old Quarter which are generally very old and picturesque yellow plaster cracked and peeling to reveal bricks underneath. Apparently, these yellow walls also double as Yellow Pages. Local handimen and movers stencil their names and phone numbers on them. At first I thought that one particular wall had the name of the same KH Cat Be Tong stenciled twelve different times with eleven different phone numbers. I just figured the man moved frequently or didn’t pay his phone bill. Turns out, the name “ KH Cat Be Tong” simply means handiman.  

advertising by many handimen

A popular way for tourists to see Hanoi is by cyclo - a chair placed on a three-wheeled bike push-driven by a cyclo driver from behind. It’s leisurely and enjoyable. You can sit back and take in the sights while someone else makes all the decisions about where to take you (an occasional nicety for an independent traveler). It’s common in the Old Quarter to see groups of tourists who have opted for the cyclo tour, but have decided to have one cyclo per person. Their twenty person tour group ends up looking like a parade. It’s comical for me to see, but I wouldn’t want to take a cyclo under those circumstances.

After wandering around the Old Quarter, we headed over to Hoan Kiem Lake, the Central Park of Hanoi. Many Vietnamese, young and old, gathered around the lake enjoying the pretty if chilly afternoon. Old ladies sat on park benches knitting, young lovers cuddled together, old men played Chinese chess, and young women did exercises by the lakeside. I laughed for a while at a dog jumping around oddly in a garden by the lake until I finally realized that he was hunting for vermin. In the distance, I saw a couple dressed up (probably for a wedding or do they have prom in Vietnam?) having their photograph made on picture perfect Huc Bridge - a lacquered red arched bridge that lead to a tiny island in the middle of the lake. Their photographer choreographed their poses while others on the bridge looked on. Eric and I headed over to explore. 

a couple of old men in what appears to be a heated game of Chinese chess

Old men were paired up all over the tiny island playing Chinese chess, usually with a group of five to ten other old men observing their progress and strategies. It reminded of a Little Havana in Miami where the old men gather and play dominoes. Chinese influences were readily apparently in everything on the island beginning with the bridge to get there as well as the entrance, each of which were covered in old Vietnamese characters which resemble Chinese as well as upturned tiled roof eaves.

Elsewhere on the tiny island, faithful Buddhists made incense offerings which perfumed the air in and around the ancient and interesting Den Ngoc Son Temple. Families strolled around and gathered under an Asian-looking pavilion which overlooked Hoan Kiem Lake where they took photos of their family outing. The atmosphere was relaxing, beautiful and very peaceful. I certainly enjoyed my time there.

It really wasn’t such a bad day. Not your typical Christmas, but not a bad day either. At least not yet ….

If you would like to enjoy Hoan Kiem Lake with me via video by clicking here. Experience the excitement of Christmas Eve in Hanoi - click here.

There are far more photos of lovely and interesting Hanoi than I have room to post here.  To see more of them, check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.

trying to stay warm while my motorbike undergoes "operation #1"

December 23 

As it turns out “tomorrow” (Day 2 of the motorbike tour of North Vietnam) was not better.  In fact, it was fraught with problems.  In the first place, the already cold temperatures became even colder.  I don’t know for certain, but I would guess it was between 10 and 12 degrees Celsius (that’s low 50’s Fahrenheit).  I’m by no means a lover of cold weather as my father and brother are and all I could think of only thirty minutes into starting the trip that morning was “How much longer until I can find a warm hotel?”  I was absolutely miserable.  

Eric and I could not agree on which road to take to get to Sa Pa.  And then my motorbike broke down.  We had stopped in front of a Y in the road trying to figure out where we were and which fork to take.  After figuring it out, we were ready to head on again, but apparently the Fonda was not.  She simply refused to start.  We found a motorbike mechanic (“xe may” in Vietnamese - a sign that was, unfortunately, going to become as familiar to me as “hotel”) who spoke no English but was happy to try to fix the problem.  He deduced that the battery was the culprit and simply recharged mine for two hours and then reinstalled it.  At least motorbike fixes are generally cheap. This one only set me back 30,000 Dong (about $1.75).  But we were stuck in this little town for the night.

Exploring a foreign country by motorbike is generally a sheer joy for me.  Feeling cold and miserable doesn’t really fit into that joyful equation.  Eric wasn’t as bothered by the cold as I was so I felt terribly guilty admitting to him how miserable the bitter chill was making me, particularly since it had been my idea to head up North and try to catch the good weather window before the cold closed in.  Apparently, that window had already closed.  

my loving family who made my Christmas

It was impossible for me to enjoy two weeks of motorbiking in these cold temperatures and I apologized to Eric profusely.  We reluctantly agreed to head back to Hanoi and continue the trip South toward warmer weather.  We were both obviously very disappointed as Sa Pa, the area we were now forgoing, is reputed to have gorgeous scenery, interesting hilltribes and exceedingly friendly people.  I was crushed not to be able to go there, but just knew I wouldn’t enjoy any of it if I was shivering my way through.  Early fall was the best time to tour Sa Pa so we agreed to postpone our trip through that portion of Vietnam.

My motorbike started perfectly the next morning and we arrived back in Hanoi on Christmas Eve.  One upside of our U-Turn back to Hanoi was that we had internet access on Christmas and I was able to Skype with my family, including my brother’s future in-laws (or in-loves as they say).  That was easily the highlight of my Christmas.

the Fonda and me ... all loaded up and ready to start road-tripping!

