Wrapping Up Vietnam

A few last ramblings about the Vietnam leg of our trip...

-The night we stayed in a hotel on Cat Ba Island I woke up at 3 or 4 or some crazy hour of the morning to watch football. It was the NFC Championship game. The Packers were at the Bears and it was that strange game where Jay Cutler was supposedly hurt, but stood on the sidelines looking like an asshole. Everyone thought that he wasn't really injured and he didn't seem to be encouraging his back-ups or showing any emotion. It was pretty bizarre. Anyway, Tor is a big Bears fan so he wasn't too happy to hear it. Two weeks later we landed back home in Korea on Super Bowl Sunday (which was actually Monday for us). I hustled to a PC bang (public computer room where all the gamers spend every spare minute) to watch the big game. But that is a story for another day.

-The first book I read on our vacation was Matterhorn, a novel about Marines in the Vietnam War. It was a good story and I recommend it, but I kept trying to imagine scenes from the book playing out in the landscape around me and I just couldn't. Maybe if we had been camping at night out in the mountains it would have gotten to me, but as it was, we were engulfed in the neon buzz of the major cities and surrounded by either fat, middle aged tourists in shorts, socks and sandals, or tattooed and dreadlocked backpackers who never went home. Anyway, I plowed ahead in the book almost every opportunity I had. When I finished we were being ferried back across Ha Long Bay to the van that would take us to Hanoi. Since I require constant entertainment, the four of us played a game of pinochle. Sami and I were on opposite teams for once, and this was probably a good thing. We've never really meshed as pinochle partners. She takes too few risks and I take too many.

-Shortly after the banana incident in Hanoi, we bought tickets to see the water puppet show at the Thang Long Theater. After the Chinese acrobat show in Shanghai a year ago, this was the most incredible and authentic live performance I have seen (and yes, if 25 year old me would have read that sentence three years ago he would have rolled his eyes and gone back to playing Tiger Woods Golf on Playstation). The theater was built during the Vietnam (or as they say- American) War. The seats are set at a steep incline looking down into a square pool of water. A live orchestra featuring musicians and vocalists adorned in traditional garb stood to the left of the pool. The wood puppets are supported by an underwater rod and are controlled by puppeteers hidden behind the pool and pagoda setting. The implements seemingly dance across the water and re-create nationalistic fables of farmers and royalty. The live music is a shrieking combination of what sounds like Beijing opera, drums complete with crashing symbols and the ubiquitous sounds of stringed instruments so stereotypically far east. The only drawbacks were that the rows of seats were set painfully close together and no one was asked to refrain from taking photos. As a result, the place was lit up with illuminated view screens and constant flashes. Despite the distraction, I am certain that none of the pictures turned out very well. At least mine didn't.

Can you see all the camera framing screens?

-The next day, we rose early to get to Ba Dinh Square, the location of the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, where the famous communist leader's embalmed body can be viewed. It took us awhile to find the place and when we did there was a big grass field between us and the mausoleum. We attempted to cut through it but were thwarted by what appeared to be elderly gardeners. Fearing we had unknowingly performed an horrifically insensitive act of disrespect, we walked around, but soon noticed that large numbers of Asian people cut across without admonishment. We had to go through a long security line and pass through a metal detector before entering. Everyone's cameras (even those belonging to Vietnamese) were confiscated and would be returned after the viewing. The guards even attempted to disallow Sami's prenatal vitamins and morning sickness pills. They relented after an impressive display of frantic arm waving and facial pleading from my wife. Inside, the long single-file line moved fluidly over a red carpet that directed us in a rectangle around the raised glass coffin. At least a dozen impeccably uniformed guards watched over every step. The scene was eerie and the mood intensely serious. The body was small and thin. The face waxy and deeply lined with the famous goatee intact. The entire process of walking past the body probably took less than two minutes. When we left and walked back out into the brightness of outside, I joked "Mommy, Mommy! Let's go on the ride again!"

