Southeast Asia Sabbatical

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2011-08-10T15:09:00.000-07:00

JFK Airport, 5am, 8/10/11

How to Nurse a 7-Hour Layover

2011-08-10T11:26:00.000-07:00

Tokyo, 8/10/11

A quick primer for when one is stuck in Tokyo's Narita airport for seven hours beginning at 10pm.

Vegetable tempura soba

Do:

Eat a piping hot bowl of soba, with thick, al dente buckwheat noodles, shredded scallions, and tempura vegetables. The dish will be exorbitantly expensive compared to every other noodle soup you have consumed in Southeast Asia (at $10, roughly 10x), but it will help melt away the loneliness of the cold, sterile, empty airport
Try (futilely) to sneak into the various airport lounges by pretending to be a frequent traveler, explaining you have lost your frequent flier card, attempting to persuade them that you are a lost child, telling that of course you have applied for that gold card that grants you acceptance it just hasn't arrived in the mail yet.
Occupy your time by perusing all the luxury retailers including Tiffany's, Cartier, Louis Vuitton, Coach, and Gucci, pretending to be an infinitely discerning patron, despite being quite aromatic with an unshowered chic appearance
Constantly use the bathroom. As mentioned in one of my original posts, the toilets are so futuristic, you will feel like you're aboard the Starship Enterprise. Bring a book or a magazine and hang out for a couple hours playing with the multitude of heat settings, massages, flushes and bidets. Potentially sing a little jig. Rinse and repeat.
Visit all the Japanese souvenir shops multiple times, trying to get as many free samples of sake, banana cakes, dried fruit, and candies as possible. If necessary, put on sunglasses or a hat so they don't recognize you during your seventh trip to the sake sample table.

Takoyaki

Do NOT:

Eat the airport cafeteria's "Takoyaki" -- octopus balls. They will appear very tempting as octopi are quite delicious as far as Cephalopoda go, and fritters are typically fantastic. So how could the combination be bad? Plus, a large advertisement explains, "if you've never tried Takoyaki, you must! It's Japan's must-have snack," and then goes on to describe the balls' provenance. I understand that it may be hard to resist. But hold steady, my friends. The Takoyaki are small bready fritters, roughly the size of golf balls. Eight of them come in a small cardboard box, appearing almost like eggs in a carton. They have the consistency of fresh Pillsbury dinner rolls and are covered in shaved bonito flakes and herbs. The octopus inside is chewy and barely distinguishable and seems to be mixed with some sort of off-tasting, alien creamy mayonnaise substance. They're topped with a salty, sticky sauce tastes like an extremely reduced stock that certainly does little to help the dish. Have a second soba instead.
Try to go in to Tokyo's center. You are about 45 minutes away, the trains are no longer running, and cabs will be north of $200 one way.
Attempt to get any sleep. There are no comfortable benches and all the seating has metal armrests which makes lying down impossible. The only sleep option is to curl up in the fetal position on the grey carpeted floor, which feels like abrasive coarse hair. Or pay $15 to rent a bed for a couple hours.
Attempt to discern anything from the Japanese newspapers and magazines scattered throughout the airport
Try to listen to your iPod which after being engulfed in sand, mud, salt water, and rain has the battery life that barely makes it through "November Rain"

Looking Back

2011-08-09T14:08:00.000-07:00

Bangkok, 8/9/11

As I make my way towards Bangkok airport, here is a quick update on my halfway point checklist.

Lost/Stolen:
-ATM card (replaced)
-SD card reader
-Camera charger (~~replaced with a terrible $3 knockoff Laos fluorescent version that glows while it charges and makes it difficult to sleep~~ Broke)
-Cargo pants (likely swapped in a hostel washing session)
-Watch
-Money in Hanoi (see below)

Survived:
-Violent motorbike taxi mugging in Hanoi, Vietnam
-Zip-lining in Laos' Bokeo Forest 300 ft. in in the air with no helmet or properly checked harnesses
-Tubing on the Vang Vieng's Nam Song river, laden with death (12 tourist deaths in June - a new record!), disease, injury, rabid pink eye, broken bones, lost friends, drowning, leeches, miserable house music, drugs, and alcohol
-An afternoon at a shooting range in Phnom Penh, Cambodia with military-grade tanks, rocket launchers, grenades and AK-47s
-Consumption of copious amounts of street food, including utterly rancid fried fish
-Terrible sun burns
-~~Amateur motorbike riding at 60MPH~~ Motorbiking in the pouring rain, alone, in Vang Vieng, Laos, through rocky dirt and mud paths despite crashing five times and cutting my arms and legs
-Trying to keep up with my guide on my motorbike as he went 65MPH over moon surface-like roads in the pitch dark at 4am in Mui Ne, Vietnam
-Amateur sandsurfing in Mui Ne, Vietnam
-Vaginal dart gun attacks in the Red Light District in Bangkok, Thailand
-Saddle-less elephant riding with a stubborn, disobedient pachyderm in Chiang Mai, Thailand
-Getting wrapped in a python in Chiang Mai, Thailand
-Rolling on the floor with 200 pound adult tigers in Chiang Mai, Thailand
-Feral monkeys climbing all over me in Lop Buri, Thailand
-Scuba diving at 30meters/100ft depths with lethal 5ft long barracudas in Koh Tao, Thailand
-A 15,000 person island rave in Koh Pha Ngan, Thailand
-Nearly being hit in the head with an underwater longboat motor in Koh Phi Phi, Thailand
-Multiple Pompeii-like bouts of traveler's diarrhea

All the ways I have consumed bananas to date:

-Raw, with almost a candy-like sweetness
-Crepes (plain banana, banana/nutella, banana/peanut butter, banana/egg/chocolate)
-Pancakes
-Grilled whole
-Smashed, grilled, and served with a deuce de leche sauce
-Chips with salt and sugar
-Chips sans salt and sugar
-Jam on toast
-Fruit shakes (alone, with pineapple, mango, and/or passionfruit)
-Dried into fruit leathers that look like bacon
-Donut on a stick
-Fried with ice cream
-Fried into fritters with honey dipping sauce
-Wrapped with sticky rice in banana leaves
-Carmelized with mango and served alongside black sticky rice, cooked in coconut milk, and topped with sesame seeds
-Shared with monkeys
-Shared with elephants

All the ways I have consumed local Southeast Asian fish:
-Simply grilled and eaten during sundown on the beaches of Koh Tao, Thailand, while fire twirlers danced in front of me
-Fried and served with roasted vegetables and a light ginger dressing in Koh Phi Phi, Thailand
-Steamed in sour lime juice and chilies in Ayutthaya, Thailand
-Served in spicy river fish soup in Ayutthaya, Thailand
-Steamed with soy and scallions and served alongside jasmine rice shaped like a teddy bear in Kanchanaburi, Thailand
-Fried catfish salad, almost like panzanella, made by students during our cooking class in Chiang Mai, Thailand
-Seemingly delicious fried fish with garlic, herbs, and chilies which turned out to be revoltingly rancid and blood-stained, tasting like decaying human flesh in Chiang Rai, Thailand
-Salt-crusted, lemongrass-stuffed and grilled, served in the Night Market in Chiang Rai, Thailand
-Caught the morning of, brushed with soy, salt, pepper, stuffed with lemongrass and garlic and grilled over charcoal in Luang Prabang, Laos. Eaten this way four nights in a row.
-Made into lettuce wrapped "fish tacos" with pork skin-infused rice pilaf and fresh herbs in Vientiane, Laos
-Marinated in turmeric and grilled in front of me, forming an oily, herbaceous, spicy fish stew with noodles in Hanoi, Vietnam
-Turmeric covered and grilled and presented alongside noodles, peanuts, chilies, pickled vegetables and rice paper in a do-it-yourself spring roll dish at the pro-bono restaurant Koto in Hanoi, Vietnam
-Baked whole with soy and scallions and served family style on a junk boat in Halong Bay, Vietnam
-Marinated and grilled over charcoal during a massive barbeque on our own private island in Halong Bay, Vietnam
-Smoked with chilies and noodles inside banana leaf in Hoi An, Vietnam
-Bone-in steaks covered in chilis and lime juice eaten at a restaurant in the sand in Mui Ne, Vietnam
-Intensely bright, spicy Fish Amok in Phnom Penh and Siem Reap, Cambodia
-Grilled ourselves on large Cambodian barbeques ("Phnom Phleurng's") in Phnom Penh, Vietnam
-Lime-dressed, almost like ceviche, as an appetizer in the degustation in Phnom Penh

Modes of Transportation:
-Airplane
-Tuk-tuk
-Songathaew
-Minivan
-Local bus
-VIP bus
-"Super VIP" sleeper bus
-Local train
-2nd class sleeper train
-Longboat water taxi
-Low-speed ferry
-High-speed industrial ferry
-Mekong slow boat
-Vietnamese junk boat
-Scuba boat
-Motorbike (e.g., super high-powered scooter)
-Motorcycle taxi
-Taxi
-River-wading 4WD pickup truck
-Bicycle
-Zip-line
-Elephant, with saddle
-Elephant, bare-backed
-Ostrich

Truth in Advertising

2011-08-08T23:00:00.000-07:00

Soi Cowboy, Red Light District, Bangkok, 8/8/11

Last Day & Night in Southeast Asia

2011-08-08T12:21:00.000-07:00

Bangkok, Thailand, 8/8/11

After the hassle of trying to get out Cambodia, I arrive in Bangkok around noon. I'm groggy, sweaty, my muscles contorted into several unnatural positions after the uncomfortable bus ride. My discomfort is quickly remedied by my fourth and final meal at May Kaidee, in a celebration of the spectacular vegetarian restaurant's greatest hits. I'm joined by the Brigade of British Blondes, Harriet, Becky, and Lauren, and together we share May's bright, crunchy fresh spring rolls with sweet crushed peanut sauce and thick, rich Massaman Curry with tofu and brown rice. Dessert is their perfect purple sticky rice with mango, banana, and sesame seeds. May Kaidee still ranks as one of the best meals of my whole trip, the best being the revelatory first meal I had there with Tata and Lexi in the pouring rain a month prior.

Shaken, not Stirred

The Brits and I tour town and we say our final goodbyes, after which I quickly head over to meet Jen. She lives in a high-rise apartment building, whose penthouse roof deck offers stunning views of Bangkok. Jen and I take in the capital city's skyline as the sun sets, while we swim in the rooftop pool and drink Chang's. Jen's apartment where I'm staying for my final night is a palatial two bedroom abode, which came fully furnished and looks like a demo house at Crate and Barrel. The apartment has a huge, ultra-modern eat-in kitchen, hard-wood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, with two bedrooms and bathrooms. In New York City, it would sleep seventeen; in Bangkok it's a fifth of the price and sleeps one. We reunite with fellow Treehouse Seven member Teresa for a terrific meal of Thai tapas and bespoke cocktails at Soul Food, a year-old restaurant run by an American ex-pat and former food writer. The sleek bi-level space is designed in shades of brown and beige with light wooden paneling with matching tables, chairs, and banquettes. Mood lighting is set by hanging triangular green lamps that resemble those in Grisham movies casting shadows over studious associates pouring over case histories at law libraries. The restaurant's motto is "Wholesome Ingredients. Honest Cooking. Serious Drinks" and has a mission to take classic Thai street food and elevate it in a more comfortable, modern setting. After two months of drinking beer, fruit smoothies, and cheap cocktails out of sand buckets, Soul Food's wine and cocktail list catches me instantly. Drinks are expensive at $6, but they're revelations compared to rubbing alcohol-like concoctions I have been used to drinking. Soul Food's riff on the Old Fashioned is made with bourbon, cranberry juice, Thai basil, and ginger. It's brings an herbal and spicy kick to the classic cocktail; Kentucky by way of Southeast Asia. In my humble opinion, high-quality gin and cucumber are ideal bedfellows; as perfect a match as peanut butter and jelly or Jimmy Page and Robert Plant. Soul Food amplifies the combo with passion fruit, lime, pineapple, and a splash of ginger ale, taking the classic gin enhancer on a trip to the Southern Thai islands. We eat like kings, ordering as many tapas as we can handle: We start with Sriracha chicken wings with pickled ginger and Thai samosas with yogurt dip. Mieng Kham -- lettuce wraps with sweet, tender grilled pork jowl (cheek), with tamarind jam, and an assortment of toppings including peanuts, ginger, chilies, and shallots. Yam Hua Plee is a salad of shredded banana flower tossed with basil, mint, red onion, chilies, and grilled chicken in a spicy coconut dressing. Larb (also known as "laap"), the classic Laotian dish of minced meat tossed with fresh herbs, chilies, and citrus. At Soul Food, the traditional fish is substituted for smoked duck, adding another layer of flavor to a salad that is already spicy, crunchy, and sweet. Tamarind ribs fall off the bone, covered in a thick pineapple chutney. The meal is the most expensive I've had in two months of traveling at $30 with tip, but I always feel it is important to have fireworks at the end of the celebration. And do we ever, as the small plates are so covered in dried and sauteed chilies, I can feel every millimeter of my nasal passages.

From Google

Mieng Kham

Smoked Duck Larb and

A View to a Kill

Post-meal, we toast our amazing experiences together and our final night, in style, at Sirocco, Bangkok's tallest roof top bar. Located on the 63rd floor of the Lebua at State Tower Hotel, the destination is actually home to the world's tallest al fresco restaurant. The bar offers breathtaking views of the city including the Chao Phraya river, and due to its glass walls, almost seems as if it is floating in air. The bar itself, is a neon glass circle on the roof's edge, constantly changing colors, almost resembling a UFO, where dapper bartenders shake up wide arrays of ludicrously expensive (for Thailand) martinis including one infused with lime and rosemary and another named after the Hangover II which was filmed at the roof deck. The focal point of the deck is the Sirocco's gold-topped "Dome", which looks like a cross between DC's Jefferson Memorial and Jerusalem's Dome of the Rock, and is home to six fine dining restaurants and cigar lounges. A live jazz band plays standards while well-dressed tourists toast martinis and hope they don't fall off the edge, the result of which would surely kill a small family or cause a tuk-tuk to explode. After two months of non-working toilets, solitary confinement-like hotel rooms, cold showers, sitting on buses next to chickens, leech infestations, and rabid monkey attacks, it's quite refreshing to see the other side of Southeast Asian travel. Sitting on top of the world, with a martini in one hand and two beautiful friends in the other, overlooking Bangkok for as far as the eye can see in a roof deck that resembles ancient Rome, the whole experience feels like a fantasy. Much like my two month experience which is coming to its very end, it feels like an vivid dream. And I don't want to wake up.

From Google

The Vagina Monologues

We spend the evening exploring Thailand until the wee hours. Final stop is Soi Cowboy, meaning "Cowboy Street" -- a small alleyway lined with strip clubs, bars, and cabarets. Cowboy is one of Bangkok's infamous red light districts although it is located in the upscale Sukhumvit area, which is also home to some of the capital's poshest hotels and restaurants. The area is named after T. G. "Cowboy" Edwards, a retired American pilot who opened one of the first bars there in 1977 (source). Hidden off a busy intersection and, although only 1/4 mile long, the street has around forty bars. The strip is laden with colorful, loud florescent signs, which shine so bright it almost feels like daytime. Although I've never been, the strip reminds me of Las Vegas. Especially given the seediness of the bars and the clientele, and the fact that young, barely-clothed women stand outside, beckoning tourists to enter and holding up signs advertising drink specials. Soi Cowboy is home to Thailand's notorious "Ping-Pong Shows," the content of which will not be repeated in these (web) pages. But to quote my guidebook, women of the ping-pong shows "do everything with their vaginas other than have babies." Like a grade school child's birthday party at a local ice cream shoppe, these shows are often decorated with brightly colored balloons. Unlike those juvenile celebrations, however, in the neon rainbow underbelly of Bangkok's red light district, around 2am, the inflatables are joined by dart guns. There's still soda, but someone has a peculiar way of drinking it. And High School Musical's soundtrack isn't playing, but someone is a virtuoso on the trumpet.

