Vietnam, day eight: sweating in the south china sea

hoi an south china sea

Saturday, May 10th 2014:

Let’s pull ourselves out of bed.  There isn’t much on the agenda, but we only have one more day in Hoi An so let’s make the most of it.  I climb into the bathtub two feet off the ground and spend a good twenty minutes staring into the showerhead.  If I was home this would be a pajamas, Netlix and ordering Chinese sort of day.  There’s no time for that.  I’m downstairs, today’s buffet is by the pool.  Nothing is appealing.  I eat a banana and some pineapple slices, pour a few cups of scalding coffee past my chapped lips, and that’s it.  Splash some water on your face.  Let’s have some fun.

hoi an vietnam bike ride

I’m in an alley out behind the hotel filling a beach cruiser’s tires up with air.  It’s still early. Eight of us signed up for this bike ride to the beach.  We all slather on sunscreen while Kevin and Frankie put on their souvenir hats.  It’s hot and it’s only going to get hotter.  Testing the brakes, wobbling back and forth, everything seems all right.  We’re heading out to the quiet streets of Hoi An.  Everyone is starting to feel comfortable after a few minutes. The breeze feels wonderful.  The concrete gives way to dirt paths, the pho shops and hostels giving way to rice paddies and the horizon.  BOOM!  Matt’s rear tire gives out riding through a particularly rocky patch of road.  I’m thinking the worst, there is no way we’ll be able to fix this out in the middle of this desert.  Out of nowhere a man appears from a hut just down the road and he’s flagging us down, pumps and tape ready to help.  Welcome to Vietnam.  We sit in the shade sipping water waiting patiently for the repair.

hoi an south china sea

A few more miles of pedaling and we’re at Cua Dai Beach.  We lock up the bikes and walk over to the sand.  Everything seems quiet and slow, it’s about 94 degrees and rising.  A towel is set up as we throw down our backpacks, the guys all push back sweaty hair, the girls are pulling down jean shorts, expertly positioning towels, sliding into bathing suits.  Time to swim.  I forgot to pack board shorts so I run up to a tent near the street to look for one.  I point to the first size small I see.  It’s small and black and made of tissue paper and only costs about $3.  I walk over to the showers and pass an old woman some coins so I can change into it.  Rip my shirt off.  I’m running down the beach, splashing in the South China Sea.  It feels amazing.  The realization is better than the anticipation.

south china sea ho an beach

My legs adjust immediately, but it takes willpower to dunk my head under the water.  Once my body temperature is equalized…I’m loving this, wondering why I don’t go swimming in the ocean every day.  That’s when the first jellyfish swam past.  Then another swims past and I’m done.  I toss some more coins to the woman at the shower and change back into my clothes.  The shade under these palm trees is looking good to me now.  It’s time to buy a Tiger beer from a local’s cooler and do some reading, push my toes deep in the sand.  The Quiet American here on the noisy beach.

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Back on the bicycles.  It’s about 10 miles to the freezing embrace of the hotel.  After about twenty minues Elaine is struggling behind me, her front tire keeps digging into the dirt path, she seems to be having trouble with the brakes.  It’s 103 degrees.  We all pull over and try to find shade as I slather on another layer of sunscreen.  The group splits up, Lam stays with her to wait for a car and I’m soldiering on back to the hotel with four others.  I’m in my room barely able to breathe.  I can’t remember the last time I had a sunburn but I can see one forming on my shoulders, my farmer’s tan creating a permanent t-shirt on my skin.

I need a minute.  I wake up from a nap sticky and smelling of coconuts, I’m exhausted and over it.  I’m walking down the street looking for an Indian restaurant I can’t find.  I sit back in a cafe near the hotel and order sauteed chicken with morning glory, a mug of fresh beer.  It takes forever.

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I find a spot near my hotel room door that allows me to talk to Marissa for a bit on the telephone, she’s eleven hours back in time.  I’m two hours late for my fitting so I run downstairs and hail a taxi that can only take me so far.  I get let out near the old quarter, I have to walk the rest, no cars allowed.  I have a new pair of shorts for $15, exact replicas of the ones I bought for $80 in Miami.  I go looking for a quiet somewhere to wait out the sun.  I find Artbook, a really bookstore and cafe.  I buy a book and upstairs I talk to the owner about graphic design, he brings me can of Tiger beer.  A waitress comes over and asks if she can practice her English with me, she looks about 12.  The sun is setting over Hoi An, I pay my tab, I go downstairs, I brush the sweat off my forehead, I take a photo, I’m feeling new.

hoi an vietnam

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I feel like walking.  Way too many photos are taken from the bridge of the sun setting over the river, of the fake flowers glowing for the Buddha’s birthday, of the motorbikes rolling by.  I begin the long walk home, buying a can of seaweed-flavored Pringles and a bottle of water on the way.  This is my dinner.  My eyelids flutter shut and I’m dreaming of Saigon.