The mausoleum and the field we tried to cross

-My biggest regret in Hanoi was that I never was able to find the vaunted "Chicken Street" supposedly lined with vendors all selling grilled cuts of bird over an open flame. We were slated for a red eye flight to Bankok so an hour or so before we left for the airport, I decided to walk around the alleyways near our hotel looking for some. I knew I wasn't on Chicken Street, but I figured the taste of anything I found couldn't be that different. What I didn't count on was how difficult it would be to find the local culinary treasure. I circled blocks for nearly a half hour before finally giving up and settling for chicken pho. It was one of those authentic street restaurants with tiny red and blue plastic stools. There were easily 100 locals dining in this small area on the sidewalk. I pointed to the nastiest looking cuts of meat and made my order. Sadly, I didn't have my camera with me, but the soup arrived with all sorts of tendons and what looked like gray rubber golf balls on a string. There were at least a dozen of them and when I bit into one I noticed the texture of a hard boiled egg, but with a runny yolk. Of course, it wouldn't be Hanoi without being ripped off. This time, I didn't have enough money to pay for my soup and beer even though I was obviously being charged more than twice what the locals paid. The server stood there angry as hell, but I just shrugged my shoulders more embarrassed than I have been in years (of course, I didn't want the beer and didn't ask for it, but she set it down on the table and like an idiot I opened it). I was feeling the eyes of every diner turned on me when the couple sitting next to me offered to pay the difference. The server accepted the payment of what turned out to be the equivalent of a US quarter and gave me one last scowl. It turns out that the woman at the table was an English teacher in Hanoi, and she kindly explained to me that, as a foreigner, I was expected to bargain with the server beforehand. Her sympathetic husband, noticing how flustered I was, offered me a cigarette. Even though I don't smoke, I took it and smoked and drank beer and ate hot soup with runny golf balls. I consumed all three poisons as fast as I could, knowing full well that my tardiness was most likely stressing Sami out.

Peddlers

I should have more sympathy for beggars and street peddlers. After all, I worked as a fundraiser for a non-profit organization for over three years before taking a break and moving overseas to work and travel. Selling and asking for donations is easy when you truly believe in what you are doing. The shoeless kids and toothless grandmothers who have approached us on the streets in Vietnam and Cambodia aren't pushing magnets and pooka shells because they believe in the product (all of which is most likely assembled in Macau anyway). They make the ask because their family depends on the money brought in by tourists like me.

Outside of Korea, our first big trip was to Fiji. We mainly stuck to our resort, or boated out for day trips to remote and uninhabited islands, but we were fortunate enough to tour a couple of the local villages. While there, some of the villagers made an effort to display items for sale. The people in Fiji are famously laid back and seem to care none at all if you decline to purchase their painted seashells attached to a pieces of rope. Still, we weren't just going to stroll by their makeshift displays without buying at least one souvenir, or more for co-workers (this was before we found out that Koreans don't really give a shit if you bring them souvenirs and actually kind of think that you are a braggart if you do- like you are showing off for leaving the peninsula or something "Oooh you rich-ey!" Well, guess what. Stop spending thousands of dollars on cell phones and private academy tuition for your five year old and you can afford to leave the peninsula too).

Our next big trip was to Siem Reap, Cambodia where the kids selling magnets and postcards were so cute that we couldn't say no. I did draw the line when one little girl gave me a tiny little flower- like a budding dandelion picked from the grass. I said thank you and took it, thinking it a nice (if annoying) gesture, but of course she wanted compensation. "One dahwl-ah. One dahw-luh." I just ignored her punk ass. Kids are so stupid.

Shanghai was where I really learned to watch myself. It was there where we nearly got sucked in to a famous tea house scam- someone invites you to a tea house to drink tea and practice English, then they leave you to pay the bill which is exorbitantly high. We weren't so lucky later on when a paper cutter cut a picture of my profile and demanded payment.

I felt like a sucker after the paper cutting incident and vowed never to be played for fool again. Before our trip to southeast Asia, I read in some guidebook that the best way to handle street peddlers is to simply ignore their greetings entirely and refuse to make eye contact. This worked pretty well in Saigon and again in Phonm Penh where the people asking for a handout were often victims of landmines with missing limbs. It was heartbreaking to walk past them, but Sami reminded me that we were on the tightest of budgets, especially with that added knowledge that there would be a new addition to our family in August. Besides, the guidebook said that I would only be wasting their time by engaging in conversation with no intention of giving money.

In Hanoi things were different. We couldn't help but get the feeling that we were being looked at only as dollar signs. Everywhere we ate we had to negotiate a price beforehand and even then we were given incorrect change. In addition to the nightmarish motor scooter traffic, we couldn't move without being offered fruit or a photocopied addition of some guidebook or historical novel set in Vietnam. Every taxi and tuk-tuk driver was convinced we needed a ride and pegged us as crazies when we politely refused.