Drug Abuse Resistance Education

2011-08-08T06:28:00.000-07:00

Thailand Border Crossing, 8/8/11

Suddenly that grandiose plan to traffic heroin over the Thai border doesn't seem like such a good idea any more?

See also:
Damage Done
Brokedown Palace
No More Tomorrows
4,000 Days
Send them to Hell
Forget You Had a Daughter

Don't Stop Me Now

2011-08-07T23:28:00.000-07:00

Siem Reap, Cambodia -> Bangkok, Thailand, 8/7/11 - 8/8/11

I've only spent four days in Cambodia and the country is refusing to let me leave. Maybe it's because Cambdoia doesn't want me to share the secrets of its potent Amok curry with the rest of the world. Maybe the gregarious locals have so much more of their country they still have yet to share. Many the mythological faces of Banyon have cast a spell over me, turning me into immobile stone as they have been for centuries. Whatever the reason, I can't seem to break free.

Earlier in the day, I spoke to my hotel concierge and booked the 2am overnight bus from Siem Reap, Cambodia to Bangkok, Thailand. The plan was to arrive in the Thai capital by early the following morning. And since the OK Villas Hotel is among the nicest establishments I've stayed in to date, I'm confident that the staff will arrange everything without a hitch.

After saying a final goodbye to Amit, Louise, Elaine, Jen, and Chris (collectively my travel partners for nearly all of Vietnam and Laos), I arrive back at the hotel around 1:15am. I quickly strike up a rapport with three Irish lasses who will be joining me on the long journey. As usual, the transportation arrives significantly late, slightly past 3am. I guess I should've known better and stayed at the bar longer. The girls are quickly ushered onto a minivan for transport to the coach, but my ticket has not been confirmed and the driver refuses my entrance. "And your ticket is not even the correct one," the driver says, odd considering all four of us booked the identical bus at the same hotel concierge. Maybe it's the fact that we're all tired and somewhat inebriated, but I swear the three Irish ladies keep looking back at me as they get loaded into the minivan, eyes longing for our reunion, which may never come. Sunday, bloody Sunday, indeed.

Despite the fact that I urged the hotel staff multiple times to make sure my arrangements were set, they never bothered to call to confirm my ticket. And they somehow managed to give me the wrong ticket to boot. I've seen better, more intelligent service at an ATM. As it's the middle of the night, the entire hotel staff is sleeping and after the minivan shuttle takes off, I quickly sprint around the grounds, searching for staff to wake up. I find one lone yawning security guard and frantically explain my problem, flashing the incorrect and unconfirmed ticket. His job profile is not typically dealing with frantic tourist emergencies and he shrugs his shoulders, his expression telecasting, "I wish this small, high-pitched, nasal, bearded fellow had not found me." I am now causing a scene, but I have no qualms, as if I need to wait to take a typical morning bus (around 10am), my whole final day in Southeast Asia will be bust. Several tuk-tuk drivers fly by, noticing my hysterics, and get out to offer assistance. Eventually a motley crew of two tuk-tuk drivers and the security guard reach hold of the bus company and explain the dilemma. Even though half an hour has passed, the actual bus still hasn't left yet, so I guess I need to be grateful that I'm on Southeast Asian time. Once the issue is resolved, I get picked up by the same minivan shuttle and brought to the bus station. As I have the incorrect, unconfirmed ticket, the station manager informs me I will be sitting adjacent to the driver, essentially on the steps of the coach bus, for ten hours. Luckily, when the bus finally arrives at 4am, only two hours late, it is underbooked and I have a proper seat to myself with a blanket and pillow. Or maybe it seems undersold because I rush on ahead the group and grab hold of the first seat I can find.

I know breaking up is hard to do, Cambodia. I didn't want it to end so soon, either. I want to eat more of your delectable fish Amok, walk through more of the ruins of your ancient empires, learn about your staggering resilience from recent atrocities, and enjoy more pilsners with your friendly locals. I love you too, but don't stop me now.

An Interesting Menu

2011-08-07T22:09:00.000-07:00

Siem Reap, Cambodia, 8/7/11

Let's review:

No pork, so they're potentially going after the Jewish/Hindu/Buddhist/Muslim crowd
"Grill Sexy Frog" is the house specialty. It must look like the below images. The risque amphibian is a steal at only $1.50
"Red Snapper Cry" for $5. Is that supposed to be snapper "fry"? An abbreviation for snapper curry? One will never know. All I know is that I prefer my fish to be happy, not sad.
In case neither of these options impress you, there is always the classic Cambodian entree of Spaghettis "Bolognaise" for $3

I'll Have the Plastic Shard

2011-08-07T20:07:00.000-07:00

Siem Reap, Cambodia, 8/7/11

Our final meal together in Cambodia is at Amok, a restaurant named after, and celebrating, the country's national dish. After eating Cambodian BBQ yesterday at restaurant "Cambodia BBQ", it is clear that Siem Reap restaurants could use some creative employees on staff to come up with better names. Amok is located down a hidden alley right in the heart of town. The restaurant is comfortable and beautiful -- walls are painted in burnt orange and decorated with baroque wood carvings. The napkins, tablecloths, and rug are brightly colored with flashy prints. Place mats are made of dark-stained bamboo and the chairs are lavender with neon orange cushions. Plates are beautiful flower-printed blue and white porcelain that would be more at home in Santorini, Greene than Cambodia. Fat candles decorate all the windows and tables, making the Amok feel like a romantic, warm respite from the darkness of its alleyway home. Grammatically defunct signs on the menu remind tourists to "make your stay in Cambodia safe stay" due to filtered ice and "Western standards." The sign also shows the smiling "chef cook" confiding that he "also takes care of your health."

From website

From Google

Everyone's favorite "chef cook"

It's late in the evening, so we have the restaurant mostly to ourselves and are dotted on my the solicitous staff. As with yesterday's meals, our group splits into duos, each ordering the degustation (expensive for Cambodia at $10/pp). The platter is even more ornate than at Angkor Palm -- each dish has a specially designed bowl either made out of banana leaf or bamboo, resembling flowers, boats, and petals. In the center of the seven-course platter is a banana leaf cone, a decorative touch to keep the curry below warm. First course is a banana blossom salad with roasted chicken. The blossom resembles emerald spaghetti but has a crunch like green papaya. Mixed with carrots, basil, and a lime vinaigrette, it's bright and refreshing. Second dish is also a salad with lightly poached local Cambodian river fish with long beans, onions, pine nuts, and chilis. Third is a chicken stir fry with whole leaves of basil, onions, peppers, and cashews. The restaurant eponymous dish is available is five different varieties (chicken, beef, pork, fish, tofu) and the menu proudly announces it to be "the best amok in Siem Reap." It is delicious -- hefty filets of catfish in a thick, herbaceous curry stew, with plenty of chilis, mint, basil, roasted onions, and coconut. The dish almost resembles an inverse fried egg - a bright yellow curry surrounding a small white dollop of coconut cream. Although I would give the award for best amok to Angkor Palm, one final taste is necessary before I leave the country as a meal in Cambodia without amok is like a day without sunshine.

One of the dishes of the evening is found to feature a large, sharp piece of plastic. The wait staff is apoplectic over the sight of the foreign material and our pints of Angkor beers are quickly joined by gratis watermelon martinis. As the night wears down, the "chef cook" comes to our table to check on our meal. His chef's whites and matching hat are basically spotless although it's after 10pm, proving him to be quite a meticulous kitchen overload. He comes bearing a large smile and a large dish of fried bananas with a honey dipping sauce, a dessert he says he is perfecting for the menu. As with all the banana desserts I've eaten around Southeast Asia, they are terrifically juicy and sweet, not even needing the honey sauce. The bananas are followed by a sorbet sampler, with five different flavors served in shot glasses, small pieces of fruit used for identification. The platter includes pineapple, lime, mango, passionfruit, and coconut. We spend the rest of the evening exploring downtown Siem Reap, visiting the terrific night market which takes cement and fish food bags and turns them into bohemian accessories, and closing the night with ice cold pints Angkor Beer drafts.

Psar Chaa district, downtown Siem Reap

Angkor Babies, Day II: Legends of the Hidden Temple

2011-08-07T13:34:00.000-07:00

Siem Reap, Cambodia, 8/7/11

The skies are becoming an ominously dark as more and more clouds gather together. Although they were vividly blue this morning, they are now dramatically darker, almost resembling mercury. The scene feels straight out of a classic Hitchcock film, the calm before an attack by four dozen violent birds or a lunatic transvestite with an Oedipus Complex. What's worse, 216 stone faces are staring down at me, eyes closed as if they are secretly plotting. Though the faces wear stoic expressions, the edges of their mouths are slightly upturned, making the stone creatures look slightly nefarious, as if they are hiding some recently committed mischief. The stone beings have oversized, pear-shaped noses, which immediately pick up on my presence upon entering their hallowed grounds. No matter where I turn the faces stare down at me, constantly judging.

For the second part of the afternoon, Amit, Louise, and I are visiting Angkor Thom, the first stop of which is the spectacular Banyon Temple. The complex was built in the late 12th Century by King Jayavarman VII as a Mahayana Buddhist shrine. The sandstone temple is centered around thirty-seven remaining towers (originally forty-nine), each with four faces carved directly into the north, south, east, and west sides. Some scholars believe the faces are of Jayavarman himself, constantly watching his servants. Others believe them to be the faces of Lokesvara, an enlightened Buddhist being, although neither theory has been proven. The stone beings are relatively identical from one tower to the next, most with closed eyes, crooked smiles, large flat noses, and bejeweled headdresses. The presence of the faces lends an energy to Banyon that even Angkor Wat's classical Khmer architecture lacks -- the grounds feel curiously alive. Especially as the weather dramatically changes from blue skies to shimmering silver cloud cover to raging thunderstorms within minutes of our entrance. Like Angkor Wat, Banyon is decorated with several friezes and bas-reliefs, encompassing nearly one mile in length, and incorporating over 11,000 figures.

Lean on me, when you're not strong, and I'll be your friend, I'll help you carry on

Banyon is located in the center of Angkor Thom, a six square mile complex that literally means "Great City." King Jaryavarman VII built the city as the capital of his Khmer Empire in the late 12th Century. In its heyday, Angkor Thom had a population of over one million, at a time when London only was home to 50,000. Angkor Thom lies east of the Siem Reap River and like Angkor Wat is surrounded by a boat. There are four entrances into the ancient city, guarded with 60 ft. Banyon-style towers adorned with quad-faces. If the stone faces do not intimate enemies, the feral monkeys guarding the entrances certainly will. As with Angkor Wat and several other temples around Siem Reap, Thom's entrances are anointed with large causeways symbolizing good versus evil. On one side are 54 enlightened Buddhist gods, Devas, with the opposing side occupied by 54 evil Asuras. Both groups of deities hold giant nagas, the mythological serpent god, as if they are trying to harness his power.

Benevolent Buddhist gods, Devas, protecting the entrance of Angkor Thom

Baphuon is one of Angkor Thom's premiere temples which, like Angkor Wat, was designed to be a representation of the mythical Mt. Meru. The temple was constructed in the 11th Century by King Udayadityavarman II. During the mid-twentieth century, archaeologists completely took apart Baphuon to better understand the ancient Khmer Empire, only to have their research and progress destroyed by the Khmer Rouge. The temple was only recently restored, open to the public in 2008. A restored stone bridge, supported by hundreds of columns, leads to Baphuon's entrance. The Western face of the temple is fashioned into a large reclining Buddha, almost 200 ft. in length.

Path to Baphuon

Baphuon

Phimeanakas was the former royal palace of Angkor Thom, built at the end of the 10th Century by King Rajendravarman. Legend has it that the king spent every evening in the palace's northern tower with a woman he believed to be the human reincarnation of the naga, the mythical Buddhist serpent god. Not even the queen could disturbe this affair. It is said the relationship was mutually beneficial and had to be sustained for the prosperity of the kingdom -- if the the king didn't show for the nightly dalliances, the empire's land would be in danger (as the naga was a protector of the sea and the land); if the reincarnated naga didn't show, the king's death was imminent. As this extramarital affair seemed necessary to preserve the empire and health of all of its civilians, I guess the king came up with a good excuse. Philandering politicians should try using the naga excuse today when they are caught in Minneapolis airports. That said, given that the naga god embodies the form of a large snake, the king's affair danced a fine line with bestiality. The entrance to Phimenakas is known as the Terrace of the Elephants, a 350 meter long patio decorated with short-trunked elephants and female dancers, both of wear elaborate headdresses. The terrace was used as audience seating for grand public festivals and speeches. Khmer Empire citizens would sit beside the statues, watching the king's cavalcade pass, made up of horse-drawn chariots, warriors, elephants, and servants.

Phimeanakas

Angkor Babies, Day II: Angkor What?

2011-08-07T11:40:00.000-07:00

Siem Reap, Cambodia, 8/7/11

"I was very young during the reign of the Khmer Rouge in the late 1970s. I remember one night my family was sitting down at the kitchen table enjoying dinner when we heard gunfire and explosions coming from outside. We immediately sought shelter in a small underground bunker, hidden through a trap door under the floor. Such shelters were quite common during the late 70s. My whole family huddled together in the cramped space as the roar of ammunition raced above us. We sat there preying the officials would not find us or destroy our house. Hours passed and the gunfire eventually ceased. We climbed back up to thankfully find our home fully intact. Our meal, however, suffered a much worse fate, as when we were underground our dog helped himself to quite a feast." - Angkor Wat Guide, 8/7/11

This is just one story in what was one of the worst examples of genocide in recent history, killing nearly one third of the Cambodian population from 1975 - 1979. As our terrific guide at Angkor Wat recites the tale, his consistently affable manner turns ferociously serious and his expression becomes stoic. Although the harrowing anecdote presents the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge in an overly intimate manner, I am impressed how he ends the story on a bright and humorous note to which any dog lover can relate. That he can find humor during a period of nonstop brutality truly represents the strength and resilience of the Cambodian people. A community of strong, united, patriotic citizens despite the fact that their country was on the brink of complete destruction just three short decades ago.

***

It's our second and final day visiting the Temples of Angkor and we've saved the best for last. Our attempt to wake up for the sunrise at Angkor Wat proved futile but, due to the overcast weather, supposedly the sight left much to be desired. After the rudeness and general hostility of yesterday's tuk-tuk driver, we make sure today's is a more optimal choice. We get lucky with "Mr. Black," a tall, slightly oafish Siem Reap local who wears a wide grin, his smile almost extending to his eyes. Mr. Black is knowledgeable, genial, and laid back, a welcome change from yesterday. We grab a quick breakfast of pastries from a big red shop set along a strip mall composed exclusively of bakeries. No one speaks English but I still have success ordering fluffy cinnamon raisin danish with a slightly odd wheat-flavored green tea.

Angkor Wat, meaning "City Temple", is the world's largest religious site and one of the original Ancient Wonders of the World (although the youngest at a sprightly 900 years). The temple is Cambodia's premiere attraction, it's national symbol (found on the country's flag), and a triumph of Khmer ingenuity and architecture. Angkor Wat was designed to represent Mount Meru, the sacred mountain home to many Buddhist and Hindu deities, with five central towers representing the mountain's five summits. Angkor Wat is bordered by a large moat and the temple itself lies in the center of a island surrounded by dense trees. The temple grounds make up roughly 200 acres.

The complex was built in the 12th Century by King Suryavarman II and, although scholars estimate it would take 300 years to build today, the construction only roughly thirty-seven years to complete. Approximately 38,000 Cambodians worked on the construction plus 4,000 elephants. Angkor Wat's stone were found in a quarry at Mount Kulen, roughly twenty-five miles away from the site and transported down the SIem Reap River. The temple is predominantly composed of sandstone, almost all of which is carved into ornate bas-reliefs and friezes. One of the most landmark friezes is a scene of the Churning of the Sea of Milk, an epic good versus evil battle fought by Buddhist and Hindu gods as they battle to harvest the elixir of immortality from the sea. There are 1,796 devata carvings spread across the temple grounds. Devatas are sacred Buddhist female guardian angels and each deva in Angkor Wat has a different hairstyle and dress. Other reliefs depict giant tortoises, dragons, unicorns, griffins, elephants, and lavish dancer.

