Ileftgood

The chaos of traffic I experienced in Shanghai was the perfect primer for preparing me for the absolute pandemonium the streets of Hanoi have to offer. It’s been about a week since I arrived. Every time I think I’ve got a handle on where I am, I eventually realize that I have no clue where I’m going or where I came from. The streets intersect, crisscross and curve into each other and with no explanation or apparent reason at all, change names at random crossings. I’ve at least learned where my hotel is and a couple of bars and restaurants in a three block radius, but that’s about it. Any further than that and I may as well in any other city I’ve never been to anywhere else in the world. Walking is an interesting exercise in tempting the fate of your wellbeing. Motorbikes whiz through the cramped lanes of the Old Quarter, constantly honking nasally horns as they narrowly miss each other, cars wider than the street and you, if you’re lucky. So far I’ve found the best way to get around is by hopping on one of those ‘motos’ and telling the driver where you want to go. The best way I’ve found to make that happen, is to bust out a map and point to an area in town you’re trying to get to. They’ll take you from one end of Hanoi to the other and everywhere in-between. It only costs between .50 cents and $1.50 US, depending on how far you want to go and how much you can talk down asking price, making it far cheaper and way more exciting than any amusement park ride you’ve ever been on. Sometimes, they’ll even give you a helmet. Bonus! The fact that the drivers of these vehicles will on occasion have to ask a couple other drivers where a street is located even though he’s got the map in front of him, does make me feel a little better about being disoriented as often as I am.

 

Other than exploring the city (by which I mean, taking a moto to the outskirt of town then attempting to find my way back on foot for a couple hours before giving up and hiring another moto to take me back to my neighborhood, which proved to be more often than not, in the complete opposite direction of which I was headed) and splitting my meal time between street food and guidebook recommended restaurants, I’ve ventured out for day trips outside of the city. As there are really only three that I’ve found, it was pretty easy to decide what to do. My first trip was out to the Perfume Pagoda. A two hour bus ride with 16 people ended in a small village from where we all boarded tiny rowboats called sampans and made our way down river to where the Perfume Pagoda was located. We were four to a boat and the seats were a little cramped and hard which left us all with sore bums by the time the one-hour ride was over. However, I did have the pleasure of meeting a very nice couple, Derrick and Marisa who were visiting from Bangkok, though they were both from England originally (Derrick was actually from Portsmouth, a town which has been a constant theme with travelers I’ve met on this trip…small world). They were both very nice and decided they were going to opt to hike up to the Pagoda (about a 45 minute trek) as opposed to taking the cable car up (a two minute ride). Having done nothing all day but sit on a bus and boat, I too, along with a nice, young Polish woman who was also on our boat (I can’t recall her name) decided to take the hike. While the sun was filtered through a thick set of overcast clouds, the humidity was stifling. “Follow the path,” was the only instruction given to the exclusive four who decided to take on the challenge of walking up. The “path” was fine for the first third of the walk…then it got a little confusing as it turned from cobblestone, to broken pathway, to dirt. Luckily, there were a few Vietnamese folks working on the walkway and pointed us in the correct direction. Eventually as we reached the top, the path became evident once again at which point the lot of us were drenched in our own sweat. So hot. The Pagoda turned out to be a big cave, wherein a temple was built. Pretty as it was, it didn’t really smell of perfume. Apparently the time to go there is when the flowers are in bloom…that’s when it smells of perfume. Someone could have told me that before I hiked the three vertical kilometers, but whatever. It was still an impressive cave. I, along with a couple others on the hike, decided to take the cable car back down. Going down is harder on the knees anyway and what do I have to prove? In two minutes we were back at the starting point and were treated to a fantastic lunch. An hour on the boat back and two hours on the bus into Hanoi and we were home. But not before sitting in traffic for a good long time in one of the worst traffic jams I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what caused it, but I believe the constant stream of motos cutting through the larger vehicles didn’t help the situation. The driver, frustrated with the goings on, eventually decided to make an impressive hair-pin 180 and found a different route.

 

The second daytrip also resulted in me drenched in my own sweat. I feel this is going to be a constant premise as I work my way through this region. I headed out to Hoa Lu outside of Ninh Binh. Again, it was a two hour bus ride out to a temple (I’ll be honest…at this point, I’m a little templed out), then a bike ride! So excited was I to ride a bike again, I flew past the guide. I heard a muffled yell about one-hundred yards behind me. It was the guide. He told me to slow down, wait for the group and to take some pictures. Turns out he was right. The scenery was spectacular. I ended up slowing down and riding with a group of three Optometrists from Australia who were in Hanoi teaching new eye surgery techniques to doctors in the region. They were a nice crew. We all rode the remaining eight kilometers together, eventually reaching our destination point…a restaurant. After food and conversation, we all boarded a sampan once again, this time two to a boat for far more comfortable hour ride down river to check out a few caves which spanned over the width of the river. I think we rowed under a total of three. I got to help row us back, which was really fun, though didn’t help my whole sweating situation.

 

Yesterday, on a whim, I walked over to this restaurant a few blocks away from my hotel where I’d read previously they offer cooking classes daily. I was lucky enough to get in right before one was starting up. There was only one other person taking the class, a French woman named Sylvie. She had been in Hanoi for the last four weeks with her husband, a surgeon who’s doing a clinical tour of a local Hanoi hospital. We ended up having a great time cooking with our instructor, Snow, a young Vietnamese girl who admitted to being hung over that morning. Apparently, Snow doesn’t drink much but was at a party the previous night and easily gives in to peer-pressure. We made four dishes; a fried pork spring roll; a fish dish, which turned out to be an ingredient in a fresh spring roll; something called ‘royal rice’ which is basically rice with a succotash mixture layered in, and a ginger/sweet potato pudding thing. The class was fun, if not terribly informative. And Sylvie offered me advice when she found out I would eventually make my way to Morocco. As it turns out, she and her husband own a house in Marrakech and may be there during the same time as me. Score.   

