reverse culture shock

I could tell the moment I set foot back in the States that everything had changed. I would later realize that the only thing that changed was me. I am not a religious person, but I have strong beliefs. They were challenged and thus, strengthened during my trip. They will be challenged to a much greater extent here at home.

Giant white people. Giant cars. Fresh air. Trees. My dad picked us up from the airport and drove us to our house in Salem. Sylvan and I had been up for nearly 24hours but were determined to stay up until 10pm, a feeble attempt to fight jet-lag. We went for a walk in my neighborhood. We walked on clean sidewalks between barren streets and manicured lawns: the perfect picture of suburbia. But suburbia had never felt like such a nightmare. I suppose my tolerance for the 'common American' is waining. Our economy is in a recession. We're depleting our natural resources. The globe is warming. All the signs are there, but nobody's paying attention. And all the stupid white people are still consuming, using, wasting, and trimming their perfect lawns.

I think if I could send every American to a foreign country (specifically China) they might not care so much about the frivolities we fill our lives with. Perhaps they'd care more about the air and the water after visiting a country where drinking water is only found in bottles and a breath of truly fresh air is hard to come by. Perhaps after visiting such a place, they would appreciate how fortunate they are to have been born into a beautiful world and how important it is to take care of what we've been given.

The smog on our last day in Shanghai was so bad, it made my eyes burn. By the end of the day my throat was sore. It just happened to be the day after the conclusion of the paralypmic games; the same day the driving and factory bans were lifted in China. Perhaps it was an especially bad day. Maybe there is some other reason for gloomy grey skies and nearly toxic air. I hope so.

I have felt on more than one occasion that my trip to China was somehow a glimpse into our future and that I have been recruited to help save us. Though this, my final blog entry, is a bit of the 'doom and gloom' variety, have hope! I'm not pessimistic, I'm realistic. And if you read carefully, you'll see that what I speak of is not impending doom, but the beginning of something beautiful. There's still a world worth saving and a whole lot of people out there who want to save it. I'm one of those people and I'm going to make a difference. Thanks for reading.

the people at the zoo

"They have pandas!" somebody exclaimed.

Our one hour bus ride to Suzhou turned into a two plus hour bus ride because our arrogant driver didn't know where he was going and refused to listen to anyone who might have known. When I say bus, I really mean a medium-sized van that was clearly built for tiny Asian people and not for anyone over 5'7". The air conditioning didn't really work and since Sylvan and I were sitting in the front, where there were no operable windows, we didn't have the luxury of fresh air-- or any air for that matter. Maybe we were lucky that we chose the front. Even though we were roasting, at least we weren't crammed up against the seat in front of us. Some of our classmates were less fortunate and once out of the bus, needed several minutes to regain feeling in their sleeping limbs.

After visiting the first site, we got back on the bus, hoping that the driver might be able to get us to our next destination. No luck. We drove around for 45 minutes only to reach a point beyond frustration and be dropped off a couple blocks from where we started. A lot of the sites we had wanted to visit were under construction so we decided to make the most of our situation and just enjoy what was around us. We found a zoo. "They have pandas!" somebody exclaimed. That was enough to convince our group that the zoo was a great idea.

It did seem like a good idea. I was positive that an Asian zoo would have a wide variety of interesting and exotic animals. The rusted monkey cage in front of us looked like a giant industrial-strength bird cage resting on the ground. As we got closer, I saw a crowd of Chinese people standing at the railing that wrapped around the cage, leaving about 3 feet between the humans and the monkeys. Three feet was not enough. The Chinese people were pointing and laughing because someone had given one of the monkeys a cigarette and the monkey was eating it. That kind of thing is hilarious if you like torturing helpless animals. Since I hadn't actually seen anyone give the cigarette to the monkey, I tried to convince myself that someone had dropped the cigarette and one of the monkeys had snatched it off the ground. I tried to convince myself that it was an accident. No one is that stupid or that cruel, right?

Wrong. Some guy pulled out another cigarette and taunted the poor little monkey. The guy didn't hand the cigarette to the monkey but a woman a few feet away gave the monkeys her zoo ticket. The monkeys faught over it and eventually started eating it. Everyone in our group was disgusted. We walked away from the troubling scene not quite knowing what to do with what we had just witnessed.

If you know me at all, you know that I am not a person to stand by and watch things happen. If I'm unhappy with a situation and think something should be done about it, I do something about it. It's hard being in a different country and not being able to communicate with people. If I had been in the US, I would have said something but knowing that the Chinese people would have no idea why I was shouting at them, I didn't think it was a good idea.

We walked toward more cages, which housed bigger monkeys. The sad monkeys sat against the bars of their cages staring blankly. A woman with an umbrella walked toward the cage. I watched her. She lifted her umbrella toward the cage. I continued to watch in disbelief. She actually poked the monkey with the end of her umbrella. I began to fill with rage. It's not a feeling I often experience but it is an intense one. My blood starts to boil, my skin turns green, and my clothes tear as my muscles swell. Wait, no, that's the incredible hulk. My blood really did start to boil... and blinded by rage I wasn't sure what to do. I said out loud "Yeah, poke the monkey. How would you like it if someone poked you." I said it mostly to myself as I assumed the woman spoke no English. She didn't seem to notice that I had said anything. I could have run over to her screaming in a language she wouldn't understand but decided that would be pointless. I decided to walk over to her, slowly, and poke her in the back or side with my finger then stare at her. That way she would know what it was like. I had made my decision. As I began to walk toward her, she walked away. Damn.

Still full of rage, I made my way to the glass cages and watched a leopard anxiously circle its pen. The pen was entirely too small for such a magnificent animal. The guy next to me began tapping the glass with his water bottle. The enormous cat hissed angrily. Again I began to fill with rage. I stared at the man and if looks could kill he would have been killed instantly. He began to hit the glass harder and I reached my breaking point. "Hey" I shouted at him knowing he wouldn't understand but hoping to get his attention. He didn't notice me so I moved closer to him and put my hand between him and the glass. "Bu! Bu. Bu." I said. Bu means No in Chinese. The man was a bit taken back, smiled, and laughed a little. He pointed to the "no touching the glass" sign and smiled. I pointed to it and said "Xie xie." which means thank you. He was probably wondering why the hell some little white girl was enforcing the Zoo rules but I didn't care. He walked away from the glass.

I wanted to run around as some kind of self-appointed rule enforcer or protector of animals and just yell at these incredibly inconsiderate, disrespectful people all day. Maybe it wouldn't help. Maybe I'd get kicked out. Maybe I would just be wasting my breath. I just couldn't believe that people, in this day and age, would treat animals so badly. I saw the caged animals. I saw the people torturing them and laughing. In my eyes, the people at the zoo were the real animals.

art for art's sake

My first art show, though short-lived, was a personal success. I built my city, placed more than 300 people outside the city wall, and hung a bleeding red star from a crane. My piece was dynamic and could have been interpreted in a number of different ways.

