Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Blue Sky
When I looked up at the clear azul sky, I think I felt the feeling of freedom. I wouldn’t consider myself trapped or locked away, but for some reason it has been a long time since I gazed up without looking through a glass window. Sometimes work seems like a prison. Stuck in a classroom or stuck in the teacher’s room looking at a computer screen. Go home at four, gets dark at five. Continue looking at a computer screen devising ways to circumvent hypothermia. Even now, as I type this, computer screen. Usually I don’t worry, but I love my eyes and the many blue skies they have yet to see.
It’s been a long time since a lazy Saturday. I woke up late, around eleven, and spent the daytime hours in my town, a rare occurrence. I headed to the new Indian restaurant, where I frequent about once a week, for lunch. Finally there is someone my age I can talk to in town. The girl who works at the Indian restaurant is also twenty-five. She has two children, her oldest being nine. I would have been more shocked about her being a mother at sixteen, except I know in her part of the world that’s the perfect age. It’s interesting having a conversation with someone in your second language, when that language is also their second language.
I finally got a library card. It only took about a year and a half before I decided to venture into the library. I love libraries but when you’re illiterate in the local language, it’s hard to convince yourself to go. As suspected, everything is in Japanese. They do carry one English version of the Tokyo Daily Yomimuri Newspaper. It’s great to catch up on national or world news, but pretty pointless when it comes to local news. Also just pretty pointless since I read most world news on the internet. However, I can now start renting J-pop music CDs. Music that I would never buy, and surprisingly hard to download. I figure it would probably be good for Japanese listing practice.
It’s been getting warmer, still cold when riding the motor bike but not painful. It’s at that strange transition period where I still need my snowboard coat not too freeze, but then I get to my destination it’s too hot walking around. When the blue sky turns black, signaling the end of the day, icy air creeps back into my life.
Now I sit in a familiar seat on a familiar train, riding out of isolation under a night sky. I’m on my way to Osaka to meet up with a couple friends. The night calls for dancing and distilled Russian water.
It’s been a long time since a lazy Saturday. I woke up late, around eleven, and spent the daytime hours in my town, a rare occurrence. I headed to the new Indian restaurant, where I frequent about once a week, for lunch. Finally there is someone my age I can talk to in town. The girl who works at the Indian restaurant is also twenty-five. She has two children, her oldest being nine. I would have been more shocked about her being a mother at sixteen, except I know in her part of the world that’s the perfect age. It’s interesting having a conversation with someone in your second language, when that language is also their second language.
I finally got a library card. It only took about a year and a half before I decided to venture into the library. I love libraries but when you’re illiterate in the local language, it’s hard to convince yourself to go. As suspected, everything is in Japanese. They do carry one English version of the Tokyo Daily Yomimuri Newspaper. It’s great to catch up on national or world news, but pretty pointless when it comes to local news. Also just pretty pointless since I read most world news on the internet. However, I can now start renting J-pop music CDs. Music that I would never buy, and surprisingly hard to download. I figure it would probably be good for Japanese listing practice.
It’s been getting warmer, still cold when riding the motor bike but not painful. It’s at that strange transition period where I still need my snowboard coat not too freeze, but then I get to my destination it’s too hot walking around. When the blue sky turns black, signaling the end of the day, icy air creeps back into my life.
Now I sit in a familiar seat on a familiar train, riding out of isolation under a night sky. I’m on my way to Osaka to meet up with a couple friends. The night calls for dancing and distilled Russian water.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
SE Asia Disclaimer
I will now continue my SE Asia story, but will first write a disclaimer. It would be impossible to tell you everything with a fair amount of detail to do justice to the adventure that I embarked on without writing a full length story. If anything this is only a skeleton, a skeleton lacking calcium, of the two weeks I spent traveling through Cambodia and Vietnam. Maybe if we ever cross paths you can ask for some meat and I may tell you a few vital parts over a drink or two. Until then, read this knowing it isn’t a complete tale.
Also please read from "Myanmar Whiskey" to "Hanoi" for the correct order of events. I published the articles backwards so that you could read from the top to the bottom.
Also please read from "Myanmar Whiskey" to "Hanoi" for the correct order of events. I published the articles backwards so that you could read from the top to the bottom.
Myanmar Whiskey
My last day in Sangkhlaburi was spent riding a motor bike out to the Thai/Burmese border. Between here and there we stopped at a temple inside a cave. It was myself, my friend Dusty and each of our motorbike passengers who were the only ones to venture inside. Before the four of us climbed the warped and rotting stairs marked in unreadable Thai, crossing the large ravine below to a hole in the upper wall of the cave, I was hoping my good Karma would balance out the boards so not to fall to my death a couple hundred feet below on the limestone. Truly an adventure but not the goal of the day’s journey, for that was reached before this side adventure. What follows is what happened before.
We arrived at the Thai/Burmese border at about 10AM, known as the Three Pagoda Pass. Seemed the same as when I left it a year ago, even though a month before bullets and RPGs were being pelted across the mountainous landscape. However, one thing was noted, the Burmese flag was different; it was embroidered with only a single star.
Last year I made a friend with a whiskey and cigarette salesman from Myanmar and was given a couple capfuls of “Myanmar Whiskey” over conversation. This year, he found me before I found him. He approached me as I was walking around the market and said with a smile and a handshake, “Wow! Where have you been? I haven’t seen you.” After talking about the normal stuff he shared with me some information about the war between the National Army of Myanmar and some rebel armies. How he had to lay with his head down on the ground of his own house while bullets were fired just outside his front door. He also shared what happened in November at the Three Pagoda Pass and pointed at the nearby mountain that was hit by a RPG. Stories that send shivers down your spine.