The final straw came the afternoon of our return from Ha Long Bay and Cat Ba Island. When we checked back into the hotel we were given cups of complimentary tea. The tea must have been loaded with caffeine because afterwards, I was in a great mood and bounced through the streets to meet up with our friends Tor and Becky. Along the way I was accosted by street peddlers, but I playfully danced around them and the hundreds of parked motor scooters, determined not to let them break my high. In fact one of them laughed along with me, amused by my cunning avoidance (or so I would like to believe).

I was still feeling good when we stopped to take a picture near a famous statue in front of Hoan Kiem Lake. It was then that a woman handed me a long stick with a basket of bananas on each end and placed a ubiquitous Vietnamese conical hat on my head. I gave her the camera and she took a picture. If you look at the picture you could tell I knew something was up but I didn't want to admit it. Afterward, I bounded off, but turned to see Sami, Tor and Becky shaking their heads. Sami was engaged in a heated discussion with my photographer. She was obligated to buy bananas. She reluctantly asked for only one, but was given a whole bushel and no change. My wife came storming at me, pissed off that I pissed away half of our scarce dinner allowance on bananas. I became frustrated because I wanted to believe the woman was just doing something nice and thought that it would be funny. I should have known better from all of our past experiences. I was played again.

My frustration turned into rage. I was mad at myself for being so stupid, annoyed with having to document how every penny was spent, and most of all, embarrassed in front of my wife and friends. Sami was yelling in my face like I had never experienced before, and I felt it to be a public dressing down of my manhood. Acting entirely on impulse, I snatched the bag of bananas and flung them as high as I could into the air. They plopped down with a dull thud in the middle of the road and were immediately squashed by scooters.

I couldn't even think straight afterwards. I didn't know how to proceed. We were supposed to buy tickets for the famous water puppet show down the street, but I wasn't sure if we had money for that and dinner. If there was a big enough hole, I gladly would have crawled in and died. All around us tourists and peddlers stared for a quick second and the banana hurling fool, and then went right on about their business of trying to feed their families or hold on to their dinner money.

Ha Long Bay: Part 3

At breakfast the next morning, everyone was surprised and happy to see Sami back in the fold looking healthy and ready to eat something other than bread. I, on the other hand, assumed the role of the sickly one after a night of beer, scotch and boatrock. I don't remember any of this, but Sami informed me that between one of my frequent puke trips, I belched in her direction. She kindly asked if I would turn the other way to do that and I threw a fit. It was not one of my finer moments.

After breakfast Tor, Becky, Sami and I said goodbye to our shipmates and boarded a ferry bound for Cat Ba Island. The rest of the travelers only signed up for the overnight tour whereas we were there for three days, two nights. During the additional time we would bike Cat Ba National Park, kayak around the bay and explore the town of Cat Ba.

Cat Ba Island is famous as the home of the Cat Ba Langur, an endangered monkey. There are only around 100 Cat Ba Langurs alive today and when I asked our guide if there was a possibility that we would see one of the primates during our ride, he said no chance- not because of the scarcity of the animal, but rather for the unfortunate truth that if one was spotted, it would be immediately killed by the villagers who would feast on its brains. The villagers' equal opportunity diet soon became the major theme of the day.  We once stopped to tour a home littered with scurrying puppies, kittens, baby chicks and piglets. It could have been a picture out of a nursery rhyme, but the guide told us that everything moving was raised to be slaughtered and eaten.

Dogs and cats that will be food.

 Being showed around the village was an experience we will never forget, but I couldn't shake the feeling that we were intruding. The villagers did not seem bothered however, and unlike in Korea, the locals did not gawk at our bizarre Caucasian profiles. There was a small, impromptu morning market taking place outside of one of the houses and everyone scrambled for the days' fresh catches without giving us the least bit of notice.

Catch of the Day

 The villagers undoubtedly appreciate the tourism dollars that roll in which were used to build a school and hospital which we later toured. Our guide did tell us one story of corruption, where the village chief skimmed money off of a project to build a city hall. The city hall remains only half completed in the middle of the village and may stay that way for some time.

The bike riding itself was, for me, the most enjoyable part of our Ha Long Bay cruise. We have gone on a few bicycle tours in our travels the past two years, and each one has been worth it. It is a great way to get a feel for the culture and habitat of a new country. I didn't once forget that I was in Vietnam when we were biking through dirt roads and rice paddies surrounded by green and sharply angled mountains.

