Ileftgood

My good friend Mike has returned home to his comfortable surroundings; and the best thing I can say after traveling with him for almost three weeks is that we’re still good friends. Well, it’s not the best thing, but it is a very good thing. I’m extremely happy he made it out to meet me and wouldn’t have rocked Vietnam or Siem Reap nearly as hard had he not been there. Mike; good on you for making it out.

After our ridiculous suit buying extravaganza in Hoi An, we worked our way to that island paradise, Phu Quoc. The doors to the little bungalow we ended up in opened right on to the beach. It was a pretty welcomed and quite enjoyable break from the city traffic, noise and pollution we’d been bombarded with through most of Vietnam. Our first couple of days consisted of no less than hanging around the warm waters of the Gulf of Thailand. The weather held up for the most part, but a few torrential downpours did sweep through from time to time. Once the relaxation set in, we found it time to bring a little excitement back in the form of renting a couple of ‘motobikes’ and exploring the North end of the island.  Our ultimate goal was to find a stretch of beach on the North West corner of the island that was described to us as being “the world’s most beautiful secluded beach”. We were given a map and an idea of where to go which proved to be more than enough information to get us lost (though, being an island you can only be lost for so long). After too early a turn off, we ended up rolling down a pot-holed, mud-puddled, shell of a road that I’m sure wasn’t on the path the guys at the hotel who rented us our bikes had intended us to take. Despite our recognition of this and due to the fact turning a 180 would be far more difficult than it was worth, we slipped our way ahead. Eventually we got to a road about as main as it got on that part of the island. If nothing else, it was far drier than the road prior. We assumed we had found our way back onto the proper path, when a German couple pulled up next to us. They too, it seemed, had taken the turn too early. We all agreed that was not, in fact, the correct road to take. After a couple of minutes of debating and examining each others somewhat differently traced maps, we all thought we had figured out where we were and what we should do next; head North. North took us through an area I’m sure wasn’t on the planned itinerary; a small little village, run through by a couple of rivers spanned by wooden bridges; tiny wooden bridges…some with missing planks.  I’m sure our motorbike renters didn’t have that in mind. In any event, after a couple of hours of driving around, we found a spectacular beach setting. It was just as the guys at the hotel had described it; completely empty, serene and beautiful; sans the random bits of garbage that were washed ashore. We made several stops along the road that paralleled the length of the beach, admiring both the view and our accomplishment for finding our own way there.

Eventually, we decided to find the restaurant at the far North end of the island and grab some lunch. We found a place, they handed us a brochure and a menu. After examining the brochure, we came to find we hadn’t found our way to the far North end of the beach. No, no…we still hadn’t even come across the beach we thought we’d come across. No matter…it was still beautiful, lunch was good, and now we knew where we were. As we made our way back in to town, the muddy roads continued. And as I have a pension to do from time to time, I found it necessary to fall off my bike at what turned out to be, literally, the last mud puddle. The bike wanted to slide in one direction; I insisted it slide in the other and due to lack of compromise it slipped out from under me and pinned my right leg between its own dead weight and the cool, creamy, red-rusted mud. Mike was riding ahead of me. I attempted to honk my horn to get his attention, but couldn’t recall what the “it’s an emergency” horn patter we’d agreed upon was. I ended up just screaming at him, “Man down!” A couple of Vietnamese men walking down the road were good enough to run to my aid and assist in calling to Mike. Though once they discovered I was okay, they proceeded to point out and explain to me, in Vietnamese, the proper way I should have attempted to drive through the muddy patch. Thanks guys, hind sight is always twenty-twenty. After a few moments, I righted myself up, dusted off the red clay from my arm and leg and we were off once again. Eventually we found our way to the path we should had been on and made our way back to our hotel. About three kilometers away, my bike began to ride a little funny. I honked at Mike and asked him to check my tire. He said my tire looked fine and said it was probably the loose dirt on the road. I didn’t argue and continued to ride back to town until the dirt turned back into pavement. At a stop light, a moto-driver yelled for my attention and informed me it was my back tire that had gone flat. Wonderful. I pulled the bike up on the sidewalk, locked it up and rode with Mike the remaining few kilometers to our hotel where I told them of the flat and gave them the address of where it was left. I chose to refrain from telling them about my little spill, though I’m sure the then dried patches of red mud on my ass told them all they needed to know. I found out the next day I actually ended up running over a nail at some point. More importantly the wheel was fine. No harm, no foul.