 

And that’s pretty much been my time here. Though, this morning I had an interesting exchange. I headed down to the lobby of my hotel where there are two computers, set up side by side for guest use. A Vietnamese man about my age who spoke relatively good English, visiting from Ho Chi Min City I came to find out, sat at the computer next to me and started up a friendly conversation. All the where, why and how questions were asked. He spoke of his girlfriend who was currently studying in the Philippines. I’d mentioned I’d been there once before and he asked a few questions about where to go as he was planning on meeting her there sometime in the near future. He seemed very nice and even offered to show me around HCM when I eventually made my way down there. Great; what an incredibly nice thing to do, I thought. After about a half hour of splitting my time between conversing and looking up info online, I decided to go get a cup of coffee. The guy, Hiux, gave me his cell number and suggested I give him a call when I got to HCM. I made my way back to my room to grab a few things. A few moments later, the door to my tiny room opened. I assumed it was the maid, but was surprised to see Hiux standing there. My immediate thought was; great, this guy’s going to try and rob me. “Hey.” I said, in the deepest vibrato I could muster…for some reason, I assume it’s intimidating. He puts his hand on my shoulder and says to me, “So, you want to come into my room?” It takes me a minute, but I eventually comprehend he is NOT in fact there to rob me. The realization that I wasn’t being robbed brought a smile across my face, which probably didn’t help the new, far more awkward, situation I then found myself in. “Oh,” went my witty retort, “no…no….that’s okay. I think…yeah, I think there has been a little misunderstanding here.” He replied, “What’s the matter? You don’t like me?” Not wanting to create an international incident, I attempted to diffuse the matter rather than escalate it with the diplomatic reply, “No, it’s not that…I’m just not really….I’m more than sure there’s been a misunderstanding here…you see…I…I’m a big fan of women.” As soon as I said it, I realized that this explanation would barely make sense to a native English speaker, let alone to this gentleman from Ho Chi Min standing in my doorway. At that moment his cell phone rang, graciously breaking what was easily the second most awkward conversation I’ve had on this trip. He spoke for a few seconds, as I stood there pretty much dumbfounded, before he hung up, turned his attention back to me and said, “Okay, I’m sorry…I think you’re busy. Sorry.” then quickly retreated down the stairs. I’m pretty sure I got my point across. After that, I considered going for a drink far more potent than coffee but eventually decided against it. As I pondered this scenario over a seventy cent drip, I came across a few things that perplexed me. First of all, how dare you sir, assume I’m just that easy…do I not even deserve to be taken out for lunch, nay even a drink? And what of your girlfriend studying in the Philippines? I’m sure she would be more than disappointed with your random attempted philandering. And when the hell did I start giving off the “incredibly easy-going gay dude” vibe? You know what…nobody answer that question. I’m better off not knowing. In any event, I’m heading off to the airport in an hour or so to greet Mike upon his arrival. I’m looking forward to a) telling him this story, because I know he’s going to find it extremely entertaining and b) seeing the “oh, that’s why…” look on that dude’s face when he sees Mike and I hanging out in the hotel lobby. Oh, this adventure just keeps getting better. (Casey; I assume this makes up for me not jumping off any high structures)

 

Traveling is a trip,

-N

My side trip to Korea was as welcomed as any destination I’ve hit thus far. Becky was good enough to bus out and meet me at the Incheon Airport. At that point, I don’t know who was happier to see a familiar face; she or I. I’ll call it a close tie. We had a discussion about how it was the first time in a long time either of us felt like we were conversing like ourselves since we’d each left a little over a month ago. An interesting phenomenon happens when you travel and meet other people…you tend to loose yourself in whomever it is you’re conversing with. Either you end up taking on their pace of speech, slowing down because they don’t speak English all that well, or accidentally slipping into whatever accent they might have (I have a huge problem with this and constantly worry that I’m going to inadvertently offend someone). Any way, it was great to converse as if I was home.

 

Speaking of home; my first night in Ilsan, after Becky returned home from work (she works the late shift at an English Academy), we found our way around a little part of her neighborhood filled with bars and late night eateries. We eventually decided to hit up a joint called the Western Bar, which had an eclectic American Western theme, complete with Native American headdresses on the wall and pictures of cowboys. The owner and proprietor came out to meet us and spoke extremely good English. He seemed very surprised to have Americans in his bar. In fact, if I recall correctly, he mentioned we were the first. His surprise turned into raging glee when he discovered we were from Seattle. Kim, the owner/proprietor, had spent years living in Tacoma (my home town) back in the 80’s and still had family in the area. “Wow, I can’t believe it!” was a phrase he uttered more than once. As was, “It’s like having family here!” Clearly, we made his night and vice versa. And I think we established a place in her hood where Becky could easily become a regular. We asked for food; he gave us spicy Korean sausages (which were really good) accompanied with sliced tomato. They went fantastic with the Soju.

 

That’s pretty much how the rest of the week went. We spent the mornings, before Becky had to make her way to work, hanging out and taking day trips to places around Seoul and such…and at night, we’d head out to explore whatever Korean nightlife there was to be enjoyed. The times of day Becky was at work, I’d take little walks around her neighborhood, became a regular at the tiny Doosan Mart at the base of her building and mostly enjoyed the fact that I had a comfortable home-base, cable TV and free internet. Though, there was one evening we went out with a couple of her fantastic colleagues, Min and Susan, for a night on the town. I’ll tell you right now, do not, under any circumstances mix tequila with 6,000 cc’s of Korean beer (or with anything, frankly), and stay the hell away from Soju bombs; sweet mother. The following day took its toll on both of us. Though we did discover a great bar in Seoul called Woodstock, where they had an entire wall of vinyl records and played requests. So, it was probably worth it.

 

Korea, for me, was more about reconnecting with the familiar and enjoying time with an old friend rather than feeling the pressures of constantly moving and attempting to explore a new land. I’m sure I didn’t see as much as Korea had to offer, but I feel my time there was time well spent. Becky; thank you for your hospitality and your generosity.

 

I ended up leaving the more than comfortable confines of Becky’s Ilsan apartment and made my way to Hong Kong. I arrived in the city late in the day and found my way to the local YMCA where I had made a reservation the day before on the recommendation of a group of students from Seattle University (the odds…I don’t know) I’d met a couple weeks earlier in Shanghai. Hong Kong proved to be a little pricey as far as accommodations went and that place seemed as reasonable as anywhere else. I was more than pleasantly surprised when I entered my room. I had my own very nice bathroom, TV (once again), carpeted floor (which I hadn’t seen for some time), complementary fruit (at least, I assume it was complementary), and a morning paper. The YMCA…who knew?