He also explained to me, from the perspective of an average Burmese person, the correct terminology on what to call his country. Before the current regime, Myanmar was called Burma. For a select few countries, such as the U.S., it is still called Burma but recognized by the U.N. as Myanmar. However, to the Burmese, or at least the majority, it is in fact Myanmar. Myanmar is the country, and Burma is the people. So you would never say Myanmarese, which makes sense because I have never heard it. However, I have heard a few Burmese claiming they are from Burma, instead of saying Myanmar. I don’t know if this should be read politically or simply in that when they lived in Myanmar it wasn’t called Myanmar yet. I would have asked if this division had anything to do with personal political allegiance, but I knew he wasn’t comfortable expressing his feelings toward his country’s political state of affairs. All I know is he loves Myanmar and hopes that peace and prosperity will be something witnessed by the people.
I hope the man who sells whiskey is there next year.
We arrived at the Thai/Burmese border at about 10AM, known as the Three Pagoda Pass. Seemed the same as when I left it a year ago, even though a month before bullets and RPGs were being pelted across the mountainous landscape. However, one thing was noted, the Burmese flag was different; it was embroidered with only a single star.
Last year I made a friend with a whiskey and cigarette salesman from Myanmar and was given a couple capfuls of “Myanmar Whiskey” over conversation. This year, he found me before I found him. He approached me as I was walking around the market and said with a smile and a handshake, “Wow! Where have you been? I haven’t seen you.” After talking about the normal stuff he shared with me some information about the war between the National Army of Myanmar and some rebel armies. How he had to lay with his head down on the ground of his own house while bullets were fired just outside his front door. He also shared what happened in November at the Three Pagoda Pass and pointed at the nearby mountain that was hit by a RPG. Stories that send shivers down your spine.
He also explained to me, from the perspective of an average Burmese person, the correct terminology on what to call his country. Before the current regime, Myanmar was called Burma. For a select few countries, such as the U.S., it is still called Burma but recognized by the U.N. as Myanmar. However, to the Burmese, or at least the majority, it is in fact Myanmar. Myanmar is the country, and Burma is the people. So you would never say Myanmarese, which makes sense because I have never heard it. However, I have heard a few Burmese claiming they are from Burma, instead of saying Myanmar. I don’t know if this should be read politically or simply in that when they lived in Myanmar it wasn’t called Myanmar yet. I would have asked if this division had anything to do with personal political allegiance, but I knew he wasn’t comfortable expressing his feelings toward his country’s political state of affairs. All I know is he loves Myanmar and hopes that peace and prosperity will be something witnessed by the people.
I hope the man who sells whiskey is there next year.
The Boarder and Onward to Siem Reap
Only 8 hours in Bangkok after arriving from Sangkhlaburi we were on a bus to Aranyaprathet at 5:30AM. Aranyaprathet is the Thai border town with Poipet, Cambodia. About $8 and 5 hours later we were crossing by foot into Cambodia.
The boarder on the Thai side seems pretty normal. It’s just a market with a building you walk through to get your exit visa stamp. However, you will be bothered by Cambodian touts trying to sell you their services. In our case, we couldn’t get rid of ours. But he didn’t seem too invasive. Of course he said he was a Cambodian government employee, which wouldn’t mean much anyway, and the information he was telling us was definitely true, since I studied diligently about every scam that could happen at the border including those of touts. We didn’t need his services, but he wouldn’t go away. So we let him follow us around since if we had one at least we wouldn’t keep getting bothered by others.
We paid our $20 visa fee, and I paid a small bribe of $2 to grease the wheels of corruption. We entered no-man’s land. Neither Thailand or Cambodia and crossed into Cambodian immigration control. Stamped and passed. Our tout wouldn’t enter the government buildings but was always waiting outside. We then followed him to the free transport terminal and when we were about to leave in our “taxi”, he asked for a tip. He said 3000 baht ($100 USD) would be fine. I literally laughed and told him that I knew all the info he told us. We didn’t request his services and if anything, he was just following us. I gave him $5 for his trouble and to avoid any confrontation. Not to mention, he was good tout repellant since we were marked as “claimed”.
Our taxi driver pulls out of the transport terminal, and ten seconds later pulls off to the side of the road. Walks outside and pulls off the “TAXI” signs magnetically stuck to the car doors. He said, “Now, no police stop.” This was my first clue that things might not go as smooth as the freshly laid road to Siem Reap was telling me. The driver was going very slow. About 50km/hr with a speed limit of 80km/hr. I didn’t want to worry about it for two hours, so I just went with it. I thought to myself, he’s probably just trying to save gas or something. Then a phone call. Then a bathroom break on the side of the road for the driver. Then another phone call. Then another bathroom break. However, we were heading in the right direction. Maybe he has a small bladder, I thought.