Vietnam, day seven: the tailors of hoi an

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Friday, May 9th 2014:

6:00AM.  I feel good about this new schedule I’m on, all of a sudden I’m a morning person.  I’m in dirty clothes picked off the floor and carelessly thrown on, downstairs for breakfast.  I sit at a table by myself for a quick meal, I’m not ready for socializing.  Fried potatoes, various fruits and crude oil coffee.  I head back to my room for a pointless shower, the heat is here to stay, there’s no sense in getting primped for a long bus ride, but… I shove everything I have into my ever-expanding backpack and I’m in the elevator, ready to move on.  This is when things start to get hazy.  I stopped taking notes.  I’m piecing things together through photographs for the next two days.  It’s 8:00AM.  It’s time to leave Hue.  Let’s go to Hoi An.

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I’m comfortably content on the bus.  I have an entire row to myself, the air-conditioner clicks on and off and I’m constantly thumbing the vent.  I’m listening to Bob Dylan as my head rocks against the window to the beat of the bumpy road.  “It’s too hot to sleep, time is running away.”  After two hours of nothing the ocean comes shining meth blue through the left windows and we’re all wide awake.  We stop for twenty minutes at a desserted beach resort, everything is under construction.  Those chinese tourists are sure to come a few years down the line, right?  I walk down to the beach and kick off my shoes.  I just want to feel the water on my feet.  Now I’m in the shade ordering an espresso, excited about Hoi An, I’ve heard nothing but amazing things.  Let’s keep going.

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This bus could be a tomb.  We’re weaving back and forth through the hills, slamming on the brakes for passing cars, racing higher and higher into the mountains.  One misstep and we’d be tumbling down into the ocean.  That would be it, at least the view would be great.  Luckily the bus stops at Hai Van Pass, an overlook stretching over the Anaamite Range above the South China Sea, on the border of Da Nang and Thura Thien-Hue Province.  We disembark to a crumbling village of make-shift huts and aggresive souvenir hawkers, this is a busy stop.  I walk up to the highest point and I can see the ocean this way and that way and all around, it’s really incredible.  Concrete  gun emplacements riddled with bullet holes litter the mountanside.  It’s hard to imagine the war here, it’s so beautiful, but remnants of bloodshed are everywhere you step.  I take some photos and get back on the bus.  We have one more photo-op on the way to Hoi-An.  It’s just a quick stop to see the thousands of fishing boats clogging the harbor in the next town.  The stench of rotting fish is strong.  We’re getting close.

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street hawkers in hoi an vietnam

We finally roll into town in the mid-afternoon and check in to the Phu Thinh Boutique Resort & Spa.  It’s a lovely, beach town hotel.  It would fit in perfectly to any beach-side town in any country you placed it.  I walk up three floors to my room, throw my bags down, wash my face, take a sip of water, and we’re walking down the street to the old quarter for lunch, The Mermaid Restaurant & Grill.  They advertise themselves as being the first restaurant in Hoi An.  I have some Vietnamese seafood hot pot and a cold local beer.  I couldn’t be happier.

It’s time to get aquainted.  It’s a small town, streets in a grid, a river crosses through the busiest part making it easy to find your way around.  We check out a lantern shop and wait around to see a traditional music and dance performace.  I position myself on a plastic stool next to the closest fan, nodding off, the music echoes through my brain as the heat echoes through my blood.  (OOF.  That was a poetic stretch.)

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I’m trying to walk on the shadier side of the street, I can’t express to you how god damn hot it is.  We stop at a Buddhist temple for 20 minutes and I take full advantage.  It’s so quiet and relaxing, crazy spirals of incense create drifts of smoke that flood the hallways.  Mr. Phong sits at his desk doing paperwork, even Buddhist temples have their busy work.  Now it’s just a quick walk over to see the famous Japanese covered bridge, constructed in the early 1600s.  Let’s meet the famous tailors of Hoi An.  Everyone has been looking forward to this.  We have photos, drawings, measurements and plenty of cash.  It’s known that you can have anything made for cheap in Hoi An and it will be ready to pick up the following day.  I packed light so I get fitted for a pair of shorts at Yaly to replace the pair currently disentegrating around my waist.  Now it’s time to go back to the hotel to cool off, I’m drenched.

banh mi hoi an vietnam

lanterns hoi an vietnam

It’s dark.  I walk to the bar at the back of the hotel to have my first glass of wine of the trip. It’s hard to find good wine in this part of the world, this one is sugary and tastes like juice, but it’s welcomed.  I have an hour to kill before my friends are ready and waiting for me in the lobby.  I pass the time missing and texting Marissa.  We all meet up and walk back to the old quarter to Morning Glory Restaurant, street-style food in an upscale dining room.  Mango salad, a pork banh mi, and two giant Biere Larues.  I really liked this restaurant and I recommend it.

hoi an vietnam lanterns

It was getting late so everyone paid their tabs and went back to the hotel.  Kevin, Frankie and I decided to hang back and check out the other side of town. Children in conical hats sell lanterns to float on the water, motorbikes gently weave through the crowd across the bridge, Dr. Dre and A$AP Rocky blare from the tourist dives, the lantern stalls are all lit up.  We wanted to try Bia Hoi, a local specialty.  Fresh beer, brewed daily, about ten cents a mug.  We happily chugged down our pints as an old woman tried her hardest to sell us wooden whistles.  1 for $1.  2 for 1$.  5 for 1$. 10 for 1$!  Stumble back to bed.