 

That first evening, I stepped out and found the area where I was staying, Kowloon, to be a hotbed of upscale shopping malls, stores and specialty shops juxtaposed with local, hole-in-the-wall restaurants and discount markets selling knock offs of whatever brand the bigger stores were selling. There’s no sales tax and everything there is ‘duty free’, which is a fact they bombard you with anytime you enter a shop. I’ll admit, it did work on me once…and now I’ve got a tiny, yellow-jade Buddha I’ve got to slog around with me for the next seven months. I’m such a pushover.

 

The next day I decided to take a day trip around the city to see as much as I could with what little time I would be there. The trip was not unlike any others I’ve taken; first a high point to see the city from above (a heavy mist left visibility sub-par); a spin down by the river where we boarded a Sanpan and toured around the boats in the harbor; then dropped off at a street market. On the tour I met a woman (Guess what…British! Unreal) named Lynne. She and I began talking of travel and hit it off right away. The next thing you know, we skip out on the optional ride back on the tour bus and opt to venture out ourselves to find lunch. On the recommendation of the tour guide, we found a Dim Sum place a few blocks away from the market. The food was delicious and I finally got to show off my Dim Sum ordering prowess to someone while in its country of origin. It was quite a shining moment for me, I must say. We sat and ate and conversed for a long time. Lynne had spent the last six months living in New Zealand, had made her way through Vietnam and found herself in Hong Kong on her way back home to Surry, England. The mother of two children, both near around my age, she found herself tired of the daily grind and decided to do something about it. So, off she went. One of the absolute best things about traveling is having those random moments when you meet likeminded people. Having just been to New Zealand and soon to make my way to Vietnam myself, we found we had much to discuss. I ended up hanging around Lynne for the next day of my stay in Hong Kong. We caught the light show the city puts on every evening at 8 p.m. The whole thing is set to music blasted over a speaker system where the best view is located on the opposite side of the river. We took another tour the next day, which proved to be far less interesting than the previous one. It didn’t help that the guide had a pension to repeat herself, which wouldn’t have been that terrible if she didn’t have the most piercing voice in the history of piercing voices. The numerous times she attempted to explain the different tonnage of the word “Ma” in four different dialects of Chinese could easily make its way to being the next Excedrin commercial. After a well deserved lunch, Lynne and I decided to have one last dinner before we both went our separate ways out of Hong Kong the following day. By nightfall, a category eight typhoon had made its way to landfall and shut just about everything down. We ended up being confined to the restaurant in the lobby of the YMCA, which wasn’t terrible but at the same time, didn’t exactly live up to the same fare as one last meal in Hong Kong should. The company, however, more than made up for the lack-luster restaurant experience.

 

That night, I watched from my window as the rain fell and wind blew seemingly non-stop and hoped that my morning flight to Vietnam wouldn’t be cancelled. I got to the airport the next morning to find, it in fact was cancelled. But the good people at Vietnam Airlines found a way to get me to Ho Chi Min City then on a connecting flight to Hanoi all in the same day. It took several more hours than a direct flight, but I eventually made it. And here I am, in Hanoi. I’ve been here one night and have already fallen in love with this city. It’s absolutely amazing. Here I wait, a little anxiously, for my good friend Mike Dodge to arrive from Seattle. He and I plan to tour around the whole of Vietnam together for a couple weeks. I’m excited for his arrival in the next four or five days and I’m looking forward to have a friend along from back home with whom to enjoy these worldly adventures. I have a feeling this is going to be a very fun bit of my journey.

 

Let the good times roll,

-N

 

 

 

 

(Eli, here’s an abridged version just for you: I went to China, ate some duck, drank some tea, climbed a wall, saw some stuff, met some cool people…now I’m in Korea. To the rest of you, I apologize for the length of this post.)

The flight from Sydney to Shanghai lasted about eight hours. The plane gods were smiling on me for this leg of my trip. I ended up in a four-seat row with no one on either side of me. And, the Qantas flight had this movie on demand thing, which allowed you to start and stop any movie of your choosing at will. It was fantastic. I ended up watching Iron Man (brilliant), the second Harold and Kumar movie (not as good as the first, but still funny), Kung-Fu Panda (inspiring), three episodes of the Simpsons, the Family Guy and Fawlty Towers (all hilarious). By the time I reached Shanghai, I was exhausted, failing to sleep at all during the flight. Thankfully, my accommodations were far better than anything I’ve had up to that point. In order to acquire a visa for China, I needed to have a place booked prior to applying for said visa. So, I found some joint online that seemed reasonable for the swanky type of hotel it was, plus it was located in the middle of the city. I ended up spoiling myself. The place came complete with a shower/tub combo (which, after all the hostels was quite the impressive feature), cable TV (also a rarity), a complementary soaps/slippers/bathrobes (all of which I partook), room service…this list goes on. I had a desk in my room for god sake. It was a very nice change of pace and there were times I found it difficult to leave my new comfortable surroundings and take on yet another unfamiliar city. But, that’s why I’m doing this.

I woke up early (kind of) the next morning and made my way out onto the streets. After making three lefts, I realized I had no idea where I was going and decided to try and find my way back to my hotel where I had left a map of the city. Map in hand, I walked through the chaotic city streets. Over 16 million people call Shanghai home, and it seems they’re all outside at all times of the day.  Refusing to use my newly acquired map, I stumbled on an area called the Bund. Basically it’s a large walkway that runs parallel to the Huangpu River that separates Shanghai’s new area from the old one. The views of the city from the Bund are spectacular. Shanghai is all about the new China, complete with futuristic looking skyscrapers. One of its towers was the tallest in the world up until about four months ago when a building went up in Taipei (I think) that beat it by a few feet. After meandering around for about an hour, a Chinese man who spoke near perfect English wanted to inform me that the Bund Museum had moved from its former location, where I was, to about 20 feet away, or where I was headed. His job was to find suckers, or tourists on the street and coax them in to following him into the museum where they had different pieces for sale. I’m sure he got a cut of the action, otherwise, why bother. Still, with no real plan of how to spend my day, I followed. After scoping out the merchandise and successfully spending no money, I asked the only Chinese person I’d met so far who spoke English, if he knew of anywhere I could find a tour guide for Shanghai for the day. At this point, I had already signed up for a group tour of Shanghai to take place the next day, but what else was I going to do? As luck would have it, it happened to be a service he provided. Cautious about such things, I asked how much it would cost. He said he would take me around and at then end of the tour it would be up to me to decide how much I thought it was worth. I was a little uncomfortable with that scenario and after having read up on what a personal tour would cost someone in China, I suggested about $20 US. He seemed more than happy with that and we were off.