We explore the lavish grounds with our incredibly informative guide who not only possesses the encyclopedic knowledge of every frieze and pagoda, but has an uncanny knack for great photo opportunities. He is like a walking Natural History Museum. He points out bullet holes and grenade explosion craters from the Khmer Rouge's unsuccessful attempts to destroy the mighty temple during the late 1970s. The entire site is magical and, due to the low season, surprisingly quiet. We spend hours walking around, admiring the bas-reliefs and friezes, which are so precise they seem as if they were carved with needles, learning ancient Khmer mythologies. One section of the temple houses four small swimming pools laid out in a 2x2 grid. Suryavarman had a daily ritual of bathing in the pools and then retreating to the "echo chamber," a small stone room roughly the size of an airplane bathroom. The king would stand and pound on his chest with both hands, creating a reverberating echo that representing his sins and disease leaving his body. Amit, Louise, and I all connect with our inner royal by beating our chests, hearing our sins rush out of our bodies and echoing throughout the small chamber. Oddly the echo only works when you beat the center of your chest, other parts of the body or shouting do not work.

Angkor Wat entrance and moat

One of the many deva statues, each with different headdresses

Outside Angkor Wat with a naga

Boo, scaffolding

Lions guarding the temple

Drinking a fresh coconut with Angkor Wat looming behind

Seven-headed naga statue

Fish-sicles

2011-08-07T03:14:00.000-07:00

Fish popsicle in a grocery store in Cambodia

Or maybe I should call it a "fish-sicle" or a "fish-wich." Maybe "frozen fish-fection?"

Either way, they're obviously successful in Cambodia as they've been going strong since 1991.

Let Them Eat Python

2011-08-06T18:24:00.000-07:00

Siem Reap, Cambodia, 8/6/11

Does it demonstrate a lack of culture to claim that Cambodian python tastes like chicken? Is my palette juvenile or untrained if I think the Southeast Asian reptile tastes identical to the ubiquitous poultry?

I don't care what critics say, the resemblance is uncanny.

Amit, Louise, Elaine and I meet Chris and Jen at the directly named "Cambodia BBQ," which surprisingly offers, well, Cambodian barbeque. A wooden black-and-white sign outside the restaurant proclaims it to be "the best BBQ in Siem Reap." This is a lofty claim considering it's located in the heart of Siem Reap's downtown Psar Chaa district in a small alley filled with neighboring barbequed restaurants. The small narrow alley is simply named, well, "The Alley." Also on the sign is a young crocodile who resembles a 1990s teenager dressed in a backwards hat and baggy Jenco jeans. The rebellious reptile sports a toothy grin and coyly rests his elbow on a tree stump with a sign reading the Lewis Carroll-y "Taste Me." The headline reads: "Will you dare try Khmer BBQ: Crocodile, snake, kangaroo, ostrich, goat." Forget dares, I would gladly try all of those animals. In fact, before arriving at the restaurant, I already had.

From website

It's raining outside so we seek shelter in the restaurant and are seated at a long rectangular black table. We each split up into duos and order three sets of their degustation for two (pricey for SEA at $7.75/pp) plus plenty of cold Angkor Beer drafts. Duos choose five varieties of meat from a selection of chicken, beef, pork, shrimp, fish, squid, ostrich, goat, frog legs, kangaroo, crocodile and snake. The tasting menu comes with unlimited fresh vegetables, egg noodles, and steamed jasmine rice. We share our appetizers family style: a bright mango salad with carrots and roasted chicken, pork and vegetable spring rolls with peanut sauce. For our main course, Amit and I choose fish, ostrich, kangaroo, snake (Cambodian python), and crocodile. The meat comes in a bamboo basket with segmented ceramic dishes that fit like jigsaw puzzle pieces. Each meat is marked with a small cartoon of the animal from which it came. While the other animals smile, the ostrich drawing has head resting well below his body as if he is longing to die. What is with these suicidal ostriches in Southeast Asia? Someone needs to organize a support group. In the center of the basket is a small ramekin of canary yellow beaten egg in case you wish to batter your meats prior to grilling.

The waiters bring three metal Khmer barbeques ("Phnom Phleurng's") to the center of the table, one for each duo. Like Mongolian and Laotian barbeque, the Khmer variety features larges pyramidal metal grills situated over white hot charcoal briquettes. Upon setting the grills on the table the waiter lubricates the whole surface area with a hockey puck size chunk of chicken fat. (Note to self: Steal said chicken fat and lubricate some of the broken zippers on my traveler's backpack). The meats, poultry and fish are rested on the cone of the pyramid, where small slits allow the hot steam to rise. Below the metal cone is a moat filled with broiling both, in which the egg noodles and fresh vegetables are placed.

I'm not sure of the exact fish they are serving, but the aquatic creature is brilliantly fresh with transparent yellow flesh flecked with streaks of pink. Ostrich, the lean red mean which I've had on numerous occasions, is juicy and cooked in a quick flash so it's still perfectly rare on the inside. The small white meat strands of Cambodian python are terrific. I've had rattlesnake before in Brooklyn (prior to being killed, he enjoyed wearing skinny jeans, dark framed lens-free glasses, tweed vests and drinking PBR), but it was hard to distinguish due to small pieces of meat and an overpowering sauce. The python reminds me of a very delicious grilled chicken. Or maybe the taste is more reminiscent of frog's legs, which come to think of it, also taste like chicken. Either way, the grilled python pieces are moist, fresh and should eternally replace McNuggets as the white meat snack of choice. Although the snake is a close second, the best part of the degustation is the kangaroo. The marsupial is similar to ostrich - a red meat phenomenally low in cholesterol and fat (due to all its hopping and boxing). Thus, it's crucial that it is cooked no higher than medium, preferably rare, as the lack of fat quickly turns the meat into a leaden mess. The grilled kangaroo filets have a distinctly gamey flavor and soft, tender flesh that melts in my mouth like butter.

The only let down is the crocodile. Maybe it's the butchering, but the white flesh is beyond chewy, almost like a rubber band. It takes roughly a baker's dozen chews to get through, each bite laden with reptile grizzle. I think back to my experience first trying the croc in Melbourne's Victoria Market and actually remember it being similarly hard to eat. Maybe as the last descendents of the dinosaurs, crocodiles were never meant to be eaten.

Post-meal, we explore the Psar Chaa night market for crafts and visit the rooftop sports bar "X Bar" to hear the live house band butcher Stones' standards. We continue a pub crawl through town, visiting the infamous street full of pubs named, uh, Pub St. As we maneuver from one bar to the next, we stop as a large crowd gathers beside three small children selling souvenirs from colorful plastic baskets and dancing the YMCA. The leader is a small boy in a white and blue paisley shirt with a backwards baseball cap. As he stands in front of he two female dance mates, deadly serious as he raises his arms to form a "Y", he reminds me slightly of Cambodia BBQ's crocodile mascot who wears the exact same getup and facial expression.

It's fun to stay at the YMCA

Angkor Babies

2011-08-06T13:11:00.000-07:00

Siem Reap, Cambodia, 8/6/11

Cambodia's Angkor era lasted from 802 - 1432 AD, started when Hindu King Jayavarman II proclaimed himself the "god-king" and "universal monarch." Under Jayavaraman's rule, the Angkorian Empire conquered most of modern day Cambodia, engaged in relentless wars against Siam (modern-day Thailand), and built some of the most spectacular cities and religious complexes known to man. After a prosperous six centuries, the Angkor Empire eventually fell due to a combination of environmental devastation (droughts, failed irrigation, earthquakes, massive climate change), disease (Bubonic plague) and powerful attacks by the Siamese. Although the Thais made off with priceless relics and customs, many which are visible in Thai culture today, much of the stunning Angkorian Empire is still visible today.

Angkor was considered the largest preindustrial city on Earth, encompassing over 390 square miles. The center of the complex is Angkor Wat, the largest religious site on the planet and one of the original Wonders of the World (despite being a young 900 years old). Most of the temples reside a few miles outside Siem Reap city, situated along the Tonle Sap lake. There are over one thousand temples that make up the ancient Khmer Empire and the area has been designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Seeing all the major temples of Angkor takes at least three days, more typically a week, and we only have two days. As such, Amit and I are up early on day one to explore the "Grand Circuit", a tour of a half dozen of the smaller temples found in central Angkor. Our tuk-tuk driver from the night before was hostile and unfriendly and we are surprised that, when we ask our hotel concierge to hire a different driver, the same man shows up out front. Oh well, time is of the essence. It's a beautiful day as we leave Siem Reap city and head into the forest that leads to the temples.

Our first stop is Pre Rup, an ancient funeral site literally meaning "turn the body." Built in 961 AD, Pre Rup is composed of three brick, laterite, and sandstone triangular stupas. When the temple was operational at the turn of the millennium, ashes of the deceased were ritually rotated in different directions, giving the temple its name. As with most Khmer temples, Pre Rup is protected by imposing stone lions, with ornately tiled manes. Although Pre Rup is over a thousand years old, the carvings are incredibly intricate and well-preserved today -- statues of queens in jeweled crowns engraved into the sandstone temples walls.

Pre Rup entrance

East Mebon is next along the tour, a small gray temple complex also guarded by formidable roaring lion statues. King Rajendravarman completed the table in 953 AD, dedicated to his father. The temple is meant to honor the four-armed Hindu destroyer god Shiva, who typically carries a trident, bongo drum and wears a crescent moon on his head and pythons as necklaces. In addition to the lions, East Mebon, an array of six foot-tall sandstone elephants also protect the temple

Shiva (from Google)

East Mebon entrance

Farther north, across the Siem Reap River is Ta Som, a small narrow temple built by King Jayavarman II at the end of the 12th Century and dedicated to his father. At either end of the temple are two large gopuras, or entrance ways, decorated with four faces each respectively pointing north, south, east, and west. After 900 years, the brick gopuras are heavily oxidized and covered in moss, giving the entrance ways a gray and white dappled aesthetic. The eastern entrance has been overtaken by a large strangler fig tree, which appears to be growing directly out of the temple entrance. The strangler tree resembles a large cluster of disorganized weeds made out of tree branches. The tree limbs completely obscure the majestic faces found on the eastern gate and almost look as if they are trying to topple the entrance to the ground. True to its name, it seems to be strangling the poor ancient temple. In the long pathway between the two entrances are several ancient libraries, pavilions, and sanctuaries. As we pass through, admiring the carvings and ancient craftsmanship, we are approached by dozens of grade school-aged Cambodian children selling postcards, art prints, fans, and t-shirts. Others forgo salesmanship and instead opt for different routines designed to impress tourists into relinquishing cash. Around the Angkor circuit, these tricks typically include reciting the entire alphabet in a dozen different languages, singing Western pop songs, dictating every American state in alphabetical order, or trying to stump visitors in a game of "name that country's capital." The combination of these kids' intelligence, memory retention, and extroversion would make them ideal mates if only they were twenty years older, female, single, and lived in New York.

Ta Som

"Ask me a capital! Any capital!"

Neak Pean is a Buddhist temple on a small circular island located in the center of a man-made lake, built by King Jayarvarman II. The name literally means "The Entwined Serpents" as the central sanctuary is surrounded by multi-headed serpents. The temple originally acted as a hospital, its waters believed to have healing powers (although, as the water today is covered in moss and algae, I'm not too sure what kind of healing powers still exist. Maybe if one believes in the curing power of leeches). The central lake is surrounded by four small pools representing earth, wind, water, and fire. Four chapels mark the entrances to each pool: human chapel, lion chapel, elephant chapel, or horse chapel, although most of the statues have become ruins over time. On the small central island, the main stupa shares real estate with a statue of Balaha, the sacred Buddhist horse known for saving drowning sailors. Too bad I'm not going for a swim as I like riding horses. I'm all for anthropomorphic horses and equi lifeguards but as I have yet to meet Balaha I would have to say my favorite is still Mr. Ed. Sorry, Balaha.

Neak Pean

Central sanctuary with Balaha to the right

I say a little prayer for you

Moving along, we arrive at Preah Khan, meaning "Sacred Sword," a large flat temple built by King Jayarvarman VII in 1191 in dedication to his father. The temple makes up 138 acres surrounded by a moat. When it was operational, over 100,000 workers and servants resided on the grounds. Preah Khan served a dual role as a city and a Buddhist university, employing 1,000 teachers and 1,000 dancers.The complex is modeled after a modern compass, the center of which is a small ceiling-less room that reflects the sun onto a domed stupa shrine, symbolizing Buddhism in all its glory. The temple grounds have long hallways decorated with intricate carvings depicting ancient kings, monks, Buddhist gods, and naga serpents. There are shrines to over 430 deities, each of which received food, mosquito nets, perfume and clothing. The temple has a long causeway, with giant stone statues holding a massive naga serpent; on one side Buddhist golds hold the five-headed snake-like creature, on the other, the reptile is held by evil Hindu asura deities. Walking along the bridge is like being embroiled in a mythological battle of good and evil. We pass by the Hall of Dancers, a small building with carvings of rows of female dancers who entertained the gods.

Carving depicting the Battle of Lanka

Hall of Dancers

Garuda (Mythical man-bird creature) holding a Naga

We're heading to Phnom Bakheng to watch the sun set and drive straight through Angkor Thom, one of the biggest individual temples among the city on Angkor. As we exit the South Gate, one of Banyon's four-sided stone faces smiles back at us, looking forward to our formal return tomorrow. Angkor Thom's South Gate is protected by hordes of grey monkeys. The primates have the decency not to enter the sacred Khmer ruins, but that tact certainly does not stop them from climbing on top of cars and small children, stealing food, and defecating on street vendors.

Phnom Bakheng is one of the highest buildings in central Angkor and is a popular tourist destination for watching the sun set; so much so, that security guards close the entrance after enough hundreds have already poured in. We walk up a a forest path to reach the summit while those with bad legs, or large wallets, ride elephants draped in silk. Phnom Bakheng is known as the "Temple Mountain" and was constructed at the end of the 9th century by King Yasovarman. The site, which was dedicated to Shiva, was the prime religious temple within Angkor prior to Angkor Wat's construction. When we reach the temple, the sky is heavily overcast and the sun set is a bit of a let down. That said, the top offers terrific views of Angkor Wat in the distance and Amit and I run into Chris and Jen, the two Scots from the Treehouse Seven. Phnom Bakheng is almost completely surrounded by dense forest, with pockets of gray brick and sandstone temples peaking out, as if they're hiding in the jungle. Thus, it's really no surprise that many of the temples of Angkor spent centuries hidden under dense jungle overgrowth, only to be discovered by explorers and scientists in the past 300 years.

Phnom Bakheng

Running Amok

2011-08-06T01:32:00.000-07:00

Siem Reap, Cambodia, 8/6/11

I am an absolute champion at sharing food. If collaborating on consuming dishes at a restaurant was a company, I would be CEO. I am someone who does not like to force a decision between sweet and savory at brunch; I must have both. Whether or not you actually want to share. I can think of nothing more boring than dining out and spending the entire meal consuming one single dish, palette so fatigued by the end you can't tell if you ordered fish or chicken pot pie. I feel sharing dishes is such an important part of dining that I secretly judge people who insist on hogging plates to themselves.

Angkor Palm restaurant in Siem Reap caters to my deepest food sharing fantasies. In front of Amit and I is a shallow hand woven bamboo basket filled with six petite bowls fashioned out of banana leaves, almost as if they were origami. Each is filled with a Khmer specialty. This is Angkor Palm's signature platter ($7/person) and is a food sharing enthusiast's wet dream. First up are fresh (not fried) spring rolls filled with cucumber, lettuce, carrots, bean sprouts, and noodles, and dipped into a sweet vinegar sauce. Second course is a salad of julienned mango and green papaya with smoked fish. The dish is made with vinegar and lime juice and is quite tart, almost like the famous Som Tom, green papaya salad in Thailand, except missing all the spice. Next are fork tender spare ribs, made from locally raised pork. The ribs are roasted with honey, created a crunchy outer crust protecting tender, spicy meat inside. They're similar to the classic Chinese takeout dish, except packed with flavor and not at all dry. Forget Buffalo wings, these sweet and spicy niblets should be the go-to tailgate food.