Vietnam, day six pt.2: little don quixote

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Thursday, May 8th 2014:

The cross I carry is mine.  I found it in the dirt.  I don’t wear it on the southside, but I wear it where it hurts.  When I go back to Spain, with brains splat on my shirt…I’m going to change my name.  I’m selling all I own. - Stavros Polentas

Here I am.  The sun is relentless.  Sweat pours down my chest making grey salt deposits all over the front of my shirt, tiny maps appearing on my disappearing stomach.  Time to get back on the bikes.  I’m ready to be piloting my own now, for a moment I could just break away.  I would point it towards the Central Highlands, to Laos or Burma, dropping my backpack a mile down the road, lines of a well-lived-life quickly forming on my face.  I’m here on the back of this bike in Hue.  My driver weaves down narrow dirt paths passing palm trees and forest, we bend to the left and to the right, the wind whips past and I close my eyes, children run up to scream “HELLO!” and give high fives.  Every small farm house in the distance flies the flag of Vietnam next to the flag of the long gone Soviet Union.  I’m here, now.

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1:00PM.  We stop at a quiet Buddhist temple in the middle of nowhere for lunch.  Monks sit stoically in their saffron robes smiling for camera clicks as we file past to the open air dining room.  Puffy crackers dipped in a mushroom, lime, chili and herb mixture with shredded vegetables, carrot and pumpkin soup, fresh spring rolls, tofu curry with sweet rolls, fried rice and faux-pork, sticky rice sesame squares for dessert.  A completely vegetarian meal.  We all agree it’s the best meal of the trip as we scavenge the surrounding tables for seconds.  I lick sticky something-or-others off my finger tips and it’s time to move on.  Black storm clouds are quickly moving in, blotting out the sun.

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I can’t say what made me fall in love with Vietnam – that a woman’s voice can drug you; that everything is so intense. The colors, the taste, even the rain. Nothing like the filthy rain in London. They say whatever you’re looking for, you will find here. They say you come to Vietnam and you understand a lot in a few minutes, but the rest has got to be lived.Graham Greene

The motor kicks on and I ride the bike out to the crowded, busy streets.  Everything begins to fade away at once.   One left turn and it’s a straight arrow to the countryside.  The world is being unwrapped before my eyes as the rice paddies multiply.  We pull over a few times to take photos of makeshift walkways and nothing at all.  The rain starts to come down and we stop for cover in a small village.

Under an ancient bridge beautiful, elderly women pull their legs up beneath themselves.  Conical hats, long poles balancing produce, wooden sandals, traditional dress.  We sit quietly for an hour waiting out the storm.  The rice fields just past the river are on fire; everthing coated in smoke.  Our drivers pull out ponchos and everyone gets suited up.  I decide not to wear one.  I feel like getting soaked.  We fly through the countryside, dirty water kicking up all over the back of my legs, past crumbling temples and past rivers full of rotting boats.  The city comes back in to focus and I’m back at the hotel.  I tip my driver and go up to my room.

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Finally, from so little sleeping and so much reading, his brain dried up and he went completely out of his mind.Miguel de Cervantes

I take a shower, open the window, and drink a warm Huda beer from the minibar as the clouds begin to clear.  I take a 20 minute walk down to the river and cross the bridge to Dong Ba Market.  It’s a labyrinth of souvenirs, home goods, vegetables, fresh fish, and guts.  An old women grabs me by my arm and leads me to her booth, the same booth she’s occupied for decades.  This is what I want.  I want to be fed.

Everything is delicious.  Plate after plate, bowl after bowl, nothing but the most incredible, unknown flavors, the smells are indescribable.  She keeps bringing out food until I make the universal sign of being stuffed, rubbing my stomach and contorting my face like I’m about to pass out.  The last bite of mystery meat I eat tastes too foreign to me and I’m done.  I hand over a few dollars and leave, stopping for a minute at a bookstore on my way back to the hotel.  I want to Google “exotic meats vietnam” and eat some Pepto-Bismol.  There is nothing to worry about.  It’s 9:15PM and everything is wonderful.  Goodnight.

Vietnam, day six pt.1: king mark approximately

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Thursday, May 8th 2014:

If there is here revealed a capacity to shock, to startle the lifeless ones from their profound slumber, let us congratulate ourselves; for the tragedy of our world is precisely that nothing any longer is capable of rousing it from its lethargy.  No more violent dreams, no refreshment, no awakening.  In the anesthesia produced by self-knowledge, life is passing, art is passing, slipping from us: we are drifting with time and our fight is with shadows.  We need a blood transfusion. - Anais Nin, 1934

6:30AM.  The sun is peeking through the blinds so I rip them wide open, I’m awake with purpose.  I go down to the second floor of the hotel for a quick breakfast.  Boiled potatoes, watermelon, canteloupe, and coffee.  It could be any other day: wake up, eat, get to work.  But it’s not any other day, I’m further away from those other days than I’ve ever been, isolated on the other side of the world, surrounded by the immensity of it.  I go back to my room to pack some things in a tote: sunscreen & sunglasses.  I’m across the street buying a bottle of water.  I’m in the lobby ready for the day.  It’s 8:00AM in Vietnam.