I took my inspiration from my travels through China, current events, and my own life-experiences. I had a strong reaction to the yellow star on the Vietnamese flag, and the red star that appears on Chinese soldier uniforms and hats. The red star seems to be the symbol of communism, but my reaction was stronger than a mere association. In response to the lack of resources that were available to me, I found local materials to complete my project. I collected plastic bottles from my classmates. Since there is no potable tap water, I was able to acquire a number of bottles in just a few days. I decided to paper-mache the bottles in order to make the project mostly monochrome, which is an artistic style I enjoy. I was able to get my hands on a stack of old Chinese newspapers. I looked like a homeless lady, collecting empty bottles and old newspapers. It was only embarrassing when empty bottles would fall out of my bag and people would confusedly pick them up for me.

I knew that building a crane out of bottles would be challenging and would not result in the aesthetic I desired. I found a small hardware store near the hotel/dorm we were staying in and Sylvan helped me buy a good length of medium gauge wire, some pliers/snippers, and a bowl. Glue was hard to find so I found a recipe for paper-mache that calls for only flour and water. I went to a grocery store and found a bag of flour.

The days leading up to the art show were stressful. The day of the show was equally, if not more, stressful. There was a bit of controversy about my project. A few people voiced concern that I might offend Chinese people with the red star over the city. Sylvan and I had a long conversation that night. We talked about whether or not I should change my project, what that meant to me and my project, and whether or not art should be offencive. Normally, when someone tells me I can't do something, I find a way around it but since we're in a foreign country, I'm much more willing to compromise.

In an attempt to be sensitive to my surroundings and to the people that had shown me such generosity, I began thinking of other ways to express myself through my art. Since the star seemed to be the real issue, I started thinking of other 'stars' to hang over the city. A quick mental-search yielded limiting results: 1. The star of David: incredibly offensive to a people who have undergone great tragedy, also really not the message I was trying to send. 2. The North star (star of Bethlehem), which strangely resembles a cross, also not the message I was trying to send. I constructed the North star and toyed with the idea of using it. I even hung it at the installation but, being that I really didn't want to make a religious statement, I decided to go with my original idea and my original five-point star. I poured red ink over my beautiful star. It dripped onto the city, the red boldly contrasting the black and white print. A few people were still concerned about the red star. I took quite a bit of heat for that decision, but felt good because I refused to compromise the integrity of my artwork.

The thing I did compromise on was the title of my piece. Although "One world. One dream." was more than fitting, China is proud of the fact that they hosted the 2008 Olympics. I decided to choose a name I felt would be ambiguous enough to stir curiosity. I called my bleeding utopian city "Beautiful."

Going back to the conversation that Sylvan and I had when I was initially faced with the 'red star' dilemma: I have often struggled with the idea of meaningful art and art for art's sake. I have never been an artist but now that I've been faced with the challenge of creating something for other people to see and experience, I've decided that I don't want to force people into seeing or feeling something. I want to create art that is meaningful to me and somewhat meaningful to other people. It is my hope that my art means different things to different people and that there is no perceivable intended meaning.

So I built my city, placed more than 300 people outside the city wall, and hung a bleeding red star from a crane. I will leave the interpretation up to you.

entirely too much

I can't possibly write about everything that we've done on this trip. Our days are action packed and we're bussed from place to place. Sometimes we know where we're going, other times it's somewhat of a surprise. Since a picture is worth a thousand words, I'll show you some of the things we've seen and done. Some highlights: A giant golden Buddha, hand-painted kites, tiny turtles, beautiful Chinese people, wood-block printing, and giant crickets... oh... and the cutest puppy I've ever seen.

china's goodwill outlet

We've been traveling for over two months. I brought three pairs of shorts with me and bought a pair of jeans in Bangkok. I have four or five cotton t-shirts, most of which are visibly worn. When we started the trip, I took the time to put a little make-up on in the morning. I haven't worn make-up in a month. I haven't had a haircut and my bangs are becoming dangerously long. Picture me in worn clothes, with shaggy hair, and without makeup. Here's a picture of me from this morning: When I present my work on Tuesday, I want to look presentable. Our free time thus far in Jinan has been scarce. Most days we're at the SUAD campus working with our partners from 8am-8pm. When we get home we work on our individual art projects. On the days we don't go to campus, we go on tours. Often we leave earlier and return later. I've been meaning to buy a dress or a skirt for the exhibition and was hopful that I might have time to do so in Jinan. I paid careful attention on our bus rides to and from our hotel/dorm and noticed that there are a number of clothing shops just a few blocks from where we're staying. One shop, in particular, peeked my interest. It wasn't the fanciest, nor the trendiest shop we passed. It was the simple storefront window, behind which were piles of clothes and a hand written sign that read "15Y." As we passed the store, I quickly memorized its location in relation to our hotel/dorm. I waited for four nights hoping to steal away from the group but never found an opportunity. Finally, last night I had my chance.

We had the option to take a local bus back early and grab dinner on our own. I jumped at the opportunity and though I was hungry when I got off the bus, I knew I wouldn't have another opportunity to search for a dress or skirt. Sylvan agreed to accompany me on my clothing adventure and so we set out for the 15Y shop. We passed the designer shops and peeked in a few of them. I refused to pay twenty us dollars for a skirt I may never wear again. I'm just not built like a Chinese woman and the more "designer" the clothing, the more tailored it will be to fit a tiny Chinese woman. After walking a few blocks and passing a number of clothing shops that had already closed for the night, we stumbled upon our destination.

The storefront was generic and it could have been a grocery store as easily as pharmacy or clothing store. No sign advertising name or brand hung above the door. The hand written "15Y" paper taped to the inside of the window was the only identifying sign. We walked in to find clothing piled on tables and thrown hapazardly into boxes and bins. Sweaters and sweatshirts hung along the perimeter of the room. No doubt, China's version of the goodwill outlet. No one seemed to notice or care that we had entered. Men and women picked through the clothing and tried things on over their clothes wherever they happened to be standing. There was a full-lenght mirror proped up against the wall by the front door.

I sifted through the pile of clothing nearest the door. The clothes seemed to be grouped by gender. Tops and bottoms had also been separated. I found myself browsing the women's bottoms table. The size selection was slim and since I'm neither a zero nor an eighteen, the pickings were slim. I found a coupld of skirts that I thought were interesting and grabbed them to try on. The medium skirt was entirely too small and the large seemed a bit snug, but fit. Skirt in hand, the search for a shirt began. I didn't see any shirts but didn't lose hope. I sauntered around the room until my gaze fell upon a medium-sized cardboard box near the cash register. Shirts! Well, tank tops. Ugly tank tops. I tried a couple on over my shirt only to realize that my man-shoulders and rib-cage were not meant for Chinese clothing. I dug to the bottom of the box and found a taupe collared shirt. Size S. I kept digging and found a medium. I doubted the medium would fit but was pleasantly surprised when it appeared to fit my shoulders and even more pleased when I was able to button the shirt without dificulty. Finally, an outfit for the exhibition.

I asked the woman at the register, in Chinese, how much the clothes cost. She answered, in Chinese, 25 yuan. For four US dollars, I found myself a great Chinese outfit and enjoyed shopping with locals. They pulled the gate down over the door as we left. Our timing was impecable.

progress

Making progress with Lily has been difficult but things are starting to pick up today. Even though it's difficult for us to communicate, we are both hard workers and are both producing work. It's been really interesting to see how our missed communications turn out and how they fit together into our project. I'm really excited to see how it all turns out. Yesterday Lily was working on the video editing software and I didn't know how to help or what to do. She suggested that I create background images in illustrator. I've never done that, but wanted to contribute more to the project so I sat down on one of the computers and taught myself.

