After our ride we headed back to the ferry where a nicely set table waited for us. We feasted on what we now came to recognize as the standard tourist meal- shrimp in their shells, whole fish with cucumber and carrots, and rice. There was one new addition that we all clamored for- simple peanuts fried with sugar. Great snack.

Next we kayaked around the bay. Sami wasn't too keen to kayaking and she informed me that I would be doing the majority of the rowing. As a result, we did not cover much ground. It was a surreal experience being out on the water alone. Other than Tor and Becky, we may have been the only tourists out. Just the night before, hundreds of party boats were out on the water. Apparently, the overnight trip is more popular than the longer tour, but all four of us agree that the three day, two night is the way to go. If we would have left after one night we would not have felt like we got our money's worth.

Ready to take off

Tor and Becky a little too close to that rock

We finished off the day in the tourist town of Cat Ba. First, we checked in to out hotel which, after compared to our economic cabins back on the ship, felt like the W. Marble floors and a bed that didn't quite break your back. After that we walked down to experience the market, all the while dodging begging would-be drivers.

The market was dark and crowded and, since we had arrived late in the afternoon, stunk of spoiling fruit and fish. On the way Tor and I spotted squished rats and cockroaches, but this did not deter us from seeking out the dragonfruit that had evaded me earlier in the vacation. I finally found a stand on the way out and bought one for what was probably a quarter or fifty cents. I had our vendor carve it up for us, and I was surprised at how soft and waxy the skin of the spiky looking fruit was. She cut it into fourths and gave it to me in a plastic bag. This is one of my big pet peeves. Everywhere we go, people want to give you plastic bags. They don't every decompose and I just know whenever I get one that it is going to end up in some whale's blowhole.

We walked outside and ate the fruit which is pink on the outside with white flesh and hundreds of tiny white seeds. We decided that it had the taste and texture of a kiwi. We ate over the dead rat and wondered why it was spared by the locals. Could it be that much worse than monkey brains?

Ha Long Bay: Part 2

In my previous post I failed to mention the presence of another passenger on our trip to Ha Long Bay- the mixologist. He rode in the back of the van with us from Hanoi and carried with him a cardboard box filled with clanking, half drained fifths. His mission was to train the bartender on our boat whom I imagined alone on the ship and making an exhaustive attempt at opening a can of beer with a corkscrew. Our friend had trouble gaining access to the boat, what with his libation bottles, but eventually words were exchanged and promises made and he joined us in the cabin. While he stayed after lunch and taught the crew how to evenly layer a cosmopolitan no one would ever order, we climbed up to the deck and partook in smuggled scotch swilled from plastic rinse cups.

Liquor purchased from anywhere other than the sparse bar on board was strictly prohibited, but this didn't stop the boat vendors that paddled from ship to ship from pushing product. One woman accosted us from her floating 7-11 the moment we slowed to reach the ferry that would take us to Sung Sot Cave, the largest cave in Ha Long Bay located on Bo Hon Island. Her inventory of beers and snacks were tempting, but the look from our guide suggested we stick to the rules.

The cave itself was magnificent and (much to my amazement) rivaled the caves of Mulu National Park in Borneo. While climbing up to the mouth of the cave, we couldn't help but slow down the procession of followers by taking extra time to enjoy the view below. The combination of green water and wooden ships framed by harshly vertical limestone islands seemed of another era. There were more than a few prime locations reserved for families and couples, but Sami had opted to stay back on the boat, having grown increasingly sick and worried that she had contracted a virus. The only thing she was able to keep down was sliced white bread.

Inside the warty icicle stalactydes and stalagmites- typically the color of mud, glowed bright green, yellow and blue under artificial light. The ambiance couldn't have contrasted more with the 17th century pirate scene out in the water. It was like walking through a Star Trek episode.

Of course, the lighting inside of the cave makes it impossible for a camera to capture it's true magnitude of depth and complexity. I tried in vain to snap digital photos, but our cheap Kodak captured the scene as a blur of grainy color. The pictures might as well have been taken at an Ecstasy fueled rave.

Pictures never turn out inside caves

 One image that did come in clearly was a trash receptacle fashioned as an orca. At least I thought it was an orca. Tor called it a dolphin, but to Becky it was a penguin. Identical trash receptacles lined the path inside , which worked wonders for keeping the cave clean even if they did seem a bit out of place.

Penguin? Orca?