Siem Reap was in sight and suddenly we pull down a small dirt ally and up to a parking lot behind a building full of tuk-tuk drivers. I heard of this scam. But before I could say anything to the driver, he literally ran out of the taxi. A man comes to the door and starts telling us that we will get into a tuk-tuk, in a non-asking tone. I’m in the front seat so I begin the negations. I tell him, we aren’t getting out of the taxi. I tell him that we paid to be taken to our guest house. He spills the usual bullshit telling us that the driver doesn’t know his way around the city. I tell him I’ve been told about the scam he is trying to pull. He gets upset and starts spitting profanity. Even making some treats about being at the bottom of a river. I keep my cool and strike a deal with this guy. He says his name is “Cobra.” I tell him I’m paying him nothing and he is taking us to our guest house. I seal the deal with a hand shake and tell him that I trust him.
In the tuk tuk he decides to ride along with us. Explaining why he is wearing a face mask. He says it’s because he has a deformity or something on his mouth. I know it is because he doesn’t want to expose his identity. Even though he pushes us to go to a different guest house and use his services, we arrive at our guest house. I give him nothing and tell him and the driver we will be taking bikes around the city tomorrow. I learn later that he is part of the mafia, according to the man running our guest house. Good bye Cobra, king of the snakes. Did I mention? I hate snakes!
Although we had a few bumps in the road along the way, we arrived in Siem Reap unscathed. The next few days in Cambodia become an unforgettable adventure, making Cambodia one of my favorite countries I’ve ever been to.
The boarder on the Thai side seems pretty normal. It’s just a market with a building you walk through to get your exit visa stamp. However, you will be bothered by Cambodian touts trying to sell you their services. In our case, we couldn’t get rid of ours. But he didn’t seem too invasive. Of course he said he was a Cambodian government employee, which wouldn’t mean much anyway, and the information he was telling us was definitely true, since I studied diligently about every scam that could happen at the border including those of touts. We didn’t need his services, but he wouldn’t go away. So we let him follow us around since if we had one at least we wouldn’t keep getting bothered by others.
We paid our $20 visa fee, and I paid a small bribe of $2 to grease the wheels of corruption. We entered no-man’s land. Neither Thailand or Cambodia and crossed into Cambodian immigration control. Stamped and passed. Our tout wouldn’t enter the government buildings but was always waiting outside. We then followed him to the free transport terminal and when we were about to leave in our “taxi”, he asked for a tip. He said 3000 baht ($100 USD) would be fine. I literally laughed and told him that I knew all the info he told us. We didn’t request his services and if anything, he was just following us. I gave him $5 for his trouble and to avoid any confrontation. Not to mention, he was good tout repellant since we were marked as “claimed”.
Our taxi driver pulls out of the transport terminal, and ten seconds later pulls off to the side of the road. Walks outside and pulls off the “TAXI” signs magnetically stuck to the car doors. He said, “Now, no police stop.” This was my first clue that things might not go as smooth as the freshly laid road to Siem Reap was telling me. The driver was going very slow. About 50km/hr with a speed limit of 80km/hr. I didn’t want to worry about it for two hours, so I just went with it. I thought to myself, he’s probably just trying to save gas or something. Then a phone call. Then a bathroom break on the side of the road for the driver. Then another phone call. Then another bathroom break. However, we were heading in the right direction. Maybe he has a small bladder, I thought.
Siem Reap was in sight and suddenly we pull down a small dirt ally and up to a parking lot behind a building full of tuk-tuk drivers. I heard of this scam. But before I could say anything to the driver, he literally ran out of the taxi. A man comes to the door and starts telling us that we will get into a tuk-tuk, in a non-asking tone. I’m in the front seat so I begin the negations. I tell him, we aren’t getting out of the taxi. I tell him that we paid to be taken to our guest house. He spills the usual bullshit telling us that the driver doesn’t know his way around the city. I tell him I’ve been told about the scam he is trying to pull. He gets upset and starts spitting profanity. Even making some treats about being at the bottom of a river. I keep my cool and strike a deal with this guy. He says his name is “Cobra.” I tell him I’m paying him nothing and he is taking us to our guest house. I seal the deal with a hand shake and tell him that I trust him.
In the tuk tuk he decides to ride along with us. Explaining why he is wearing a face mask. He says it’s because he has a deformity or something on his mouth. I know it is because he doesn’t want to expose his identity. Even though he pushes us to go to a different guest house and use his services, we arrive at our guest house. I give him nothing and tell him and the driver we will be taking bikes around the city tomorrow. I learn later that he is part of the mafia, according to the man running our guest house. Good bye Cobra, king of the snakes. Did I mention? I hate snakes!
Although we had a few bumps in the road along the way, we arrived in Siem Reap unscathed. The next few days in Cambodia become an unforgettable adventure, making Cambodia one of my favorite countries I’ve ever been to.
Tomb Raider: Cambodia
After checking in and having Indian curry for our first Cambodian meal. A safe bet since we were traveling with a famished vegetarian. We meet our tuk tuk driver. His name is Mean. He is actually very nice. We watch the sun set over the jungle and recharge our batteries.
Early morning. A Tuk Tuk ride. Sunrise at Angkor Wat. No, I don’t want coffee, beer, boom-boom or coconuts. I want watch the sunset over the stones of history! Why else would I be walking around Cambodia at 5AM?!!
We spend a whole day exploring the complex of Angkor Wat. The morning was packed, but it seemed many tourists went back to their five star hotels after snapping a few shots at sunrise. This was great, because exploring the ruins of an old empire are better off done without crowds. It wasn’t deserted, but it wasn’t over run.