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We take a walk down to the Perfume River to get on a dragon boat.  These aren’t the elegant dragon boats of the past.  No rowers, no intimacy with the river, there’s nothing romantic about them.  The word “TOURIST” is painted on the side of each.  We’re enclosed in glass, there are tables of souvenirs ready to be sold, the motor gently pushes us up river. We sit in plastic chairs as an elderly woman rocks gently in a hammock near the back, her caged bird sits silent, I can’t wait to disembark.  The boat docks and we walk up the stone steps to Thien Mu Pagoda.  It’s brutally hot.  I take a photo of some Chinese tourists taking a photo and move on to the Buddist temple directly behind it, getting away from the group.  There’s the car Thich Quang Duc, the famous Buddhist monk, drove on his way to self-immolating in protest outside of the Cambodian embassy in Saigon.  It’s displayed along with a plaque near the rear of the temple.  I find a tree to sit under for a few minutes, take a drag of water.  It’s completely silent, incense smoke wafts up around my ears, tucks in filling my nose and I don’t want to get away from it.  It feels peaceful here.

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This is no longer a vacation.  It’s a quest.  It’s a quest for fun.  You’re gonna have fun, and I’m gonna have fun… We’re all gonna have so much fucking fun we’re gonna need plastic surgery to remove our goddamn smiles.Clark Griswold, 1983

It’s time to get on a motorbike.  We all knew this was coming, some of us were excited, the majority are hesitant.  There are 17 of us, 17 drivers, 17 motorbikes.  We pick keys out of a bag and find the corresponding bike.  Shake hands with your driver for the day.  I loosen the straps on my helmet to fit over my gigantic head and we’re off.

My driver stoically kicks the motor on and heads straight into traffic, my knuckles are already white, the left hand grabbing his shoulder, the right wrapped tight around the seat.  It’s a quick introduction, only about 5 minutes and we’re visiting a local incense maker.  I buy a bag of freshly rolled cinnamon-scented incense and I’m excited to get back on the bike.  I’m already loosening up, my left hand on my knee, my right on the handle behind the seat.  We swerve down narrow dirt roads to a lookout point 10 minutes away.   Here is the Perfume River.  This is how a creator would have wanted it to be seen.  Smoke rises from a distant rice paddy, wooden skiffs barely move down river, the trees greener than any green I’ve seen before, the brightness and contrast of actual life turned up to a cinematic level.  A path leads this way, a path leads down to the river.  Abandoned military barracks are behind me riddled with bullet holes washed to perfect circles from rain.  Local teenagers giggle and kiss.  Back on the bikes.

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The next stop is the tomb of Tu Duc, the fourth emperor of the Nguyen Dynasty of Vietnam, reigning from 1847 to 1883.  It’s mid-afternoon, this is as hot as it will get.  We walk under the shadows of the walls, past the man-made lake, past Luong Khiem palace to the rear of the complex.  Here is his actual tomb, elaborate and exposed, no relief from the heat.  A local woman in a conical hat dries chili peppers in the sun.  Everyone buys popsicles and we eat them in the shade.  I buy a book about Ho Chi Minh from the gift shop.  Just resting now.  Time to cool down.

Vietnam, day five: the purple forbidden city & the dmz

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Wednesday, May 7th 2014:

6:30AM.  I’m contorted in my bunk on the train as it slowly rocks hard to the left, then to the right.  Again, I’m the first awake.  My legs knock over a half-empty can of Pringles as they stretch out as far as they’ll go.  I try to sit up, my filthy socks push into the luggage stowed on the shelf at the edge of the bunk.  I reach over and pull open the curtain.  Staring out the window, I see green hills and the countryside rolling past, a silent film never to be replayed.  We’re a few hours north of the DMZ.  I hear a woman yelling in Vietnamese rolling a beverage cart past the door, Elaine wakes up and orders four cups of instant coffee with condensed milk.  I find my footing on the ladder and jump down.  Everyone wipes the sleep away from their eyes, we stomach the coffee and eat slightly stale croissants.  Good Morning!

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Three more hours till we reach the station in Hue.  I went down the hall to use the toilet, just a hole in the train floor with a bar to grab onto.  There is a “western style” toilet available in the next car, but I’m fine with anything today.  Back to my bunk.  I read two chapters in my book and pass out, so tired, the sleeping plank and the dirty pillow feel like fine Egyptian cotton.  Wake up and collect your bags.  Welcome to Hue, the former capital, the Imperial City of the Nguyen Dynasty.

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11:00AM.  I get off the train and get on the bus straight to the Gold Hotel, “the most impressive four star hotel in Hue City”.  I went up to my room on the tenth floor, threw down my bags, washed my face, back down the elevator, back in it, just keep going.  Hue seems like it will be a cool city to spend a couple days in, definitely quieter than Hanoi.  I walk past a soccer stadium painted with the Olympic Rings, some sort of wishful thinking for their future.  Down the street and around the corner I ran into Kevin and Frankie at a sidewalk cafe, they had just ordered, another bowl of pho bo for me and a Huda beer.  Every town in Vietnam has their own local brew, it’s all Huda in Hue.