 After the cave we were ferried to another small island with a peak resting pagoda that offered even more spectacular views of the bay. After taking pictures at the top, I tried to get the young man at the beer stand to sell me a can for anything less than thirty-thousand dong (or was it 40?), but he wouldn't budge. After initially walking away in disgust, I sheepishly returned, all to eager to maintain my fading buzz. We sat at a picnic table and drank our '333' brand beers and watched as a girl stripped down to her bikini on a dare and ran into the cold water. It couldn't have been warmer than 50 degrees outside. I think she may have been European from one of those Scandinavian countries.

When we got back to our ship I checked on Sami who was in terrible shape and questioning our decision to travel in the first place. One of our fellow shipmates offered up a litany of suggestions intended to handle morning sickness, not of which were available to us given our current location.

While Sami lay suffering in our cabin a few feet away, the rest of us gathered around for our Vietnamese cooking lesson. It wasn't cooking really, just assembling spring rolls, the ingredients of which had all been chopped beforehand. The mixture consisted of a beaten egg, mushrooms, garlic, white and green onion, pork, carrot and salt. I volunteered to wrap the first one and when our guide commented that it was too big, I informed him that mine was "American sized" while patting my belly.

That guy looks pretty happy about my roll

After dinner (fish, rice, vegetables and our spring rolls for us; bread in bed for Sami) we went upstairs to finish off the scotch. I should mention at this time that Sami insisted I go up and have a good time. I fear I am starting to sound like a selfish drunk.

We sat and chatted with the older Australian bloke. He tried to explain rugby to us and we tried to explain American football. Neither party left impressed.

After finishing the bottle, it was a wobbly walk down the steps. I don't remember much of the night other than visiting the toilet to call dinosaurs. Perhaps Sami could tell the story better, but I doubt she wants to.

Ha Long Bay: Part 1

Our Ha Long Bay cruise traveling crew consisted of our friends Tor and Becky, two sets of Australian couples, and a Chinese family of four. We were each asked to introduce ourselves early into the early morning van ride from Hanoi. Rolling through flat farmland interrupted by jutting French inspired architecture- worn down relics of a bygone era- I kept one ear on the short and sweet recent histories of our fellow passengers and another monitoring the nauseous grumblings of my sick wife.

The older Australian couple had just finished visiting Malaysia. I didn't pick up on this, but a questions was raised about their accents and it was explained that they had been raised in Wales before migrating to Gold Coast. Or was it Melbourne? Anyway, the female half of the younger two from down under was of Vietnamese descent. Her and her boyfriend were vacationing in Vietnam and visiting areas her family came from. A younger daughter in the Chinese foursome did the talking and translating for her family. I can't recall anything she had to say.

Snapshots from inside the van on our drive from Hanoi

Sami had convinced herself that it was the unidentifiable green vegetable in our noodles from the night before that had made her sick. She vomited throughout the night, but claimed that she was feeling better in the morning. However, as the van bumped along third world roads her hangover-like symptoms began to resurface.

We stopped at a rest area/tourist shop about half-way through our ride. I was on a quest to find the price of dragon fruit. I knew that it had to be dirt cheap for Sami to let me get it because I had already spent my allowance on a bottle of scotch to bring on the boat.

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I don't remember boarding our cruise ship. I can't recall if we took a ferry ride to it or if we boarded right from the dock. I wish I could recapture those first waves of emotion I must have felt taking in the scenery. The truth is that a tragedy took place on those same waters a mere three weeks after we visited. A wooden pirate inspired vessel similar in style to ours started listing in the early evening of February 17th. Despite notifications from other boats, the crew neglected to notify the passengers and 12 people, including 10 tourists died trapped inside their cabins in the early hours of the next morning.

For days afterward, I couldn't help but imagine the horror of the situation. I became obsessed with certain thoughts. How long did the passengers locked inside their rooms know what was going on? What did the moment feel like when they realized the gravity of the situation? It must have been terrifying and it bothers me to no end.

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Once aboard we passengers were able to properly assess our surroundings. Huge windows lined the perimeter of the dining room and lounge letting in a pallor of natural light. Outside limestone mountains bobbed out of the colorless ocean, their forms smudged by fog that could make entire cliffs disappear. At the time I was disappointed that the weather wasn't ten degrees warmer, the sky bluer and clearer. However, I as look back on the experience I am pleased that we were able to capture they mystery of a landscape so often depicted on book cover jackets. I imagine summertime Ha Long Bay to be none too different than Lake Shasta over Memorial Day weekend, and that just doesn't seem right.