I've also been working on my personal project in the evenings. I'm building a city out of water bottles and using Chinese newspaper to paper mache the whole thing. The city is Beijing and it is surrounded by a great wall. Inside the wall there is a crane that holds a bleeding star over the city. Outside the wall are the people. Instead of acting as protection against enemies, the wall serves to keep the people out of their own city... A city for no one. I'm titling the project "One World. One Dream" as a tribute to the Olympics and their affect on China. The bleeding star is a symbol of the future and how communism and capitalism are bleeding onto the world. The exhibition is Tuesday. Pictures coming soon.

be a nice tourist

The signs with Chinese translated to English are almost never correct. Here are a few particularly interesting examples.

flying cowgirl

We had an action packed Tuesday. Like everyday, we he had breakfast near the hotel/dorm we're staying in. Breakfast here isn't anything like it is back home. Half the stuff I can't quite identify and can't imagine stomaching, especially at 6:30am. My favorite parts of breakfast are the glass of warm milk and the fried bread. So after a hearty, and somewhat strange, breakfast we got on a bus and headed toward Qufu (Confucius's Temple, Grave, etc.) We arrived to find that a tour had been arranged for us.

I've never really been a fan of guided tours through ancient monuments, museums, etc. This was no exception. Our "English speaking guide" spoke to us as if she thought WE didn't speak English. She spelled out most words two or three times and was constantly repeating herself. And as if she wasn't obnoctious enough, like most people in Asia who speak just enough English, her favorite thing to shout at us was "Hello." Maybe my patience is beginning to dwindle after traveling for almost 8 weeks in countries who's primary source of income is tourism. Contrary to popular belief, Hello does not mean 'excuse me'. Hello is not a way to get my attention, nor is it something to shout as I pass by your store, booth, or cart. Hello does not mean 'follow me' or 'come this way.' Hello is a greeting... and it's supposed to be friendly. I'm so completely over Hello. End rant. Anyway, I had an okay time being herded through Confucius's Temple, though the parts I enjoyed most were sans tour guide.

We had an amazing lunch at a four start restaurant that serves us dishes that resembled the Americanized Chinese food I'm accostomed to back home. It was less salty, more familiar, and (like every meal) paid for by SUAD. We were running short on time so instead of hiking up Mount Taian, we took a gondola up to the top. Atop a beautiful mountain with abundant fresh flowing streams, there is a town built for tourists. Like most of the beautiful monuments we've visited throughout our travels, the tourist industry has inflicted unhealable wounds. People sell coffee, buttons, bracelets, pots, and anything else they think you might want. Some of the kids in our class succombed to the temptation and bought souvenirs. Sylvan and I, in protest of what tourism has done to beatiful and ancient sites, stayed away from trinkets and souvenirs. I did buy an ice cream cone only to discover that it wasn't really ice cream but some kind of banana syrup icey. It was not extremely delicious.

We had a very limited amount of time on top of the mountain but it was enough. Whether the cloud cover was thick or the smog was especially bad, the view was less than amazing and the monochrome sky and lingering haze made everything look a little grey.

That flying cowgirl is me.

i eat bugs

That's a giant locus. I ate two of them. Sylvan ate a bunch. They're crunchy and taste kind of like duck heart. Locus isn't all that bad if you can get past the fact that you just shoved a huge bug in your mouth and you'll have to floss its little bug-legs out of your teeth later.

art... in china

All of the students we are working with are juniors at Shandong University School of Art and Desing (SUAD). Most of them are 21 and look 14 but they are all incredibly friendly and eager to learn. We have enjoyed a very warm welcome here from students and faculty alike.

Li Li (or Lily) is my Chinese student-partner. She is adorable. She speaks better English than I do Chinese, but the language barrier is difficult. We've decided to do a video project together. Things are moving slowly, but I imagine that they'll start to pick up in the next couple days... especially since our exhibition in Sunday. I'm working on an individual project for the exhibition as well as my partner-project with Lily. I'm very excited to see how both turn out.

I'm still having a hard time adjusting to Chinese customs. Lily and Sylvan's partner, Jared, insist on paying for all of our meals, drinks, snacks, etc. Jared even bought some supplies for Sylvan at the school store. Lily and Jared insist that Sylvan and I sit together at every meal and if we're walking somewhere as a group, they always make sure that Sylvan and I are near each other. It's cute and at the same time very strange. Sylvan and I have done our best to argue for the bill but we because we don't speak Chinese, we seem always to be at a disadvantage.

My classmates and I have noticed that our Chinese partners are eager to work with us but that they are more eager to follow our instruction and make us happy. I have asked Lily several times what she would like to do, but she always defauts to my suggestions. I am under the assumption that creativity is not encouraged as much in the Chinese education system and that it may be unnatural for a lot of these kids to come up with ideas on their own.

Our days have been filled with partner-project time, meals, and various other activities. Every other day we take a trip to some famouse monument, temple, mountain, etc. The University is taking extremely good care of us to the point where I wish they weren't. It's nice to have a schedule, but unfortunate when you are rushed and herded like cattle from one destination to anther. It's also unfortunate that we don't have m0re free time to wander the streets and hang out with our new Chinese friends. I enjoy them most when we're walking from place to place or during meals when we can talk about our cultural differences and share experiences with one another. Today we were able to sneak away after lunch for a while and play ping pong. We also found a few minutes after dinner to play a short game of basketball as the last rays of smoggy daylight faded over the mountains.

amazing human being

Sylvan is quite popular with the locals. His hacky sac skills have helped bridge the communication gap and allowed him to communicate and interact with local people in a very unique way. Inside the gates of the forbidden city, we found a few groups of people playing the Chinese version of hacky sack. They don't play with a ball, but with a coin wrapped in leather and attached to a feather or a group of feathers. In Vietnam they play something similar and call it "kick kick." It's been interesting to see the transformation of these hacky sac like toys through SE Asia.



Everyone was impressed with Sylvan's skills and even though I couldn't tell what they were saying, it was easy to see that they enjoyed watching him kick they're toy around. At one point they even cheered and clapped.After Sylvan played with this group of people, they gave him one of their hand made hacky sacs. It's probably the most interesting and unique souvenir we've acquired on our trip.