There is not much to say about Angkor Wat though. It’s a big temple. It is surrounded by many small temples. There are a lot of stone carvings, and it is pretty magnificent. But, it isn’t a place where you can play Indiana Jones or Lara Croft. It was similar to when I went to the Great Wall and the Taj Mahal, with maybe about 1/3 less people. Maybe I’ve seen too many world wonders; although magnificent they don’t let you get lost in your own imagination. This is not to say I wouldn’t recommend a visit. Everyone should see it! It’s just that I can’t write anything that can’t already be read in a travel book or someone else’s travel blog. Instead I will leave you with a couple thousand words.
Apsara: Then
Apsara: Now
The next day, Mean took us 3 hours by tuk tuk out to a real gem. A place that did let me feel a little like Indiana Jones. Especially when the police officer told me to watch out for snakes if I climb down into the temple, I hate snakes! But luckily, no Cobra!
Afterwards we stopped at a floating village. We paid an exhorbant price of $20 per person ($60 for the 3 of us) to get into a half broken boat that ferried the three of us down into what looked more like a ghetto than a village. The poverty level was staggering in proportion to the price we had to pay to see the village. We were asked if we wanted to get into a small boat to be guided through the marshes, and of course for adventure sake we said yes. We quickly changed our mind when we got in and were ferried about 5 meters to another boat where a guy tried to get $10 per person from us again while being supervised by some shady cop. We told the guy we paid tons of money already, but he said it was different. He then handed me a cell phone, I think he was calling the people we bought the tickets from, but all there was was static and voices speaking no English. After picking up a dead fish and trying to scare our female travel companion, we said we’d just go back to the big boat, we don’t need the ride. When staying a night at a guest house costs $8/person, $30/person for a ghetto tour is robbery.
After a great stay in Siem Reap, we boarded a bus and headed to Phnom Penh, Cambodia’s capital and biggest city but only containing about 1.3 million people. Here we ate food and walked around. It was possibly here that I finally cemented my love for Cambodia. Out of the tourism industry of Siem Reap and into a real city, I had a chance to meet many Cambodians.
Early morning. A Tuk Tuk ride. Sunrise at Angkor Wat. No, I don’t want coffee, beer, boom-boom or coconuts. I want watch the sunset over the stones of history! Why else would I be walking around Cambodia at 5AM?!!
We spend a whole day exploring the complex of Angkor Wat. The morning was packed, but it seemed many tourists went back to their five star hotels after snapping a few shots at sunrise. This was great, because exploring the ruins of an old empire are better off done without crowds. It wasn’t deserted, but it wasn’t over run.
There is not much to say about Angkor Wat though. It’s a big temple. It is surrounded by many small temples. There are a lot of stone carvings, and it is pretty magnificent. But, it isn’t a place where you can play Indiana Jones or Lara Croft. It was similar to when I went to the Great Wall and the Taj Mahal, with maybe about 1/3 less people. Maybe I’ve seen too many world wonders; although magnificent they don’t let you get lost in your own imagination. This is not to say I wouldn’t recommend a visit. Everyone should see it! It’s just that I can’t write anything that can’t already be read in a travel book or someone else’s travel blog. Instead I will leave you with a couple thousand words.
Stone face of the Bayon
After Angkor Wat, we went to a buffet. Actually the first and only real time I tried Khmer (Cambodian) food since our prior culinary choices consisted of Indian curry for dinner and French inspired cuisine for breakfast. Cambodian food is delicious. It resembles Thai food, with unique flavors and lower spice levels that tell you it is different somehow. While we ate, we had the opportunity to watch an Apsara Dance show.
After Angkor Wat, we went to a buffet. Actually the first and only real time I tried Khmer (Cambodian) food since our prior culinary choices consisted of Indian curry for dinner and French inspired cuisine for breakfast. Cambodian food is delicious. It resembles Thai food, with unique flavors and lower spice levels that tell you it is different somehow. While we ate, we had the opportunity to watch an Apsara Dance show.
Apsara: Then
Apsara: Now
The next day, Mean took us 3 hours by tuk tuk out to a real gem. A place that did let me feel a little like Indiana Jones. Especially when the police officer told me to watch out for snakes if I climb down into the temple, I hate snakes! But luckily, no Cobra!
Afterwards we stopped at a floating village. We paid an exhorbant price of $20 per person ($60 for the 3 of us) to get into a half broken boat that ferried the three of us down into what looked more like a ghetto than a village. The poverty level was staggering in proportion to the price we had to pay to see the village. We were asked if we wanted to get into a small boat to be guided through the marshes, and of course for adventure sake we said yes. We quickly changed our mind when we got in and were ferried about 5 meters to another boat where a guy tried to get $10 per person from us again while being supervised by some shady cop. We told the guy we paid tons of money already, but he said it was different. He then handed me a cell phone, I think he was calling the people we bought the tickets from, but all there was was static and voices speaking no English. After picking up a dead fish and trying to scare our female travel companion, we said we’d just go back to the big boat, we don’t need the ride. When staying a night at a guest house costs $8/person, $30/person for a ghetto tour is robbery.
The floating village
Sometimes still beautiful
This shady almost law enforced scam, with the knowledge of knowing that about $5 of that $60 that we paid was going to the village and boat driver made me hate this place, and was really the only thing I would advise people NOT to do in Cambodia. Don’t go to a “floating village” unless you just want to look at begging children and those trying to make a quick buck off of them.
We paid enough money for 15 pairs of shoes in Cambodia.