The tour began at around two in the afternoon and continued on until about nine that evening. Jonson, my guide’s western name, took me to various sights around the city. We visited Imperial gardens, Buddhist temples and teahouses, city markets, and sampled various street foods along the way (avoid stinky tofu, by the way). Following a local really is the way to see a city. It’s a great thing to be forced to into attempting things far more risky (some might say, suicidal) than you would on your own. Like crossing the street, for example. I learned here, the key is to find a local who knows what they’re doing and use them as a screen for oncoming traffic. I also learned, getting a taxi in Shanghai is a cutthroat science. Everyone in Shanghai takes taxis, mainly because they’re just about as cheap as the bus. Unfortunately, everyone in Shanghai = 16 million people. Hailing a taxi may work in during the less busy times of day, which I found to be between 10:00 a.m. and 10:01 a.m., otherwise you hope for someone to be dropped off somewhere near where you are and run like hell to usurp the ride before anyone else does. Pleasantries, courtesy and chivalry are all out the window if you want to get anywhere in that town.  After a full day of walking different sights, risking life and limb crossing streets and elbowing our way into taxis, I asked my now new friend to recommend a place and join me for dinner. The restaurant he chose did not disappoint and the conversation was as enjoyable as the meal. I learned his given name is Zin and his family at one point owned several factories throughout South Eastern China. After a couple of poor business decisions made by his father and uncles, the business was sold off. That was ten years ago. Seven years ago he decided to move to Shanghai and try to make a living the best he can. At university he studied politics, philosophy and became fluent in English, German and even picked up a little Spanish. Today, he walks around the main tourist draws of the city and waits for people like me to come by. At the end of the night, Zin pointed me in the direction of my hotel and gave me his number. He said if I needed anything while I was in Shanghai to give him a call. Unfortunately the next day I had the previously scheduled group tour and the following day I would be off to Beijing.

The tour the next day proved to be less exciting as my one-on-one with Zin, but I guess that was to be expected. We ended up going to a few places I had already hit the day before, sans the Shanghai museum, which turned out to be pretty impressive. And I did meet a nice Filipina girl from Chicago and a pleasant couple visiting from Singapore. “No, I’m not here on business.” “No, I don’t know how to speak Chinese.” Those were the statements I found myself saying to every other foreigner I encountered. The response was usually, “Oh…wow,” as nine times out of ten, they were there on business and did speak at least a little Chinese. Good for them. I had my own business to attend to; making my way to China’s capital city, Beijing.

Where Shanghai is a metropolis of blaring horns of bedlam presented in a fantastically new and ever upward expanding landscape, Beijing is a symphony of organized chaos draped in dull grey, low-rise yet imposing structures one expects to find in a Communist country, coupled with the ancient architecture of the cultures past dynasties. Streets, eight lanes wide in some places, make for crossing them on foot impossible, forcing pedestrians to make their way through walkways under the city pavement. The place is big…very big. Expansive, is actually a better word to describe it. It could take hours to get from one end to the next. I was happy to find my hostel on a back alley crowded with street vendors, food stands and just a few blocks away from Tiananmen Square.   My first night in I didn’t do much more than absorb the sights, sounds and smells; some familiar and inviting, others a bit offensive. Tired from my journey, I purchased a big beer and retired to my room for the night.

Early the next morning I set off with a group of ten from my hostel to check out the “hidden” section of the Great Wall. It was a two-hour van ride out to the sight. Along the way, we picked up a gaunt, older Chinese man who was hundred years of age if he was a day and kind of reminded me of my grandfather. Turns out, he would be our guide on the wall. He led us on a small path cut through the forest and foothills of the countryside. Despite the early start, the sun and humidity were both intense. We stopped about 30 minutes in. He told us all, in Chinese, to stop and rest for a bit. We all stared at him wondering what he had just said. Luckily, one of the group members, a young woman from Scandinavia, happened to speak Mandarin. What luck! She translated; we rested and wiped the sweat from our brows. Our guide, donned in layers of clothing, just smiled at us and didn’t look the least bit tired; but then, he did have the luxury of a small walking stick. It was another 30 minutes before we reached the first section of the wall. The hike, the guide, the fact that there was no one else to be seen for miles all made for a phenomenal experience. We trekked along the crumbling structure overgrown with shrubs for another hour. Eventually we came to the peak of our tour, a high post guard tower. It was there we met another tour group made up of teenage students from Beijing. They all seemed very excited to see foreigners and were more than happy to practice their English. For a brief moment in time the lot of us were given the celebrity treatment as each of them asked us to pose in pictures with them. I’m sure at this point, my ugly mug is plastered on whatever the Chinese equivalent of Facebook is, more times than I care to think about. Still, it was a nice boost to the ego.  After a long rest, we began our decent for a small village where we would find they had prepared a traditional meal ready for us upon arrival. Delicious dishes mostly made with vegetables, noodles and a big bowl of rice. Beer was had, as was a nice nap on the return van ride to the city.

That evening, Justin, a British guy (seriously, they’re everywhere) from the Wall tour asked if I wanted to head out and find a traditional roasted duck dinner. I do love duck, so off we went. On a recommendation from a very nice girl at the hostel, we found a place about a 10-minute walk away. I’ve had lots of duck in my time…but let me tell you; never have I ever enjoyed anything as succulent as that. If that was the only thing I did, it was totally worth the trip to China (sorry there are no pictures…I ate it too fast).  Later that evening I walked around Tiananmen Square. At night thousands of lights illuminate the plazas surrounding buildings, creating an atmosphere far more warm and inviting than during the day. Between morning and evening, the vast number of people did not seem to diminish until a surprise thunderstorm swept through the square. In an attempt to keep my camera dry, I purchased a small flowery umbrella for the walk home for two bucks. It was worth it just for the strange looks.