After playing hacky sac, we walked around a bit more and found a man with two sticks and a baton. He was twirling and throwing the baton around and invited us to try it. He spoke very enthusiastic English and was overly impressed with our lack of skill. He told me that I was a natural, but that was nothing compared to the praise Sylvan received. The man was absolutely in awe of Sylvan's natural abilities. He said many things. Here are a few of the better ones:
"You must be great athlete!"
"Amazing human being!"
"It is an honor to watch you play!"
It was really hilarious. We drew a crowd. We seem to draw a crowd wherever we go. People are interested in what we're doing, no matter what it is, and many Chinese ask if they can take pictures of us.

oh good, they have pictures

Most of our meals have been as a group. All 14 of us sit and watch in awe as our professor and instrctor order for us in Chinese. The plates of food come one at a time and quickly fill the lazy susan in he middle of the table. Ying and Edwin have tried to expose us to the Chinese culture as much as possible and have encouraged us to try new things and local dishes. In China, if you eat a nice restuarant, it is taboo to eat all the food on your table and even more taboo to ask for a doggy bag (to go). If you are wealthy, you show it by ordering too much food and leaving whatever you don't eat (ususally quite a bit) on the table. This sounds silly, but it's kind of tricky. We went out to eat with some Chinese artists and they treated us to dinner. Even though we were supposed to leave food on the table, they kept encouraging us to eat and asking us if we liked the food. I'm not quite sure what you're supposed to do in those situations. I don't understand these customs.

When we manage to venture out on our own, our only hope is that the menu will have pictures. Otherwise, the only thing I know how to say is beef noodle soup and dumplings. Don't get me wrong, beef noodle soup and dumplings are delicious, but it would be nice to try some other things. So a group of us found ourselves near Tiananmen Square and hungry. We found a restaurant and sat down. Oh good, they have pictures. We looked through the menu and ordered one plate with meat, one plat of vegetables, and some dumplings. We tried to pick meat that looked like chiken or beef. When the dish came, it looked like neither. It didn't even look like the picture of the dish we had ordered. The pieces of meat looked like fingers. We were unable to identify what animal they had come from. We were also unable to identify what part of the animal they might be. We decided, after looking at the menu a second time, that they had brought us the wrong dish. Sylvan had clearly pointed to the dish on the bottom right hand corner of the page, and they had brought us the dish from the top left. Our waiter didn't speak English but I managed to ask him which dish he had brought us. He pointed to the one at the top left. I somehow convinced him that it was the wrong dish and he took it away and brough us the right one. It was fried in a batter and looked more appetizing, but unfortunately we were still unable to identify it. We at it anyway and enjoyed a meal we'd ordered on our own. Most of the meal was spent guessing what we were eating. Christian thought it was some kind of organ. I joked that it was duck butt. I just figured that since we'd sent a dish back, the kitchen staff was pissed and served us duck rectum or something. We were curious to see what we'd eaten so we took a picture of the menu and decided to ask our professor later that evening.

The good news is that both of the mystery meat dishes were duck... so at least we weren't eating dog. The bad news is that the one we sent back was duck tongue and the one we ate was duck heart. Another great adventure.

way to go mao

Big brother is watching.  The streets are unusually clean.  The transit system is efficient.  Cranes tower over the cityscape as buildings take root and begin to rise.  The Chinese flag is over every shop, on buildings, cars, and bikes.  Children wave it on the streets.  The city is growing exponentially and with the recent boom associated with the Olympic Games, Beijing is bigger and better than ever.  China is proud.

for the people

We visited a few art districts, explored the forbidden city, and walked the streets of Beijing.  The art was powerful, the forbidden city was big and ornate, but what I really loved was the people.

airport limbo

Beijing is the biggest city I've ever experienced. It is expansive to a point that is entirely un-walkable and essentially unmanageable. Even local people are lost in their own city.

Our flight from Bangkok to Beijing was delayed... 5 hours. That's right. We were scheduled to leave at 7am. That means that Sylvan and I were up at 3am, at the airport at 4am, and delayed at 4:30am. Our flight was initially delayed and set to leave at 9:30, so we got breakfast and wandered around the Bangkok airport. We would have gone to our gate, but seeing as the flight was delayed, no gate was posted. After only 3 hours of sleep, we were exhausted. We found a comfy (sort of) spot to sit and waited it out until 8am, when we checked the monitors again. Our flight was further delayed and now scheduled to leave at noon. Sylvan and I, in our exhausted state, were in good spirits. We wandered further through the airport and thought about different games we could play while we waited for our flight. Our best ideas were hide and seek or a wicked scavenger hunt. We never actually played, but thinking about it was entertaining enough.

Since we had already gone through immigration, we couldn't leave the airport. We had officially been stamped out of Thailand but had not entered any other country. We were in some kind of airport limbo. Sri Lankan Air managed to strand us in the middle of the airport with no way to contact them. Since I like being in control and am generally impatient, I found an information kiosk and asked how to contact our phantom airline. The woman at the desk gave me a phone number and pointed to a phone.  The man on the other line spoke english with an indian accent.  I politely asked why our flight had been delayed and if they were anticipating any further delays.  The man assured me that the flight would leave at noon.  Then he asked if I had gotten my free meal voucher.  I was instantly appeased.  It was brilliant.

A free lunch later, I was still exhausted, but a little happier and we made it to our gate in time for our 12:15 flight, which actually left at 12:30.  I've never flown with Sri Lanka but I would fly with them again.  The flight announcements were in english and sounded very much like they normally do on a domestic flight in the States except somehow more sincere.  When the announcer said, "It has been our pleasure to serve you" I believed that he was ACTUALLY pleased.  The in-flight movie was "Made of Honor" staring the overly-popular but somehow still charming Patrick Dempsey.  Major chick flick... it was exactly what I needed.  Plus, we got a meal on the plane and Sylvan had two glasses of whiskey... at no extra cost.  I won't mention the half hour of incredibly bad turbulence or the fact that someone two rows up from us threw up all over the place during the complimentary meal.  Oops.

We got to Beijing at around 6pm, made it through customs, and attempted to figure out how to get to our hostel, The Temple Side Hostel.  Because we're really smart, we had the address of the hostel.  We didn't have the phone number, nor did we have a map, nor did we know where the hostel was on a map.  We soon realized that no one at the airport would speak english so we asked a woman who was on our flight to translate the address from english to chinese.  She wrote the characters in Sylvan's notebook.  We then showed the characters to the woman selling bus tickets.  She spoke chinese and pointed to a stop.  "Xidan."  I grabbed a map of Beijing from an information kiosk and we were on our way.  It was dark out and I gazed out the window in awe of this new city.  Beijing was lit up like a Christmas tree.  Classier than the lights of Vegas, but incredibly over the top.  The bus dropped us at Xidan, which happened to be a huge shopping mall.  We found the street that matched the address of the hostel and determined that the hostel was off of an alley.  As I mentioned before, Beijing is HUGE.  It appeared that our hostel was within walking distance of Xidan so we started walking.  We tried to ask people for directions but no one seemed to recognize the street or the address.  Most people pointed the way we were going so we continued.  A young man who spoke a little English approached us and tried to help us.  He grabbed our map and the address with one hand.  His other hand held a half eaten cob of corn.  He ran around frantically asking security guards and locals if they knew they way.  No one did.  After running us around in circles for 15 minutes, he tried to get us onto a bus and we thanked him, but decided to continue walking.  A mile or so later, another guy who spoke a little bit of English tried to help us using the same technique.  It was mildly amusing but it was nearly 9pm and we'd been walking for over an hour.  I was hungry and tired.  I thought we were close to where the hostel should be, but was still unsure.  The man told us which bus to get on and where to get off.  This time we got on the bus.  Once off the bus, we realized that we were getting desperate and weren't necessarily any closer to finding the hostel.  We went to an upscale hotel in the hopes that someone there might speak English.  They didn't.  We decided to walk back to where we had gotten on the bus and look for the alley.  It was nearly 10pm when we got back to the bus stop.  Sylvan and I were hungry, tired, worried we wouldn't find it, and losing patience with each other.  