Sometimes still beautiful
This shady almost law enforced scam, with the knowledge of knowing that about $5 of that $60 that we paid was going to the village and boat driver made me hate this place, and was really the only thing I would advise people NOT to do in Cambodia. Don’t go to a “floating village” unless you just want to look at begging children and those trying to make a quick buck off of them.
We paid enough money for 15 pairs of shoes in Cambodia.
After a great stay in Siem Reap, we boarded a bus and headed to Phnom Penh, Cambodia’s capital and biggest city but only containing about 1.3 million people. Here we ate food and walked around. It was possibly here that I finally cemented my love for Cambodia. Out of the tourism industry of Siem Reap and into a real city, I had a chance to meet many Cambodians.
French inspired Cambodia
When we got off the bus a tuk tuk driver was trying to have us acquire his services. Of course we first wanted to get oriented to where we were. But he kept telling us in an overly helpful manner where we were and that he could take us where we want to go. After dealing with the numerous scams you are undoubtedly going to run across in Cambodia, we weren’t quite in instant buddy mode. Because of this, he kind of complained about us not trusting him but we ended up taking his services. Turned out he was honest and even helped us find a good guest house, since the place we had booked looked like a meth lab and far from the river front where we wanted to explore. Because he turned out to be a good guy, we decided to hire him to get us to the bus station the next morning. It was a relief to find a Cambodian that realized that being honest can sometimes make you more cash than trying to scam a tourist.
Besides this, the loving nature of most Cambodians was awesome. Everyone is trying to sell you something, but if you don’t get worn out and mad, but smile widely and joke around, you realize you can become friends with anyone. Even if you don’t take their services or products, the small friendship you built doesn’t go away. It almost seemed that the happiness you shared was more important than getting money. Something that surprised me in a country that is extremely poor.
When we got off the bus a tuk tuk driver was trying to have us acquire his services. Of course we first wanted to get oriented to where we were. But he kept telling us in an overly helpful manner where we were and that he could take us where we want to go. After dealing with the numerous scams you are undoubtedly going to run across in Cambodia, we weren’t quite in instant buddy mode. Because of this, he kind of complained about us not trusting him but we ended up taking his services. Turned out he was honest and even helped us find a good guest house, since the place we had booked looked like a meth lab and far from the river front where we wanted to explore. Because he turned out to be a good guy, we decided to hire him to get us to the bus station the next morning. It was a relief to find a Cambodian that realized that being honest can sometimes make you more cash than trying to scam a tourist.
Besides this, the loving nature of most Cambodians was awesome. Everyone is trying to sell you something, but if you don’t get worn out and mad, but smile widely and joke around, you realize you can become friends with anyone. Even if you don’t take their services or products, the small friendship you built doesn’t go away. It almost seemed that the happiness you shared was more important than getting money. Something that surprised me in a country that is extremely poor.
I refused this guy, but he accepted a picture!
On the surface, Cambodia seems like an empty wasteland filled with landmines, scams, crime and grime with Angkor Wat being the only reason for entering such a country. But if you dive through this layer and don’t let it cloud your vision, the country is amazing! What makes it amazing is the people. For every one guy that tries to scam you, throw a dead fish in your face or threaten to throw you in a river; there are a thousand smiles.
On the surface, Cambodia seems like an empty wasteland filled with landmines, scams, crime and grime with Angkor Wat being the only reason for entering such a country. But if you dive through this layer and don’t let it cloud your vision, the country is amazing! What makes it amazing is the people. For every one guy that tries to scam you, throw a dead fish in your face or threaten to throw you in a river; there are a thousand smiles.
Much of Cambodia looks like this. Much of this is concealing land mines.
Entering Saigon
On the bus leaving Siem Reap we pulled onto a ferry to take us across the Meikong. A couple hours later we were in Bavet, the Cambodian boarder town. Here I ate some Pho, Vietnamese beef noodle soup, and went back on the bus to get to Cambodian border control.
Leaving Cambodia and entering Vietnam was a snap when compared to entering Cambodia from Thailand. For one, the same bus would take us all the way from Siem Reap to Saigon (HCMC) making transport scams nearly impossible. There was a man on the bus that was collecting everyone’s passport so that we could get stamped out of Cambodia. I didn’t even think that was legal, but whatever it’s Cambodia. We got back on the bus, drove to the Vietnam immigration station and again had our passports collected. This time the Vietnamese immigration officials called us by name, from our passport, and handed it to us. It was a long wait, but it was easy. As it should be, since I had to make a trip to the Vietnamese Consulate in Japan, in person, and pay $75 for the visa.
Once back on the bus and on Vietnamese soil, everyone’s phones turned on and the atmosphere changed from near silence to cell phone banter. It was obvious that most of the travelers were not Cambodian. After a few more hours we would be in bustling Saigon.
There is no joke or lie about the stories you hear of Saigon traffic. It is nearly endless, and you literally do just walk slowly across what I cannot describe any better than a river of motor bikes, mainly the choice Honda Cub/Wave. The people of Saigon were great, and it was much easier to let down a few guards that were built in Cambodia. It was almost the New Year and everyone was in a good mood.
Leaving Cambodia and entering Vietnam was a snap when compared to entering Cambodia from Thailand. For one, the same bus would take us all the way from Siem Reap to Saigon (HCMC) making transport scams nearly impossible. There was a man on the bus that was collecting everyone’s passport so that we could get stamped out of Cambodia. I didn’t even think that was legal, but whatever it’s Cambodia. We got back on the bus, drove to the Vietnam immigration station and again had our passports collected. This time the Vietnamese immigration officials called us by name, from our passport, and handed it to us. It was a long wait, but it was easy. As it should be, since I had to make a trip to the Vietnamese Consulate in Japan, in person, and pay $75 for the visa.