The following day I headed out early to explore the Forbidden City. Once again, a young man who spoke perfect English approached and asked to tour me around the sight. I found myself a little more resistant to having a guide that day, but he insisted the city was “…very big and you’d be missing out on a lot of information.” Given my last good experience with my previous guide and the fact that I talked his price down to something more reasonable, I eventually agreed. Han, my guide, and I spent a couple hours walking through the Forbidden City and to his credit he knew many points of interest. The moments between his well rehearsed shtick (perfected over the three years he’d been a guide) about the city, Han asked a number of questions about who I was, how I ended up in Beijing and surprisingly, which candidate I’d be voting for in the next election. I told him I was pulling for Obama, to which he replied, “I like him as well. I think if he were to win, it would be a great accomplishment to the minority community in America.” Well said, Han. Eventually we made our way to a teahouse located toward the end of our tour, sat and conversed. He said he was surprised by my patient manner and would have thought I was English as opposed to American had I not told him otherwise. I suppose I’ll take that as a complement. He also noticed the tattoo on my right forearm and exclaimed, “Oh, you have ‘inspiration’ written on your arm in Chinese!” I can’t tell you what kind of relief it is to get solid confirmation on that. Based on his previous question about my political leanings, I asked Han if he thought the Chinese people were paying attention to the upcoming election in America. As he saw it, the Chinese people were more concerned with making their lives better and didn’t really pay that much attention, nor cared too much about the democratic process of America. As he put it, “America has democracy and that’s great for them. But we have to work with making things better for us with our current situation.” An interesting perspective, I thought. After tea, Han convinced me to take another tour, this one of the “real Beijing” through the back streets to see how the populace of the city lived. Intrigued, I agreed and was passed on to a new tour guide, Cynthia. I thanked and said my goodbyes to Han and he wished me well on the rest of my journey, saying, “I believe what you’re doing will change your life for the better.” Thank you, Han; that’s always good to hear. After seeing and meeting a very small number of wonderful people who make up the whole of Beijing, I ended my day with a little better understanding of a country which had previously seemed shrouded in mystery.

The next day, I had an early departure out of Beijing for a slight deviation from my planned itinerary. For several reasons, not the least of which was the possibility of seeing a familiar face, I decided to take a side trip to visit my friend Becky who’s currently living in Ilsan, South Korea (it’s about a 30 minute bus ride outside of Seoul). I currently find myself living a life of luxury compared to the last month I’ve spent traveling, complete with unlimited (and free!) internet access, an all too comfortable home-base and a good friend with whom to share the experiences of a new country. I’ll be here for a few more days before returning to China via Hong Kong. I’ll save Korea for the next entry.

Keep on keepin’ on,
-N

Once again I find myself in a position of updating this blog several days and a couple countries since the last entry.  Would that I could have, however internet servers in China prevented me from accessing my account within the country…what are you going to do? Meanwhile, I’ve caught snippets of the news here and there; could someone please explain this Palin woman to me? Is the McCain campaign serious? I need to know if this is some crazy joke the international media somehow mistook for fact. Or is this truly the person the Republican party is suggesting should be one 80-year-old heartbeat away from the presidency? I digress.

The eight days spent in Australia were a mixed bag for me. Apart from an enjoyable bike tour of Sydney one day and a pleasant, small group tour of the wine valleys on the outskirts of the city the next, along with a couple visits to a fantastic Thai restaurant downtown I can’t say that I enjoyed the city itself that much. I found many of the people cold and distant. It’s likely due to the fact that Sydney is a large city with, millions of people hurrying around going about their daily life and just don’t have the time or energy to be friendly. Fair enough. There is a bit of an oddity about the people; it seems every workday at exactly 1 p.m. a majority of the able bodied folks, leave their respective offices and rather than heading out for lunch, they jog. It’s both impressive and ridiculous. According to our bike guide, the runners in the city have this feeling of superiority and right to the streets more so than anyone else, be they walkers, bikers, drivers etc. It caused more than one uncomfortable moment trying to ride through a large crowd of these hyper-active business people. Apparently this fad started a few years ago when the Australian Ministry of Health (I don’t know if that’s actually the organization; but it sounds pretty good) did a study and found that Australians were gaining ground on the heaviest set nation, right behind the good old U S of A. This was enough to get some kind of health revolution started. I’d be more impressed if they weren’t such dicks about it.

The wine tour consisted of about eight people leaving Sydney early in the day and proceeding to get sloshed well before noon. Good times. I had the fortune of trying a Port fortified with rum. I don’t know if it’s available back home, but if it is I recommend picking some up. The tour ended with a surprise visit to a brewery, wherein they had a beer brewed from Cascade hops. For those in the know, it tasted a lot like Manny’s Pale Ale. It was also the best beer I’d had on my trip up to that point and since.