Sylvan spotted the "TempLe Side" (that's literally how it was written) sign and our hope was restored.  We looked around and saw no signs of a hostel.  We walked down the dark alley and around a corner.  We spotted another sign.  100m or so down the alley and around two or three corners we finally found the Temple Side Hostel.  We knocked on the door and checked in.  I have no idea how we found it.

sorry kids

Watching the sunset over Luang Prabang, Laos was beautiful:

My favorite picture of Sylvan so far... he looks like a little old Greek fisherman or something. Look at that CRAZY beard!

Sylvan was sick for a few days so we took it easy and hung around Luang Prabang sampling the local food and eating more than our share of baked good from the delicious Scandinavian Bakery. Seriously amazing chocolate croissants. After a few days of lazing around, over-eating, and over-sleeping, Sylvan was feeling better and we were both feeling a bit ancy. During our walks around town, we had seen a number of relatively inexpensive massage and spa services. We were particularly interested in a local herbal steam treatment. It sounded relaxing and fun, but neither of us were sold on the idea. If we had time, and it worked out... great,but we decided that volunteering our time was more fulfilling. We decided to check out the "Big Brother Mouse" organization, which encourages local children to learn to read. Foreigners are welcome to donate money or volunteer time. Big Brother Mouse matches volunteers with children so the volunteers can read aloud to the children... kind of like story time at a local library. We wanted a bit more information and to check the place out. Luckilly, the office was close to our guesthouse. We walked over around noon to find a sign on the door that said "will return at 12:30" so we decided to have lunch and try again that afternoon. We came back around one and the sign was still on the door. It was hot and even though we were in the shade, we were both dripping with sweat.

I know, I'm horrible. Fifteen minutes later, when no one had showed and it was nearly 1:30, Sylvan and I headed into town for a milkshake and a massage. Two and a half hours of affordable amazing massage... awww... My two favorite parts: 1. the small Lao woman hopping up on the massage table and walking up and down my back and legs, 2. the amazing aroma from the hot herbal steam... sorry kids.

the hmong village

Glug, glug, glug. I looked down toward my feet and the source of the strange sound. Water bubbled in through a crack in the tiny wooden boat. We reached the shore. Our feet sank deeper into the muck with each sloppy step as we walked up the muddy bank into the small river-side village. No roads reach this place, but they have running water and electricity. The river provides transportation and access to outside food and goods.Children run toward us waving and yelling "Sabadee!" which means hello in Lao.

We walk passed small stores and cement houses. The people look happy and healthy. Our guide, Lee, explains that we are in a Khmu village. The three main tribes in Laos are the Lao Loum, the Khmu, and the Hmong. Lee is Hmong, the poorest of the three tribes. We continue our journey through the jungle. We walk up and down hills and finally, up a very steep slope. An hour and a half after leaving the Khmu village, we reach our main destination, the Hmong village in the mountains.

No children ran to greet us. We walk passed one small thatch-roof structure housing handmade crafts. A very dirty, naked baby wearing only a bracelet sits between his grandmother's legs. The men and women are out working the fields. The children and elders are the only people left in the village. No one seems to notice or acknowledge our presence. We stop 50ft down the path at a similar structure to have lunch. Under the shade of the thatch-roof, two women sit on an elevated bamboo mat with two small children. One of the women works on a hand-stitched pillow case. The other lays there, fanning herself and watching her baby play with an empty water bottle. The women are dressed simply in well-used clothes you might find at a goodwill back home. The children's clothes are filthy. One of the little girls wears a dirt-stained t-shirt and skirt. The other wears a t-shirt, but no pants and has dirt smeared across the right side of her face. They are both about 18 months old. The girl in the skirt waves to us and smiles. It's the first expression of kindness I've seen from someone in the village. I smile and wave back. Other children approach us. They do not smile or wave, but look at us strangely. Bits and pieces of torn and stained clothing hang from their dirty bodies. The youngest children are naked from the waste down. Unlike the children from the Khmu village, none of the children around us smile, laugh, or play. Like their elders around them, the children look sad and bored. I began to feel troubled.

We have lunch and Lee tells us that the villagers live here because the land is free. The twenty families that live here have never had the privilege of running water or electricity. Lee explains that it is common to have as many as 9 children. The more children you have, the more help you have in the fields. The village grows food to feed itself. The people pay no utilities, no taxes, and no rent. Their only source of income is from the crafts they sell to other Lao people, who in turn, sell the goods at the night market in the city. One man sits outside his house weaving beautiful baskets. One basket takes three full days work. Lee speaks to him in native Hmong and the man invites us in. The house is built on the ground. We walk through the small door and into the dark space. It smells of smoke. The dwelling consists of one large room with several bamboo cots along the perimeter and an assortment ragged clothing and used goods strewn about. Cobwebs dominate the spaces between structural ceiling members. Sylvan and I look up and a startled by several large spiders. "Spiders in the house are good luck," Lee says with a smile. Lee explains that this is a typical Hmong house. To our left is the "kitchen" where a fire simmers and glows bright orange in the dark room. Above it are husks of corn, drying in preparation for next years crop. A small wooden pot filled with rice sits to the right of the "kitchen" on a small wooden bench. I looked around the half-dark room. "An entire family lives here," I thought to myself. It was like something out of national geographic. A place that I have seen, but somehow thought didn't really exist. Could people actually live this way? The village is completely isolated, an hour and a half hike from any other village.

We walked through the rest of the village, then returned to the picnic table and benches under the thatched roof. We stayed there for some time. I watched the two women on the bamboo. One of them lied down. They sat and lied there for over an hour, not doing anything. The children walked around in groups, back and forth from house to house. I wanted to go the village to see the minority people, to visit with them, to play with the children, to experience their lives. I asked Lee what the people in the village, the elders and the children, do all day to occupy their time. He thought for a moment, then replied "Nothing." I left the village feeling quite depressed. I have seen many poor people throughout my travels in SE Asia. I have never seen a people so unhappy.

As we hiked the next two hours through the jungle, I reflected on what I had seen, what it meant to me, and what I should learn from this experience. The trek back was strenuous and the path was over-grown. The jungle was loud and crawling with life. We also found a lot of the jungle life crawling on us: giant centipedes and beetles, black worms, armies of ants, and swarms of butterflies. The insects in the jungle are larger than life, like something out of an Indiana Jones movie. We managed to make it through the jungle safely. Another adventure...

crossing the border (continued)

See "crossing the border" below for the first part of this story.