Our lunch on the boat was fish, shrimp and vegetables. We were all quite pleased with the meal at the time, but it was one we would become quite familiar with by the end of the excursion. 

Feeling sick, Sami retired to our room to rest and I grabbed the bottle of scotch to meet with Tor and Becky. Ours was the only room in the main cabin, and felt safer than the rooms downstairs whose entrance led to a wooden walkway around the outside of the boat guarded only by a knee-high wall. I felt confident walking that potentially hazardous path that led to Tor and Becky's room carrying an unopened bottle of J&B scotch. I wasn't so sure how easily a time I would have maneuvering the plank after the bottle had been emptied. 

You can see how low the side railing is in this picture

After a couple of pops inside the warm cabin, the three of us ventured upstairs to the top deck. Up there we drank the throat warming scotch discreetly, out of our yellow plastic rinsing cups. We smoked the cigarillos purchased in Saigon and looked out into a landscape of natural wonder, completely giving in to the adventure ahead.

Hanoi: Day One

At baggage claim in Hanoi, I noticed a lot of red suitcases pushed continually around the belt. Normally, I wouldn't notice such a minor detail, but we have grown accustomed to flying with Korean passengers, 99 percent of whom travel exclusively with black Samsonites. It is always easy to spot Sami's indigo hiker's backpack make it's way around. Much like Korea, however, there is a mad rush to jockey for position at baggage claim, as if the bags aren't crawling at a snail's pace. Perhaps my humble upbringing in the wide open spaces of the US has instilled in me an unrealistic value in elbow room. Whatever it is, I have never grown accustomed to being shouldered out of the way by elderly women a foot shorter. Most of the time I take it like the accommodating weenie that I am, but there have been instances where I have pushed back with something more than subtle force. So far my action has elicited no more than a grunt and sideways stare from my victims, but Sami is always left mortified by her companion's behavior.

Luckily, there was no such incident leaving the Hanoi Airport. Unlike our first night in Saigon, we were picked up by one of our hotel drivers and were spared the frustrations of having to negotiate a fare. It took nearly an hour to drive from the airport to our hotel in the Old Quarter. Judging by the scenery on the other side of the windshield, I wouldn't have been surprised to learn that we had entered another country entirely. The sky was mottled gray and thick as we rolled through brown flooded rice paddies flanked by dirty concrete buildings.

Once inside its boundaries, the city instantly overwhelmed us. Narrow main thoroughfares sprouted impossibly skinny sidestreet tributaries. Rapidly crisscrossing motorscooters clogged every artery and parked scooters monopolized sidewalks. Trudging on foot was a move at your own risk proposition and many heavy white tourists clutching fat spouse arms and Loney Planet guides stood, mouth agape, and waited for a moment of open space that never arrived. Space not taken up by one man vehicles was swallowed by spillover markets, and indeed thousands of rural residents had flocked to Hanoi days before to capitalize on the upcoming Lunar New Year holiday.

Thanks to planning and luck we met our friends Tor and Becky Ostrom outside of our hotel at sundown. As we cautiously tiptoed through the chaos all around us, Tor regaled us with a tale of their cobra eating adventure earlier in the day. A live cobra was sacrificed for them and cooked in a number of different ways (judging by the pictures, I was surprised at just how much meat a snake contained). Highlights included ingesting the still beating heart and swilling a shot of snake bile. Apparently, the bile is none too appetizing. Tor smiled maniacally as he verbally painted, but Becky merely smiled, happy to have the experience behind her.

I took the initiative and chose an eating establishment for the evening. It was a little more authentic (see: dirty) than Sami would have liked, but she was happy enough to play along- a fact she would come to regret later when food borne illness took hold. But in the meantime, we sat down on the ubiquitous tiny plastic stools and ordered by pointing at fellow diner's plates. Our bowls of noodles were good, but they contained an unidentifiable green vegetable that we later pinpointed as the cause of Sami's sickness.

The three of us (minus Sami) drank beers with dinner. Much to the horror of my dining companions, I asked for an ice-filled mug- the way the locals drink it. Apparently they did not agree with my dangerous approach, but when is an authentic experience not worth the risk of diarrhea? Oh, yeah- every time.

We drank more beers out on the street (all very legal and commonplace) after dinner and did our best to ignore the peddlers. Eventually one of us caved and bought too much of something we all wanted a little of.