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We met up in the lobby in the late afternoon for a quick bus ride to Hue Citadel and The Imperial City.  It’s best to see places like this early in the morning before anyone arrives.  By this time of day buses were already clogging the parking lot, sprawling tour groups being herded along, impossible to get a clear photograph of anything.  It was also unbearably hot, my clean t-shirt soaked through with sweat after being there for only ten minutes.  I won’t go on about it.  It’s a huge sprawling complex, much bigger than it looks from the outside, all very beautiful.  I just wasn’t in the right frame of mind to really enjoy it.  You don’t need me to tell you how amazing the wonders of the world are, they’re known as wonders because they are, UNESCO has you covered.  After a few hours we walked back to the bus as the rain started to come down, passing a display of captured American planes and tanks on the way.

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8:00PM.  The whole group took a walk to La Carambole for dinner, classic French and Vietnamese cuisine.  Fresh spring rolls (not the best), grilled pork and rice.  It was Josephine’s birthday so after we ate Lam, our guide, brought out a cake, her name spelled hilariously wrong in frosting, and we all sang Happy Birthday.  Two cups of strong coffee.  Everyone already a bit drunk, really fun dinner.

After the long process of everyone paying seperate tabs we walked over to DMZ Bar to continue the birthday festivities.  It’s the epitome of a classic backpacker bar.  Cheap cocktails in giant plastic cups, loud pop music, the scrawls of past travelers covering every inch of the walls and the dirty ceiling.  Not the kind of bar I would normally want to spend time in, but everyone was there and it was great.  Things started quiet enough, everyone sipping beers and talking.  A bit later Cliff and Marcella, a couple from Scotland with the most musical of accents, livened things up with an interpetive dance to The Proclaimer’s “I Would Walk 500 Miles”, the Scottish national anthem.  Pool was played and more drinks were poured.  We stumbled back to the hotel around midnight taking a few wrong turns here and there.  A perfect ending to not my favorite day.

Vietnam, day four: seeing angels in the architecture

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Tuesday, May 6th 2014:

6:30AM.  Things are moving in slow motion.  You wake up on a boat before anyone else in a country on the other side of the world.  You don’t bother showering or changing clothes.

I went to the top deck, bleary-eyed, still half asleep.  The sun is rising, half-cloaked by floating mountains and fog, everything is silent.  I get through another chapter of my book and go searching for signs of life below.  Breakfast is being served.  Unnecessarily high stacks of buttered toast, dragon fruit wedges, always disappointingly bland, their hot pink dangerous skin teasing of flavors that don’t exist.  Everyone shuffles in a few at a time and takes a seat, giving the slightest of good mornings.  Fried eggs are served and coffee is poured.  The crew sits at a smaller table slurping soup, I wish I had that soup too.

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It was another few hours cruising slowly back to the harbour, just sitting on a deck chair enjoying the view.  This was the first day of the trip where my eyes really began to focus.  The cobwebs of jet lag finally shaken off.  The boat docked and we immediately got on the bus to head back to Hanoi.  Business as usual, headphones on, watching the scenery fly by.  After a couple hours we stopped for lunch at a huge craft store on the side of the highway.  All the art, clothing, paintings, etc made by people affected by Agent Orange, all proceeds benefitting them.  I went straight to the cafe in the back and ate my first bowl of pho bo, the first of many, with a Coke Light.  Bought a bottle of water for the bus and three postcards and three stamps to mail home.  Back on the bus.

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Back where I started, the Hong Ngoc Cochinichine Hotel, Hanoi, Vietnam.  There would be no overflowing tub or rock hard mattress to enjoy tonight, just a room to throw my backpack in for the remainder of the day.  There is an overnight train in my future.  I sat in the lobby for a minute and screenshot some maps of the city on my iPhone and then I was off.  Time to get lost in the Old Quarter.  So insane, no sidewalks, jockeying for walking space on the street, the smells, the smells!…motorbike exhaust, mystery meats burning on coals, incense everywhere…the sound of those motorbikes constantly humming by.  You don’t just cross a street in Hanoi, you will yourself to be alive on the other side of that street.  I went down to the river to find a coffee shop a friend recommended to me, no luck.  It’s even busier by the river, backpacker bars, shops, rooftop restaurants, no time to think or look at a map, some little kid inexplicably grabbing my ankle as I walk past.  I stopped into The Polite Pub on a quiet side street and ordered a Tiger draught, full of locals at that time of the day, free wi-fi, texted Marissa and just sat for an hour.

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I paid my tab and went out to meet some friends from the group at 69 Bar-Restaurant.  After wandering around for thirty minutes I finally found it.  Give me one more week in Hanoi and I could give you directions, but this was just plain dumb luck.  I showed up before anyone else and passed the time sitting out front talking to the owner.  He asked me about America and told me about all the cars passing by, how people in Vietnam love Lexus and BMW, how I’ll see more in Saigon, how no one can actually afford them.  Everyone finally showed up and we went to our table on the second floor.  Josephine, tall Swedish girl in her early twenties, ran into a friend downstairs, small world.  Dinner was an impressive bowl of boiling broth and fish over fire, ash from the glowing embers spitting onto my lap.  Drop in some lemongrass and dill, pour it over noodles, take a sip of beer, pretty decent.