Once back on the bus and on Vietnamese soil, everyone’s phones turned on and the atmosphere changed from near silence to cell phone banter. It was obvious that most of the travelers were not Cambodian. After a few more hours we would be in bustling Saigon.
There is no joke or lie about the stories you hear of Saigon traffic. It is nearly endless, and you literally do just walk slowly across what I cannot describe any better than a river of motor bikes, mainly the choice Honda Cub/Wave. The people of Saigon were great, and it was much easier to let down a few guards that were built in Cambodia. It was almost the New Year and everyone was in a good mood.
The Saigon Motor Sea
We found our hotel! It was nice to stay in a higher class establishment for a couple nights. A good decision on the part of my travel buddy, Dusty, who figured we should have a nice place for the New Year. I mean, there was a guy that opened the door for you into the lobby. It wasn’t some crazy expensive place, but it was nicer than most things I was use to while traveling. Also turned out, there was an International culinary festival across the street. You could try food from all over the world for a very cheap price. Needless to say, we stopped back there many times to eat.
We wandered the city, went to the war remnants museum and took an $8 commercial tour of the Mekong Delta. Every evening Dusty and I went out looking for something interesting such as a bar, pho shop, or night market, since our other two companions liked to hit the pillow earlier than we were willing. Because of this, I have a funny story to tell.
We found our hotel! It was nice to stay in a higher class establishment for a couple nights. A good decision on the part of my travel buddy, Dusty, who figured we should have a nice place for the New Year. I mean, there was a guy that opened the door for you into the lobby. It wasn’t some crazy expensive place, but it was nicer than most things I was use to while traveling. Also turned out, there was an International culinary festival across the street. You could try food from all over the world for a very cheap price. Needless to say, we stopped back there many times to eat.
We wandered the city, went to the war remnants museum and took an $8 commercial tour of the Mekong Delta. Every evening Dusty and I went out looking for something interesting such as a bar, pho shop, or night market, since our other two companions liked to hit the pillow earlier than we were willing. Because of this, I have a funny story to tell.
Cruisin' the Meikong
Throughout Cambodia and Vietnam, tuk tuk drivers always seemed to be members of some other business. They offer you a tuk tuk, if you decline they offer you marijuana, if you decline they offer you “boom-boom” (sex) hopefully not from them, and that’s usually where it ended. One night we heard the next stage after declining all the previous mentioned. “Opium.” Yep, that’s right. Opium. After hearing this Dusty and I both looked at each other and in our minds imagined some crazy opium den with old Vietnamese guys wearing rice farmer hats stroking their long wispy beards. For a split second we thought, and realized it would probably end up being a dirty ditch where we would be caught and end up in handcuffs. We politely declined and ate some noodles instead.
New Year was spent going to a club and then a bar that was filled with 90% gay men and once we realized this decided it was time to bounce to the countdown clock. The traffic in Saigon is always crazy, on New Year’s Eve it is madness. We just arrived as they started counting down, five minutes early. There was some western pop singer on stage and lots of screaming Vietnamese. As it started winding down, we met some university kids and screamed Happy New Year for about 5 minutes before heading out to another bar. Overall, a successful New Year!
Throughout Cambodia and Vietnam, tuk tuk drivers always seemed to be members of some other business. They offer you a tuk tuk, if you decline they offer you marijuana, if you decline they offer you “boom-boom” (sex) hopefully not from them, and that’s usually where it ended. One night we heard the next stage after declining all the previous mentioned. “Opium.” Yep, that’s right. Opium. After hearing this Dusty and I both looked at each other and in our minds imagined some crazy opium den with old Vietnamese guys wearing rice farmer hats stroking their long wispy beards. For a split second we thought, and realized it would probably end up being a dirty ditch where we would be caught and end up in handcuffs. We politely declined and ate some noodles instead.
New Year was spent going to a club and then a bar that was filled with 90% gay men and once we realized this decided it was time to bounce to the countdown clock. The traffic in Saigon is always crazy, on New Year’s Eve it is madness. We just arrived as they started counting down, five minutes early. There was some western pop singer on stage and lots of screaming Vietnamese. As it started winding down, we met some university kids and screamed Happy New Year for about 5 minutes before heading out to another bar. Overall, a successful New Year!
Happy New Year!
A Night Train to Hoi An
After a few days in Saigon, late at night we boarded a train. The platform reminded me of something from a 1920s American movie. Compared to Japan, the train system is prehistoric. But we did it for the experience. Inside our six person hard sleeper car we slowly made our way from Saigon to Da Nang. In the morning we woke up and I walked the length of the train. I had some iced coffee when my one of my traveling companions warns me about having ice in third world countries. By this time I decided I gave up, and just finished my drink. Hoping either the ice was filtered or that my body learned to deal with third world bacteria. Turns out I was fine.
Dusty and I were standing looking out at an expanse of rice paddies when an older Vietnamese man approaches us and says, “Lost?” At first I didn’t understand, so he repeats it once or twice more. I then shake my head no and point to the rice fields and say, “No, just looking.” He then proceeds to squat down with a smile, pull out a cigarette and stares at us. I ask him, “Yours?” as I point to the fields. He nods his head yes. When Dusty and I decided it was time to go, he covers his eyes with his hands, how a father covers his eyes when he plays peek-a-boo with a baby. “Hotel?” he says. Again he repeats it once or twice. I say, “We have,” and smile. As we wave goodbye he remains squatting smoking a cigarette.