Eric and I started our motorbike trip of Vietnam on Monday, December 22.  Because it took a while for us to get our act together (and by us, I mean me), we didn’t leave Hanoi until 2:30 in the afternoon.  Our mode of transportation:  two motorbikes neither with operational speedometers, one without a gas gauge and a motor that constantly dies and one with a dodgy right brake and a left mirror that, until it’s tightened, just dangles uselessly like a sad string of spaghetti.  Eric’s pack rests half on the seat and half on a constructed luggage rack behind him and takes up the majority of his seat.  Mine sits on the platform in front of me leaving room for a passenger behind me, but making it difficult to get my key in and out of the ignition.  Oh, and my motorbike key resembles a Philips head screwdriver, but only one way out of the four possible options will fit the ignition.  Our wheels are a barrel of laughs.

I know the year of neither of our motorbikes, but I do know that both of them are knockoffs made in China.  You’ve heard of people knocking off purses, watches, backpacks and jeans.  In Asia, no copyright or intellectual product is sacred … so naturally, Asians have extended their semi-ingenious reverse engineering to even motorbikes.  So my “Honda” is actually a fake made in China.  For this reason, I call it the Fonda.  Eric’s is a knockoff of a Russian motorbike manufactured in the 60s.  Why would someone knock off a Russian motorbike? We’re asking the same question.  Eric read an article the other day about some Vietnamese who were busted selling knockoffs of some expensive wine and alcohol.  God love the Asians.  They keep us highly entertained.  

a man making an extra set of keys for me by hand

We bought our bikes in Saigon, thinking we would start our country-long tour there until we were advised that winter weather would be closing in fast in the North making motorbiking there miserable.  As North Vietnam is reputed to be the most interesting area to motorbike, we changed our plans on the spur of moment, put our bikes on a train and flew to Hanoi.  So the current plan is to tour the North and then head South.  We’ll end the trip in Saigon and hopefully sell the bikes there for the same amount or slightly less than we paid for them; at any rate, less than what it would have cost us to rent bikes for the month.  At least that’s the plan.

Buying the motorbikes was an interesting experience.  In the first place, foreigners in Vietnam are not legally permitted to own them.  When we bought our bikes, each of us got the equivalent of a title, but they aren’t in our name.  In fact, the “titles” weren’t even in the names of the individuals who sold them to us.  We hope that doesn’t mean that they’re stolen.  Most likely, it’s just they way things are done here with little to no government involvement in the day to day transactions of the people.  I guess we’ll find out if we ever get pulled over by the police. 

my motorbike title and contract

Each of us received a contract signed by the seller when we bought our bikes.  The contract is written entirely in Vietnamese and, according to Gui, the guy who helped us find our motorbikes, each contract reads in part: “ If anyone sees this paper, the seller of this motorbike is in big trouble with the police.”  Troubled by this translation, we had a few other people review and interpret the contracts later.  Each of those people translated that last clause as essentially a release of liability for the seller in the event that the bike is involved in an accident - which makes much more sense and makes me rest easier.

Gui was a character.  And by character, I don’t mean a good guy.  He did lead us to what seemed to be decent bikes and served as mediator and translater for the deals, but that’s where the good part ended.  He promised Eric that his deal would include a set of new tires and the addition of a luggage rack to accomodate his pack.  He promised me a set of large mirrors so I could see the huge buses and semis as they loomed down on me.  At the time we bought the bikes, Eric suffered from “bike fever” and I from “boyfriend fever” so we didn’t do the shrewd thing of holding back a portion of the money until all parts of the deal were complete.  Eric got his tires and I ultimately got my mirrors - but only after relentless hounding and even lies that we were leaving town in a few hours.  Eric was out of luck on his luggage rack though and had to have it built himself.  It didn’t set him back much, but it was the principal that stuck in our craw. Gui was a bad operator.  We’re hoping that will be only sour note in the deal and that the bikes will hold up for our trip.  So far, they seem okay.  

motorbike helmets

One of my favorite things about Asia are the misspellings and mistranslations that are everywhere.  Getting into the Asian spirit, we selected motorbike helmets along that vein.  Eric’s reads “KEEP FIGHT” and has an ant as a “mascot.”  We guess that “keep fight” means “hang in there,” “keep on keepin’ on” or something along those lines.  My helmet says “lovey&stweet” (all one word) which is really appropriate since my dark sense of humor would prevent anyone from ever calling me just out-and-out sweet.  I’m sort of sweet so I think “stweet” captures it.  Kind of like saccharine.  My helmet also has  a big heart above “lovey&stweet” which I tolerate for the “stweet” factor; I’m not really a hearts and bows kinda gal. 

my first hitchhiker

Eric had the bright idea of purchasing small Vietnam flags to stick on our bikes.  In addition to that one, I also bought an American one and they fly together off the back of my bike. They’ve already been a hit with locals as we drive by.  They point at them and even play with them when they’re within arms’ reach.  

