I spent the first few days trudging around the main areas of Istanbul, checking out a few of the sights near by my hostel (conveniently located just steps away from the Blue Mosque). Around day two I grabbed a cup of cai with another traveler I’d met at the hostel the night before. Piti, from Thailand, was on month three of his own world adventure. He had just gone through Mongolia, taken the Trans-Siberian Railway through to Russia and was now making his way through Turkey. He asked what I had planned to do while I was there and as I often tell people when I arrive in a new country I said, “No idea.” He mentioned he was planning a little trip out East to a small town called Safronbolu and asked if I’d like to tag along. Having no plan of my own, I decided to take him up on his offer. The next day we shoved off. If India was one of the most difficult places to travel through, Turkey is the complete opposite. Never before in my life have I seen attendants on a bus…but here they were; offering water, coffee, cai, little cakes and occasionally a dash of after-shave cologne. The seats were large and comfortable, the bus clean and the television volume at a less than ear-bleeding level. It was as if I died and ended up in some kind of vagabond heaven.

The draw to this hamlet of Safronbolu was the abundance of Ottoman style homes and architecture. We arrived well after dark but trekked our way into the small town and found a place in one of the aforementioned homes turned hostel in which to stay. The following night we found our selves a Hammam (Turkish bath) in which to retreat from the cold. It was an interesting experience and about as close to a prison shower scene as I ever want to get. After laying on a slab of hot marble, sweating more profusely than I had since Camboida, a Turk (the size of a man cut from the front line of the Chicago Bears for being too big…and hairy) ushered me into a room, threw me on a table and proceeded to bend, twist, arc, tilt and yaw me until a sufficient number of cracks and snaps occurred in various joints. He then soaped me up and proceeded to scrub me like a newly dug potato removing the last five months of travel soot and most of my Goa tan right off me. It was…incredibly thorough. Still, I don’t think I’d ever been cleaner.

Eventually we made our way back to Istanbul, where I would remain another couple of days before heading out on my own to check out what the Southern bits of Turkey had to offer…but not before I lost a game of dice which resulted in my being made up by an Australian girl, Tess, at the hostel which ended with me having “I heart penis” written on my forehead in waterproof mascara…which wasn’t part of the bet, thank you. Fun times.

I left Istanbul once again; took a bus and checked out various sights down though the South of Turkey all of which were very nice and very cold. I stayed in a cave hotel a couple of nights in Capadoccia which is exactly like you would imagine a cave hotel to be. Sadly for me, there was no heat and no hot water…who decides to stay in a cave in the dead of winter? I don’t know what bears are thinking. I traveled along for a week or so and found myself in a town called Selcuk where I was fortunate to meet a brother/sister traveling duo from Korea; a guy from Rome, Fabio and the proprietors of the Hotel Artemis, Salamon, his Serbian wife Ivana and their brother Ibrahim. It was there I would spend my New Years Eve having a ball and splitting a bottle of Jack with Salamon. Not a bad way to kick off ’09.

I returned to Istanbul, to my hostel where I was now friends with the majority of the staff and relaxed for a few days with a 20 hour bus ride to Athens in my future. The morning I was to leave, the people at the bus station told me the buses weren’t running that day due to the land border being closed. Apparently there was some kind of strike happening in Greece, which I found happens quite often…so, I opted to fly in the following day. I spent two days in Athens…not a whole lot of time to do much of anything…so I didn’t. I met up with the brother/sister duo I’d met in Turkey and hung out with them for a day wandering around the city. The next, I took a short walking tour of all the sights you can see in two hours then headed back to my hostel where I decided to call it good and swapped stories with other travelers. I decided I’d have to go back to Greece again one day being as I didn’t really do anything while I was there. These things, they happen.

Rome momentarily,

 -N

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

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

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

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