Once safely on the bus and in our seats, one of the guys at the front walked down the aisle handing out bottles of water. The bus was air conditioned and reasonably comfortable. The TV at the front of the bus showed some bad Vietnamese Kung Fu film with fake fight scenes. The speakers blasted "SMACK,CRASH, KA-PWING" as people wer hit, thrown, and shot at. It was comical and only mildly annoying. The bus was nothing special, but not bad. The road was bumpy and the film was loud but I tried to sleep anyway. An hour later, 11:30am, the bus stopped in front of a small road-side cafe/restaurant. The driver and a few guys got off and I assumed it was a bathroom break seeing as how many of the passengers had been on the bus for some hours before Sylvan and I had gotten on. I went back to sleep. Half an hour later, we were still there. Everyone had gotten of the bus and was having lunch at the little cafe. I wasn't hungry so I stayed on the bus and went back to sleep. An hour later, we were off again.

I was a little worried that we had missed the opportunity to eat a meal, but we had a couple snacks with us and assumed that we would stop again for dinner. The Kung Fu movie ended and was followed by the even less exciting sequel. Sylvan decided that since only one guy from the first movie had managed to stay alive, they had to make a sequel to kill him off. I put in ear plugs to drown out the noise and put my hankercheif over my eyes. Then I smelled smoke. Could someone actually be smoking on the bus? Of course... because I'm in SE Asia and anything is possible here. Sure enough, the guy in front of me was smoking a cigarette. In the air conditioned VIP bus, the windows didn't open so I tried to breath more slowly in order to inhale less of the smoke. Most of the buses we've been on have clearly displayed no smoking signs. This bus did not. For some reason, I just didn't expect that smoking would be permitted on public transportation, even in SE Asia. It's funny the things you take for granted.

From what I had read, the border crossing at Lao Bao was about an hour and a half away from Hue. After the Kung Fu Wonder Movies, the man at the front of the bus put in some kind of Vietnamese Celebrity Song and Dance competition. It was easy to see that the announcing was cheesy, even in Vietnamese. The dancing was mildly entertaining and even though the sound was loud, it was more pleasing than the constant sound of fighting and gunfire. A few minute before reaching the border, we stopped at a random village and two girls, without luggage, boarded the bus. They immidiatly walked toward Sylvan, who was one of the last passengers in the bus and, since I was slumped down in my seat, the only tourist visible. They wanted us to exchange our Vietnamese Dong for Lao Kip. Having lost money in border currency exchanges, and expecially seeing as they had targetted the first tourist in sight, I advised Sylvan not change any money. Ironically, I was carrying most of our cash. After insisting several times that Sylvan change money with her, the first girl finally got the picture and asked me. I know that I look mean and come accross as rude, but in cases such as these, I think it works to my benefit. I only had to refuse one time and the girl left me alone. A few of the other passengers changed small amounts of money. We stopped at a gas station and I noticed A group of three women sitting around a table. The two girls who had gotten off of our bus joined them. Sylvan and I concluded that it must be some kind of corrupt currency exchange business. As we waited for the gas tank to fill, a different woman from the table got up and boarded the bus. Again she walked striaght to Sylvan. She insisted that he change money with her and kept repeating the same two or three phrases over and over again for nearl two minutes. "You change dong with me. No change at border. You have dong? You have dollars? You change with me." I'm not a patient person and one thing that I absolutely can't stand is when you politely refuse someone over and over and they continue to insist. Poor Sylvan was being so nice. Well, I'm not so nice. "Hey!" I shouted at her. She turned around and looked at me. I said, rudely, "No. He said no. He doesn't want to change money" and I waved my and toward the door in the way you might shew a cat or a dog away from you. Regardless of whether or not she understood what I said, she got the idea and walked off the bus. We left the gas station and just as the Celebrety Competition ended, we reached the border.

We got out of the bus in Lao Bao to have our passports and Vietnamese visas stamped and processed. We found ourselves at the back of the line. Poor, stupid, white tourists. I left my exit paperwork in my luggage so I had to run back out to the bus and get the driver to open the luggage compartment under the bus. This was quite a task as the driver spoke no English. I ran up the the bus and he pointed at the office indicating that I should go back over there. I said "visa papers" and made a little square with my hands, then motioned writing on the box. I then pointed to the luggage compartment and said "bag." The driver ran back into the bus and got me a pen. I smiled and shook my head and again pointed to the lugguge compartment and said "visa, paper" making a square with my hands. He understood, went to the luggage compartment, and pulled out my bag." I opened it quickly and pulled out a small stack of papers. The driver spotted the visa, grunted, and pointed at it. I locked my bag, he put it back in with the other luggage, then pointed for me to go back to the office, and in some kind of sign language explained that the bus would drive over the border and I would walk. Since this was common border-crossing practice, I understood and shook my head yes. Sylvan was still at the back of the line when I got back. By the time we had finished with the Vietnamese side of the border, all the other passengers on our bus had already walked over the the Laos side and were getting their passports stamped. Clouds rolled in over the hills and it began to rain.

Apparently, if you are a resident of SE Asia, you don't need a visa to travel between SE Asian countries. Sylvan and I walked to the Laos side of the border and up to the "Visa on Arrival" counter and were handed two full sheets of paper each. We were not given a pen. Luckilly we both had a pen handy. As we sat down and began filling out our visa applications, the last passenger on our bus got his passport stamped and started walking away. One of the guys who seemed to be in charge of the bus came over to us and got out attention. He pointed at the bus, and made the motion of getting our passports stamped, then pointed back toward the bus and down the road. He spoke in Vietnamese and maybe broken English but neither Sylvan nor I could understand a word he said. We nodded that we understood, assuming that the he and the other passengers would drive a little further down the road and that we should meet them there. A few minutes later, when none of our fellow passengers were in site, the man came back and performed the same sign language dance, this time with more fervor. Again we nodded that we uderstood. He ran back toward the bus. We were about half way through our paperwork. As thunder crashed and the rain drops began to swell, our bus sped off down the road. Sylvan jumped up and nervously exclaimed, "Our bus is leaving!" I replied "They wouldn't leave us, I think they're just going down the road" and continued with my paper work. We were both a little nervous about the busses rapid departure but couldn't even chase after it without a Lao Visa. Ten minutes and $70 later, we headed out toward the direction the bus had gone. There was an ATM and a money exchange teller. I asked what the exchange rate was and the teller held up a sign that showed dollars to kip and euros to kip. I aksed about dong. "No dong" she said and the two women standing next to the window, who were dressed exactly like the two women that had boarded our bus before the border, immediately began pestering me to change dong with them. Why on earth would a money exchange teller on the border between Vietnam and Laos not accept Vietnamese currency? Something was wrong. I smelled a scandal and refused to change money at the border.

Sylvan and I began to walk down the road and saw no sign of our bus. "They probably went to a cafe down the road to wait for us." I said, but we had both already begun to panice. The rain had let up a little, but the groud was slick and muddy. My flip flops splattered the backs of my legs with mud as I walked quickly down the road, frantically searching for any sign of our bus. Men on motorbikes passed us and honked, trying to sell us a ride. We refused again and again. We walked accross a small bridge a quarter mile from the border and still saw no signs of our bus. "Something's not right." Sylvan said in a panic, "They shouldn't have driven this far." We increased our pace and kept walking. "We should go back the border and call." Sylvan said in desperation as he again increased our pace. "Would they really leave us? But, all of our stuff. Should we have gotten our bags before we crossed the border? If they were going to leave why wouldn't they leave our bags?" I said still hoping to see the bus, but coming to grips with the fact that I would probably never see the bus, or my bag again. "Okay, we'll just go around this corner, then we're turning back," Sylvan announced decidedly. A half mile from the border, we were both jogging in a panicked state. I spotted a cafe and what I thought was our bus. Just as we increased our pace into a half-sprint, one of the men from our bus came toward us on a motor bike. He nearly ran into us before we saw him as our gaze was focussed on the cafe ahead. Sylvan and I stopped running, smiled, and put our hands on our chests in relief. The man was coming to check on us. He pointed to the bus and signed for us to go there.