The weather was already cold today when we started.  Luckily, we each bought warm coats, gloves and scarves in Hanoi which we put to immediate use.  It took us a while to wind our way out of Hanoi.  Old Town Hanoi is a fabulous city that reminds me a lot of Greenwich Village in New York with a major Asian twist.  Like Greenwich Village though, Hanoi’s streets aren’t gridded and it took some time and numerous map consultations to negotiate our way out.  

tall skinny houses in North Vietnam

The roads north of Hanoi were new and really good.  I enjoyed seeing the Vietnamese housing architecture along the road’s edge - the houses are tall and skinny even when there’s not a house built next to it.  I’ve since learned that the government only sells land in lot sizes of five meters wide by fifteen or twenty meters deep (basically 15 feet by 60 feet) which explains the tall skinny shapes.  Although it was cold, banana trees (my favorite) still flourished along the road giving a jungle appearance although the temperatures told me otherwise. 

About thirty minutes out of the city, during one of our map checks, a man approached us and asked for a lift.  Even though Eric’s pack barely leaves room for Eric on the bike seat, the man initially asked Eric for the ride.  Now we’ve seen Asian passengers sit on top of bags and boxes that are stacked on the backs of motorbikes so perhaps the man thought that he could just perch up on top of Eric’s pack.  In fact, by Asian standards, he probably saw room for five more people on Eric’s motorbike.  We, however, only saw room for Eric on Eric’s bike so our hitchhiker was relegated to riding on the completely empty seat behind me.  We chuckled that he didn’t spot that seat first.  Or maybe culturally it’s less appropriate for him to ride with a woman? Who knows.  At any rate, I drove him about an hour to his destination and ours for the evening. 

a man herding ducks on the main highway

On the way, we came across a gaggle of over 100 ducks being herded by a man down a very major highway.  The ducks moved as a collective group, the same way birds fly.  The first few would wander out toward the middle of the road and they would all follow.  The man herding them would run behind and swat at them with a long stick and the group would change shape as they headed back toward the side of the road.  Rogue ducks got scooped up by the duck herder who would stuff them in a sack.  He kept yelling at a man who was walking his bike on the road alongside the ducks.  We didn’t know if the man had tried to steal a duck or why he was being yelled at, but apparently he wasn’t popular with the duck herder. 

We finished the first day of our Vietnam bike trip in Son Tay, a mere 45 km northwest of Hanoi.  Between our late start and our difficulty finding our way out of the oddly arranged city, our progress wasn’t great.  Hopefully tomorrow will be different, but already we’re glad to be out on our own. 

Watch a key being made by hand and general motorbike maintenance Vietnam style via video by clicking here.  Experience of gaggle of ducks (are ducks grouped in gaggles?) and other oddities by traveling with me on the first day of my roadtrip - click here.

To see more photos from the road,check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.

My Vietnam experience actually started in Battambang, Cambodia. Vietnam is one of the few countries where visas on arrival are not available so I had to get my visa in advance.  Literally as soon as Eric and I were off the boat in Battambang, we went to the Vietnamese consulate and applied for a visa.  I was under the gun to get one as soon as possible because my Cambodian visa had already expired and I would have to pay a fine for every day I overstayed.  Not a big deal, but I’d rather spend that money on food and travel than payment to a government official.

The entrance to the Vietnamese consulate was a very strong steel mafia-type gated door.  When I rang the doorbell, a man slid open a tiny “window” at eye level … and his eyes were the only thing I could see.  The “What do you want?” that emerged from the eye window sounded pretty gruff.  “A visa for Vietnam,” I answered.  Apparently, that was the equivalent of saying “open sesame” because the gate flew open and we were ushered in with a smile.  

Inside, after walking through a small courtyard, I came to a lobby.  At the far end of the lobby was a glass window with the word “VISA.”  I started to walk toward it, but never got near the window.  Instead, we were directed to sit on a beautiful, decorative long wooden sofa-type bench.  In front of the sofa bench was a lovely coffee table with a matching large sofa bench on the other side.  The entire setting was more reminiscent of someone’s living room than a place of business, much less a government office.  

chopsticks drying outside a restaurant

“Please sit” the man in charge of visas instructed us. (“Please sit” is big in Cambodia.  Anytime you do business with someone from renting a motorbike to buying a cheap necklace, if you show the slightest bit of interest, you’re inevitably invited to “please sit.”).  The man’s assistant brought us glasses of water and we discussed our visa applications over the coffee table as if we were there for a social visit instead of official government business.  It was all quite charming.

Each of the three times we showed up to check on our visas, the consular employees seated us on decorative wooden benches and each time, they would bring us glasses of water … even when the news that immediately followed was “Sorry, your visas aren’t ready yet.” 

In the end, we got our visas (one month instead of two as we requested) in expedited time - about 36 hours.  After finishing our cooking class at the Smokin’ Pot, we boarded a bus for Phnom Penh and then another for Ho Chi Minh City (aka Saigon).  

Eric and I had each decided independently of each other before we’d met that our goal for Vietnam was to motorbike the length of the country.  After my previous motorbike trips in Bali, Thailand and Cambodia, I’m convinced that it’s the only way to really explore any country.  Traveling independently gives you the freedom to linger if you love a place or ditch early if it doesn’t ring your bell.  Traveling by motorbike instead of bus, train or plane allows you to explore unmarked dirt roads … where gold frequently lies at the end like a rainbow.  So we were united in our determination to tour Vietnam by motorbike.  

