The Best of Both

The first half of my trip to Southeast Asia was spent with six curious, intelligent, adventurous friends.   Initially we had to get used to the lack of wireless devices for communication, but within a few days we adjusted to showing up in the lobby at a designated time.  I benefited from the groups exponential exploration and enjoyed the inquisitive conversation that ensued at our lively meals.  We laughed as we walked the steamy streets shaking our heads, sharing many "we're not in Kansas" moments.  I delighted in going with the flow of decision making, and letting others try to explain to the tuk tuk driver where we were trying to go.

An added bonus was sharing this experience with my cousin LN, and getting to know her as an adult.  We come from a small east coast Italian family and share a deep familial connection, but have not spent a lot of time together.  In January, over dinner in Hoboken I told her about the trip my brother and I were taking, her eyes lit up, and within days she had purchased a round trip ticket to Bangkok.  Although just beginning to explore the world beyond her backyard, LN was a fearless, easy going, competent traveler.   Her sense of adventure enhanced the group dynamic, as did her ability to divide the dinner bill each evening.  And her adeptness at taming wild curls in high humidity, invaluable!  While we were at the genocide museum in Cambodia I split my big toenail on a metal divider.  I completed the exhibit, but knew I needed some first aid.  On our way back to the hotel LN said she wanted to stay with Mr. Jed, our tuk tuk driver, and go to the firing range outside of town.  "Have fun",  I said only later contemplating what I would tell her parents if something went awry.  A few hours later LN came back, lit up like a Christmas tree, sharing video of her and Mr. Jed shooting AK47s.  Mr. Jed, whom she treated to the experience, said it was the best day of his life.

The second half of my trip was spent alone, traveling the length of Vietnam from the Mekong to the mountains of Sapa.   Being solo made it easier to engage with others, and my trip was greatly enhanced by the conversations I had with locals and foreigners.  At the temple My Son outside of Hoi An, I met an Israeli couple.  The woman, whose name currently escapes me, and I were living parallel lives.  We were both a year and half into a hiatus from the corporate world.  Our desire for something different and our philosophical outlook were so similar it was eerie.  In airport lounges, on buses, and in restaurants I never longed for companionship.  It was always there if I wanted it.  I value my independence, and my ability to navigate foreign lands with comfort and proficiency.   This experience gives me more conviction and strength to stay on the path when I return home.

Senses

I documented my thirty days on the road, traveling to three distinctive countries in Southeast Asia, with my camera.  But there were experiences, excursions for the other senses which photos could not transmit, like being greeted in Bangkok by familiar acrid fumes and sticky morning heat.  Noise was everywhere, and difficult to escape, especially in the cities where the cacophony from the traffic became a soundtrack.  Popular modes of transportation varied -- bicycles and tuk tuks common in Cambodia, whereas Vietnam was all about the motorcycle and cyclo -- as did the sound of their tooting bells.  I was partial to the echoing horns in Hanoi, a much more pleasant, less abrasive sound.  I loved the deafening buzz of cicadas on the roads of Angkor Wat, monks chanting in Cambodia, gongs ringing in Vietnam.  Although I preferred to travel in silence with a good book, bus drivers in Vietnam liked to play indistinguishable pop ballads.  In Cambodia, the streets were fragrant from freshly cut pineapples at vendors' stalls, bouquets of plumeria and frangipani, and burning incense honoring Buddha and Vishna in makeshift wire holders hugging tree trunks.  One turn down a street with dried, salted fish for sale and the perfumed scent was replaced with a repugnant odor.  In Vietnam, the aroma from cauldrons of pho and pots of deep fried dough tricked my stomach into thinking it was lunchtime, 24/7.  Laws containing smokers to designated areas have not yet reached this part of the globe, thus cigarette fumes were everywhere -- expensive restaurants, buses, trains, hotel corridors, bars. Mixed with the traffic pollution the air often burned my lungs.  Prior to this trip I thought face masks were an accessory in Asia. I now comprehend they're a necessity.  I couldn't shake the minor cold I caught in Cambodia until I escaped to the clean mountains in Vietnam.  This region is plagued with respiratory disorders evident from the prevalent sound of bronchial coughs, sneezing and phlegm spitting.   I did my best to ignore the filth on the street -- a combination of daily life mixed with scraps from a food stall, hair trimmings from a barber, piss from grown men and little boys, sludge from greasy dishes, and bones from a devoured pig.  As the days from my trip recede I will always remember the Thais for their massages and tom yum goong, the Cambodians for their smiles and generosity, and the Vietnamese for their glorious fields and coastline.