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We had about an hour to make it back to the hotel.  Slowly shuffling through the streets, my last night in this ancient city.  My eyes are wide open, I see every piece of peeling paint, every electrical wire sloppily stapled to a wooden post.  I stop into a bodega near the hotel to buy a bottle of water and two Halida beers for later.  We all pile onto the bus for the short ride to the train station around 10:00PM.  The station is hot and crowded.  Everyone buys snacks and drinks, croissants for the morning, beer to help fall asleep.  I’m bunked with Matt and Della, a young couple in their late twenties from Birmingham England, long lost friends from another life, and Elaine, from London, the sweetest, reminds me of my mother.  I’m on the top bunk, bunk 16.  We’re in “first class”, but it’s a very basic train, a cramped cabin, dirty blankets and pillows.  Everyone in the group puts their luggage away and walks around smiling, taking photos.  No one complains.  This is an experience and I love everyone for loving that.  I feel lucky to be bunked with these three.  We stay up till midnight talking and laughing.  It’s a rough night’s sleep.  Noisy, bumpy and cold.  I have no idea where I’ll be when I wake up, I can’t wait.

Vietnam, day three: junk boat sleeping on ha long bay

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Monday, May 5th 2014:

It’s morning in Vietnam.  I’m wide awake.  I seem to be adjusting to this time travel quicker than I thought I would.  Downstairs again for another breakfast of fruit, fried something-or-others, and coffee thicker than bone.  I take a quick shower in the badly retrofitted tub, it’s about 4 feet off the ground, water pours out from the half-caulked edges flooding the entire bathroom.  I go to a little store down the street and buy a huge bottle of water for about 20 cents and stand outside waiting for the bus.  It’s about 4 hours north to Ha Long Bay, close to the Chinese border.

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Crossing the Red River heading away from Hanoi, my head rests against the fogged up window of this bus, headphones on.  I turn Love In Vain by The Rolling Stones up as loud as it will go.  The soundtrack of the war for countless American GIs, atleast that’s what dozens of Hollywood films have led me to believe.  Just going with it, watching the country roll by.  After a couple of hours we stop for a restroom break at a pottery factory in a small village.  I spend about 20 minutes walking around seeing how they form, fire and paint these elaborate blue and white vases.  All the clay sourced from the surrounding mountains.  I have no idea who buys them, I’m guessing tourists stopping for a restroom break, but they’re beautiful and it’s fascinating to see.  Two cups of lotus tea.  The local kids doing their best photo poses for the clicks and camera flashes.  Back on the bus.

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Another 2 hours and we’re in Ha Long Bay.  It was interesting overhearing people from Australia and Scotland on the bus talking about the Vietnam War (known around here as The American War).  I’ll get into that more once we hit Saigon.  My first impression of Halong Bay was that it’s a gigantic tourist nightmare.  People from all over crowding into the port waiting to be taken out to their ship.  We got on a small wooden skiff, life vests on, and cruised out to our overnight junk boat among the seemingly thousands.  It didn’t look like much from afar, but it was actually very charming.  Everyone had their own room on the bottom deck, large bed, port windows, en-suite bathroom.  They served us a nice lunch cooked right there on the boat, everyone had a beer in hand.  Then it was just heading out into the bay.  The clustered boats all go in their own direction, the water and sky open up, the tourist nightmare fades away, and it’s incredible.

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It’s hard to describe how beautiful Ha Long Bay is.  Thousands of these rocky, tree covered, floating islands jutting up from perfect, undisturbed water.  We all spent a few quiet hours moving about the boat, finding the best views.  Climbing up and down stairs, trying out different lounge chairs, taking hundreds of identical photographs.  Then it was time for a bit of exploring before dinner.  We climbed back onto the small wooden boat and headed to shore.  It was a long, hot walk up a cliffside to check out this large cave system.  It was hard to take a good photograph in the caves, but I posted a blurry one above anyways.  It was really crowded with tourists, but amazing nonetheless.  Looks more like a film set than something still being formed naturally over thousands of years.  Sweaty and sore, walking back to the ship.  Old women paddle by in makeshift boats overflowing with goods.  They lift their fishing nets up to the cliff, you drop your money in, up comes whatever you need.  Pringles, cigarettes, beer, water, chocolate bars, postcards, anything you want.

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Back on the boat I leaned against a railing on the stern and watched most of the group climb into kayaks.  Kayaking was an optional evening activity, decided to sit this one out.  Two fishermen pulled up and sold a bucket of fresh crabs to our crew, we’d be eating those in a couple hours, a meal request care of our guide, Lam.  I decided to waste away the rest of the day on the top deck.  Halida beer and The Quiet American by Graham Greene on a lounge chair.  Dinner was squid, shrimp, whole fish, crab, and vegetables.  The crabs were cooked, the meat taken out and mixed with herbs and spices, put back in the shell and cooked again.  Everyone talked about those crabs throughtout the trip as one of the best meals we had.