The following day, I hopped a plane out of Sydney and headed north. After catching a connecting flight in Brisbane I was off to the Whitsunday Islands…kind of. At this point, my stuffy nose had turned into a full-blown cold and the thought of heading somewhere warm for a change seemed very welcoming. Sadly, I had to stay one night in this town called Arlie Beach. It was clearly a tourist destination, mainly for Australians, young and old (but mostly young) looking for a beach getaway. It’s also a drop off point for just about everyone looking to book a boat to head out to the islands which made for a good mix of travelers from just about everywhere. When I checked into my hostel, the girl at reception, Beck, gave me a disgusted look when she saw I was under the weather. She then proceeded to spray everything I touched with disinfectant, explaining how she had just gotten over the flu herself and had no intention of getting sick again. Australians are a fantastic people. I took it easy that night, not wanting to perpetuate my illness any further. The next day I boarded a boat along with 24 other people looking to scuba dive, snorkel and enjoy the natural beauty that is the Whitsunday Islands and the Great Barrier Reef. Once again, I was fortunate enough to find myself in good company with good people. The four person crew were pretty relaxed and created a laid-back atmosphere for most of the trip. The first night was a little sketchy for me. The combination of a head cold and choppy waters made me feel less than pleasant. The sleeping quarters were also a bit tight, but I guess that’s to be expected on a ship. Still, I ended up with a top bunk about the width of my hips. I pretty much slept in fear of falling the 4½ ft. onto the floor below, both nights. Nonetheless, by the second day, all was right with the world…for the most part. On the morning of the second day, we anchored off one of the Whitsunday Islands and disembarked onto the beach. I’ve been lucky enough to visit some amazing beaches in my time, but I’ve yet to see anything to compare to the sand on this particular island. It was the whitest, finest powder I’ve ever encountered outside a Johnson & Johnson baby powder bottle. So fine was the sand, the crew warned against bringing personal cameras onto the beach as the sand would most likely find a way into the inner workings and destroy your equipment. The sand squeaked when you dragged your feet. It was as close to perfect as you could get, were it not for one of the rare moments when one of the crew members attempted to get everyone on the beach to pose for pictures. The photos would later be shown on a slide show at the end of the night, then burned onto a CD to be sold at $30 a pop at the end of the trip. Luckily, a few fellow compatriots on board (again with the British…I love these people) decided to all go in on one and burn copies for our group. Brilliant. Anyway, my head cold still prevented me from participating in any scuba dives, but I did do a fair share of snorkeling. Despite less than perfectly clear conditions, the reef was still pretty spectacular with the wide range of fish and coral surrounding us. All in all, it was a good leg of the trip. I met some fantastic people, had some great conversations and ultimately got over my cold
After the boat trip was over, I spent one more night on Arlie Beach. That night, however, the boat we were on had reserved a table at a bar and many of those who were on the trip met up for a night out. Good times, yet again. The next day I headed off for a late day arrival in Sydney, which would lead to an early morning departure for my next country, China.

More tomorrow…probably,

-N

New Zealand came and went in such a fantastic blur I’m finding it difficult to process all I did. There’s something to be said about constantly moving from one town to the next, one day after another; continuously changing hostels, beds, scenery and in a perpetual state of packing and unpacking for early morning departures. I’m not sure what that something to be said is…but it’s something. It feels like much has happened in such a short amount of time. I suppose it feels that way because that’s exactly what happened. But when time is limited in a country with as much to see and do as New Zealand, that’s how it has to be. Here’s a rough outline of how those days were filled:

  

8/22/08 – Auckland to Rotorua

  

The bus itself was large and comfortable. Think Greyhound without a toilet or a slew of insane, homeless people. The bus was less than full; I found an empty couple of seats toward the back, spread out over the two and made myself comfortable. There was an interesting group we picked up before we made our way out of Auckland; two young Taiwanese women traveling with a much older, silver haired Australian man. I only make note of this, because everyone else on the bus seemed to do the same. I digress. The first driver, Glen was extremely nice and gave info about the towns we were passing through and what we should expect to see along the way. A native “Kiwi”, he had a very laid back attitude and approach to the tour.

 

One of the first destinations was to Waitomo where I walked through the Glow-worm caves. Two things of note…the glow-worms aren’t actually worms. They’re the larva stage of some kind of fly. Also, the glow isn’t the larva itself, rather its poo. Yup, it has glowing poo. It glow’s to attract other bugs which they hope to capture in a small sticky thread that hangs from their mouths. Regardless, a boat ride through one of the caves pools lead to an expansive arch and looking up through the darkness you could see thousands of tiny blue lights. It was if you were outside on a clear night in the middle of nowhere when stars are at their brightest. Absolutely beautiful, so long as you don’t think of it as a thousand pieces of larva excrement hanging above your head.

 

After that, the bus headed out to Rotorua. It was here, I had an opportunity to check out a bit of Maori culture. A Maori village tour bus picked us up from our hostel and drove us down to a Maori village…kind of. More like a village set up to look like it did many years ago, complete with Maori people On the ride there, the bus driver asked where everyone was from. He started with, “Anyone here from the U.K.?” and people said yes. “Okay,” he continued, “let’s hear it for the U.K.!” and a few people cheered. Then he moved on to Germany…yes…cheers. Then Japan…yes…cheers. Then the U.S.; I replied, “Just the one…hi.” “Okay, let’s hear it for the U.S.” Awkward silence, then a single, muffled “Boo.” from the back. Everyone chuckled…fantastic. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud as well. Good times. Wait until November, people.

 

We arrived at this Maori village and witnessed the traditional Maori greeting ceremony. Our driver asked us to pick someone from our group to represent us. There was an English guy, Steven, at the front of the bus (later I would get to know him and his crew much better) who was picked…I’m assuming due to his proximity to the driver and the insistence of those sitting with him. When we arrive at our destination, they line up Steven along with two other “chosen ones” from a couple of other busses of tourists. The Maori chief comes out in native garb, face tattooed, swinging a large weapon, shouting in Maori and getting uncomfortably close to the three men. The job of the three visitors is to A) don’t flinch; B) don’t laugh and C) don’t wet yourself.  They all passed and were allowed entrance with their people. We checked out the village, a performance of traditional Maori dance and song and eventually fed. There was a huge buffet prepared of chicken, lamb, vegetables, stuffing even dessert all prepared in the traditional Maori method of cooking underground and known as Hangi. Yup, I’m learning things.

  

8/23/08 Rotorua to Taupo

 

The next day we headed off bright and early to Taupo. Taupo sits on the banks of a lake…Lake Taupo, which is apparently “large enough to fit the whole of Singapore” according to our driver Glen.

 

On the way to the lake, Glen stopped the bus at a place where you could jump off high, precarious objects while tethered. I chose to not take part…however; Glen did give it a go. He climbed to the top of a large wooden pole, about 40 feet off the ground and leaped to a trapeze like device situated about four feet away from the top of the pole. He made it, which was nice. As it turns out, the Kiwi’s love jumping off high things. Only two others in on the bus braved a similar jump. It was actually a swing. They climbed to the top of a platform, also about 40 feet off the ground, all tethered to a device several feet higher and further away…then they jumped, screamed and swung back and forth. Frankly, the whole harness contraption looked to be a bit painful in the crotch area (yet another reason I chose not to join in). I’d come to know them later as Hollie and Hannah; part of the same traveling group as Steven, our chosen chief.