Amit and I tried Amok the previous night. It's one of the most famous Cambodian dishes, a cousin of Thai green curry. Amok is traditionally made with catfish (Amok Trei), although pork, chicken, shrimp, beef, lobster, or snails can be substituted. The meat is combined with coconut milk, garlic, galangal, lemongrass, caramelized onions, turmeric, paprika, sugar, egg, kaffir lime, chilis, fish sauce and gently steamed in a banana leaf. It's traditionally garnished with a small dollop of coconut cream, as thick as Greek yogurt, and eaten with rice. Amok Trei is traditionally eaten during Cambodia's Water Festival, a celebration of the beauty and biodiversity of the Tonle Sap River. Our first Amok experience was on the Mekong River in Phnom Penh. It was pleasant, albeit more like a watery soup than a curry. In Siem Reap, as the fourth course, it's a revelation. The catfish is fresh and silken, broken up into large fish filets. The bearded fish floats in a thick curry that is herbaceous, slightly spicy and sweet, with strong notes of onion and garlic. As the catfish is extraordinarily fresh and thickly cut, it is not overpowered by the complex curry sauce. The dish is hands down one of top two curries of the trip to date, maybe even the best. It's even better considering the pleasant surroundings of Angkor Palm Restaurant, a cream-colored restaurant, flooded with light, and staffed by a team of professional, genial servers. Amit and I sit in the spacious patio on comfortable padded wicker chairs, reclining as we try to come up with new laudatory adjectives to describe the restaurant's fish Amok.

The following courses are expertly prepared as well but certainly not the miracle of Angkor Palm's Amok Trei. Fifth course is a spicy traditional green curry with chicken, eggplant, long bean, potato and bell pepper. The final savory course is Cha Trorkuon, stir fried morning glory with oyster sauce. It's funny, when I was studying abroad in Australia, the leaders of our residence hall hazed new recruits by making them consume gratuitous amounts of oyster sauce until nausea was induced. So I always have bitter memories when I see the sauce listed on menus. That said, I love oysters in all forms and the concentrated sauce can really elevate an Asian dish if used with a deft hand. In addition to being the name to one of my favorite albums of the 1990s, morning glory is also the nickname of a native Chinese water spinach popular throughout Asia. Unlike traditional spinach, where the stems are typically removed, morning glory has narrow stems and is sauteed and eaten whole. With the oyster sauce and chilis, it's a richly savory dish with hints of spice.

Chinese water spinach, "Morning Glory"

Final course is a cloyingly sweet bowl of roasted bananas resting in a soup of coconut milk and tapioca. It could have been a soup full of razor blades, after that Amok Trei, we could care less.

***

Siem Reap is known as the gateway city to the Temples of Angkor. Prior to arriving, most other travelers derided the city as a bit of a dump. However, I enamored with the city the second I arrive. Siem Reap literally means "Defeat of Siam" referring to the centuries old conflict between Cambodia and Siam (modern day Thailand). Today, the city has a low-key charm, with wide cobblestone streets and French and Chinese influenced architecture. Khmer restaurants with large patios pour onto the streets next to craft and fruit vendors. As Angkor Wat is one of the original Wonders of the World, the gateway city is not just backpackers. Rather, grand luxury hotels are found just down the street from the dorm rooms. One in particular is an entire hotel with only one suite (maybe on my honeymoon).

Amit, Louise, Elaine and I are staying at OK 1 Villas, five minutes outside of town. As with Hostel 88, this hotel is uncomfortably luxurious compared to most of my trip's dorms and sweltering bug-infested private rooms. Our spacious room has two king sized beds with silk sheets, gold throw pillows, a marble en suite bathroom, a desk, armoire, and large windows with velvet drapes ($24/night or $6/person). The penthouse of the hotel has a pool, picnic tables, and hammocks.

Around Phnom Penh

2011-08-05T23:19:00.000-07:00

Phnom Penh, 8/5/11

Royal Palace

Pigs ears in the night market

Barbecued quail

Quail

Nom

Fried chicken

Chili pepper shrimp with lettuce and mint

Cambodian children in the night market

View from our tuk-tuk


"Dry" Shrimp Curry (meaning no coconut milk)

Note: Some photos from Elaine

Reliving the Horror

2011-08-05T15:22:00.000-07:00

Phnom Penh, Cambodia, 8/5/11

I truly loved Cambodia from the second I entered. The people are warm, friendly, helpful, and ever-smiling. Many speak near perfect English and are eager to practice by engaging travelers in conversation. Cambodia, especially its capital Phnom Penh, is rapidly growing thanks dually to tourism and foreign investment. Compared to more burgeoning neighbors like Thailand, however, Cambodia still has dramatic income disparities, skyrocketing inflation, environmental degradation, and massive government corruption. Nevertheless, when contrasted to the genocide Cambodia experienced not long ago that brought the country to the brink of destruction, it is shocking to see the recovery the nation has made in three decades.

The mid-1950s, following its independence in 1953, were known as Cambodia's golden years -- a period of significant population and economic growth. But the heyday was brief: Cambodia's eastern border territories became a base for the Viet Cong during the Vietnamese War and were heavily bombed by American troops. In 1970s, as the country was recovering from the collateral damage of a war they were forced into due to proximity, Prime Minister Sihanouk was overthrown by a radical Cambodian revolutionary movement. By 1975, the faction, better known as the Khmer Rouge ("Red Cambodians"), seized control completely of Phnom Penh and renamed Cambodia to "Democratic Kampuchea." The goal of the radicals was to transform Cambodia into a "utopian" self-sufficient peasant-controlled agrarian society. Thus, intellectuals, doctors, students, writers, authors, filmmakers, musicians, and professors were immediately killed. Anyone with glasses or who spoke a foreign language was perceived as a threat. As were city dwellers who had no agricultural skills. Monks, Christians, and ethnic Vietnamese, Thai, and Chinese were also victims. Any representations of modern, non-agrarian society were deemed threats are quickly destroyed, including hospitals, schools, and temples. Cities, including Phnom Pehn, were evacuated and tens of thousands were relocated to farms where they were forced to work as slaves. The four year exercise in social engineering was led by Saloth Sar, or Pol Pot, who actually was a prized scholar in Paris before become an extreme Maoist. Under his watch, Cambodia was transformed into a concentration camp, where thousands were worked to death, including women, children, and the elderly. As all doctors were killed and medicine was outlawed, disease such as malaria and dysentery were widespread and untreated. Arbitrary murder and torture, even of women, elderly, and children, were common practices of the Khmer Rouge. By the time, the Khmer Rouge was overthrown by the Vietnamese in January 1979, it is estimated that 1.7 - 2.5 million people died (out of a Cambodian population of 8 million at the time). Most of the party leaders retreated to the Thai border and were caught throughout the 1980s. Unfortunately, due to corruption and bureaucracy, most Khmer Rouge leaders have still yet to be tried in 2011, thirty years later. The worry among many Cambodians is that many of these villains will die of old age before receiving a proper trial. But even more surprising is the fact that the Khmer Rouge was allowed to occupy the Cambodian seat in the UN General Assembly until 1991, essentially "representing their victims for twelve years" (Lonely Planet).

Although Phnom Penh was nearly vacated from 1975 - 1979, the capital city served a significant purpose during the Khmer Rouge's reign. The capital city housed the notorious Security-21 Prison ("S-21") the largest Khmer Rouge prison. It became the torturous home of tens of thousands of Khmer Rouge enemies, which as aforementioned, was essentially anyone was who not a member of the fascist faction. The prison is also known as Tuol Sleng, which literally translates to "Hill of Poisonous Trees." The building, located in downtown Phnom Penh, was originally a high school prior to its conversion to a penitentiary in 1975. One carved poem on a cell wall declares, "when this was a prison, nobody learned. When this was a school, nobody died." The school was made up of two three-story cement buildings set on a vast green quad rife with palm trees. When renovated by the Khmer Rouge, the entire grounds were overhauled and buildings were encased in electrified barbed wire. The classrooms were gutted and converted to miniscule brick cells the size of stand showers while others became torture centers. The prison held around 1,500 at a time and during its four year existence approximately 17,000 people were detained. Only three prisoners survive today.

Bed and toilet

Prisoners slept on metal beds with their feet and sometimes hands shackled. Drinking water was heavily rationed, meals were a food spoonfuls of rice porridge daily, and showers consisted of getting sprayed with a hose every four days. As such, disease was rampant in S-21 including malaria, lice, and ringworm. The rules of S-21 were quite strict and spelled out as follows [sic]:

1. You must answer accordingly to my question. Don’t turn them away.

2. Don’t try to hide the facts by making pretexts this and that, you are strictly prohibited to contest me.

3. Don’t be a fool for you are a chap who dare to thwart the revolution.

4. You must immediately answer my questions without wasting time to reflect.

5. Don’t tell me either about your immoralities or the essence of the revolution.

6. While getting lashes or electrification you must not cry at all.

7. Do nothing, sit still and wait for my orders. If there is no order, keep quiet. When I ask you to do something, you must do it right away without protesting.

8. Don’t make pretext about Kampuchea Krom in order to hide your secret or traitor.

9. If you don’t follow all the above rules, you shall get many lashes of electric wire.

10. If you disobey any point of my regulations you shall get either ten lashes or five shocks of electric discharge.

Disobedience towards the rules results in all sorts of barbaric torture including waterboarding, suffocation, sexual abuse, removal of fingernails, electric shock, whipping, contact with hot metal rods, and drowning.

Waterboarding apparatus

The prison has been preserved in the same condition as when it was operational and now serves as a museum (Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum). Former cells are lined with black and white photos of all the detainees, most are visibly diseased, malnourished, and injured even in the still photos. Some rooms depict the child prisoners, as young as five years old, while others showcase the women and elderly. Larger rooms showcase all the original torture devices accompanied by vivid oil paintings showcasing how they were used in practice. Many of the rooms still have blood on the floors from thirty years ago.

The museum is absolutely horrific to walk through. Amit, Elaine, Louise, and I are speechless, eyes filled with water as we walk through the cells.

S-21 Prison was merely a temporary 2-3 month home for its prisoners before they were transported to Choeung Ek, the largest and best-known site of Cambodia's Killing Fields (there are 20,000 total across the country). Choeung Ek is located in the surburbs slightly outside Phnom Penh. When our tuk-tuk pulls up, I immediately notice the beauty of the area, like a lush apple orchard filled with beautiful entangled trees. Prior to 1975, the grounds were used for growing watermelons, longan fruits, rice, and corn. But its beauty belies a much crueler history as Choeung Ek was the largest execution area of the Khmer Rouge, resulting in 20,000 deaths. Daily executions range from a couple dozen to 300. After serving a 2-3 sentence of torture and brutality, victims were transported from S-21 to the Killing Fields. So they would cooperate, Khmer Rouge officials blindfolded the prisoners and informed them that they were being released to their families. When they arrived at Choeung Ek, victims were quickly killed using sharpened spades, axes, hoes, wooden clubs, knives, palm branches, bamboo or poison. Guns were not used as to save ammunition, mask the execution sounds, and keep other victims in an orderly fashion. Small children, even toddlers, were executed by having their heads bashed against the field's Chankiri trees (the scars have not washed away).

Like S-21, Choeung Ek today serves as a memorial and a museum. The focal point is a glass-sided ten-story stupa that holds the remains of the 9,000 bodies found at the execution site. There are over 5,000 skulls along with stray bones and shredded clothes.

We walk around the Killing Fields with our tourguide, passing by all the mass graves. There are 129 in total, 89 of which have been excavated. The largest mass grave held 450 bodies although it's not much bigger than a small swimming pool. Not all the mass graves have been excavated and when there is a heavy rain, bone fragments and rags of clothing are known to rise to the surface. We walk among the path, cautious not to hit the bones sticking out of the surface.

Chankiri tree, where children and toddlers were beaten to their deaths

Execution weapons

The combination of S-21 and the Killing Fields is traumatizing and heartwrenching. I've never been to Auschwitz, but I assume the experience is very similar. Walking through the prison cells and the mass graves is a window into humanity at its worst. Some of the images today are completely branded into my mind and will not be soon forgotten. The Khmer Rouge ravished a peaceful and wonderful country, killing nearly one third of its population and leaving a wake of destruction. But unlike the Holocaust or American segregation, the Khmer Rouge was in power just thirty years ago, not long before I was born. As with parts of Africa today, the experience teaches that true evil never learns and will always persist. So for the rest of us, as with the Holocaust, the Civil Rights Movement, and the reign of the Khmer Rouge, all we can do is learn, honor those who were lost, and swear to never forget.

Note: Some photos from Elaine

And may I now present... Virgin Toilet Paper

2011-08-05T12:17:00.000-07:00

Blessed by the Pope?

Happiness is a Warm Gun?

2011-08-04T21:53:00.000-07:00

Phnom Penh, Cambodia 8/4/11

Money always talks. But it certainly speaks louder in Cambodia.

In America, $200 buys a new iPod. For the same price in Phnom Penh, you can kill a live cow. With a rocket launcher. Not only are said weapons illegal in the states, but I do not think there is any sum that would allow you to brutally murder an innocent live animal. In Cambodia, however, the cow comes gratis with the rocket launcher rental (pigs and chickens are also available). It's merely a free perk. A sales gimmick if you will. Even as a ravenous carnivore, I feel this activity to be utterly sickening, showing a true lack of compassion or humanity. PETA always makes a big stink in New York City when people wear fur or leather; they should really make a visit to Southeast Asia to see some true offenses.

Visitors to Phkor Lan Shooting Range who opt for the rocket launcher are driven a couple miles away to a shrub-covered valley and instructed how to work the military-grade weapon. The gun, also known as a B40, has a long brown-green cylindrical handle that is rested on one's shoulder with a grey football-shaped rocket at the end. The grenade itself recalls a Nerf football due to its size and shape. Except colorless, made of military grade metal instead of foam, and potent enough to destroy a multistory house. The weapon has a distinct phallic characteristic. As such, one could reason that the tourists who rent the launcher are not only sick, sadistic souls, but are actually compensating for something less powerful.

For the poor souls who enjoy this cruel fantasy (before they're transported to the depths of Hell in a few decades), there are two chances to accomplish the task. The unlucky cow is first positioned around 300 feet away in the middle of the mountain valley. She stands there, happily enjoying the fresh grass and taking pleasure as the mountain breeze rushes past her ears and through her fur. Rocket launcher wielders have only one shot to hit their bovine target. If they miss, however, there is no need to fret as: they've likely burned down around a dozen trees in the nearby forest so they can still revel in their destruction. But even better, the rocket is quickly replaced with an automatic Uzi to finish the planned job. I mean, they've already purchased the cow, and it's not like she could possibly be spared after the miss. It's not like she could be distributed to local Cambodians, many of whom struggle to feed themselves and their families. That would be overly generous. So instead, what should be a sacred Buddhist creature and an honored meal that would last for several days, is left annihilated in pieces in the middle of the outskirts of Phnom Penh, becoming food instead for mosquitoes.

From Google

***

It took me twenty-seven years and nearly 9,000 miles to really feel American. Although my friends played with BB guns as kids and others have gone on several hunting trips in recent years, I have yet to ever use a firearm outside of the paintball and Nerf varieties. I have always been against guns and really have no interest in owning one, hunting with one, or brandishing one for protection. My senior thesis at Hamilton was actually on gun control, where I voiced opposition to America's policies on semiautomatic weapons and its loose interpretations of the second amendment.

Many Americans equate the right to bear senseless automatic killing machines with a true mark of patriotism. The United States' affinity for wielding firearms is so strong that many citizens would likely give up food prior to relinquishing their weapons. These tools of destruction, that can obliterate dozens in mere seconds, have somehow come to represent American freedom and unity. The irony is not lost on me.