Let It Be

Notions of life back in Los Angeles crept into my though patterns as I cruised Ha Long Bay in a wooden junk with eight other tourists.  We left misty Hanoi early to travel four hours to the World Heritage site.  We set sail in the bay in the South China Sea, immediately surrounded by thousands of limestone islands.  Very few are inhabited, but all are majestic.  I imagined them bathed in light like the many photos I saw in guidebooks.  I imagined being warm as I sat on the soggy chaise on the upper deck.  We docked to explore a cave, climbed cliffs to view a lagoon, and wandered through a garden of lychees and pineapples.  I chatted with two friends from Devon and a couple from Belgium.  The brother and sister and couple from Paris were more difficult to engage.  Back on board we sought heat in our individual cabins.  No sunset, no moon.  We passed the evening hours in layers of fleece, dining and sharing travel stories.  We rose to another gray day, breakfast followed by kayaking in the nearby inlets.   We paddled to a quiet cove.  Our guide fiddled with his smart phone and broke the silence with The Beatles LET IT BE.  We sang.  I laughed.  The rest of the day was spent en route, to the dock, to the bus, to the rest stop, to Hanoi.  I felt like one of the herd, on the beaten track, escorted to the natural wonder for a brief glimpse.  A lot of traveling and sitting for a very brief encounter with a must see attraction. 

Hanoi Extremes

Hanoi is chaotic, noisy and dirty, yet hidden in the litter strewn streets are boutiques, sophisticated restaurants and remnants of French colonialism infusing the ancient city with large doses of charm.

Trek

Upon arriving in Sapa I stopped at a storefront advertising guided tours to the local villages. I booked a two day trek, leaving the following morning with a homestay in Lao Chai village.  The details, where we going, how many miles we were trekking, and how many others were in the group, were murky, but I was unconcerned.  The urban centers intrigue me, but it's the mountainous regions, fertile from the rivers that weave through their basins, that make my heart flutter.  I crave being lost on a trail, in the middle of nowhere, as far from modern life as possible.  Given the recent unseasonal snow and rain in Sapa, we were fortunate with a warm, sunny day.  Terraced fields carved into the hillside were dotted with men, women and children hoeing the land planting corn, cabbage, and roses.  Rice will be planted in May and harvested in August.   Words, nor photos, can express the natural splendor of this region.  I had found my bliss.  Our group was small, three in total,  Chatelle, from New Zealand and Nicolas from Singapore, the latter along for only the day trek.  In the late afternoon we stopped in Lao Chai for the night.  We meandered down a path through the rice paddies to the river, and sat on the banks aware of our good fortune.  From the fields we heard children playing, and soon lanky adolescent bodies covered in mud were squealing towards the water.  A class of eighth graders from a private school in Seattle were traveling in Vietnam for the month.  Their task on this leg of the trip, to help the locals turn over the soil, turned into a zealous mud fight.  I admired their spirit and wondered about the impact this experience would have on their lives.  One boy, Jimmy, was in the midst of deciding where to attend high school in the fall.  He said the trip to Vietnam had changed, made him more independent, and consequently made him think differently about his future education.  Back at the homestay, Chatelle and I drank local fruit wine reminiscent of cheap port and played pool.  We were joined by four girls from Hong Kong and a couple from Isreal, Noa and Ami, whom I had encountered twice before in Sapa.  They were looking for a place for the night, and I recommended our accommodations.  We all crowded into the kitchen to help our hosts make spring rolls for dinner.  The meal was a feast -- fried potatoes, soup, sauteed greens and cabbage, spring rolls, pork and beef.  We devoured every morsel.  The four of us remained on the porch talking about our various transitional situations -- Chatelle is embarking on a year in Nepal teaching English.  Ami and Noa, recently married will soon complete their five month trip and return to Isreal.  Having completed nine years in the army Ami will begin looking for a job in the civil work force.  As the orange super moon rose in the east, we discussed many topics -- the purpose of American war in Vietnam, day to day life in Israel, career choices, Purim, travel, and relationships.  The conversation was easy, convivial as if we were old friends.  It's this interaction with people from so many diverse backgrounds that makes me love to travel.  My exposure to the world isn't just through the prism of the country I'm visiting, but through the myriad life experiences of those I meet along the way.  By 10pm we were asleep.  Morning came early when the roosters started to crow and we prepared for our trek to Ta Van village.  Another perfect day.