It was here I realized, it would be possible to get lost in the culture of Vietnam but one would first have to throw away the lonely planet guide and avoid many of the places people talk about in Vietnam to get there. Vietnam is a skinny country, and to find something real is a real pain in the ass.
The smiling man's fields
Lazily spending my days in Hoi An I was sad to leave, but excited to finally see the Vietnamese capital. I left Hoi An in a t-shirt and arrived in Hanoi freezing.
The train platform in Da Nang
Upon entering our sleeper car we had 3 new traveling companions, a young woman, her child and the young woman’s mother. The young woman could speak English so we chatted a little about Vietnam, but nothing in particular. A few hours later we arrived in Da Nang and grabbed a taxi to Hoi An.
Street view of Hoi An French/Asian fusion
Hoi An is a small town in the center of Vietnam facing the coast. Considering it’s size, it is a huge tourist destination. Mainly because of its well preserved French inspired buildings and renowned tailors. Although I didn’t get a suit, I had some shoes made and possibly ate more French food than Vietnamese food. Overall it was a place for shopping and looking at buildings. But it was nice to finally be in a quieter part of Vietnam. It also helped renting motor bikes and leaving the city and getting into the rice paddy.
My bike and the sea
Just outside of Hoi An proper
Upon entering our sleeper car we had 3 new traveling companions, a young woman, her child and the young woman’s mother. The young woman could speak English so we chatted a little about Vietnam, but nothing in particular. A few hours later we arrived in Da Nang and grabbed a taxi to Hoi An.
Street view of Hoi An French/Asian fusion
Hoi An is a small town in the center of Vietnam facing the coast. Considering it’s size, it is a huge tourist destination. Mainly because of its well preserved French inspired buildings and renowned tailors. Although I didn’t get a suit, I had some shoes made and possibly ate more French food than Vietnamese food. Overall it was a place for shopping and looking at buildings. But it was nice to finally be in a quieter part of Vietnam. It also helped renting motor bikes and leaving the city and getting into the rice paddy.
My bike and the sea
Just outside of Hoi An proper
Dusty and I were standing looking out at an expanse of rice paddies when an older Vietnamese man approaches us and says, “Lost?” At first I didn’t understand, so he repeats it once or twice more. I then shake my head no and point to the rice fields and say, “No, just looking.” He then proceeds to squat down with a smile, pull out a cigarette and stares at us. I ask him, “Yours?” as I point to the fields. He nods his head yes. When Dusty and I decided it was time to go, he covers his eyes with his hands, how a father covers his eyes when he plays peek-a-boo with a baby. “Hotel?” he says. Again he repeats it once or twice. I say, “We have,” and smile. As we wave goodbye he remains squatting smoking a cigarette.
It was here I realized, it would be possible to get lost in the culture of Vietnam but one would first have to throw away the lonely planet guide and avoid many of the places people talk about in Vietnam to get there. Vietnam is a skinny country, and to find something real is a real pain in the ass.
The smiling man's fields
Lazily spending my days in Hoi An I was sad to leave, but excited to finally see the Vietnamese capital. I left Hoi An in a t-shirt and arrived in Hanoi freezing.
Hanoi
Somehow, I had to wear everything I owned in order to stay warm in Hanoi wandering the labyrinth made by the buildings of the old quarter. Our hostel was brand new and was extremely nice. We booked some bunk beds and headed out into the freezing heart of Hanoi. Picturesque, yes. Likeable…hmm. Seems like everyone who has been to Vietnam has been here, and the Vietnamese know it. Don’t care if you’re there or not, because someone else will easily fall into the gap you make.
At work in Hanoi
I can’t quite put my foot on it, but I couldn’t find something awesome about Hanoi besides it’s vicinity to Ha Long Bay. Maybe I was spoiled by Thai and Cambodian hospitality and blinded by the New Year party atmosphere of Saigon. Or maybe it was just because it was cold. Either way I stocked up on Crest toothbrushes because I knew I wouldn’t get a proper toothbrush back in Japan.
The next day we were off to Ha Long Bay. We piled into a bus with people from around Europe and U.S. The bay was beautiful, but it was FULL of boats towing people around. It may have been one of the most commercialized tours I was ever on, mostly because we were stuck on the boat and couldn’t wander off. We met a German guy who lived in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. A Dutch couple and became friends with a younger Irish woman and man who we sang Karaoke with.
Halong Bay
After our one night on the boat we headed back to Hanoi for our last night. We met up with the two Irish and tried some Bia Hoi, Vietnamese fresh beer. It is beer that is brewed the same day it is served, and is cheap. I think about $.10 a glass. It is usually drunk about two feet or less from oncoming traffic on a street corner shop. This night we turned in early, since we were catching out next flight early back to Bangkok before heading home to Japan.
At work in Hanoi
I can’t quite put my foot on it, but I couldn’t find something awesome about Hanoi besides it’s vicinity to Ha Long Bay. Maybe I was spoiled by Thai and Cambodian hospitality and blinded by the New Year party atmosphere of Saigon. Or maybe it was just because it was cold. Either way I stocked up on Crest toothbrushes because I knew I wouldn’t get a proper toothbrush back in Japan.