When in Cambodia, far away from friends or family and protected inside a shooting range, I figured I would see what all the fuss is about. Visitors to Phkor Lan Club in Phnom Penh can throw grenades, sadistically fire rocket launchers at cows, explode bazookas, test out revolvers and handguns, and shoot M60s or other automatic weapons currently being used in Iraq and Afghanistan. There is even a tank for travelers to drive. I opt for an automatic AK-47, the cheapest and most modest of all the club's wares. Amit and I share a magazine of 24 bullets and go head-to-head against a menacing black-and-white pistol-carrying paper target.

Our guides turn the gun to non-automatic mode or else the full magazine would be spent in roughly three seconds. As such, I carefully measure out each bullet, using the sight to aim for the target's head and chest. The AK is cold, leaden, and surprisingly heavy. I'm nervous to even pick it up, as I try to comfortably rest it on my shoulder. I stand around fifty feet away from the target as my guide comes over and unlocks the safety. The first shot of the day, actually the first shot of my life, feels like a thunder bolt ricocheting out of my body. The sound reverberates through the narrow shooting range. It is phenomenally loud despite the fact that I'm wearing noise-blocking ear protection, like a huge explosion in a Michael Bay movie heard with surround sound. Upon firing the single round, the gun immediately kicks back, sending my shoulder flying backwards like a uncontrollable reflex. With each proximate shot I fire, small yellow sparks fly out of the gun's barrel followed by a slight stream of charcoal grey smoke. I fire the following eleven bullets with care, although the kickback and explosive sound are still just as disconcerting on the twelfth shot as with the first.

After Amit finishes his half of the magazine, we compare our results. Out of twelve shots, I've managed:

Four in the face, including one in the temple
Five in the neck
One in the chest
One in the ambdomen
One miss

Amit shoots:

One in the shoulder
Two in the chest
One in the abdomen
Seven misses

So I've fully won this round. I do not even think Superman could survive eleven high-impact wounds from an AK-47. Mr. Black-and-White Pistol-Wielding Paper Target is certainly half past dead. With the shock of the assault weapon's power and noise still echoing through my body, my cardboard victim lying slain in front of me, I feel more American now than ever. In Phnom Penh, Cambodia. And as Amit is a Brit, I've further exerted my American pride in the sense of mercilessly triumphing over other nations. Due to my beginner's luck, maybe I should consider joining the CIA, the military, or the NRA. Or maybe I should take a step back and ponder how a country that has spent the past three decades rebuilding itself after a period of utter horror and genocide, is now using those same tools of destruction to promote violence and animal brutality.

Note: No cows were harmed in the making of this weblog post.

More information:
http://www.dvorak.org/blog/2008/12/20/so-there-i-was-in-cambodia-blowing-up-cows-with-rocket-launchers-when/
http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andy1985/rtw-2006/1163574780/tpod.html
http://articles.sfgate.com/2007-02-15/news/17230380_1_khmer-rouge-shooting-ranges-cambodia
http://www.casttv.com/video/pr832p/shooting-a-rocket-launcher-at-a-cow-cambodia-video
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOiaN3Dm3Gc&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0sDT_F0s6VU

Heart of Darkness

2011-08-04T11:57:00.000-07:00

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam -> Phnom Pehn, Cambodia, 8/3/11 - 8/4/11

Upon walking over the border into Cambodia, I get pulled aside by two customs guards wearing official uniforms and white latex gloves. They pull me over to a long table under an ominous sign reading, "Quarantine." The female customs official tells me to open my mouth and she proceeds to hold up a device that looks like a lit-up ear thermometer. "To check for disease" she says, "go ahhhh." I'm slightly scared and not sure what she is testing. After shining the device into my mouth for a few beats, she quickly pulls it away, slaps me on the shoulder, and with a big smile says, "just kidding!" She and her male customs official partner proceed to laugh at me. After the prank is over and the laughing has settled, she introduces herself and comments that we are the same height. "I like you. You my height. So small, like me," she says. I tell her it's so I can more easily look deeply into her beautiful eyes. She laughs again, gives me a hug, and then escorts me through the customs gate.

This quite bizarre experience foreshadows my experience in Cambodia, which is the final stop on my circle of Southeast Asia. The Cambodian people are genial, humorous, helpful, and speak the best English of all the countries I've visited to date. They go out of their way to accommodate foreigners, marking a stark contrast with the harshness of Vietnam. This will certainly be a great grand finale to my trip.

The sun starts to fall as we cross into Cambodia and the streets change from paved roads to rocky dirty paths. Around 9pm, after the sun has completely fallen, our bus passes by around two dozen gated trucks bringing workers back home after the day's labor. Except someone didn't organize the carpool properly. Each truck bed carries about forty men and women cramped shoulder-to-shoulder covering every single inch of space in the vehicle. Others hang off the sides and bumper. They are packed like sardines between large metal gates, while the cabin accommodates six passengers. The men and women stare at our VIP bus with solemn expressions, faces covered in dirt and grime from the day's chores. As it's pitch dark I couldn't get a proper picture, but it's something like this:

Somewhat like this

And this

But not this bad

Around an hour outside Phnom Pehn our bus boards a ferry to wade the Tonle Sap River. The boat is so small our group is certain the bus won't fit on. Even when it manages to our worries turn to whether or not we will be able to float as the boat looks like its been in use since the 1920s and the bus has around sixty people on it.

Once we depart into the water, we all unload to enjoy the view and take in some fresh air. Almost the second we step off the bus we are inundated by packs of small children, attacking us like ravenous hyenas. Some sell souvenirs and postcards while others beg for cigarettes despite not being much older than eight. I'm guessing they're nicotine habits have already started, potentially at birth, as these Cambodian children are so hungry for their fix that many try to rip cigarettes out of tourists' mouths. Other frantically search recently finish butts to ensure there is not an ounce of tobacco left intact. The non-addicted, non-selling children pull at our clothes and simply ask for money. Between the mosquitoes and equally leeching youth, suddenly the stuffiness of the bus is becoming a great deal more appealing.

We arrive in Phnom Penh around 10pm and I immediately meet Amit, Elaine, and Louise at Hostel 88. The hotel is infinitely more luxurious than I'm used to -- swimming pool, billiards table, full bar and restaurant. The establishment has a distinctly European feel, maybe Moroccan actually, with ornate white columns decorating an illuminated blue outdoor pool. The hotel's entrance is a large open-air foyer with dark wood tables and stools, teak fans, and a convivial bar. Patrons eat satays, toast pints of beer, and check their email while the resident kittens and puppies scamper about. Hostel 88 is really a misnomer; it really deserves the name "hotel." With an attentive staff, large private rooms with hot showers and en suite bathrooms, and a surprising level of cleanliness, "hostel" is really an insult.


From Google

From Google

As Elaine has passed out in the bed, Louise, Amit and I go for a quick stroll throughout town. Although its 11pm on a Thursday night, the Cambodian capital seems positively empty. The only sounds coming from the recommended live music bars are crickets. We're the only patrons at most of the bars, but we still enjoy a few rounds of refreshing draft Angkor Beer and roasted peanuts. We find more revelers at Heart of Darkness a short tuk-tuk ride away, on a busy street lined with night clubs and street vendors. Heart of Darkness is a bordello-esque bi-level club adorned in shades of black and red. The lower level is a giant dance floor with thumping house beats where hundreds of revelers gyrate under a giant chandelier and shimmering disco balls. For a club with flashing strobe lights, terrible loud music, and overactive smoke machines, the decor at Heart of Darkness is surprisingly impressive. Due to all the impressive relics found throughout the club, it could almost act as an art gallery of Khmer history. There are Angkor-inspired statues of Buddhas and carvings of famous warriors sealed in glass boxes. The second floor of the bar is an intimate lounge with long leather sofas and walls of exposed brick. Several sections of the brick have been carved away and surrounded by lavish gold frames, creating an ad-hoc exhibition area for sculptures of ancient Khmer queens, illuminated due to candles.

Joseph Conrad's novel of the same name describes the horror found during the Belgian colonization of the Congo, including brutality towards the natives and the darkness within all human beings. As such, Heart of Darkness night club's name could not be more apropos as the venue is a breeding ground for people's darkest depravities. The venue has a long history of gang violence, including a fatal shooting in August 2005. Weapons have become such a problem at the bar that huge signs anoint the entrance prohibiting guns, knives, and grenades. But rumor has it that high-ranking Cambodian youth and their bodyguards easily float pass the security points, unchecked. Lonely Planet warns of rampant pickpocketing and "large gangs of rich young Khmers […] some are children of the elite and rely on their bodyguards to do their dirty work."

Although fatalities are infrequent, the colonization that Conrad alludes to is out in the open on a nightly basis. Like Ho Chi Minh City's nightclubs, Heart of Darkness is overrun with prostitutes, most not even two decades in age. Many are my height, yet due to enormous heels, tower over me and are able to look the much taller patrons directly in the eyes. The ladies float throughout the second floor lounge among the neon lights and warrior statues, searching for customers. Many stand at the edge of the mezannine, looking down at the dance floor below for those who are ready to make poor decisions. The black leather sofas are filled with middle-aged Westerners groping teenage Cambodian prostitutes old enough to be their daughters. With some couples, the men are probably more than triple the girls' age. Some stories paint even more grotesque pictures of teenage women being sold off to child abusing ex-pats for ~$150 in order to pay off family debts. Although Heart of Darkness was written at the turn of the twentieth century, and about an entirely different continent, one look at the modern Cambodian bar that shares its name proves that only so much progress has been made in the third world. The same darkness that Conrad described in 1902 certainly prevails today.

***

The night ends with some post-midnight "chicken wings" from a street vendor outside the club. As we open the styrofoam container, eager for a crunchy, greasy, meaty snack, our expression quickly changes. They're as fake as the masquerading laughter that emanated from the young prostitutes at the Heart of Darkness, as they effortlessly tried to please their elder Western colonists. But we're hungry and drunk. So chicken feet will have to do.

Note: Images from Google, Heart of Darkness' FB page

Oodle Your Noodle

2011-08-03T02:06:00.000-07:00

Ho Chi Minh City, 8/2/11 - 8/3/11

I meet Yom and Ashley for a big bowl of Pho at Pho Hao, recommended by 1,000 Things To Do Before You Die. The book is almost entirely devoted to key places to visit and adventures to conquer around the world, but surprisingly recommends checking out a tiny hole-in-the-wall noodle soup shop in the Southern Vietnamese city.

Mixed meat pho at Pho Hoa

The signature soup combines brisket, flank steak, pork balls, tripe, thick rice noodles, and a rich broth. Ashley and I share a large bowl, adding in lettuces, fresh herbs, chilis, garlic, fresh lime and dipping in large fried dough breadsticks. The three-story restaurant is quite busy although it's late in the afternoon. What it lacks in atmosphere (bright fluorescent lights, plastic tables and chairs) it makes up with its food. The broth has a deep flavor of pork and slightly spicy and bright due to the lime and chilis. We eat it alongside steamed buns stuffed with roasted pork and hardboiled egg. The pho is so delicious that after Ashley and I polish off our large bowl I grab ahold of whatever isn't finished at the table.

The next day, I'm exploring Ho Chi Mihn City, including the Opera House, Reunification Palace (Independence Palace), Notre Dame Cathedral, and Ben Thahn Market. Lunch is more noodle soup at Pho 2000, where President Clinton dined more than a decade ago. The restaurant is covered in photos of Clinton with the staff, eating noodle soup, and waving to fans. Big magenta signs outside the restaurant exclaim they serve "Pho for the President."

Live crabs at Ben Trahn Market

Renumification Palace

Helicopter on top of the palace

Notre Dame Cathedral

Singing outside the National Opera House

'Tutes & the Maytals

2011-08-02T23:41:00.000-07:00

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, 8/2/11

All the bars we go to in Saigon are packed to the brim with prostitutes. Especially as the night progresses. I think it's a 2:1 ratio in the favor of the girls of the night. Even including the men. We can't avoid them, walking around in 7'' stilettos, corsets, and skin-tight metallic dresses that leave little to the imagination. The wear immense amounts of mascara, long straight perfectly-coiffed black hairstyles, and cold statuesque stares. Their preferred company seems to be older Western men, which is great for me since I don't even need to buy a ticket to watch this show.

While playing pool, we meet Will, a gregarious 31-year old Mississippian with a thick build and a crewcut of prematurely salt & pepper hair. He's not much older than me, yet is twice divorced, has a five-year old son, has served two tours of duty with the Air Force, and now lives in Taipei with his Taiwanese girlfriend of one year, Rikki. She takes a liking to me immediately and introduces me to several of her friends, all of whom are striking with painted-on dresses. Due to the company they're keeping, I believe they're different from the rest of the crowd until I get to know one better. After I've been flirting with Cindy for an hour or so, Rikki pulls me aside and shoves a giant stack of money in my face, furiously flipping through individual bills. As she fans the money, Rikki whispers in my ear, "my friend likes you. She likes you very much. You tell me what you want tonight, just let me know, and I'll tell you how much."

I think she sees the skepticism on my face so Will comes in for backup, putting his arm around me. He looks me dead in the eyes and in a thick Southern accent says, "listen man, you always pay for it one way or another. You go out on a date, you're paying her. You're in a relationship, you're paying her. This is the exact same... And this girl really likes you!" His misogynistic, antiquated logic isn't inherently flawed and I do pay for all my dates. But I don't wake up the next morning with the inability to urinate. Plus I haven't been married, let alone twice divorced, so I will let the jaded outlook wait.

Rikki keeps flashing bills in front of my face pressing about my desires for the evening, as Cindy inches closer and closer to my groin while flashing her toothy smile. I tell them both what I really want is to go to bed alone in my sixth floor tenement room with teddy bear sheets. Cindy is beautiful and should get an Oscar for her feigned interest, but at least this way I'll know for sure: If I have a rash tomorrow, it won't be from a petite, magenta dress-class, sexy lady of the night. It will be bed bugs.

War Remants Museum

2011-08-02T13:21:00.000-07:00

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, 8/2/11

Ho Chi Mihn City, formerly Saigon, shares Hanoi's endless stream of loud, confusing motorbike traffic, but has many more charms. Streets are wider, trees and parks abound and even the scammers seem more tame. The frenetic, chaotic traffic from the Northern capital remains unchanged in the Southern city.

When I arrive, nearly all the hostels are full and I can't find where Amit, Louise, and Elaine are staying. Thus, I quickly grab a private room -- spacious although on the sixth floor of a narrow walkup building above a tailor. I found this hostel after the owner sprinted up to me on the street, certainly noticing my sweat-filled brow and look of exhaustion, and insisted, "you stay with me!" Typically I do not go for these solicitations but I only had a limited time in Ho Chi Minh. There are oddly two beds in my room, each of which is compressed in the center due to wear, and the sheets are bedecked with teddy bears and flowers. One would think that owning a tailor shop below would grant thew owners accessing to finer bed fabrics, such as those with warthogs or lemurs, but I guess times were tough this year.

I immediately head to the War Remnants Museum which is like Hanoi's Prison Museum in its overwhelming biased, propagandist feel, yet about 5,000 times more horrific. The first floor is a cake walk, depicting all the countries around the world that protesting the war, illuminating some of the key demonstrations, and showing notable war planes and tanks. Ironically, the museum gets considerably more hellish as one ascends. The next exhibits are all the weapons that Americans used in the war -- grenade, rocket launchers, bazookas, automatic firearms, plan artillery. The weapons are paired with quotes from high-ranking American officers calling for the destruction of Vietnam and all its inhabitants. Move along on the second floor to an exhibit highlighting particularly catastrophic events, such as when American soldiers and planes wiped out entire towns of mostly innocent children, elderly, and pregnant women. The photos are even worse, showing American soldiers laughing as they kill or torture innocent Vietnamese. Other images depict soldiers dragging mutated bodies behind them or their cars like lumber. Another section shows vivid aerial pictures of towns pre- and post-war, illustrating the losses of major temples, hospitals, schools, and nurseries. Head outside and there is an entire wing devoted to American torture methods listing out every one in excruciating detail with photos and memoirs from Vietnamese POWs. Prison cells are recreated and the museum houses actual "tiger cages", a series of small barbed wire covered cages, not much bigger than coffins, which were used to hold anywhere from three to seven live Vietnamese prisoners.