Hmong

Arriving in the Northern Vietnamese mountain town Sapa I'm swarmed by women in traditional black leggings, cloth shirt dresses, brightly colored scarves wrapped around their heads and heavy silver hoops in their ears.  A girl of 23 who looked closer to 13 with a baby, her baby, swathed to her back pleasantly asked me "What's your name, where are from, are you married, do you have children?"  A run on list of rote questions.  The H'mong women are industrious and engage tourists for one purpose, to sell them hand woven belts, bags, and pillow covers stored in the baskets they wear like backpacks.  In town, they followed me through out the day, waiting as I shopped or dined and then went in for the sell, "Buy something from me, my friend. I like this, I made this, buy from me."  They even trekked with us offering a hand down the the muddy terrain, to the nearby village.  Unfortunately, their companionship came with an awkward price.  In the end, they expected us to buy their wares, and strutted away annoyed if we didn't.  The H'mong girls are encouraged to marry at fifteen, as soon as they've completed secondary school, and start having children soon after.  In conversation I learned their husbands tend to be farmers, harvesting crops for them to eat, not sell, or unemployed.  The women are often the breadwinners, dependent on the money earned from hassling tourists.  I was sympathetic, yet quickly grew weary of their tactics especially when "no, thank you" had no impact on their relentless badgering.  I found myself disengaging and wishing they wouldn't walk with me on the trails.  I turned my eyes away when they started to pull items out of their baskets.   I commend their desire to make money and support their families, but I wonder if there's a better way for them to sustain an income.

Comfort

Sometimes I miss the comforts of home especially when it comes to cleanliness, a warm, cozy bed, and a hot shower.  I know I have heating issues in the hills, but I can always count on the sheets being laundered.  I've definitely hit a more rugged portion of my trip.  The last hotel in Hanoi was a dud.  Unfortunately, the ratings and descriptions on sites like Tripadvisor and Travelfish aren't always accurate or my standards are very different than those writing the reviews.  A crappy hotel stay was followed by a twelve hour night train to Sapa.  More uncomfortable than anticipated, loud and turbulent.  The melatonin I took to aid my sleep induced bizarre dreams and restlessness.  When we arrived in Lao Cai, my lower back was numb from hours on a rigid, rocking platform with a thin mattress.  During the hour bus ride further up the mountain, Sapa was initially steeped in fog, but later the clouds cleared and gave way to a glorious summit.  My hotel was less than splendid, another disappointment from the online community.  I looked to find a more suitable accommodation upon checking in, but the spectacular, tasteful boutique hotel, Sapa Rooms, on the corner was booked.  After several other no vacancies I was resigned to staying put in a  room without heat and air laden with varnish from repairs to the lobby doors..  I'm planning on a long ambien induced sleep to prepare for my two day trek tomorrow.   For all of my discomfort, and whining Sapa is one of the most breathtaking places I've ever experienced.  My hike to Cat Cat, village of the Hmong ethnic minority group, was blissful and slow-going due to the many photos I snapped along the way.   I remind myself, being outside of my comfort zone is temporary, as is being on such an amazing adventure.