 

We arrived in the town just in time for me to take a walk around the area, get myself lost (despite its small size) and found again just before dark. I headed off to a local pub for dinner, where I ended up meeting up with a couple other people from my bus. Steven, the English fellow and his group invited me to sit in with them for a couple of drinks. He was traveling with his girlfriend, Carrie and a few other friends of theirs; Hannah, Hollie and Millie. Steven, from Portsmouth, has an affinity for Seattle. Though he’s never been, he had quite the interest and knowledge of the music scene thereabout. Soon we were discussing indie bands and Sub-Pop Records. Little did I know, “Music Club” was just around the corner. We all ended up deciding to call it an early night, as there was yet another early morning departure happening the next day. Somewhere along the way, it was decreed the next night we would “rock Wellington.”

  

8/24/08 Taupo to Wellington

 

Honestly, I don’t recall this part of the trip much at all. I don’t believe much happened apart from looking out onto a rainy country side the whole way to Wellington and falling asleep several times. It was cold and wet when we arrived. I made my way to the bar in the hostel and met up with Glen our diver. We chatted for a bit, spoke of travel and what it was like to drive the Magic Bus. He said he wouldn’t keep doing it if he didn’t like it. That attitude makes more sense to me the longer I’m away. Eventually that night the fun group of English travelers showed up. We all ended up in some tournament of giant Jenga. It’s just like Jenga only the wooden pieces are the size of bricks. I made it to the finals but lost to Carrie in the championship round. You can’t really “Rock Wellington” more than that. Well, you probably can…in fact, I’m sure several people did that night. I was not one of them.

 

8/25/08 Wellington to Picton to Nelson

 

A shuttle at the train station across the street from my hostel took me to the ferry that would take me to the South island. At this point I had melded myself with my new travel companions. They were all so nice and didn’t seem to mind having me hang around. We eventually ended up with quite a fun group that also included another young English lady; this one from Cheshire, Steph. The three hour ferry ride got us into Picton a little after noon. The bus, complete with new driver, Mike (not even close to being as fun and interesting as Glen) and a few new faces spent little time getting our way out of Picton and onto Nelson. We arrived a few hours later. The hostel we stayed in was about a 20 minute walk from the main town center. I got settled and explored the scenic town for a bit. Found a nice kebob place and a new warm shirt to wear (I didn’t pack very well for winter) then made my way back to the hostel for free vegetable soup. That was pretty much my night. If I recall correctly, I ended up falling asleep in bed with a book in my face. Before any of you berate me for not taking the opportunity to explore and go crazy in these towns, it should be noted, not every town had something to do…combined with the fact that I was rising early every morning to board that damn bus for six to eight hour stints at a time…I’m just saying.  Moving on.

 

8/26/08 Nelson to Greymouth

 

A new driver greeted us…he looked exactly like Mr. Bean. It was a little creepy. He was a little creepy, in-fact; but only in certain circumstances involving inappropriate comments in the company of young women. Still, better than the last driver. The road took us to the West coast of the South island. Incredible views the whole time out the window. It seemed we had more opportunities to stop and disembark the bus on this leg of the trip. It made for some fantastic picture opportunities (which, by the way, can be viewed here if you are so inclined: www.flickr.com/photos/7458287@N04/sets/72157607031095009/)

 

At this point, having pretty much nothing to do the last couple of nights, we were all looking forward getting to Greymouth and joining in on the Monteithes Brewery tour. Shortly after we settled into our Noah’s Ark themed hostel (I had the pimped out Zebra room), a van with the most impatient person you’d ever hope to meet came to pick us up. So impatient was she, we actually had to leave a person behind. Apparently, Millie was having a problem locking the door to their room. The woman driving the van repeated constantly, ‘If I don’t go right now, all of you are going to miss it!’ Fair enough…we left poor Millie, though the driver promised to get her on the next trip. When we arrived at the brewery it appeared the only thing we were late for was standing around for 20 minutes while everyone paid for the tour. Millie rejoined the group a few minutes later to no consequence. We all followed the slightly built, grey haired, older proprietor through the bowels of the brewery all the while learning the things you’d expect to learn in a brewery tour. We, of course, were all waiting for the end of the tour when the beer tasting began. We were each handed a small glass and were poured a sample of each of their 7 or 8 beers? I can’t recall exactly how many there were. As it turns out, Millie doesn’t like beer. Someone had to drink her share. That task fell to Steven and myself; happily. After roughly 17 mini glasses of extremely cold beer, we all headed off to a different bar where they were to serve us an all you can eat BBQ. The ride in the van over, shuttled by the same cranky broad who drove us to the brewery, proved to be far more jubilant than the first ride, with the exception of the driver. No, she was still very angry at the world. It may have had something to do with chauffeuring several intoxicated people several nights a week. All I could do was recall what Glen had said earlier, “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t like it.” Wise man that Glen.  

The BBQ was a perfect feast to cap off the beer. We ended up running into Collin, the Mr. Bean look-alike champion 1999 – 2005, and he ended up joining our table for dinner. It was then we discovered just how awkward he could be. Through some magical psychic connection, Steven felt my pain sitting next to him and promptly said, “Noel, I owe you a beer…why don’t you come with me to pick one out.” Brilliant! Sorry ladies, sometimes it’s every man for himself. We left the somewhat inebriated girls with Mr. Bean and had a proceeded to hold shop at the bar. Soon, the girls decided it was time to leave. Apparently, the driver was going to be good enough to walk them back to the hostel. Since there were five of them and one of him, Steven and I thought it fine to finish our pints…then a couple more…then we ended up getting bottles of premixed liquor drinks to go (Jack and Coke for me; So-Co and something for Steven). It was out of this event and the subsequent decision to go back to the hostel and listen to each other’s iPod, Music Club was born.

After an hour or so of sitting on the deck outside the window of Steven and company’s hostel room, having an iPod-off through mini-speakers, Hollie stuck her head out the window and said, “Steven, if you could take your date elsewhere, we’re going to go to bed in here.” Hilarious. So we took the show a level lower and drank and talked and listened to music we both liked and had never heard of. Any night you make a new friend is not a bad night.