After nearly two months of travel through countries that have experienced relentless colonization, war, genocide, and natural devastation, I do not think I witnessed anything even remotely as horrific as the War Remnant Museum's Agent Orange wing. The display starts by explaining the poison in detail, including its toxicity level and production. The exhibit continues by explaining how much Agent Orange was sprayed during the Vietnam War, which key areas were hit worst, and how many lives were affected. There are hundreds of photos with in-depth stories of the victims, each with different combinations of horrendous amputations, mutations, boils, congenital diseases. There are graphic photos of damaged fetuses. Most of the victims in the photos have been exposed to such high toxicity levels that they do not even look human. And these photos are not from the 1960s and 1970s. They are modern. From the past 5 years. Showing the reverberating ripple effects of Agent Orange and the Vietnam War even decades later. Next to each photo are heartwrenching stories about how these victims attempt to function in modern society despite their handicaps and how they cling to the fabric of life -- writing with their toes, communicating through blinking. There are letters to Obama, Bush, Dow Chemical, and Monsanto asking for aid for victims' families which have yet to be read or written back.
I implore anyone to visit the Agent Orange exhibit and not leave nauseous, crying, or both. It's even worse when I see Agent Orange victims on the street asking for money, bringing an already graphic exhibit into an even more vivid prism of reality.

The War Museum does little to describe the atrocities committed by the Viet Cong, but it doesn't need to. Even in its extreme bias, the whole center shines a bright light on the calamities of war that are objectively wrong, no matter what side one is on. Although we don't talk about it any more in the states, and have turned our attention to other regions, the Vietnam War has left its namesake country with a current of side effects that continues to grow for decades to come. With poor health care, contraception, and sanitation throughout the country, the implications of Agent Orange only continue to grow for the people of Vietnam. Meaning the disturbing wing of the museum is not such much of a portrait of a dark past but actually a horrific, bleak image of modern reality. And as an American, I leave the exhibit haunted, sick, and distraught.

"Miscellaneous Chinese Noodles"

2011-08-02T12:57:00.000-07:00

Let's Go Surfing Now

2011-08-02T02:02:00.000-07:00

Mui Ne, Vietnam, 8/1/11 - 8/2/11

I know we want to see the sunrise, but the motorbike guide driving in front of me has a death wish. Going 70MPH in the pitch dark through curvy dirt roads at 4AM is fanatical. I struggle to follow. But mostly to stay alive. I distract myself from the death ride by signing out loudly. Favorites include "I Will Survive." The final section of the ride is like navigating through a minefield of large boulders. But for my guide, it might as well be on the Autobahn.

Despite its beautiful beaches, Mui Ne's main attractions are its large sand dunes, which have earned the town the nickname of "The Sahara of Vietnam." As with Mui Ne's ostrich rides, the sand dunes seem completely out of place for a small fishing village come resort town on the South China Sea. The drive to the dunes is wonderfully scenic, bordering the sea the entire time.

The first night I go to the Red Dunes, twenty minutes outside of town, to watch the sunset. The second the rust-colored dunes are within my sights, a team of young Vietnamese children rushes out into the streets, stopping my bike. In the small community that lives adjacent to the dunes, adult shopkeepers compete over selling refreshments and snacks while the kids vie for tourguide opportunities. As it's a quiet day, I am joined by five young guides, none of whom can be over eight years of age. The rent me a sand surf board, which is essentially a large flimsy sky blue plastic place mat with a few thick ropes tied to the front for handles. Posse in tow, we begin the climb the dunes, whose sand is surprisingly cool despite guide book warnings. We spend hours sand surfing, with my guides instructing me on perfect form and leading me to the tallest dunes. Typically two kids will stand directly in front of my surf board and pull me off the dune's edge, falling to the side at the last minute, while another two kids will stand behind pushing me down. The fifth will typically stand there and ask for tips. The surf down isn't fast, but it's still a major adrenaline rush. Especially as the sun sets over the dunes and transforms the sky into a lush watercolor painting. In addition to the obvious endorphin rush, the experience is analogous to bathing in sand. After the just two runs, my entire body is drenched in thick red sand that is simply not coming off. A sand facial as some have called it. Good news, however, is that I look dramatically tanner. My guides are lunatics -- sprinting through the sand, performing somersaults down the dunes, complaining about girlfriends despite not yet reaching double-digits, and relentlessly haggling for more tips. Due to the onslaught of sand, my camera lens is barely opening: Reason #847 I should've bought a shockproof, dirt-proof, waterproof camera.

Mui Ne's White Dunes are even more impressive: A sprawling array of light beige dunes surrounded by lakes filled with magenta desert roses. Its a confusing hourlong motorbike trip to get there, so I'm lucky Avital, an Israeli at my hostel who looks like a librarian, has chartered a motorbike to take her there for sunrise. I follow along in the pitch dark, slightly slower at 60MPH, trying not to fall. We reach the White Dunes just as the sun is rising. We basically have the dunes to ourselves apart from a couple taking wedding photos at one summit and a few others riding ATVs. Wedding pictures set in the rising sun over vacant white sand dunes in Southern coastal Vietnam? How cliche.

Mui Ne sand dune wedding

Avital and I sit atop one of the dunes and watch the glowing yellow orb rise and paint the empty white canvases in a golden light. When the sun rises, we spend the morning sledding and surfing down the peaks. It's an adrenaline rush far superior coffee. As this is my second day, I even try standing sand surfing, which involves leaning back and inverting half the board upwards. As with all my experiences surfing (sand or water), I fall repeatedly and display absolutely no sense of balance or coordination. However, I do manage to stay up on the board for five seconds prior to falling. Accomplishment?

On our way back to Mui Ne, we pause briefly due to a traffic jam as a farmer takes all of his cattle for a short trip uptown. At this hour, the dozens of cattle he herds likely outnumbers the vehicles on the street.

Vietnamese traffic

Our final stop of the day is at Mui Ne's Red Canyon, a shallow creek of striking reddish-orange bluffs. As with the town's Fairy Stream, Red Canyon is composed of soft clay and sandstone and Avital and I leave our mark by carving our names into the rock.

Covered in red and white sand, ostrich cooties, belly full of roasted duck, I board a 8am bus and head to Saigon. As we leave the area, we pass by Phan Thiet's many dragonfruit plantations, which look slightly like spiked aloe vera plants, with a touch of Weeping Willow, Dr. Seuss and Avatar. I think dragonfruit is only mildly appealing, almost like a bland melon, but the thrilling appearance of the plants and the fruit itself certainly promise a much more exciting taste.

Some sand surfing songs, via Sting and the Police:

Suicide Ostrich

2011-08-01T15:17:00.000-07:00

Mui Ne, Vietnam, 8/1/11

I know I haven't showered in a while and don't smell fantastic. I also know my travel beard is beginning to look like a secret garden made of less-desirable nether hair. But all that said, this ostrich is being overly melodramatic with this suicide attempt. First of all, shoving her long furry gray neck into a crevasse in the wooden gate is never going to work. It's definitely not sharp enough and her trainer is way too fast. Secondly, she doesn't smell that great either and she looks positively ridiculous with her head stuck in the gate, feathered black and white body flailing behind. Stop being a drama queen, ostrich. I know it is unfortunate that your young trainer never honored you with a name, but it's reason for a suicide attempt.

I'm hiking through Fairy Canyon in Mui Ne, Vietnam when I stumble upon this random ostrich farm like an oasis in the desert. Funny, I had no idea they had ostriches in Vietnam. I climb up a flight of stairs and sit on "No Name" the ostrich who must be seven feet tall, with gray hair covering her face and neck and a beard. I sit on a saddle while the trainer follows behind, ensuring No Name doesn't throw me off. The ostrich is lightning fast and I really wish I could ride her around town instead of my motorbike. You know what they say, wing-ostriches get all the women. The ride is rocky and unstable and I'm convinced I'm going to fall off every second. Well if you're going to break an arm, ostrich riding sure makes a good story.

From the ostrich ride, I continue through Fairy Stream, a small ravine running through the center of tall red clay bluffs. As with most outdoor excursions in Southeast Asia, my tour guides are two small eight year-olds who grab my hand and eagerly take me around the site. The stream is hidden off a small road in Mui Ne, past several garbage dumps and an outdoor clay pottery store. It begins as a shallow stream surrounded by lush jungle and opens up a few minutes later into large clay cliffs in shades of copper, tan, red, and yellow. The colors blend together to create vivid gradients in the clay, different shades dripping into one another, bringing to mind prehistorical cave art. As the cliffs are made of soft sand and clay, the material is constantly cascading down the cliffs creating ad hoc mud foot spas on the edge of the creek. My young guides and I giddily prance through the mud, recharging the joints in our ankles and heels.

***

I arrive in Mui Ne in the middle of the night. Although the town is a popular beach resort, at 3am it's positively desolate. All the hotels have closed up shop, locking gates in front of their entrances. I peruse the streets searching for anyone who is awake and luckily stumble upon one inn keeper who is asleep on a hammock in front of his hostel. I wake him up, quickly agree to the tariff and pass out.

Mui Ne is a beach destination like Nah Trang, but decidedly more quiet and peaceful. The long white sand beach is lined with high-end resorts and restaurants. The town is on the South China Sea whose large waves come violently crashing into the shoreline. While Nah Trang is brimming with backpackers and all night bars, Mui Ne's streets are lined with families and honeymooners. The restaurants close quite early and, during the low season of July, there is basically no nightlife. Although Mui Ne is just one street running along the beach, it is quite sprawling and a car or bike is necessary to get around.

Mui Ne was originally, and still is, a fishing village. However, it began to transform into a tourist area after a 1995 solar eclipse brought thousands to the small, undiscovered beach hamlet. Today, Mui Ne presents a strong juxtaposition between a poor community of fisherman, many of whom struggle daily to earn $500 - $1,000 a year and groups of wealthy Western tourists relaxing at luxury hotels at $100+ a night. Nowhere is this contrast more evident than Phan Thiet fishing village which I visit early in the morning via motorbike. It's only a few miles outside central Mui Ne, straight past all the starred hotels. I arrive to see two dozen men and women in conical hats hunched over in the scorching morning sun unloading mountains of sardines and anchovies from fishing vessels. The South China Sea beyond them is dotted with small rusted fishing boats all competing over the same catch. The workers fill colorful wooden baskets with the tiny silver fish and load them into trucks or onto the back or motorbikes. Some of the fish will be sold in markets while others will be processed into nuoc mam, the salty, aromatic Vietnamese fish sauce that is one of the region's main exports and a national staple on every dinner table. I continue on to Phan Thiet's day market which sells a impressive variety of dragonfruit, one of the region's specialties, in every imaginable hue.

Phan Thiet fishing village

Phan Thiet day market

Dragonfruits

Dinner tonight

For me, the highlight of Phan Thiet is a twenty-five meter long whale skeleton, preserved at Thuy Tu Temple. It's the largest in Asia and has become something of a sacred object for many Vietnamese. The brown embalmed skeleton is so massive that it resembles a dinosaur. His fins are the size of VW bugs. This is no ordinary whale; it probably ate Free Willy as its last meal.

Motorbiking along the coast of the South China Sea is quite a thrill. The skies are a vibrant shade of blue, a heavy sea breeze flows through my hair, and the smell of the ocean fills my nose as I bike past. The entire afternoon is spent hugging the shore, garnering sustained views of ivory white sand, palm trees, and crystal blue waters reflecting the sun and the clouds. Although I've never been, I imagine the experience is similar to driving up the Pacific Coast Highway. In a convertible.

On my way back to central Mui Ne, I stop by Po Shanu Cham Tower, built in the 8th Century. As with the previous Cham towers I've seen in Vietnam, Po Shanu is a series of copper-colored domed temples. At Po Shanu, each represents a different element -- earth, air, fire, water. It's the Captain Planet of ancient Cham temples. The neighboring pagoda offers beautiful views of the Phan Thiet Harbor and the city's main cemetery, with hundreds of rows of tombstones in every color of the rainbow.

I'm starving so I pull over at a small series of food stands. One immediately catches my eye, even though I'm sprinting through town at 60MPH on a high-powered scooter. The older lady's tiny cart looks like a transformed popcorn machine. But instead of corn kernels, the inside of the glass case is filled with mahogany-colored hanging ducks which have been roasted and covered in honey. I order half a roasted duck, chopped with a cleaver and placed in a bowl alongside hoisin sauce, scallions, pickled daikon and carrots. It's not the meatiest duck, but the what the limited flesh is quite succulent and the entire dish is quite delicious -- almost a deconstructed Peking duck with crisp, cracker-like skin. Plus the pickled vegetables add a nice bright touch to offset the saltiness and sweetness of the bird and hoisin.

Dinner is right on the beach at Lam Tong restaurant, overlooking the South China Sea. The plastic patio tables are positioned right on the sand and I eat barefoot, the sound of the sea providing the soundtrack. The front of the restaurant has two large pools of swimming eels, lobsters, local fish, and crabs. My appetizer is five large grilled shrimp that I devour, head and all. Mains are a large filet of local white fish rubbed with chilis and tamarind and a hot pot of roasted tofu and pineapple.

Final Meal in Nah Trang

2011-07-31T23:08:00.000-07:00

Nah Trang, Vietnam, 7/31/11

My final meal in Nah Trang continues the Vietnamese trend of cooking your own food. All seven of us are gathered around a long table at Lac Cahn Restaurant, decorated with three piping hot charcoal grills. Each resembles oversized versions of the grills that sat in the center of Pu Pu Platters that I loved as a kid. We drink San Miguel beer and eat appetizers of spinach sauteed with garlic and fried rice with mixed seafood. For the main course, we grill chicken, flank steak, and pork loin, each of which has been marinated in chilis, soy, ginger, garlic, and rice vinegar. The meal is fresh, cheap, and delicious. Plus, due to my close proximity to the grill, I can ensure that no absentminded tablemates grill the steak beyond medium rare. Such a crime would be worthy of electrocution.

I toast everyone goodbye as the Golden Girls are staying on the beach for another four days, while the remaining group wants one more beach day and will meet me in Saigon.

As for the lovely and beguiling British Trifecta, my travel partners for nearly all of Vietnam, it's not really goodbye. Not really the end. If not far sooner, I will see you in another life, [sisters].

This Ain't No Disney World

2011-07-31T10:27:00.000-07:00

Nah Trang, Vietnam, 7/31/11

The night didn't end well for Mary. Although we all finished the night partying and drinking on the beach, most of us headed home around 3am. Mary, however, left herself (spread) wide open with a new male friend. After passing out on the beach, she woke up to find herself robbed of her iPhone, camera, and money. Add those to her loss of inhibition as the vodka masked the fact that the beach was still full of revelers when she was playing in the sand.

***

Vin Pearl Land makes Rye Playland seem like Disney World. The tiny park is deserted, overpriced, and, frankly, horrifying. We walk through the empty streets, passing by carnival games that no one is playing, cotton candy machines that might as well not be turned on, souvenir shops gathering cob webs. I'm convinced that at any given moment zombies are going to pop out from behind the bushes and attempt to eat our flesh.

From Google

In addition to the utter peril of the fast-approaching zombie apocalypse, Vin Pearl's rides aren't much better. The roller coaster lasts roughly twelve seconds. Another ride holds passengers in a completely inverted state, floating parallel to the ground yet fifty feet up. The other riders and I remain in that state for three whole minutes until our faces resemble eggplants. Plus its safety belt is awkwardly loose and we move about the car thinking about our sins. Fortunately, the classic swing ride is quite fun; the state fair mainstay has been a favorite of mine since I was a kid. But its entertainment value doesn't give Vin Pearl any extra points as the swing ride is one of the most consistently fun attractions on the face of the planet and I'm sure it would still put a smile on my face if I rode it in Hell.