While we explored options for one-way rentals and motorbike purchases, we also took a few days to explore Saigon.   My first impression was that it, and Vietnam in general, was cleaner and more affluent than Cambodia.  To Cambodia’s three to five types of motorbikes, Vietnam had a plethora of makes, models, styles and colors from which to choose.  Many Vietnamese obviously enjoyed expressing themselves through their motorbikes and helmets, adding “fashion seats” and decorative paint jobs to their wheels.  

Street food vendors were more conscious of hygiene actually covering their food with plastic to prevent dust from the road collecting on it.  Such a thing is unheard of in Cambodia.  At night, these same vendors rig up batteries on their push bikes to light their wares/food in the dark.  

trash pickup in Saigon

The streets in Saigon are well kept.  Although there was still the absence of many public trash cans (this is the case all over Southeast Asia) the people place their trash in neat piles on the street ready for pick up rather than scattered all around.  I noticed several trash ladies carrying brooms with them to sweep the streets after the general refuse was picked up.  

Speaking of trash pickup, I love to observe this everyday function in each country I go to. In Mexico, they ring a triangle to let people know the trash man has arrived where they use a squeaky toy in Cambodia.  In Vietnam, I didn’t notice any particular sounds to announce the trash person’s arrival, but I did see two shop keepers paying one trash lady some money when they gave her the trash.  Rather than driving a garbage truck, the trash lady pushed a wheeled cart into which all the trash was placed.  Additionally, the shop patrons brought the trash out to her rather than leaving it for her on the side of the street.  The trash lady opened the plastic bags containing the garbage, dumped the garbage into her bin and then set the plastic bags aside presumably for recycling.  It was all very clean and impressive … but of course I fell into fits of hysterics five minutes after she’d gone when the same shop keeper walked out in front of her shop and threw some trash on the ground.

getting my sandals shined

The Vietnamese seem generally attuned to neatness in appearance.  Even the trash collectors wear what seem like dressy clothes to me while they work.  And everyone is meticulous about keeping their clothes clean.  Before sitting down in any public chair, many of them wipe the seat with a napkin.  One morning, while Eric and I were waiting for our breakfast, a man approached us and offered to shine Eric’s shoes.  The first three times he was approached, Eric declined the offer, pointing out that he had sandals on.  Finally, he relented deciding that it was easier to pay $1 and not be hassled any more.  I hadn’t realized that Eric’s sandals were dirty, but when he got them back, they looked brand-spanking new!  All of a sudden, mine looked particularly filthy so I too signed up for a sandal shine.   

tiny chairs and tables used by everyone in Vietnam

Beside the generally cleaner streets and attention to appearance, the other thing I noticed immediately in Vietnam were the child-size tables and chairs used by everyone. Large groups of people (7-12) will gather to drink or eat late dinner.  Even as small as the Vietnamese people are, they look like adults sitting at tables and chairs for children.  Iced coffee is everywhere.  That and hot tea served in tiny espresso sized cups seem to be the beverage of choice enjoyed by the tiny people sitting in tiny chairs and tiny tables.  It’s all very cute.  

Despite being in a large city, the people of Saigon are very friendly.  This bodes well as I’ve always found city people to be less friendly than those from the countryside.  Sometimes in traffic, the people have solemn faces but as soon as I smile at them, their faces light up as they return the smile back to me.  They seem generally more shy about having their pictures taken than Cambodians, but hopefully I’ll be able to learn some Vietnamese to charm them out of their shells.  

sidewalks are used as an extra traffic lane in Saigon

Traffic in Saigon, as in most large Southeast Asian cities, is semi-controlled chaos.  For some reason, things seem a bit more chaotic than in Cambodia.  Perhaps that’s because of the sheer volume.  But here, people regularly use sidewalks as an extra lane of traffic (not that lanes really exist here to begin with).  Drivers cut in front of others and come out of the blue from all corners.  

Like the rest of Southeast Asia, the primary way to get around in Vietnam is by motorbike.  If you don’t have your own, you just hire a motorbike taxi and hop on the back of his … my favorite way to explore a city.  I’ve developed quite an existential outlook regarding traffic.  Although the traffic patterns, if one can call them that, are crazy, I’ve witnessed very few accidents.  So I just assume that I’m going to be alright in the midst of the insanity as well which allows me to enjoy it all … the sights, the sounds, the smells and the laughs from a particularly unexpected motorbike maneuver.

a piping hot bowl of delicious pho

I’ve been craving Vietnamese food more than any other Asian country since before my trip began.  One of my favorite dishes to eat and to make was pho (pronounced like the f-bomb but without the “ck”).  Pho is a beef noodle soup with a broth made from onion, ginger, star anise and fish sauce.  It’s traditionally served at breakfast in Vietnam.  I love it so much I could eat it three times a day.  On the night we arrived in Saigon, I was delighted to head to a restaurant that served 21 different kinds of pho … and enjoyed an incredibly delicious bowl of one of them.  

Foods and customs of many of the Southeast Asian countries blend together and overlap with those of their neighbors.  Each country is certainly its own but there are many similarities among them.  I love that although I’ve been traveling in Southeast Asia for five months, Vietnam has cultural and culinary differences distinct enough from its neighbors that one can spot them within hours of arrival. I’ve loved the food I’ve tried here so far.  Vietnam has a lot going for it … and I can’t wait to start getting to know this intriguing country.  

Care to test your nerves in Saigon’s crazy traffic?  Check out this video and bring your nerves of steel by click here.