 

8/27/08 Greymouth to Franz Joseff

 

This entry is getting a bit long. I’ll try to do a better job of summing up. It was in Franz Joseff I climbed a quarter of the way up a glacier. I would have climbed higher, but again…when you’re in town for only one night at a time, sacrifices must be made. I spoke with our guide, Steve, on our way down. Turns out we have the same affinity for Anthony Bourdain. Aside from stopping in an old gold mining town and buying a locally made knit cap, I’m pretty sure that’s all that happened that day. Oh, I think this was a night we went out for pizza. Mine had spinach, roasted chicken and creamed corn. I know…but the creamed corn was surprisingly good. Oh AND Collin ended up meeting us out and got us all a shot. At this point, Millie and Hollie had left. Steven, Carrie, Hannah and I (Steph declined; smart girl) got suckered into taking a shot of something that consisted of cayenne pepper, Worcestershire sauce, the smallest bit of tequila and a good squeeze of pure evil. That did not win him any points.

 

8/28/08 Franz Joseff to Queenstown

 

Another early morning led to a long trip to Queenstown. Half way through, I said goodbye to my new friends as they were going to stay a night in the town of Wanaka. At this point I had met a very nice guy from Madrid, Carlos. We spoke most of the way down to Queenstown and made tentative plans to hang out one of the days we were there, as I was to settle in for four days. Four glorious days of not moving, not packing, not getting up early to sit on a bus for half a day. Absolutely wonderful.

I’ve never been to Aspen, but if I had I assume Queenstown would remind me of it. The city’s not very big, but it’s incredibly busy with snow junkies from all over New Zealand and the world. It being winter here, there was a constant buzz of activity. Since I don’t ski, or snowboard, or do anything with snow except participate in the occasional snowball fight, or write my name in it I had to find some other way to pass the time. I was told that if I were to skydive in New Zealand, Queenstown was the place to do it. I also found out that in Nevis, a little area not too far from Queenstown, was the third highest bungee jump in the world. Having been on a sky dive once before, I decided to do something I’d never done before…and had stated on several occasions, I would never do.

That night I ended up going to a bar in town and met a very nice Irish couple who had boarded the bus out of Wanaka. Catherine and Daniel Byrne…not married; not related. Though, Catherine did admit that Ireland was full of inbreeds. They proved to be a fun group to hang out with and worked out well as a substitute for my English buddies I had left behind. It was a good first night out…and all that stuff about the way the Irish drink – totally not a stereotype…at least, not in this case. But, as it was my first night without worry of getting up to catch an early bus looming overhead, I decided it was worth it. That and I’d be hurling myself from a 442 ft ledge the next day. For all intents and purposes, this could have been my last night.  

 

8/29 – 31/08 Queenstown

 

My first full day in Queenstown; I jumped from the third highest bungee in the world. 442 ft. It bears repeating. The jump took place over a giant crevasse. I had to ride a small lift from the edge of the cliff to a wire suspended platform halfway across the cavern. In complete honesty, I was not scared at all…until the very last moment when I jumped off and realized ‘Wait, people aren’t supposed to do this’. It was too late. I had done it. And for the record…this was a far more terrifying/exhilarating experience than sky diving. I drank again with the Irish that night…partially in celebration, partially because, what else are you going to do with the Irish?

 

Sadly, despite my very late night, I had to get up bright and early to catch a bus to Milford Sound. It was more a side trip than a destination. I met up once again with a slightly trimmed version of my English crew. They were all onboard for what has been listed as the number one thing to do in New Zealand, sans Millie and Hollie. Apparently, they too had a hard night out with their own Irish. A completely different bus took a group of 17 people out Milford sound where we boarded a small ship to cruise Fiord land. I slept most of the way. Apparently, even though they call it Milford Sound, it’s technically a Fiord. Look up the difference on Wikipedia if you like. The weather was absolutely beautiful all day, until we got to our destination. Low hanging clouds appeared, nonetheless, it was still quite beautiful. We also ended up watching the movie, “The World’s Fastest Indian” starring Anthony Hopkins on the bus ride back. I recommend it if you’ve never seen it. That night we all went out for Ferberger’s (a great little burger place in Queenstown…try the lamb burger), went for a couple beers and celebrated my last night with Steven and Carrie as they were off to their next destination the following morning. Luckily, they would leave me with Hannah, Hollie and Millie to keep me company my last night in Queenstown.

 

They did not disappoint. My last night, we prefunked in their common area while listening to Hollie’s iPod; interesting taste in music, that one. Not exactly what Steven and I enjoyed during Music Club; though entertaining nonetheless. Good conversation ensued before we made our way to the World Bar; a place famed for serving shots in teapots, either to be shared or for the doughty individual. We were all feeling a little doughty that night…plus they had a dice game. Roll a 4, 5 or 6 and your teapot is free. Hannah proved to be the luckiest of all, scoring 3 for free. Or was it two. I can’t recall. After a long night of conversing, and me making a fool of myself reciting the words to ‘Rappers Delight’ as it blared over the speakers; food was next on the agenda. We found a Subway that was opened late and manned by a solitary young man from Salt Lake City, Utah. Random. Back to the common area to consume our meal. Hollie and Millie said their goodbye’s as they went off to bed. Hannah kept me company for a while, discussing travel, music, family stories and just about everything you discuss with a new friend you know you won’t be conversing with for an undetermined, but likely hugely vast amount of time. I couldn’t really have asked for a better way to complete my short but incredibly sweet stay in New Zealand. Any 12 days where you make fantastic new friends is a good 12 days.

 

Yesterday, I took a flight to Auckland and stayed in a hotel close to the airport, as I had an early flight to Sydney this morning. I have even less time here than I did in New Zealand, so the days will go quite quickly I’m sure. Tomorrow I’m scheduled to take a bike tour of the city. The next day, a wine tour of the country side; then, I’m off to the Great Barrier Reef to do some scuba diving in what I hear is one of the most beautiful places to do so. New Zealand was phenomenal. I don’t know what I enjoyed more; the country, or the people I met and the friends I’ve made. Perhaps it was the best possible combination of the two; and not a bad way to check off country number one.

 

Remember me as a hero,

-N