Later that day, Mike and I left Vietnam and arrived in Siem Reap, Cambodia in the early afternoon. After a quick discussion with our tuk-tuk driver sent from our hostel, we decided to drop off our bags and hit a few of the temples while it was still daylight. What can I say? For about four or five hours for each of the three days we were there (which seemed to get progressively hotter and more humid), we climbed our way to the tops of monuments and took far too many pictures of the same thing. We both were awed by the massive structures and those who achieved the completion of them; the enormity of some, the fine detail in others and the nonchalant attitude of nature when she decides to take back what is hers. I’d recount everything I saw if I thought words would do more justice than the photos (which I’ll post soon). Though there was an interesting experience I had with a vendor. Outside most of the more popular monuments are shanty-vendor towns. When our diver pulled up to Angkor Wat on our second day, a group of young girls ran up to the tuk-tuk and attempted to sell us bottled water. Having just arrived I didn’t want one. One girl was particularly insistent. Her name was Phen and I made the mistake of telling her mine. “You buy water from me!” “No, thank you…not now, maybe later.” “Okay! Later! I remember you, you remember me!” “Maybe,” were my final, non-committal words. Sure enough, after a few hours of being awed by structures and beat down by the intense mid-day sun, there she was ready to push her product on me once again. “Noel! You buy water from me now!” Okay, at this point, I was tired; I’d sweat through my clothes, and honestly could have used a drink of water. And had she been prepared with water in hand, I would have bought it from her. But when she grabbed my arm and insisted I follow her the 100 yards to her stall, I had to opt for the seat in the tuk-tuk one foot away that was about to take me to food and drink with no effort on my part. “No, thank you,” I said while she pulled on my arm repeating her “buy from me…you promised!” mantra. “I’m going to go, I think, to get lunch.” As I yanked my arm back from her surprisingly strong vice-like grip, her attitude dramatically changed. Her face went stern and eyes shot a dark-spirited glare that would have killed me…if looks did that sort of thing. “You fucking man!” she said in a tone far lower than expected, “You promised, you fucking man!” First of all, I didn’t promise…I said “maybe”. Last I checked, that didn’t constitute a promise. Secondly, if she had the product in hand as opposed to asking me to walk to it, I absolutely would have purchased her water. Sorry Phen, but I’ve been called worse for doing things that actually warrant it. The next day, on our way to the other temples beyond Angkor Wat, we passed her territory again. With eagle-eye precision she spotted me despite the rapid pace of our driver. I heard her familiar high-pitched, “Noel!” Faster man! You must drive faster.

I left Siem Reap a day after Mike and made my way to Phnom Phen for a couple of nights. The first night there, I found myself back in familiar territory meeting random English people at the hostel then hitting the town with them in the evening. The next day I took a tour of the city which included the most depressing thing I’ve done on this trip thus far; a tour of the “Killing Fields” and the accompanying school that was transformed into a prison during Pol Pot’s regime and now stands as a museum of remembrance. All the other sights that day seemed less than interesting. After moping around for a few hours post-tour, I ended up meeting a completely different group of English and once again made my way with them to the riverfront area for drinks…where, I ended up getting a free t-shirt for no apparent reason, toward the end of the night. It turned out to be a size too small as I found out at the bar when I put it on in the bathroom. I felt like Bill Bixby mid-transformation into the Hulk. But hey, it was free…can’t complain too much. Today, as I exited the country, they did a triple take of my 8 year old photo on my passport. The first guard called over three other guards to compare and contrast. Eventually they unanimously concluded, “You were fat.” Yup.

I now find myself in Vientiane, Laos (or Lao, depending on where you’re from). The city has been described as the most laid back capital in SE Asia. In the few hours I’ve been here, I cannot dispute that. Comparatively, there’s very little traffic. And what traffic there is seems to abide to at least some kind of order. It’s a trip. I’m going to hang here for a couple days and check out the scene before heading to either a home-stay somewhere in this country, a different city here, or make my way to Thailand. Decisions, decisions. I’ll post those updated pictures as soon as I can.

Obama ’08 (yes I know I used it before),

-N

Mike arrived safe and sound about a week ago and it feels like we’ve been moving non-stop since. The first couple days, we stayed in Hanoi. I had the opportunity to show him the ropes of my new, temporary hood…by which I mean, having someone around to witness me constantly getting lost despite having been there a full week. Mike had the most accurate observation of the frantic pace of the city; “It’s like 75% of the city were told to evacuate by 5 p.m. and the other 25% haven’t gotten the message yet.” After a couple of days of walking through the streets, being bombarded with sound of bike bugles and a woman who pretty much stalked Mike in the unsuccessful attempt to sell him a hat (I assume she thought he was driving a hard bargain and even went so far as to drop the price down to a dollar…but Mike really didn’t want a hat), we jumped on a night train to the remote village of Sapa, in the mountainous North West region of Vietnam. The compartment on the train slept four. Our compatriots were a couple from Malaysia vacationing in Vietnam. It was the first time I’d ever been on an overnight train anywhere and had never slept on a train before (aside from a nap). The next morning, that record stood firm. I generally pride myself on my uncanny ability to sleep anywhere regardless of background noise, movement, conversation or uncomfortable position; it’s my one superpower. Apparently, the Vietnamese train system is my kryptonite.