To see more photos of Saigon,check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.

Cambodian woman kneeling in her floating kitchen

December 10 - 12 (I’m just a “bit” behind in my posts!)

After enjoying several days of lovely weather, numerous temples and delightfully friendly villagers in Siem Reap, I caught the slow boat to Battambang, a 7.5 hour boat ride.  I had been told by some Americans I met in Bali that this trip was one not to be missed and that the scenery was fantastic.  Indeed, it turned out to be fantastic … but not in the way I imagined.  The term “fantastic scenery” conjured in my mind visions of high cliffs covered in interesting foliage flanking the river on either side.  There were no cliffs or mountains (a quick glance at any map would have shown me that this part of Cambodia was as flat as a tone-deaf tenor).  Instead, what comprised the fantastic scenery were the floating villages that dotted the river for the entire day long boat ride.  

some small toddlers with a safety gate in their floating house

Making the trip by boat instead of bus provided an up close and personal view right into the homes and living rooms of the families who lived on the river and made their meager living from it.  Old women sat in their doorways chopping meat and vegetables for dinner; men sat together in groups drinking tea or relaxed in hammocks smoking cigarettes.  Some mended fishing traps while toddlers ran smiling and naked along the two foot wide perimeter of the floating houses.  I was interested to see the ramshackle TV antennas that were rigged up to grace even the most rickety of floating houses.

Everyone including the children paddled boats either as a means of transportation or to fish.  Water was obviously deeply intertwined with the lives of these villagers.  Schools, pharmacies and markets all floated on the water amidst the shanty houses and boats that comprised the villages.  I saw ten children in a boat all dressed in school uniforms presumably in their watery version of a school bus, being “driven” home by one of the older boys.  

successful fishing expedition

A boat full of Western tourists passes this way each and every day.  Probably there is more than one per day.  And yet the villagers we encountered, both young and old, waived to us as heartily as if we were celebrities … and the only ones they’d ever seen.  In some ways, this reaction surprised me given that we were peeking right into their living rooms, cameras and zoom lenses all pointed their way.  They didn’t seem bothered by this, however.  In fact, by their smiles and waives, they seemed to invite us in.  I’m sure that if I had been kayaking along in my own little boat and could stop at my leisure, they would have extended an actual invitation. 

Besides the interesting if voyeuristic glimpses of everyday life on the river, I was surprised at the density of the water foliage.  In places, it choked the water so much that the boat essentially had to cut its own path through the vegetation.  After making one such pass, one of the boat crew removed his shoes, rolled up his pants leg and submerged his leg in the water to clear any plants from the boat’s machinery.

It has been my goal in each country I visit to take a cooking lesson of some kind.  The same couple who told me about the boat ride to Battambang also endorsed a cooking class at a restaurant called the “Smokin’ Pot” so I signed up.  I got more than a cooking lesson, however.  

fish curry cooking at the Smokin' Pot cooking class

I met a man named Mark who shared a fascinating personal life story with me.  Mark was born in 1979 in Cambodia. At the time, Pol Pot was cutting his genocidal swathe through the country and Mark’s family was desperate to escape.  They waited until his mother gave birth to him, allowed her two weeks’ recovery before making their attempt to sneak into Thailand. Mark was a 15 day old infant when they arrived at the Thai border crossing in the middle of the night.  

His family actually was in that age-old dilemma that we Westerners face merely as a theoretical situation in philosophy class:  a group of people are under seige and fleeing for their lives.  They are traveling with an infant.  If the infant cries out, the group’s position will be discovered and all their lives jeopardized. What do you do if the infant begins to cry? 

Fortunately for all of them, they didn’t have to make any dreadful decisions as Mark kept completely silent all night long.  I couldn’t resist asking him whether he had ever asked his family what they would have done in the event he had cried.  Apparently Mark’s will power is stronger than mine … he never asked.  I probably wouldn’t have either.

Mark and his friend Wilson tasting their work

Besides meeting fun and fascinating people, the cooking class itself was fabulous.  We started with a trip to the market … always a delight in Asia.  We learned to make three Cambodian dishes plus a curry sauce that we used in several of the recipes: chicken soup, fish curry and a spicy beef dish that I made extra spicy by adding more peppers and garlic than were called for.  It was amazing … but I cried the entire time I was eating it … and then guzzled two liters of water to quench my pour tongue.

Speaking of food, I’ve been incredibly remiss in my discussions about and photographs of food during my entire trip.  I must say that I’ve eaten incredibly well … and managed to lose weight at the same time (except when I go on my “I miss Western food binges” and then the pounds come right back on).  I can excuse my lack of food photographs with my excitement to delve into each dish as soon as it’s presented, but I’ll try to do better in the future.

Besides providing nutrition and a culinary education, Asian food, like so many other things Asian, provides me with laughs and surprises.  Things that I expect to taste salty, taste sweet and vice versa.  Also, Asians like gelatinous foods, a texture that isn’t used much in the West.  While we have very few foods that are black in color (licorice, black beans and things that are burned are the only things that come to mind), Asians have many black foods … and surprisingly, most of them are sweet … and gelatinous.   I’ve learned to let go of my expectations and usually I like just about everything I eat.  I’ve learned that letting go of expectations is generally a good rule of thumb for traveling in Asia … and in life.  

my spicy beef dish that sent me into tears ... but doesn't it look beautiful?