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After dinner everyone gathered at the bow of the boat for drinks and talking.  There was nowhere else to go.  We’d be spending the night here, waking up on Ha Long Bay.  For some reason the younger people in the group retired to their cabins below while the older ones decided to stay awake and do some drinking.  After an hour or two, Dean, this large cartoon caricature of an Australian, and the nicest guy you’ll ever meet, plugged his iPod into the boat’s stereo and put on some Nick Cave.  Really good conversation and getting to know everyone a whole lot better.  Laurel, beautiful and young in her early-70s, after putting back a couple Cointreaus on ice, requested some Led Zeppelin.  So much fun.  This went on for a while and then it was clearly time for sleep.  Port windows open, fan on, cool sea breeze, the gentlest of rocking waves.  Goodnight.

Vietnam, day two: when you’re lost in the rain in hanoi

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Sunday, May 4th 2014:

Good morning, Hanoi.  The first half of today is pretty much a blur.  Jet lag hit me hard.  I didn’t even bother getting my camera out, just took a few snaps with my phone.  I went downstairs to grab some breakfast in the hotel lobby.  Pineapple, melon, cucumber salad, fried eggs, fried spring rolls, bacon, and fried rice.  Some sort of confused translation of a Western breakfast.  Drank a couple cups of muddy coffee and went right back up to my room for a nap, the first of many today.

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I woke up and decided to take my first walk around the city.  I wanted to check out the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, about a 15 minute walk from the hotel.  I wandered around some side streets and strolled down a beautiful tree-lined road towards that part of town.  The combination of heat and jet lag made it feel like I was sleepwalking.  I didn’t get far.  The first day of trying to adjust to an 11 hour time difference.  I missed a lot of things I wanted to see in Hanoi this day, but I knew I’d be back on Tuesday to make up for it.  Back to the hotel for another nap and a shower.

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6:00PM.  Time to go to the lobby and meet with the group I’d be traveling with.  Everyone shuffled in a few at a time, ordering beers from the bar, taking a seat at the table set up for 16.  Our Vietnamese guide, Lam, introduced himself and had us all write down our insurance information.  We went through the day to day itinerary in Vietnam, lots of early mornings, full days, but also plenty of time to relax and explore.  The people in the group came mainly from Australia and the UK.  One from Sweden, one from New Zealand.  I was the only American and only 1 of 2 traveling solo.  That was orientation.

We all met downstairs about an hour later to go have dinner.  About a 20 minute walk through Hanoi’s labyrinthine streets and markets to the Old Quarter.  We went to an upstairs restaurant called A Taste of Hanoi on a busy street overflowing with bars and cafes, the sidewalks crammed with people perched on miniature plastic stools.  I could tell the restaurant catered mostly to tourists and tour groups, but it was fine, the food was good.  Lemongrass beef with steamed rice.  Spent a couple hours there talking and getting to know everyone.

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After dinner a few of us decided to hang around the Old Quarter to grab a drink.  Two Bia Hà Nộis downstairs on those tiny plastic stools in the street.  Backpackers and locals shoulder to shoulder, street food hawkers, people selling balloons and garbage souvenirs, motorbikes slowly weaving through the crowd.  We decided to call it an early night, four hour bus ride to Halong Bay in the morning.  The rain started coming down as soon as we stood up, everyone splitting ways.  I followed two Australian friends, Frankie and Kevin, back to the hotel.  I had no idea how to get back on my own.  Running through back alleys, people scrambling to cover the street markets with tarps, ducking under awnings to look at a map, getting completely soaked.  Back in the room, breathless and happy.  Sleep.

Vietnam, day one: 24 hours from miami to hanoi

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Friday, May 2nd – Saturday, May 3rd 2014:

Awake before dawn to finish packing three weeks of clothing into an impossibly small backpack.  The taxi driver called from out front about 20 minutes early, so no time to think or double check things, kiss Marissa goodbye, out the door.  I’m on my way.

Okay, so.  This is the beginning of three weeks of traveling solo through Southeast Asia.  Vietnam, Cambodia, and Thailand.  I’m about to fly from Miami to Hanoi.  24 hours of travel time.  I’ve never been to Asia and I’ve never been on a trip this long.  To make things easy on myself I decided to go on a tour with Intrepid Travel, another first for me.  I never liked the idea of planned group travel, but it turned out to be an amazing experience.  I would do it again.  

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taxi driver:  “Where ya headed?”
me:  “Vietnam.”
taxi driver:  “Wow.  The last time I was there I was killing those people.”

I left early enough to miss rush hour traffic down to Miami International Airport.  I was feeling pretty emotional from the moment I got through security, 3 weeks is a long time to be away from home.  I settled in, made some calls, drank a bloody mary.  Time to go.  Miami to Chicago to Tokyo to Hanoi. The flights were uneventful.  I thought 24 hours of travel time would be a nightmare, but I just watched a lot of movies, ate a ton of food and napped whenever I could.  I managed to get some wi-fi at the Tokyo airport and sent a quick photo home, excited to be in Japan for even just an hour.  Then it was another 6 hours to Vietnam.  I got in late, already dark outside.  Got some Vietnamese Dong out of an ATM and flagged down a taxi driver outside.  Hazy ride to my hotel in Hanoi, windows down, warm sticky breeze, getting excited.