In an effort to make our way down the country and over to Cambodia in the three weeks Mike had allotted himself, we opted for only two nights and one full day in Sapa. We arrived in town early and ended up taking a hike to the little village of Cat Cat. The town was small and full of people either harvesting rice from the many terraced fields carved into the hills, or selling little souvenir trinkets to the onslaught of tourists making there way through. The whole trip took about three hours, the last of which was a vertical hike out of the village in the hot, hot sun. I’ve been sweating a lot during this trip. The next day would be no different. We took a longer hike in the opposite direction to the village of Lao Cai which proved to be more interesting as it took us through several of the rice fields, up and down through the mountain foothills and across a couple of rivers. Two young Sapa girls followed us the entire way with the hope that at the end we would purchase whatever colorful fabrics they were selling. I didn’t…Mike did and I ended up suffering the guilt when one of the girls said to me, “You see? He buys from her…now you buy from me!” Thanks Mike.

We made our way back to Hanoi, via the same night train that brought us there. We ended up sharing our cabin with a guy from Australia (who reminded me of a poor-man’s Sting) and a young woman from Japan. They both showed up in the room after us and appeared to have met moments ago. The woman from Japan didn’t speak much English, but seemed very nice. The dude from Australia seemed completely clueless as to just about everything, near as I could tell. We started speaking of travel and in an attempt to get the young woman into the conversation, he asked her if she had been to Russia. The young woman gave him a quizzical look; to which he thought the best way to respond was to repeat the name of the country over and over again, “Russia? Russia? You know, Russia? Russia? Russia? She doesn’t know…Russia? Russia?” After about five minutes of this, Mike intervened with, “It’s a country.” “Oh! Yes, Russia, I know.” She replied. I can’t recall how that conversation started, but I’m damn sure glad it’s over. Later on, after he commented on the Obama t-shirt Mike was wearing (something about how the only thing missing for Obama to be confused with Osama was a beard…idiot), he admitted, almost proudly, that he’d never finished reading a book in his life. I hate to generalize; but Australians…oh man. Thankfully, the first night on the train must have been a fluke as I slept soundly on the way back to Hanoi.

We were greeted back in the city with a torrential downpour. I’m pretty sure I saw a couple people building arks and rounding up two of every animal. Of course, they may have just been preparing for the breakfast rush. We had 16 hours to kill in Hanoi before our next night train departed en route to Hue, about half way down the country. Completely drenched from exiting the train, we opted to get a room at our hotel. We had a day tour of the city lined up; of which we went on half, before simultaneously deciding tours are bullshit (at least this one was). That night, we ended up treating ourselves to the most expensive meal I’ve had so far on this trip…certainly in all of Vietnam, at a place called Bobby Chinn’s. The food was delicious, totally worth it and the mood…well, the mood was awkwardly romantic. Seriously, rose petals on the table and Sade playing overhead. After dinner and holding hands (don’t let Mike try and convince you otherwise), we made our way to the train station where we’d hop on our third night train in four days. This train happened to be far less comfortable than the previous one. Which was great, since it also happened to be a trip four-hours longer than the other one as well. Fantastic. After spending a day in Hue, taking a little boat to the fishing village and checking out the ruins of the Purple City we decided there was really nothing else to do there, so we booked a bus for a four hour road trip to Hoi An.

And here we are. The streets are far less crowded, the horns are down to a minimum, the everyday pace of life appears to be mellow, at least compared to Hanoi (of course compared to Hanoi, New York City seems mellow). This little town reminds me more of a sleepy Mexican villa than anything else. I love it here! Evidently, it’s the place to get clothes tailor made. And so we have. This must be one of the few times in history a person who is both jobless and homeless has felt it necessary to purchase three tailored suits. Yet here I am, doing just that. It’s a temptation far too great. First of all, to have clothes that actually fit right is a luxury I can’t find back home. Secondly, they’re ridiculously inexpensive here. I like to think, eventually I’ll find a reason to wear these suits…but even if I don’t, at least they were a bargain.

We’ll be here a couple more days before taking off to Saigon then on to the little island off the Southern tip of Vietnam, Phu Quoc for a little relaxing on the beach. After that, we’ll be off to Cambodia for a few days before Mike heads back to Saigon and eventually back to his life in Seattle, leaving me to continue on alone to Laos, with what is currently my life.

Obama ’08,

-N