In addition to getting cheap laughs from the appearance of various Asian foods, Asian menus never fail to send me into fits of giggles.  In the first place, they are as thick as novels and often take as long to read through.  Sometimes it’s WHAT’s being served that makes me laugh, other times it’s how what’s being served is described and then there are the typos where things just get lost in translation.  I’ve been keeping notes on some of the best.  Hope you giggle (or groan!) as much as I did.  NOTE: I’ve triple checked spellings here.  Any mis-spellings are exactly as they appeared on the menus … which is of course what makes them funny.

At the Sovanna Restaurant in Phnom Penn, they serve “roasted inner bull” and “stomach tongue of bull.”  Not sure how the tongue got in the stomach, but it certainly wasn’t going in mine (although I have eaten cow stomach on the trip several times … gotta be polite when you’re at someone’s house and they offer it to you!).  Their menu was divided into the following sections:  “Frying” “Soap” “Spicu” “Sticy.” Of course the first two translated into “fried foods” and “soup” but I never could figure out the last two.  Perhaps they were two different sections of “spicy.” 

The “Delicious Cafe” in Phnom Penh serves a variety of ice cream sundaes.  The photographs look much like ours, but the titles are very different and much more descriptive.  I used to want to be the girl who got to name the OPI nail colors.  Now I want to name Cambodian ice cream sundaes for a living.  There were:  

Princess Hiding & Eating on the Snow Mountain

Sweet Love Strawberry Cookies Chocolate Star

Chocolate Skiing Star on the Snow

Three Colors Skiing Star on the Snow

Chocolate Star Lead Its Child

Asia Star Relax by Boat

Red Female Strawberry Star (a bit provocative)   

Adult Africa Star (the picture with this one also looked a bit provocative)

When it comes to unusual foods though, no Asian country I’ve been to thus far holds a candle to Vietnam.  The Vietnamese eat EVERYTHING that moves … sometimes while it’s still moving.  In fact, they even have a saying, “Chu cut voi la xoan” which translates “We eat everything except poisonous leaves and shit.”  

Food items and animal parts at which we would turn up our nose are highly regarded here.  For example, at the very upscale Hanoi Garden restaurant, “sea slugs in crab soup” topped the menu.  I suppose food and laughs are a good way to transition to a new country so I’ll start my introduction to Vietnam by sharing some of their menus.

The Din Ky restaurant in Saigon served the following:

Bird Nest Drink 

Sauteed Mudfish in Hot Pot

Sauteed Ox Penis with Satay

Fish Bladder Soup with Crabmeat

Pig Brain Soup with Crabmeat

Shark Fin Soup & Bird Nest Soup (each of these were, of course, astronomically priced at least by Asian standards)

Fried Chicken Stesticals with Garlic

Fried Feather Back Fish Balls

Braised Four Kinds of Object in Hot Pot

Grilled Salmon Heads with Salt and Red Pepper

Fried Battered Bowel

Cow Marrow Omelette

Sauteed Noodle with Three Special Objects

Sauteed Pork Rib Thickly

In addition, their menu was divided into sections.  One page included crocodile, frog, eel and squid while another page was limited to pidgeon, clam, bloody clam and sweet snail.

I’m a somewhat adventurous eater so I couldn’t resist ordering the Sauteed Mudfish in Hot Pot - which was delicious -  and a Bird’s Nest drink.  The drink came in a soda can and the ingredients listed were “water, sugar, white fungus, agar, bird’s nest and flavor.” I’m not sure what agar was but the drink tasted like sugar water with gelatinous chunks thrown in.  Not bad, but I don’t think I’ll order another.

The Com Bao Kahn restaurant in Hanoi advertises that they serve Vietnam Traditional Rice and Food.  On their menu was:

Sweet & Sour Grated Salad with Water Drop Wart

Flower of Banana Food

Bean Curd with Absorb Salty Eggs

Pidgeon Braised with Traditional Medicinal

Frogs Trotterclip Fried with Flour

Frog Roasted with Salt - New Style

Stomach of Fish Stir Fried with Pickle

Stewed Tortoise with Traditional Medication

There was an entire section of pidgeon on the menu (I ordered the braised pidgeon with mushroom. Good but not much meat.) as well as a section on “cock testical.”  One could order their cock testicles “boiled Ngocke” or “Ngocke stir fried with celery and garlic or Ngocke steamed with egg.  I don’t know what any of that means, but it cracks me up that they had experimented with cooking cock testicles enough to have devised at least three methods of serving them. 

So … who would like to join me for dinner?    

If you’d like to join me via video for my cooking class, click here. 

To see more photos of the Battambang boat trip, the cooking class and a trip to a random Cambodian village,check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.

the ever delightful Cambodian kids, Preah Dah village

My interactions with the Cambodian children at the Angkor temples left me wanting more contact with the locals and all the villages I passed through on the way to the temples were calling my name. I directed my tuk tuk driver out toward the country and stopped at the first village we came to, Preah Dah Village. I asked him to drive ahead while I walked through the village, about 1 or 2 km. The friendly locals came out en masse. Mostly they were children, eager to sell the same souvenirs I’d seen at the temples. I hadn’t counted on that, but just employed the “get to know you” technique that I’d developed the previous days. Although they still occasionally piped up with a sales pitch, most of the time they just followed along, creating a sort of parade through the village.