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I checked in to the Hong Ngoc Cochinchine Hotel a little before midnight local time.  I went up to my room on the eighth floor and drank a warm Tiger beer from the minibar, opened the window and stared out at the neon signs and empty streets below.  So exhausted, too wired to sleep.  I went downstairs to ask if there was a bodega nearby where I could get some water or snacks.  A bellhop sleeping in a chair by the door woke up and took me down the block to help me buy what I wanted, got himself some cigarettes.  Back upstairs and immediately asleep on the rock hard mattress.  I knew I’d wake up with no idea where I was.

Barcelona, day four: …or from the coast of barcelona

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Monday, December 31st 2012:

Waking up on New Year’s Eve in Barcelona.  I’ve always wanted to celebrate a new year in a foreign country, check that off the list.  Again, downstairs for breakfast at the hotel.  We then went up to the roof to take some photos and take in the view.  Time to go out into the city and see as much as possible on our final day in Spain.  Way too much to see.  This was a really good day.

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We started off at Mercat de la Boqueria and bought some more fresh fruit juice.  All the vendors sell it and it’s really worth trying, just €1.  I wanted to check out Bar Pinoxto, I had heard only amazing things and I was hoping we could swing by later for some tapas.  We then cut across La Rambla and headed towards the waterfront through the Gothic Quarter.  Taking our time wandering the narrow streets, maps left back in the room.  Finally at the coast, I wish we had checked out this part of the city earlier, it’s really beautiful.  Bright daylight coming up, sailboats, blue water, the sun in our eyes.

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We walked north along the harbor, wanting to check out El Born.  We passed by a circus seemingly forgotten by time.  Freakshow banners, faded tents, ancient train cars waiting for a few Euros from passer-bys with a penchant for nostalgia.  Walking west back into the shade of buildings and alleyways, we wandered through La Ribera.  A much more upscale Barcelona, high-end stores and design shops.  We spent an hour or so getting lost, turning back every time we found ourselves amongst the souvenir shops.  Finally stopped into a cool little cafe for some coffee and wi-fi, Elsa y Fred.

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Next we walked over to the Arc de Triomf to follow that road back towards the center of town.  It was a beautiful day, sunny and 70 degrees.  We walked through a park and found ourselves at the Barcelona Zoo.   We had nothing to do so we decided to check it out.  Definitely worth it.  It’s easily one of the best zoos I’ve ever been to.  Every animal you could possibly imagine.  The geography makes it pretty special, giraffes and elephants with ancient buildings and mountains far in the distance.  We spent a couple hours wandering around and then it was time for lunch.

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I picked up a map and saw that we were pretty close to 7 Portes, the restaurant we tried to go to a couple days ago.  Again, the roads in Barcelona can be confusing.  What looked like a straight road back to the waterfront took us out to the middle of nowhere.  After about an hour I found an ATM and hailed a taxi.  There’s no way I would have found it by just walking.  We had to wait about 30 minutes and then we were seated.  It’s upscale, seems to attract mostly tourists and wealthy locals.  Bread, olives, mixed salad with mustard vinagrette, monkfish soup (one of their specialities), seafood paella, a bottle of Rioja wine.  All amazing.  Little placques above the booths show you were some famous guests have sat.  Lauran Bacall, Che Guevara, Salvador Dali.

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We then followed the street back to La Rambla, walking again past the boats and waterfront, sun setting.  We went down into a Metro station to see if they had a photobooth.  They did, simple souvenirs.  Earlier in the day I read about the Spanish tradition of eating 12 grapes on New Year’s Eve when the clock strikes midnight.  You eat one grape on each of the church bell’s rings for good luck.  We went back to the market and most of the stalls were selling them seperated into little bags or plastic Cava flutes covered in cellophane, we bought two bags, moving on.  Stopped at a party supply store to buy noise makers and a plastic gold crown.  Back to the hotel for a nap.

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Wake up.  We went out and spent about an hour wandering around and shopping.  Then it was back to the hotel to get ready for the night.  The hotel put a bunch of free bottles of Cava on ice in the lobby, so I went down and grabbed two glasses.  We drank them on the roof and then went out to find something to eat.  I had three places I was dying to try, all closed.  It seemed like the night was going to be a bust but then we found Artisa, just a little cafe in the Gothic Quarter.  We ordered two sandwiches and a bottle of Cava to go.  We decided to just bring them back to the hotel and drink and eat in our room.

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At about 15 minutes to midnight we went outside to walk to La Rambla.  Things were already starting to get pretty crazy.  About a block from the hotel some drunk teenagers rounded the corner and threw something at Marissa that hit her face.  Deep breath.  We pressed on, grapes in hand.  The streets and the park were shoulder to shoulder with people.  Everyone seemingly already black-out drunk.  Bottles of Cava ready to be sprayed, older tourists uncomfortablly huddled in store fronts.  After taking a few photos, we decided to just go back and celebrate by ourselves on the hotel roof.  I hate crowds like that.  We drank the rest of the Cava on our balcony and watched everyone stumble home.  Then it was time to for a very brief sleep.  We had to be downstairs to grab a taxi to the airport at 4:30AM.

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Long flight home.  Barcelona was amazing.