I cannot explain the feelings of panic, frustration, anger, and fear that coarsed through me during the half mile journey from the border to our bus. It's the feeling that no one is coming to save you. I imagine it would be similar to being lost in a dense forest having told no one where you were going. No one would know you were missing and no one would know you were lost. No one would come looking for you. OUr situation was not so dire. We had each other, we had our passports and credit cards, we had access to a telephone. But having never experienced anything like this, it was quite an eye-openning experience.

Our fellow passengers were finishing up cups of tea and coffee as we made it to the bus. I akeed to use the restroom as they men in charge tried to herd us back on the bus and found the squat toilet, aka hole in the ground, behind the cafe. As I climbed the stairs into the bus, one of the passengers, holding her small child, ran toward me and the bus door screaming. I moved out of her way and she ran past me and out the bus door as the smell of feces wafted after her. A lot of people here can't afford diapers and it's common for little kids to go to the bathroom in their pants. She ran to the bathroom sink, aka a large trough with a bucket, ripped off the kids pants and began splashing buckets of water on the poor little kid in an attempt to clean him off. She rinsed off the front of her shirt and rinsed out the kid's pants, then returned to the bus.

I took my seat and stared blankly ahead. Sylvan asked me if I was okay. "Not really," I said as I tried to process what had just happened. I was worried. I was worried that, not having changed money, we might not be able to buy food until we reached our final destination the following morning. I was worried that the people on the bus would once again leave us virtually stranded. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to sleep that night out of concern for my safety and well-being. The bus started, the movie blared, and we continued our journey.

At 4:30 we stopped in the middle of nowhere. Sylvan and I got off the bus, hoping to get something to eat. We walked into what appeared to be a restaurant, aka covered patio with tables and chairs. We asked the driver and men in charge how long we were going to stay at this place. They pointed at one of the female passengers on the bus. Apparently she was the only one that spoke any English. We repeated the question pointing to our watches. "Two o'clock" she said. Sylvan and I looked at our watches, 4:30pm. "What does that mean?" Sylvan said to me. "Two hours? That can't be right. We're not going to be here for two hours." I said. The woman saw our confusion and told us that we should eat. We pulled out our dong and told her that we had no kip. She told the owner of the restaurant and they said okay. We handed her 55,000 dong, roughly $4. She said, "You like rice, chicken, soup?" We agreed and sat down. A different woman brought out two plates. The plate she set in front of me had a large portion of rice, what appeared to be some kind of omlette or scramble, and a fish head about the size of my fist. Sylvan had a smimilar dish but instead of a fish head, he had the tail.

I ate almost everything on my plate. I was so happy to have food. I ate parts of the fish head, leaving the eyes and mouth intact. They didn't serve us any drinks, but they had given the other passengers tea, which is comparable to serving water with a meal at a restuarant in the States. I tried to ask for a drink, but the woman pointed to an open cooler containing bottled and canned drinks. I signed that I had no money to pay for them. She didn't care and went about her business. Sylvan walked over to the other passengers and asked one of the guys if we could have some tea. The man was very friendly and though he didn't understand English, he knew what Sylvan was asking. He handed Sylvan his cup and pointed to the tea. It was such an intimate gesture. He literally gave us his cup so we could drink.

The sun set over the mountains. The bus was dark except for the over-lit television. I put a hankercheif over my eyes and tried to sleep. In a half-sleeping state I watched the scenery outside pass under the moonlight. It was surprising light out and I noticed that we were driving trhough water. In fact, as far as I could see was water. We were driving through a flooded area. A foot or so of water covered the ground. At one point we stopped to clear a fallen tree from the road. I was pleasantly surprised to make it through without too much of a delay.

At 1:30am, four and a half hours before our scheduled arrival time, we arrived in Vientiane, Laos. We were exhausted. We climbed off the bus and double checked with other passengers to make sure that we were actually in Vientiane. A tuk tuk driver spotted us, the only white people in the crowd, and began hassling us. He wanted 60,000 kip (about $7), which seemed like way too much money even if it was the middle of the night. We found the woman who spoke a little English and aksed her for help. The next thing we knew, we were getting onto a share taxi with other passengers from our bus. A share taxi is actually a small truck with seats in the bed. A bike, several bags and boxes, our luggage, one small family, a young woman, and Sylvan and I were crammed into the tiny truck bed. Our driver dropped off the other passengers and took us the to guesthouse we requested. He knocked on the door and woke up the receptionist (guesthouse receptionsists often sleep in the lobby for security and for late arriving guests). The guesthouse was full. He tried nextdoor. Full. He drove us down the block. Full. It was 2:30am. People get up around 4 or 4:30 when the roosters start to crow. Sylvan and I were about to get out of the truck, thank the driver for his efforts, and wait out the early hours of the morning on the sidewalk, but the driver insisted on taking us to one more guesthouse. The guy had one room left. It was expensive, but it was clean and comfortable. Sylvan was starting to get a cold and we were both extremely tired from our stressful adventure. We decided to stay the night and find a different, cheaper, place in the morning. We thanked our taxi driver, payed him, and went up to our room.

Sylvan and I were hot, sticky, and tired... but mostly we were happy to be safe in Vientiane and happy to have each other. We hugged, laughed a little about the ridiculous day we'd just had, brushed our teeth, and went to bed.

crossing the border

Make sure when you buy the ticket, that you get something IN WRITING that says you will be on the same bus the whole time. A lot of tourists get sucked into paying for a VIP bus only to be transfered to a very uncomfortable local bus at the border. --Advice from Lonely Planet

The bus ride from Hue, Vietnam to Vientiane, Laos is said to be 20 hours if you manage to buy a ticket for the VIP direct bus. The bus leaves at 10am and arrives at the specified destination at approximately 6am. Sylvan and I shopped around a little bit before purchasing two ticket, $30 per person, on the 10am VIP bus. We had no idea what great adventures lay ahead of us.

Sylvan's alarm went off at 6am. He wanted to get up early and update his blog before spending 20 hours on a bus. I slept for another hour or so, got up, showered, and packed up our bags. Sylvan was still on the computer when I went out to find him. We sat down to have breakfast. It was 9:05. We had plenty of time.

Just as we finished ordering, the woman who worked the reception counter walked over to us and said "bus come 9:30." Having had a few buses and shuttles show up early, we were somewhat prepared for this change of plans. I went back to our room, grabbed our bags, paid the receptionist, and officially checked out of the hotel. 9:45, the bus had not arrived. I checked again with the receptionist. "10 mo minute.'" she said in broken English, "done worry." A few minutes later and older gentleman wearing a jacket approached us at our table and said, "Vientiane?"