I had noticed before in a number of villages I had passed new water wells with pumps. Signs on each of the wells indicated that name of the individual, most of them American, who had donated money for the well. The signs noted that the wells were part of the Angkor Clean Water Projects. That one could donate money to put a well in the yard of a poor Cambodian family thrilled me. According to the signs, the wells had all been installed in 2008.  

a new well

I spent at least two hours, maybe more as I lost track of time, wandering down the main road of the village, interacting with the friendly locals, distributing candy to the children and taking loads of pictures. In the middle of the village, I came across a school where about thirty children were playing a game. The rules, as best I could determine, were that one person was “it” and the children tried to run from one side of the court to the other without being tagged by the “it” person. They kindly let me join their game and for as long as my lungs held out (not nearly as long as theirs or as long as I’d like), I became “it” and just ran around the court chasing them all. After the game, they lined up for a photo and shouted in unison, “Muey, bi, bey” (one, two, three) to ready everyone for the shot. They were delightful and fun as the Cambodian children always are.

At the end of the village, I stopped in a little shop to get a drink of water and a light snack. A group of about ten Cambodian men who were gathered around a table enjoying beer and some munchies invited me to join them. I never turn down such invitations. The next thing I knew, I was eating cow stomach (dipped in the right sauce, it’s really not bad) and some delicious pork and drinking iced beer (the way all Southeast Asians drink their brew) with the guys. They challenged me to a drinking contest (or more accurately a “chugging” contest) and even “imported” a woman to drink with/against me. The woman orchestrating the entire event, Sonkon, told me that the celebration was in honor of her uncle. She and I made a really nice connection and, before I left, she pronounced me her new sister and told me that her son was my nephew. She invited me to come back again for a family dinner and party the next time I was in Siem Reap area. Needless to say, I have plans to return.

a little girl hamming it up for the camera

I finished the evening by getting a “fish foot massage” in Siem Reap’s night market. My friend Steve who had gone to Siem Reap a few weeks ahead of me had raved about this quirky opportunity and I couldn’t pass it up. You put your feet in a pool of thousands of tiny fish who swarm to your feet and eat the dead skin. At first, it tickled like mad and I didn’t think I could stand leaving my feet in for the 15 minutes I’d paid for, but after a minute or two, it actually started to feel pretty good. If you get a chance, I’d definitely recommend it.

If you’d like to chug beer with me, Sonkon and the guys (at least via virtual video), click here. You can also experience a “fish foot massage” by clicking here.

To see more photos of the delightful people of Preah Dah village,check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.

Ta Prohm temple

I had been in Cambodia for about three weeks and my one month visa was about to expire.  My friend Eric had been sick with a stomach bug for a week in Phnom Penh and I had been laying low, keeping him company.  I’ve never been good at sitting still for long periods of time though and not doing much but checking the internet and watching movies with him was causing me to go a bit stir crazy.  The visits to the kids out at the dump were a highlight, but I was going to have to leave the country soon and I still hadn’t seen Cambodia’s main tourist attraction.  Before the “stir crazies” took complete hold, I hopped on a bus and headed four hours north to Siem Reap.  I wish I had read and prepared myself more for what I was about to encounter, but even without educating myself better, I experienced several days of one big “WOW!” 

Just outside the charming town of Siem Reap, Cambodia lies what many regard as the crown jewel of Southeast Asia … the Angkor temples.  The 45 temples were built over a five hundred year period from 790 - 1307 AD when Khmer empire was at its zenith.  During this period, the throne changed hands twenty-six times with some rulers enjoying  relatively long, peaceful reigns during which many temples were built while others enjoyed only short reigns and often met violent ends.  

hallways in Angkor Wat

The temples built during this period were made of such durable materials as brick, laterite and sandstone unlike temples built from wood in later periods which, of course, have not survived.  The purpose of the temples was not a meeting place for the faithful as are our temples and churches today, but a palace and dwelling place for a god.  Khmers believed that gods enshrined in these temples would bestow benevolence on the people and, in particular the ruler responsible for the temple’s construction, including protection, strength and prosperity.  Of course, holy men and lay people would go to the temples to worship the gods enshrined there, as they do today, but that purpose for the structure was significantly secondary. 

Some claim that the temples were forgotten and lost over the years following the decline of the Khmer empire and were “discovered” by a Fenchman named Henri Mouhot. Khmers claim that the temples were never forgotten or lost and that Angkor Wat was always occupied and used as a place of worship.  Whatever the truth may be, publications of notes made by Mouhot in 1863 drew the interest of the Western world to Angkor and almost overnight the temples became the subject of great research, excavation and, ultimately, preservation and restoration. 

detail from a bas relief at Angkor Wat

I spent three days visiting the temples of Angkor in late November, a perfect time when North Cambodia was experiencing what actually felt like crisp, cool fall weather - a stark contrast to the muggy, humid days I’d been faced with in Phnom Penh.  A friend of mine suggested that I start by exploring some of the smaller, lesser known temples, working my way up to “the Big Boys”: Bayon, Angkor Thom and the Big Daddy of them all, Angkor Wat.  The suggestion was a great one and I found myself “WOW’d” over and over again as I visited each succeeding temple.  