We said our goodbyes with an early morning looming over our heads. Back at the hotel Sami gave me two instructions while hurrying toward the toilet. I was to buy a bottle of water and request a wake up call for 6am. The visit to the front desk provided yet another reminder that we were away from Korea: an employee with an actual sense of humor. When I asked for a bottle of water she said "Ok, one million dong" as opposed to the ten thousand it actually cost. When I asked for a 6am wake up call she said "ok, we wake you up 3 a.m."

Eating for Two

The bus trip back to Ho Chi Minh City from Phnom Penh was brutally long. The ones in charge shoved in a VHS copy of Mr. Bones 2 which was dubbed in a shreiking language no passenger could understand. My ipod died early into the journey and I never have the best luck trying to read in a moving vehicle, so I passed the time by covering my ears and staring out into the flat, ox strewn farmland.

We knew going in that our Southeast Asia vacation had energy-wiping potential. Instead of kicking back on a beach at an all inclusive resort for three weeks, we opted to bounce around in an attempt to cover as much ground as possible. All told we would board 8 separate flights totaling 19 and a half hours on top of 23 combined hours of layover time. During our time on the ground and out of airports, over 42 hours were spent riding in 9 different buses or vans. During the 23 day excursion we slept in 9 different beds.

The itinerary was even more daunting for Sami who, at the time, was in the middle of her first trimester of pregnancy. This new development forced us to fall into a fuel stretching routine. Morning was the most energetic time and we responded by rising early, dining on breakfast typically provided by whatever hotel we were staying in and heading out on our designated mission. Lunch was usually early and when we could manage it, a mid afternoon rest, cleanup for dinner and in bed by eight or nine. When Sami slept I usually found something to watch online. I think I watched Black Swan early in the trip and the NFL playoffs were on during this time as well.

Eating was also a problem. Sami would get nauseous when her stomach was empty, but certain foods would make it worse. Every meal was a gamble- would it stay down or no? Would it leave a disgusting aftertaste no toothpaste could conceal? Our plan of attack was to order small amounts of as much food as possible. If she liked it, she ate much as she could stomach, and I polished off the rest. If she couldn't, I ate it all. Sami tended to crave the kind of foods she was familiar with and indulged in growing up- pizza, pasta, fries. After one or two bites, she would give up. I would pick up the slack on the hard hitting greasy foods, but I was still insistent on trying all of the local cuisine, so between feedings I would indulge in a street food treat. I ended up a fat and hating myself (but secretly happy).

When our bus finally did arrive back in Ho Chi Minh City, it was nearing our bedtime. I would have been content calling it a day, full from days of eating for two. However, Sami was feeling as woozy as she had all trip and insisted we find a place to eat. She led us to a well lit restaurant with a diner quality. We sat in the front, flanked by the street and open air. Further inside sat a loud group of six young tourists. The three couples let a Filipino man do most of the talking. He waxed poetic about his home country's culinary reputation and I listened carefully to his descriptions of fried pork and greasy concoctions knowing our time in The Philippines lay a mere two weeks ahead.

Sami had a bowl of Pho and (victory!) ate it all. We shared a rice flour crepe filled with pork, shrimp and bean sprouts which was served with a sweet chili dipping sauce. I also ordered chicken wings with fish sauce. I love fish sauce and I hear that there is a restaurant in Portland known for such wings, so I couldn't pass it up. They were perfect, not too salty, and I can't wait to get back to Oregon to compare.

Let it be known that the conclusion of this meal marked the exact moment when her craving for fruit and sweets began and would last for the duration of the trip. This is what we ordered:

While we waited for dessert, a young peddler came to our table and showed off her briefcase of cigars. We found that the peddlers in Vietnam had more of a sense of humor than those in Cambodia. To Sami's horror, I inquired as to the price of each item. I am not a smoker, but hey I'm on vacation. I asked the price of a tin of Dutch coffee cigarellos and was told 200,000 Dong (about $10 US).

"Too much," I said. "100" (meaning 100 thousand)

"No, sir," she replied. "150 ok you buy now"

"No, no, no. Sorry 100 or nothing." I had been burned too many times and now I was standing my ground. After a few minutes which were fun to me, but agonizing to Sami, our new friend came up with an idea.

"Ok, we play game. You know rock, paper, scissors? If I win you pay 150, if you win 100."