We were off. We followed him out of our hotel and down the alley to the main street where his van was parked. It's not uncommon to take a shuttle to a main bus station so we weren't surprised to find a van in place of a bus. He asked for our ticket, which was actually just a receipt our hotel receptionist had given us. He took it, examined it, and put it in his pocket. I was a little concerned because that receipt was the only proof that Sylvan and I had, in fact, purchased bus tickets. We drove for a few minutes. Sylvan and I noticed that we were heading out of town so I asked our driver where we were going. He assured us, as best he could in broken English, that the bus was very far out of town because we were on the VIP bus, which apparently comes from some other town, by the main highway, and doesn't waste time or gas by coming into Hue. Well, what the heck. We drove for another 10 minutes or so before pulling over on the side of the highway at what appeared to be a truck stop. The driver made a phone call from his cell. It's impossible to tell what people are saying when they speak Vietnamese as I know absolutely NO Vietnamese. Because Vietnamese is a tonal language, it's also impossible to tell a person's mood from the way they speak. Most Vietnamese sound impatient and annoyed--- always. After ending the phone call with what can only be described as a grunt, he turned around and said to Sylvan and I "we wait here 10 minute." The driver then got out and smoked a cigarette.

There, on the side of some highway, in a rickety old van, we waited for our bus. Sure enough, a few minutes later, a bus pulled of the road and honked. The driver pointed, indicating that this was our bus. We ran across the highway, with our bags. Our van driver apparently gave the bus driver our ticket or communicated with him about our arrangement. I asked just to make sure and our van driver assured me that he had given the bus driver our tickets. Then the van driver patted Sylvan on the back, in a way a man might pat his son on the back, and wished us safe travels. It almost felt safe.

There were no other tourists on the Tourist VIP bus. No one spoke any English. A man pointed toward the back of the bus. Sylvan and I found our seats in the half empty bus. Thus began the 20 hour journey.


To be continued...

xtreme vietnamese adventures

Just because you CAN do something doesn't mean you should. In the States, there are all sorts of liability issues that keep us, generally, safe. And if we're not actually safe, we know that in case of emergency we would be well taken care of. Here in Vietnam, and the rest of SE Asia, safety and liability really don't seem to be an issue. It is easy to rent a motorcycle whether you've ever driven one or not. Outdoor adventure trips are common and, without certification, it's easy to find your self abseiling down a waterfall or scuba diving in the South China Sea.

It's all about taking calculated risks. Abseiling down a waterfall and scuba diving in the South China Sea are risks I'm willing to take. Scuba diving was great. Sylvan and the instructor both siad I was a natural. Now, of course, Sylvan wants me to get certified so we can go diving all over the place. And a picture is worth a thousand words so I don't think I need to explain abseiling:

It turns out that renting a motor bike was safer than hiring a driver. On the way out to the sand dunes in Mui Ne, my driver crashed into the back of Sylvan's driver's bike. CRUNCH! Both drivers managed to keep the bikes from falling and no one was hurt. I didn't even see the crash coming. We were going very slow because the guy on the bike next to us was out of gas and asking us if he could "barrow" some of ours. As we agreed and started to slow down, we crashed into Sylvan's driver's bike,which had already pulled over. I've been witness to several motor bike accidents since, as they are quite common. In Vietnam, you are required by law to wear a helmet so the crashes seem less severe but people are often thrown from their bikes or somehow trapped underneath it. Just yesterday I saw a woman with a small child involved in a crash. The child flew forward, over the handle bars, and out of her hands. As her bike fell on top of her she screamed, not because she was in pain, but becuase she couldn't reach her child. Someone nearby scooped up the kid immediately. The child did not appear to be injured, just a little scared. Everyone involved was wearing a helmet.

for the love of coffee

Some of the best coffee in the world is grown in Da Lat, Vietnam. Sylvan and I took a tour of the country side and of a coffee plantation.

i love this guy

Oh the happy buddha...

my new diet

It's no secret that I love carbs. I scoffed when the Atkins diet grew in popularity and wondered how anyone could live a happy fulfilling life without bread and pasta in their daily diet. I'm italian. A life without carbs is no life at all.

In SE Asia, carbohydrates are fairly easy to come by, but not in a form that my body is used to. The noodles are made of rice or beans or eggs. Small baguettes can be obtained, but are sometimes hard to find. I was exstatic to find these small baguettes upon our arrival in Vietnam but my excitement quickly diminished upon biting into the bread to find that the soft fluffly interior was nearly non-existent. There was no fluff to speak of. My teeth crunched through the airy interior right into the next layer of crust. Still, happy to have found a carb to quench my desires, I suffered through the hallow loaf of bread.

A few days ago, my stomach decided that it no longer enjoyed SE Asian cousine and began rejecting food in one way or another. The sign and smell of food envoked a feeling of nausia. Even reading the name of certain foods on a menu was enough to make me ill. I yearned for comfort food: something I could recognize and possibly digest. The fruit here, although delicious, is somewhat exotic and generally acidic. The soup, a food I often seek when ill, is rich in flavor and often spicy. So I turned, quite naturally, to a food that never lets me down... carbs. More specifically: bread.

In the past two days I have consumed an enumerable amount of small, somewhat hallow, baguettes. The climax of my baguette consumtion was reached at approxomately 10pm last night. I walked out of our hotel in search of a bread/sandwich stand. I knew that at 10pm, this might not be an easy task as most Vietnamese are early risers and get to bed rather early. I walked a block or so and found a woman who was just packing up her portable restaurant. I approached her and as she locked away her tiny plastic tables and stools she shouted something to me in Vietnamese and motioned for me to walk toward the cart she'd left a few feet away. I waited at the cart for a moment until she returned. It was clear that she spoke no English. I said as clearly as I could "Bahn Mi." and held up two fingers indicating that I wanted two bahn mi (literally baked noodles in Vietnamese, but it means bread). She pointed at the cheese and other things she had on the cart attempting to sell me more. I shook my head and again repeated my request. She knew what I wanted. Now I had to figure out how much it would cost. I had a small wad of dong (Vietnamese dollars) in my pocket and pulled it out not only to count it, but also to show the woman so she might be able to point out the correct amount. I had 14,000 dong (which is just less than a dollar). She took the money and counted it, then put it in her cart. I knew that two pieces of bread should cost less than that as Sylvan had purchased two baguettes and a sandwich the night before for about the same price. I picked the money back up, again held up two fingers and shook my head no, indicating I would not pay that much for two baguettes. She took the money back, nicely, and somehow convinced me that she would work it out. She then grabbed a huge pink plastic bag from behind her cart and began stuffing it full of baguettes. I stopped her as fast as I could but she had already put in seven airy loaves. I figured she was trying to get rid of as much of her product as possible since I was the last customer of the night. She handed me the huge bag, smiled, then pointed to the bag and back at the money. I took the bag of bread, five baguettes more than I wanted, thanked her, and ran back to the hotel. It turns out that she knew better than I, what I wanted. I had, in fact, wanted seven baguettes. I ate them all, except the one I gave to Sylvan.

And whether it was the bread itself or the peace of mind that came from eating something somewhat familiar, I am feeling much better today.