From Google

Despite its shortcomings, Vin Pearl Land has a wonderfully scenic cable car ride. Supposedly the longest in Vietnam. After a crazy night, we're up early riding it to the small island that houses the amusement park. As we near our destination, a large sign announcing the park's name comes into view. Reading "VinPearl" in large white wooden letters and nestled in the forest on top of the island, it's a near identical homage (rip off?) of the famed Hollywood sign. Although the park is only twenty minutes from our hotel and involves getting soaked on water slides, Harriet and Becky insist on full makeup and hair extensions. Only to laboriously take them off in the locker rooms upon entering the park. Someone should tell these girls that there is no bouncer nor velvet rope to get into Vin Pearl Land. They would probably let in a passel of underage rabid opossums.

Source: Google

That said, Vin Pearl's water park is quite entertaining. We spend several hours racing down colorful water slides, wading through lazy rivers, tubing over aquatic half pipes, screaming through group flume rides, getting flushed down giant toilets, and sliding down pitch black tube slides dotted with neon and strobe lights.

Our final stop is at Vin Pearl's aquarium, which features a giant tank filled with sharks, manta rays, and large schools of tropical fish. Visitors wade through the water on a motorized path and are rewarded with 360-degrees views of the ocean life around them. Several manta rays, the size of coffee tables, come right up to the walls and plant small kisses on the glass as their way of saying salutations. The female staff of the aquarium is oddly dressed up like mermaids, walking around in silver tiaras and carrying rose bouquets. It seems as if they just returned from the mermaid debutante.

Source: Google

Say hello to my little friend

We leave the Vin Pearl Land wet, smiling widely, and thankfully free of Zombie infections. They must have Thursdays off.

Note: Several images from Google

Get Muddy with Me

2011-07-30T21:46:00.000-07:00

Nah Trang, Vietnam, 7/30/11

It's pouring rain and Louise and I are sitting in the mud pits with a twenty-five person Vietnamese family celebrating their reunion. They laugh, make small talk, and pour mud over our heads. Every time we utter something in English it's met with the roar of two-dozen Vietnamese vacationers howling in laughter. Even though we're quite sure they do not understand a word we're saying. Louise and I were expecting thick Woodstock-style mud when I read about the pits, but the consistency more closely resembles dirty dish water. No bother, it's a great way to wait out the rain and we've become honorary members of this extended family who came to Nah Trang from two hours away. The young females in the family stare at me with hungry eyes and keep touching my shoulder even though I can't properly respond to their leading questions. I think they would gladly drown Louise in the mud and steal me for themselves, but it is really impolite to snog foreigners whilst cavorting in muddy water with one's family members in the pouring rain.

***

Although it's our first day in Nah Trang and the weather is perfect, most of our group doesn't want to leave the beach. But they don't share my malignantly serious ADHD, so Louise and I hop on a motorbike and begin exploring the city. I'm driving and she's riding behind, embracing me tight, which is necessary as driving in Nah Trang is analogous to laughing in Satan's face -- truly tempting death. Like Hanoi, the coastal city is a sea of frenetic, exhaust-spewing motorbike traffic. The streets are entangled with one another and many share identical names, making map reading futile. There are no traffic lights, stop signs, traffic cops, and roundabouts are disorganized nuclei of 5-8 streets that somehow maintain order. I don't see a single accident although I've heard a rumor that ten people die a month in Hanoi alone from motorbike accidents. When Louise and I embark, I notice immediately the bike's speedometer and odometer are completely broken. I return the vehicle, to which the bike shop proprietor shrugs his shoulders asking, "so what's the problem?"

He doesn't win the battle and within twenty minutes our new bike is at Nagan Cham Towers -- a cluster of large copper towers overlooking all of Nah Trang. Like the sister temple of My Son we viewed in Hoi An, this site was built between the 7th and 12th centuries by the ancient Cham Empire. Each temple is fully preserved and Hindus and Buddhists line up to enter the buildings and kneel at the altars. Inside, elaborate shrines are decorated flowers, busts of notable monks, fruit, and golden sculptures. Visitors pray and light so much incense that the small interior altar rooms resemble aromatic saunas. In front of the temples is a hexagon of perfectly symmetrical columns where Hindus prayed while preparing for battle.

Louise and I heard there were hot springs and mud pits outside of town and were expecting long hikes culminating in natural pools deep within the forest. So you can imagine our surprise when the springs are actually a large, expensive, artificially-built complex packed with vacationers. Well, we traveled this far and got lost about a dozen times. So there's really no turning back at this point. We start in the mineral baths, which are laid out in an ascending fashion on a small hill. The baths are packed with people and the whole scene brings to mind people in private VIP booths waiting for the opera to start. Except they're in their skivvies. The mineral water is incredibly refreshing and invigorating after the long bus journey. As are the narrow brick hallways that spray visitors with multiple powerful streams of hot mineral water. The faucets are in every direction and it's quite entertaining to run suicides back and forth through the showers.

Highway to the Danger Zone

Following the our mud pit-family reunion-extravaganza and a heavy shower, Louise and I sprint back into town. We've gone on so many motorbike rides together by this point, we're practically like Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis in Top Gun.

During our ride back into town, one local gentleman decides to bike directly into oncoming traffic. We nearly crash head-on, but both veer aside at the last minute, missing each other by mere inches. Louise and I pull over panting after this near death experience, while our opponent thinks nothing of it and continues biking at 40MPH in the opposite direction, bikes parting at the last second is his wake. This man clearly graduated from the Ray Charles School of Motorbike Driving.

Fortunately, we make it to Long Son Pagoda in one piece. The site, right in the center of Nah Trang, is a large temple decorated with colorful mosaics and statues of dragons. The pagoda dates back to the 1800s yet is still operational today with canary yellow-garbed monks walking through complex, including one of the highest-ranking in Vietnam. As with the Cham temple earlier in the day, Long Son has several altars that are so full of incense smoke that one can barely see the shrines. Behind the pagoda, up a huge hill, rests a giant ivory white sitting Buddha looking down on Nah Trang. Louise and I pay our respects in traditional Vietnamese rice paddy conical hats. Nearby, local teens play hackysack while others sell colorful fans.

Eat Your Veggies

We're starving upon descending from the giant Buddha and I spot a lively restaurant at the pagoda's entrance. Typically, I avoid any food by tourist areas but we're famished. Or "knackered" as Louise says in her thick Cork accent. Well, I think, it's only one meal and it's cheap. How wrong I was.

The large open-air restaurant is packed to the brim with Vietnamese locals and we're the only tourists. First good sign. Second is everyone is making their own soups in large hot pots over electric blue flames. Third sign is they have stuffed buns which share the color and addictive qualities of crack cocaine. The fluffy white buns are filled with a melange of roasted onions, garlic, carrots, peas, potatoes, broccoli, and mushrooms. It's like a salad and croutons turned on its head. Appetizer is a refreshing lotus root salad: Julienned lotus root, roasted tofu, peanuts, cabbage, onions, fake shrimp crackers, fresh herbs, and a lime vinaigrette. The piece de resistance is a sweet and sour hot pot, whose broth hints to the sauce of the same name but has endlessly more depth of flavor and is devoid of the sticky, gluey consistency. We use chopsticks to add in tofu, noodles, chilis, tomatoes, herbs, and cabbage, then close the lid and bring everything to a boil.

The meal is utterly spectacular and dirt cheap for Vietnam at 100,000dong ($5) for both us, including drinks. As with the terrific vegetarian meal at May Kaidee in Thailand, it reminds me how overrated meat can be and how easily I could become a vegetarian. Upon further reflection, I think the meal was completely vegan. And the entire experience was ethereal: Eating a transcendent meal in surprising setting, completely sans meat, in a beautiful open-air candlelit restaurant, in perfect weather, under the watchful eye of a three-story ivory Buddha. Plus I'm sitting across from a beautiful woman and the conversation is splendid. That's it, I'm becoming a vegan, proposing to Louise right here and now, and we're going to spend the rest of our lives as vagabonds-in-love traveling in Asia on motorbikes eating the freshest vegetables the region has to offer.

Ok, well maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. For now, let's simply marvel at the zen nirvana of the vegetarian meal we just consumed and continue to search out more fauna-based magic.

Stomach Acrobatics

2011-07-30T21:13:00.000-07:00

Nah Trang, Vietnam, 7/30/11

I've averaged 1-3 fresh fruit shakes a day in Southeast Asia and this one has to be one of the best. I swear it's been sent down from Mt. Olympus. Combining banana, pineapple, lime juice, and cinnamon, it's a multi-layered (sweet, sour, slightly spicy) and, due to its lack of any sugar or condensed milk, is beyond refreshing. I like this town already.

Nah Trang is a busy beach town in lower Vietnam on the South China Sea. It's not wholly dissimilar from Miami due to the patrons, restaurants, hotels, and beach clubs. In windy month, Nah Trang is Vietnam's premiere destination for kite and wind surfing, plus the diving in renowned. The city is bigger and noisier than Hoi An, whose quaint charms have been replaced with loud traffic and 24-hour bars.

After a long overnight trip, a morning dip in the South China Sea is the perfect wake me up. I get the blood flowing by joining local Vietnamese kids on the nearby inflatable water park -- slides, trampolines, see-saws, blow-up Saturns. Since I'm only partially taller than the kids around me, I believe I have license to freely practice my immaturity. Later in the evening, one of my dorm mates tells me he had too much whiskey the night before, sampled the inflatable trampoline after park hours, and was joined in his bouncing with his dinner and drinks. Note to self: Heavy up on soap tonight.

Gas in Southeast Asia

2011-07-30T13:47:00.000-07:00

Nah Trang, Vietnam, 7/30/11

Although there are a prototypical gas stations in major cities throughout Southeast Asia, most are just dilapidated roadside stands. Some are just set up right outside people's homes as a second source of income. Typically there is no gas pump, rather, the stations have funneled petrol into empty soda or whiskey bottles and will walk up and pour it into your bike. Thus, when motorbiking are low on gas, it is advisable to look to the side of the road for what appears to be a vast array of urine samples. Due to the size of the bottles and the quantity, the urine likely came from a hippopotomus.

Images from Google

I'm Too Sexy for My Off-the-Rack Clothes

2011-07-28T20:36:00.000-07:00

Hoi An, Vietnam, 7/28/11

Hoi An is one of the mercantile capitals of Southeast Asia with tailors occupying nearly every other storefront. It's known as the best place in the region to get custom clothes made, the only hard decision being which tailor to choose and how to stop. The tailors are world-class and the coastal town is a sartorialist's wet dream.

Becky, Harriet, and Lauren print out pages from Vogue.com and recent designer runway shows. The tailors measure every inch of the girls' bodies, furiously scribbling notes in the journals. Armed simply with a few color print out and some measurements, the tailors recreate the haute couture garments with excruciating exactness. In less than 24 hours. With multiple fittings and edits to get the dresses exactly right. Upon completion, the blonde Brits have transformed from shabby, dirty, unkempt backpackers into models rivaling Kate Moss for the crown of England's top model.

Others customize sneakers on NikeID.com, print out their creations, and pass them to tailors. Backpackers forgetting their time and place drop off photos of Jimmy Choos and Christian Louboutins. Some traveled all the way to Vietnam to have Vera Wang wedding dresses recreated. Visitors order leather jackets, thigh-high boots, cowboy boots, suits, tuxedos, fedoras, ski jackets, dress shoes. No matter the request, or through what means the order is conveyed to the tailors, the craftsmanship is typically completed in 24 hours. For a fraction of the cost in the states or Europe. And you don't pay until you are completely happy. I see two gentleman ordering matching silk suits, one in canary yellow another in sky blue, both decorated with a shiny floral pattern. "They're so cheap, we're having these made just for a party" one announces. Sure beats searching Goodwill. One of my family friends told me a story of Hoi An. She FedEx-ed her favorite button-down dress shirt to a tailor in town asking him to duplicate it in ten different fabrics. A few weeks later, the ten new shirts arrived in Connecticut. The new garments matched the original down to the millimeter, produced with laser-like exactness. So much so, that all ten new shirts included small tears on the sleeve that were on the original shirt.

I really don't need any new clothes, but as no American garments fit me, how can I say no? Amit, Stacy and I head to Kimmy's, one of Hoi An's premiere shops. I'm measured and order a bespoke wood and cashmere gray checkered suit, based off a D&G design. I choose sky blue Vietnamese silk for the lining. Everything is customized based on my desires during four fittings -- jacket lapels, vents, length, fit, pockets; pant length, tapering, crotch. 24 hours later and I have a completely bespoke new suit, plus a military-style winter coat, four custom shirts, and four shorts. Roughly $250. The only real cost is the size my backpack has now become.

After the initial fitting, Amit, Stacy, and I grab lunch at a hole-in-the-wall next door. Of course we're starting with strong Vietnamese coffee with condensed milk, a brew so potent my hair in standing on end. We go through the Hoi An favorites from yesterday -- Cao Lau and White Rose. Positively addictive sauteed squid with pineapple The food is hearty and delicious but the highlight is definitely the minced shrimp paste wrapped around sugar cane and roasted. The cane sugar boils and seaps into the shrimp, forming a utensil-free snack that is crunchy, sweet, and savory. I should keep a handful of these precious treats in my car cup holder.

***

We decide to watch the sunrise and push through the whole night sans sleep. Harriet, Lauren, Becky, and Jeremy head back to room early to take a nap and never wake, so it's just Elaine, Amit, Louise, and I. Louise and I head to the beach on my motorbike at 4am. Before the sun rises, we have the beach to ourselves, sipping caipirinhas in anticipation. We sit under small bamboo thatched umbrellas. The morning sun slowly approaches across the sea, in shades of red, orange, yellow, pink and purple, reflecting over the water. As soon as it's light out, the beach is mobbed with local Vietnamese going for their morning exercise.

I'm sad to leave Hoi An as I had no time for a Vietnamese cooking course or to see all the museums. Plus the town's charms are positively captivating, like a love potion. But more of Vietnam beckons, so I grab my custom clothing and our new sevensome takes the overnight bus to Nah Trang.

My Son

2011-07-28T08:41:00.000-07:00

Hoi An, Vietnam, 7/28/11

We're up early the next morning to visit My Son, the ruins of the ancient Cham Empire, separated into three distinct parks. Before we enter, we watch a traditional Vietnamese art exhibition, in which groups of women dance with large yellow fans, while others move gracefully while carrying large clay jugs filled with water.

Of the three temple grounds, the first is the most impressive, a dozen copper temples sit in front of the imposing Cat Tooth mountain range. There are several museums on the temple grounds which exhibit centuries-old priceless artifacts, which are oddly not protected behind gates or glass. I'm fascinated by the site but Lauren and Harriet seem to be searching for the nearest gossip mag.

Note: Some photos from Elaine Cunningham and Stacie Chang

Two dogs. United as one. And a motorbike.

2011-07-27T23:11:00.000-07:00

Hoi An

2011-07-27T20:45:00.000-07:00

Hoi An, Vietnam, 7/27/11

Upon returning to Hanoi, our group has expanded, but I'm still the only yank in the ranks of Brits. The blond Three Amigos and I are now joined by Louise and Elaine, two Irish nurses from Cork. They're old friends and just beginning their global journey which includes a six-month nursing stint in Cairns, Australia. Louise is tall and lanky, soft-spoken and introverted, endlessly smiling. Elaine is more brash and outgoing and is an endlessly persistent shutterbug. Somehow the night before, these two Irish lasses believed me when I informed them that my name was "Francisco Ferdinand III", a thirty-seven year old whose recently had major work done to my eyes, jawline, and neck. Come on ladies, I don't look anything like a Francisco. "I can total see where you had the work done," they say. Thanks.

We're joined by Amit and Jeremy, two more Brits from Liverpool who are in the final months of a half-year round-the-world trip, whose North American leg inexplicably included Miami but not New York.

I grab a quick snack of a Bahn Mi burger at Hanoi Backpacker's bar. It's stuffed with onions, carrots, cilantro, and topped with caramelized onions, lettuce, and tomato. The sandwich is delicious and filling, albeit overcooked. Someone should really tell the chef that pressing down on burger patties mid-grill is a crime analogous to manslaughter.