The next day we were off to Ha Long Bay. We piled into a bus with people from around Europe and U.S. The bay was beautiful, but it was FULL of boats towing people around. It may have been one of the most commercialized tours I was ever on, mostly because we were stuck on the boat and couldn’t wander off. We met a German guy who lived in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. A Dutch couple and became friends with a younger Irish woman and man who we sang Karaoke with.
Halong Bay
After our one night on the boat we headed back to Hanoi for our last night. We met up with the two Irish and tried some Bia Hoi, Vietnamese fresh beer. It is beer that is brewed the same day it is served, and is cheap. I think about $.10 a glass. It is usually drunk about two feet or less from oncoming traffic on a street corner shop. This night we turned in early, since we were catching out next flight early back to Bangkok before heading home to Japan.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Days Like These
After a ridiculously cold January back in Japan, it seems like February, normally the coldest in Shiga, is getting warmer.
Lately I think I've been under a lot of stress. Yesterday I had 5 classes, scheduled for 6 but thankfully one was canceled, and most of them were the 7th graders who always zap the energy from my life stream.
However, there are moments that make everything seem worth it. Today I taught only my 3rd years (9th graders). I hate to choose favorites, but they ARE definitely my favorite grade. Their English ability is enough to actually have small conversations with them and their attitude is usually superb. Plus the English we are teaching them is at a bearable level and not some stupid ass useless sentence like, "Do you like pens? How many pens do you have?" It really makes me wish I was a high school teacher. Since last year, although I liked teaching them, it seems that when they start getting to about 15 years old they are just more fun and more serious about learning things. Not to mention conversations like this are priceless:
Student: "Have you ever been to Osaka?"
Me: "Yes!"
Student: "Oh! What were you doing? "Nanpa?" (Nanpa means "picking up girls.)
Or hearing two students in class with this conversation IN ENGLISH NONETHELESS:
Student A: "What do you want to be? A professional baseball player?"
Student B: "No I want to be a Daniel. He is the tallest of us all."
A: "Oh that is very cool!"
Dunno how I feel being one of multiple Daniels with the added "a" article, but I'll take it.
And also gifts such as this:
Kairo is the Japanese word for those heat pack hand warmers that are rarely used in the U.S. but always used in Japan due to the lack of central heating and insulation. This was handed to me by one of the 3rd year girls who wrote the message (spelled my name right and not Danieru).
My 3rd years I enjoy teaching. I try to be the best I can be in their classes because I know that I am given enough time in each class with an important enough role to actually make a difference in their English education. I am sad that they will be graduating in a month and the current English teacher for the 3rd years may be moving to another school. Now that I know I will be here for 18 more months, I only pray that the new first years and their main English teacher is awesome and the the current second years shape up a bit.
Again, the bittersweet of staying for another year.
Lately I think I've been under a lot of stress. Yesterday I had 5 classes, scheduled for 6 but thankfully one was canceled, and most of them were the 7th graders who always zap the energy from my life stream.
However, there are moments that make everything seem worth it. Today I taught only my 3rd years (9th graders). I hate to choose favorites, but they ARE definitely my favorite grade. Their English ability is enough to actually have small conversations with them and their attitude is usually superb. Plus the English we are teaching them is at a bearable level and not some stupid ass useless sentence like, "Do you like pens? How many pens do you have?" It really makes me wish I was a high school teacher. Since last year, although I liked teaching them, it seems that when they start getting to about 15 years old they are just more fun and more serious about learning things. Not to mention conversations like this are priceless:
Student: "Have you ever been to Osaka?"
Me: "Yes!"
Student: "Oh! What were you doing? "Nanpa?" (Nanpa means "picking up girls.)
Or hearing two students in class with this conversation IN ENGLISH NONETHELESS:
Student A: "What do you want to be? A professional baseball player?"
Student B: "No I want to be a Daniel. He is the tallest of us all."
A: "Oh that is very cool!"
Dunno how I feel being one of multiple Daniels with the added "a" article, but I'll take it.
And also gifts such as this:
Kairo is the Japanese word for those heat pack hand warmers that are rarely used in the U.S. but always used in Japan due to the lack of central heating and insulation. This was handed to me by one of the 3rd year girls who wrote the message (spelled my name right and not Danieru).
My 3rd years I enjoy teaching. I try to be the best I can be in their classes because I know that I am given enough time in each class with an important enough role to actually make a difference in their English education. I am sad that they will be graduating in a month and the current English teacher for the 3rd years may be moving to another school. Now that I know I will be here for 18 more months, I only pray that the new first years and their main English teacher is awesome and the the current second years shape up a bit.
Again, the bittersweet of staying for another year.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
On the Tops of Mountains
Since I've been back, I've gone snowboarding every weekend. Before I finish my tales in SE Asia, I thought I would do a quick update of the last couple weeks in Japan.
View of Lake Biwa (Shiga) from atop Biwako Valley
Biwako Valley Ski Resort, Lake Biwa in the distance
I also just learned that a great Indian restaurant opened about a 10 minute walk from my apartment! IN HINO! Praise the gods! It is delicious! Now there is a decent restaurant in my town. One good enough that maybe neighboring JETs may even venture into Hino for some curry.
I also signed a contract that will keep me at my current job for another 18 months. A bittersweet feeling. Knowing I will be stuck in The Sticks, Japan. But at the same time in Japan and getting paid a decent salary.
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