I was amazed at the detail carved into the stone, completely awed by the phenomenal craftsmanship.  I found myself not only wanting to allow my fingers to trace the lines and explore the crevices of the bas relief designs, but to actually make rubbings to incorporate into my own art work. I remember reading about people who did just that in the 1970’s amidst the political turbulence in Cambodia during the Vietnam War (which extended far beyond Vietnam’s borders) and the Khmer Rouge’s genocidal reign.  These “tomb raiders” would sneak into Cambodia via Thailand, dodge bullets and capture from all sides, make rubbings of the temple reliefs and sneak back out, selling the rubbings for great sums of money.  I understand that it was exhilarating, but dangerous business.

I was fortunate that, with only a couple of exceptions, I was relatively alone as I wandered through the temples, heightening my sense that I was in the midst, not of an Indiana Jones movie set, but right in the middle of the authentic inspiration for those sets.  As isolated as I felt and as much as I let my imagination wander, I was always aware of course that I was simply one of millions of tourists who view the temples each year.  How must Henri Mouhot and the first researchers have felt though “discovering” (at least for themselves) these temples which then may have seemed forgotten by time and the rest of the world? I thrilled at such a sense of adventure.  

an invasive tree ... one of many at Ta Prohm

In general, I found that my favorite temples were built by Jayavarman VII who was responsible for 17 of the 45 temples and has been likened to the Donald Trump of the Cambodian empire.  My absolute favorite thus far (I still have 34 temples to see!) was Ta Prohm which appears to have been taken over by the jungle. Large strangler firs and silk cotton trees which probably started as innocent looking saplings growing on top of the stones have become as large as walls themselves and seem to grasp the temple ruins in their strong root hands. Large blocks of stone from either once higher walls or ceilings have fallen in random rubble patterns throughout the enormous temple.  Stone figures cut into the walls continue to watch the tourists today just as they’ve watched the 800 years of history that have unfolded before them.  In this temple more than in any other, I felt like Lara Croft, Tomb Raider. 

Walking through the temples was far a smooth glide.  Not only had the stone walkways been upset by treeroots and shifting earth turning many of them into stumbling blocks, in many places the doorsills and random places in hall passageways were raised one foot or more from the ground floor, causing those passing through to constantly step over them.  The temples I visited didn’t have many stairs, but at the end of the day, my knees would have sworn I’d climbed tall mountains. I found it difficult to imagine kings and other Khmer VIPs humbling themselves to constantly look down to watch their footing, but reminded myself that these temples were built, not for their convenience, but as a palace to the gods.  I guess gods don’t have bad knees.

a Buddhist shrine tucked away down a maze of hallways in Ta Prohm temple

One interesting but sad cultural phenomenon that has grown up around the temple tourism are the groups of children selling things to tourists at the approach to each temple.  The kids, ranging from 5 to 16 in age, sell books, bracelets, shawls, hand made stars and fish and a variety of other items that I can’t begin to remember.  The kids are shrewd and somewhat aggressive in their sales techniques, memorizing the capitals of most countries and some data about each one.  

The spiel went like this, “What country are you from?” “I’m from America.” “America. Capitol: Washington DC.  Population 300 million.  You have new President Obama. Your old President George W. Bush. No one liked him. What state are you from?” (This entire bit all ran together as if it were one sentence as they said it all in one breath.) “Kentucky.” “Oh.”  If I was from Texas, Alaska, California or Florida, they would be able to rattle off the capitol of my state, but Kentucky was always a conversation killer.  Well, killer is a bit of an overstatement with these kids; stumper, certainly. But they’d jump back on track quickly. “I know many things about your country. You buy something from me?”

Other ploys were, “What is your name? If I remember you when you leave the temple, you buy something from me, okay?” And by God, they would remember the names of EVERY person who went into the temples!  These kids were smart and had terrific memories.  They spoke English pretty well.  I hated to see them putting these talents towards hawking tacky souvenirs, instead of applying them to a bigger picture that would actually improve their lives long term.

On the first day, I ended up buying all kinds of things, some that I needed and wanted and most that I didn’t.  I bought a book on Angkor Wat (definitely wanted that), several shawls (hmmm - good gifts I suppose) and a dozen stars (what the hell was I thinking???  I don’t even know what their intended purpose is but I guess I can use them as ornaments on the Christmas tree I don’t even have).  The second and third days, I was more shrewd and better prepared. I fought back with my camera, hugs, candy and conversation.  I ignored the stuff they were selling and began asking them about school and their lives. I told them I was making a video and asked if they’d like to be in it.  Universally, they forgot what they were selling (at least for one minute) and jumped in front of the camera, eager for what they perceived to be their 15 minutes of fame.

more than a dozen children selling souvenirs outside one of the temples

These kids were quite sweet and, in a few instances, helpful and, like Cambodian children throughout the country, won my heart.  There’s something about the children of this country that sets them apart from the children I’ve met elsewhere.  I’m far from being able to put a finger on it. 

Regardless of the order of one’s temple experience, it’s easy to get “templed out” after a few days.  While I was glad that I started my tour with those temples reputed to be the “least” and working my way up to “the greatest,” I was ready for a break.  My interactions with the children left me wanting more contact with the locals.  All the villages I passed through on the way to the temples were calling my name.  

Join me in a video tour of the Angkor temples by clicking here.  To see more photos of the Angkor temples, check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.