I laughed, charmed by her creativeness, but was determined to hold my ground. After an impossibly long and uncomfortable silence, she finally relented.

"Ok, 100."

"Deal."

The next morning while walking outside near our hotel I saw the same brand of cigars in a convenience store being sold for 60.

Phnom Penh- Part One

We took an early morning bus from Ho Chi Minh City to Phnom Penh on the third day of our vacation. Sami had taught a genocide lesson in her World Studies class, and I have always been intrigued by the horrific brutality of the Khmer Rouge since seeing the movie The Killing Fields. Our plan was to visit the mass graves known colloquially as The Killing Fields and Tuol Sleng, a former high school that the Khmer Rouge turned into a prison.

We had visited Siem Reap a year ago, but didn't have time to make it to the capital city of Cambodia. Siem Reap was and remains a very special place for Sami and me. We will never forget the thrill and amazement of our first tuk-tuk ride from the airport. The warm night air was silent and black. Such a welcome contrast to the cold, neon frenzy of Seoul. I remember being passed by barely humming motorscooters ridden by barefoot teenagers. Skinny dogs sniffed the dirt roads lined with open air gas stations or, to be more specific, short racks of Johnny Walker bottles filled with petrol.

It was only a short walk from our hotel to the bus terminal, but early morning is the busiest time in Ho Chi Minh City, as locals scramble over the best fish and produce sold at narrow sidewalk markets and food stalls. We banged through the crowd clumsily hauling our luggage.

Shortly after finding our seats, the bus began to fill with a decidedly international crowd. I would say that half of the people on the bus were either Vietnamese or Cambodian, but there were a few Frenchman and a clique of young Indian men who smelled strongly of curry. I really don't mean to stereotype and this could have been an isolated incident, but it is my opinion that people tend like what they eat. My first week of teaching in Korea I began to notice that the kids' farts smell like kimchi. My skin smells like garlic if I eat too much of it and my natural armpit odor is enchilada.

On the road again

We were seated toward the back of the bus and I slept most of the way so I did not get a great view of the scenery. I will say that in the US we drive on the right side of the road and in the UK they drive on the left, but it Vietnam they just drive. I am certain that there were dozens of near accidents and close calls. What must be the country's main highway to Cambodia was only two lanes and scooters, buses and cars veered in and out of both at full speed.

At one point, one of the chaperones collected all of the passports and, for a five dollar fee, arranged everything for us at customs on the border. If you didn't want to pay the five dollars you could try and do it all yourself, but it would take longer and you would have to find a way to rejoin the group where they lunched. The group of Indian men chose not to pay, and came running and panting onto the bus just as we prepared to leave after lunch.

Lunch was not overly memorable, but I do remember ordering a beer and asking for a mug filled with ice. This is how I see all of the locals doing it, but for some reason they never offer it to the foreigners. I think maybe they figure we are scared of the ice. Sami certainly is and found my request downright irresponsible.

As the students in Korea say: "Runch-ey"

About halfway into the trip our bus was ferried across a body of water. I am not sure of the name or even if it is a river or lake, so I will have to do some research and revise later. I didn't get a great view of the scenery as we were being ferried across because there were vehicles to our immediate left and another aisle of occupied seats blocking our view to the right.

Upon arriving in Phmom Penh, we were struck by much bigger and busier it is than Siem Reap. The tuk-tuk ride to the hotel didn't have any of the magic of our initial late night carriage due to the traffic and the noise, but the driver was nice, even if he did try to take us to a different hotel- one operated by a family member.

I won't mention the name of our hotel, but it was located in the main tourist area on the river. It seems like a popular ex-pat hangout and is probably known more as a bar than a hotel. Our room upstairs was clean and had a huge bed and flat screen television. Probably the only such tv we have ever seen throughout our cost conscious travels. There were at least a dozen young, attractive Cambodian women (girls?) that worked at the bar/restaurant. It kind of creeped us out how many of the fat old white guys would flirt with the employees, and I wondered just how the owner could afford to pay them all.

Anyway, we ordered some food and then quickly walked to the National Museum before it closed. We soon found out that if we were going to walk places, we would have to pass through the gauntlet of tuk-tuk drivers starving for business. However, we were determined to save money and get some exercise.

The national museum featured many of the same stone relics featured in the Angkor Museum in Siem Reap. The best part about it is the building itself and the courtyard within its walls is a great place to sit and take in the quiet.

Courtyard of the National Museum in Phnom Penh