Together, our new-and-improved group jumps on the overnight bus to Hoi An, on the central coast of Vietnam. I'm wearing my third pair of flip flops at this point, previous two stolen in the endless musical chairs game that is maintaining one's footwear in Southeast Asia. They had no stores on Castaway Island in Halong Bay, so I stole a pair of distressed navy blue rubber slippers that all the Vietnamese wear. They're hideous and incredibly uncomfortable. I can feel every pebble plus the aesthetic is straight out of One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. Especially when paired with my beard which resembles the love child of Wolverine and a neanderthal. Watch out ladies.

The coach bus has bi-level sleeper beds for the eighteen-hour journey. It's one of the rare times when my height comes in handy as I stretch out to sleep while my travel mates contort into various fetal positions.

***

From Google

Hoi An is a spectacular breath of fresh air compared to Hanoi's chaos. The town is set right on the Thu Bon River and is only 5km away from the beautiful Cua Bai Beach. Hoi An was originally a trading post in the 1600s and combines Chinese, Japanese, and French influences. The city barely has any traffic and is replete with small, charming buildings and quaint riverfront restaurants bedecked in spherical paper lanterns. We're staying at Greenfield Hotel, a ten minute walk from the town center. The accommodations are a bit luxurious for my tastes due to the mini-fridge, TV, AC, bathtub, and pool. And at $40/night for our four-person room it is ungodly expensive for Southeast Asia. I think I could hold a royal wedding in Thailand for that same tariff. I'm sharing the room with the 3 stooges which, due to the girls' excessive shedding of fake and real hair, reminds me of visiting my uncle's house as a kid when he had two enormous basset hounds. After two days, I'm convinced I've swallowed at least two pounds worth as has the shower drain.

A friend helps himself to a sip of my cocktail

Lunch is at Green Moss, an airy restaurant and cooking school. After the long journey, I immediately grab hold of a Vietnamese coffee, dark and potent like espresso, with a pouring of condensed milk. Lauren, Harriet, Becky, and I share Hoi An's specialties which help make the coastal town one of Vietnam's premiere culinary destinations. Banh Xeo is a savory omelet of herbs, sprouts, pork, and shrimp that is placed in fresh rice paper with herbs, folded like a spring roll, and dipped in a curry sauce. Even better is the White Rose, a local delicacy of small, transparent shrimp dumplings shaped like roses, with the filling forming the bud and the excess wrapper forming the leaves. The flowers are topped with fried onions which I would gladly put on ice cream.

Continuing our food binge, we have dinner at Cargo, right on the river. Like our hotel, the restaurant is incredibly lavish compared to the rest of my trip. What's this cloth fabric I'm supposed to put on my lap? This is quite confusing as I'm used to breaking off bits of toilet paper from the rolls that decorate typical Southeast Asian restaurants I frequent. Plus this restaurant serves wine! -- a foreign liquid that I have not consumed since leaving the states. As the oldest, and only American, I choose and we get a bone dry Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc with hints of pineapple and passionfruit. It's the perfect choice to wash down the fresh spring rolls stuffed with poached shrimp, crisp-skinned barbecued pork, basil, mint, and rice noodles. Kashrut, eat your heart out. Other appetizers include Hoi An's signature Cao Lau, a stir fry of thick fettuccine-like noodles with bean sprouts, croutons, herbs, lettuces, barbecued pork, in a savory broth. I sample a decadent tomato soup, odd for Vietnam and the season, but it's perfectly balanced, fresh, and only lightly sweet. The New Zealand wine also pairs well with my main of Mackerel smoked in banana leaf. It's Vietnam by way of the Upper West Side. Although Cargo is highly regarded in Hoi An for its local Vietnamese fare, Louise orders pepperoni pizza. She has immediately become my new project. And with that move, she's starting way in the hole. Harriet also orders Western food (lasagna), but she has delusionally picky eating habits, being able to count on both hands everything she enjoys eating. Her favorite food as pasta covered in baked beans and cheese. So in other words, she's beyond hope. Taste preferences aside, we all dig into the desserts of creme brulee, ten-layer chocolate cake, and passionfruit cheesecake.

Pork and shrimp summer rolls

Shrimp with garlic, pepper, noodles

Smoked mackerel in banana leaf

Stuffed squid

Ha - la - la - la - la - Long Bay

2011-07-24T20:43:00.000-07:00

Halong Bay, Vietnam, 7/24/11 - 7/26/11

Harriet, Lauren, Becky and I join 75 other backpackers first thing the next morning as we depart for a three-day, two-night trip to Halong Bay in North Vietnam (English: "Descending Dragon Bay"). After several hours of cramped van riding and another chaotic period in the port of Halong City, our group is split between four boat as we head off into the bay.

The UNESCO World Heritage site is littered with nearly 2,000 small shrub-covered limestone karsts that form grottoes and lagoons throughout crystal blue waters of the Gulf of Tonkin. The scenery is distinctly Avatar-ish, except fortunately there are no lethal dragon-birds or rhino-saurs. But then again, James Cameron has never met the young women on my cruise. Most of the ships in the bay are "Junk Boats," traditional Vietnamese two or three-story wooden vessels with large yellow triangular-shaped sails.

Our boat

Traditional Vietnamese junk boats

We spend the afternoon jumping off the boat's third story roof into waters so warm they feel like a jacuzzi. Hardly refreshing in the 100+degree weather, but we're not complaining. Lunch is massive family-style spread of grilled shrimp, roasted tofu with peppers, fried rice, grilled calamari, sauteed morning glory, and oddly, potato salad. All the men in the group quickly spot the vegetarians and immediately decide they will be our tablemates at dinner.

Limestone kyrsts

Following lunch, we jump on kayaks and spend two hours paddling through the emerald green waters and dome-shaped islands of the Halong archipelago. My kayak-mate is Lauren, or "Loz", and together we share several beers, an affinity for colorful Vietnamese sombreros, and a terrible sense of direction. At any given moment, we are either embarrassingly behind the collective group or causing a 30-kayak traffic jam. As a mass, we resemble a school of cross-eyed uncoordinated fish. At one point, our group docks at one island's large cave. While we go spelunking deep inside, we look out to see the entire bay silhouetted by the cave's stalactites. I monkey climb up to one of the cave's bluffs with two mad Scots to properly enjoy the view.

We continue on, passing by a village of peasants who live on tiny floating shacks, each roughly the size of hotel bathrooms. Although they don't have much, their smiles show they understand that the views from their front doors are their real wealth.

We eat another shared feast for dinner, which includes roasted snapper with scallions (which I hog) and steamed clams, before watching the sun go down and paint the whole bay red. We sleep on our boat, and I share a properly luxurious bunk with Becky, replete with golden accents and a marble bathroom.

Our boat, the Jolly Roger, sets sail early the next morning docking at the private Castaway Island. We throw our bags in low bamboo-thatched open-air huts and head 30 ft away to the ivory white sand beach. The day is spent rock climbing, sunbathing, playing badminton, cliff jumping, and kayaking. Castaway Island joins a handful of other slate gray limestone krysts with bright green shrubs to form a small bay within the bay.

One of our guides, Matt from Kansas, takes us out for innertube rides strapped to the back of a large motorboat. I've tubed several times before but this feels straight out of Top Gun. We're going so fast, I'm sure we'd enter a new time zone if the tubes were equipped with flux capacitors. We're holding on with everything in our being as the boat makes sharp turns and we whip around, flying over the wake, pulled all the way to the side of the boat. My tube mate and I are both almost fully off the inflatable device as the g-forces start getting higher. Matt looks on, laughing, signaling for the driver to go faster. When we wipe out, the spills are straight out of the Summer Olympics -- huge flips, barrel rolls, backwards tumbles. At one point, the neighboring tubers (attached to the same rope) wipe out and their resulting empty tube violently flips over our neighboring tube, smacking us both in the face. Due to his hometown, Matt's nickname is "Dorothy," but based on the way he tries to kill his tubing students, the Wicked Witch may be a more appropriate name. We tremble like cowardly lions, hoping not to suffer. In addition to trying not soil oneself, all we can think about mid-tubing is, "there's no place like home." Off the clock, I wonder if Matt performs professional motorboat racing as he's truly the Mario Andretti of scenic water sports.

When we finally make it back to the island, kissing the sand below our feet, Matt tells us how a boy from rural Kansas ended up as a Halong Bay tour guide. Post-college, he was moving up the ranks at a large hotel conglomerate in Aspen, Colorado. Years passed by like seconds, he says, and most of that time was spent in a cubicle staring in front of a computer. A few years in, he looked around and noticed most of his friends getting married and others not too far away from childbirth. He decided life was coming at him a bit too fast and traded his briefcase for a backpack and headed to Vietnam. Matt ventured on the same Hanoi Backpackers-sponsored tour of Halong Bay, and when the owners mentioned they were looking for English-speaking guides, he jumped at the opportunity. Dorothy has been striking fear into the hearts of innertubers ever since. Amen.

Dinner is a barbecue of marinated pork, chicken, and fish grilled over charcoal as the sun sets. We sit with our feet in the sand, eating the grilled meats alongside fried noodles and watermelon. Across the lagoon, the setting sun turns the limestone islands into silhouetted domes and casts a pink and yellow stream over the water. The night is spent prancing around the island in colorful striped Vietnamese sombreros, which are essentially identical to the Mexican variety.

At around 3am, our collective group sprints into bay to play in its legendary bio-luminescence. As you move your arms and legs with increased velocity in the water, the area around your body glows with greater vibrancy. The water is aglow with what looks like silver crystals and we spend an hour in the shimmering water despite the sharp rocks on the surface below. The dip reminds me of swimming in a sea filled with flavor crystals - those little blue shiny rocks found in Ice Breakers gum or Max White toothpaste. The entire experience is literally and figuratively illuminating. Maybe it's the whiskey, but it seems like we found access to a secret pool on a foreign planet. Hopefully the glowing crystals aren't radioactive as some of us left our trunks ashore.

Note: Some photos from Becky Lauren, Elaine Cunningham and Stacie Chang

Ahoy Hanoi, Day 3

2011-07-23T02:45:00.000-07:00

Hanoi, Vietnam, 7/23/11

I'm up early and wearing long sleeves and pants despite the 100-degree heart in order to enter the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum. The complex houses the Vietnamese forefather ("Uncle Ho") who is embalmed and available for view. It's funny, Ho requested cremation but his disciples disobeyed and insisted on embalming. But he may have gotten his way anyways since rumor has it that the body is more Madame Tussauds than Six Feet Under. I take a photo outside the mausoleum (which is allowed, just not inside) which angers the security guard who refuses my admission. He points to the camera drop off, but even after I do so, continues to block my entry. This man needs to lighten up. He does not know I'm American, plus I'm about as threatening as Dora the Explorer. He must not have had his Bun Cha for breakfast. Oh well, at least I've lost five pounds wearing jeans in this weather.

One Pillar Pagoda

I grab a quick morning snack at Cam Chi Street, a small food alley a few minutes from the mausoleum. The street is narrow and hard to find, yet rewards travelers who make the quest. Small restaurants line both sides of the streets and locals sit outside reading the paper and eating spring rolls, pho, and bun cha. Several of the chefs sit right at your lunch table, preparing your food and acting as mealtime companions. As with most off-the-beaten-path street food destinations, I'm the only local in the alley. I get several flat noodle rolls, filled with beef and topped with fried onions. The discrete chef, who I thought was a patron due to his table location and casual checkered button-down shirt, delicately folds together the rolls almost like origami. As with most noodle dishes in Hanoi, they're served with a sweet, vinegary broth (almost like pickle brine) for dipping, raw minced garlic, and chilis. I enjoy it alongside a cup of potent Vietnamese coffee (Ca Phe Nau De). Two glasses arrive: One with a small amount of freshly brewed dark coffee, almost like espresso, with a thin layer of beige condensed milk at the bottom, and a separate cup filled with ice. Step 1): Combine. Step 2): Consume. Step 3): Feel hair stand on end.

Lunch is at Quon An Ngon, a large restaurant that takes modern Vietnamese street food and transports it to a comfortable, clean, upscale setting with waiters and wine. The restaurant is outdoors, under large yellow tarps that are practically buckling under the thunderstorm above. Large wooden communal tables are shared between Vietnamese locals and tourists. The perimeter of the restaurant is lined with several dozen small wooden food stalls. You start the experience by exploring the stalls, taking mental notes of what looks best. Each are staffed by around 1-3 smiling Hanoi locals, sauteing, frying, and chopping away. The smells of noodle soups, frying spring rolls and frog legs, roasting chickens. The giant menu reflects the diversity of the surrounding stalls and it takes me forever to decide what to order. I finally land on a large bowl of pho with roasted duck as its really hard to resist a comforting bowl of noodle soup in the pouring rain.

I leave the restaurant and head to the Museum of Ethnology, but forget to pre-negotiate the cab fare. Thus, the driver hits the hidden "foreigner button" so the meter sprints up like a thoroughbred in the Kentucky Derby. Vietnam's cab drivers and motorbike taxi drivers are merciless in their desire to scam money off tourists. They've almost turned it into an art. For my ride to the museum, I'm paying roughly 237X what the locals do for everything. In hindsight, I should have just exited the cab. Nearly all prices in Vietnam are quoted in US dollar, which makes them seem cheap when compared to American prices, when in reality they are small Vietnamese fortunes. It's almost as if an American diner quoted a Japanese tourist 2300Yen ($30) for a burger, saying "it's so much cheaper than Japan!"

Scams aside, the Museum of Ethnology is brilliant - a sprawling center highlighting the religion, culture, dress, food, architecture, history, customs and rituals of all of Vietnam's ethnic tribes. It reminds me of NYC's Museum of Natural History, minus the animals. Plus this museum has a giant garden with recreations of the temples, homes, and meeting houses of all the tribes, some of which are three stories tall. The museum also features a horrifying exhibit on the history and current state of AIDS in Vietnam, with detailed first-person accounts and graphic photos. My neighbors and I leave the exhibit nauseous and practically in tears.

Get a room.

After the fake meter took all my cash, I leave the museum penniless and am thrilled to find six broken ATMs in a row. On my way to the bus station, I strike up a rapport with a young Austrian couple. As I cannot seem to find a working bank, I meekly explain my situation and ask them if I can borrow the 3,000dong for bus fare ($0.15). I feel bad asking, but it's the amount of money I may not even bother picking up off the ground if it fell out of my pocket. I tell them I will pay them back quadruple when we arrive back in town and/or buy them a round of drinks. The tall boyfriend looks and me and says, without a shred of irony, "sorry, but we're leaving tonight and may not see you." Their ancestors clearly sided with the Nazis during WWII. Luckily I find a working ATM right before the bus arrives as these two wouldn't give a hand to a drowning child.

I really wanted to spend the evening visiting Hanoi's Snake Farm, but not enough people signed up, and the tour was canceled. My fellow backpackers don't know what they're missing. I mean where else do you get to rip out a live snake's beating heart, consume it as the still-beating python muscle pulsates down your throat and stomach, take shots of freshly killed snake blood and bile, and finish with a seven-course snake feast including snake baby-back ribs and snake meatballs?! Well this week's crop of hostel guests clearly have broken backbones. I head for noodle soup instead, which is delicious, yet does not beat inside one's esophagus upon ingestion.

Dinner is around the corner from the hostel with Katie from San Francisco. We both grab large, piping hot bowls of Pho. The scalding broth cooks the raw beef and I add in onions, scallions, cilantro, basil, and fresh lime juice. The broth is light yet eternally complex, tasting of ginger, garlic, pork and beef. We both sit there, loudly slurping our noodles and washing down the hot soup with ice cold beer.

Dessert is at Fanny's Ice Cream right in the center of the old quarter. The large French ice cream parlor is bright pink in color and offers about 100 different kinds of sundaes. One looks like Everest, another like sushi, yet another like a flamingo, plus a plethora of alcoholic sundaes. One sundae is a 40-scoop behemoth that resembles a Vermonster on steroids. I'm a purist, so I just go try several scoops: Mocha, sweet rice (which tastes like a condensed milk-fueled rice pudding), green tea, and blueberry sorbet.