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This is an ancient chinese proverb that says: "We have no idea whats GOING ON". In China, without speaking Chinese or without knowing what to do with the chinese alphabet besides admire its beauty, you might as well be on Mars. Nothing that we read makes any sense to us, so not only is it hard communicating but you can rule out anything in print too like toilet, your hotel's name, taxi, bus, train station, or anything on menus. I had to ask someone yesterday if we were at the train station (phrasebook oh you mighty god) because it looked a lot like an airport. Pretty sure it was just the train station, but I swear one guy was trying to tell us it was both. In fact, the heading to this blog post I just copied and pasted from the computer, I have no idea what it means, we never do.
Coming into China on the bus I expected to see something that looked like another planet. It has always been such a foreign far away place to me. Not that India wasn't but the reason why North Americans joke about "digging all the way to China" is because you couldn't get any farther away from home. As we were approaching the border on the bus from Laos, I was looking out the window for some dramatic change, where it would be obvious that we were on the other side of earth. I don't know what I was looking for, a small part of me thought that the grass would all be 20 feet high and red, with red velvet streets, midnight black steel tree trunks sprouting yellow metal leaves. Or maybe no trees at all, some other vegetation that I had never even seen before. Maybe there wouldn't be wooden telephone poles, just shiny silver daggers that were just as tall, but they wouldn't have any wires due to the advanced technology--they would be wireless. None of this was out of my window. It made me think how similar all these places on earth are. The grass is ALWAYS green, the dirt brown, the trees different shades of the same colors, the double yellow and white lined roads, the asphalt, fences, square houses, tall telephone poles, metal cars, trucks, buses, cotton wool and synthetic clothing, high tech cell phones, colorful vegetables, meat, food, and people. Of course there are vast differences, but really how different are they all? I guess I am surprised how alike we all are.

Besides the Chinese language. Wow. No influences from Latin up in here. Chinese is as alien as what those big headed beings speak when they hop out of their spaceship in a trailer park in Arizona. It gives me great pride for the human species when I see other westerners speaking fluent Chinese. Although those westerners give us dirty looks and always seem to have their noses pointing towards the clouds, they have surely conquered something difficult. The Chinese on the other hand are always wanting to learn English, we have had tons of young people approach us inches away from our faces just to practice english and offer us help. One morning when we were staying at this hostel at a University in Mengla, we caught a quick coffee with three students. After our usual where you froms and nice to meet yous, this one girl broke a silence with, "Could you sing us an American song?" Never got that one before....Zaz, Colin and I ripped into "Wanted Dead or Alive" by Bon Jovi ......before we realized we didn't know the middle or the end. The girls, seemily frustrated, asked us to sing "You Are My Sunshine". We belted that one out like the three leads in the JFK Elementary school chorus. From beginning to end. It was more our speed anyway. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey......."

As Zaz said, Laos was a welcome gem after Hanoi. It was as if they had glued postcards to the bus windows. Huge rolling green hills spread like a gigantic family of octopuss, their tentacles in the form of acres and acres of bright green rice paddies. The bright yellow sun reflecting off the water beneath the green blades would give away the rice paddie-- up until you saw that water, you'd think it was just miles of grass. We ended up in a town called Vang Vieng. We thought it was a small village with 1 restaurant and a few barber shops form the first night's stroll. The second day we walked a little farther and found a mini Bangkok (very mini), with bars, restaurants, rocky balboa playing in lounges serving "happy" pizza, cappuccinno's and the whole deal. We were ready for it after Hanoi so we sucked up fresh shakes, good wine, cappuccino's and made many more western friends. Four that we became good friends with. One Swiss couple are helping us through China now (because they are 1 week ahead of us giving us great recomendations), and another couple that we may see again soon--they offered their place to stay in London when we circle back home.

Zaz and I heard Vang Vieng is known for tubing. So while we were out bike riding one day near the river, we decided to check it out and see what the tubing was like. We weren't sitting on our bikes for more than 2 minutes when one wave of wasted westerners came cruising down the river--beers in hand. One girl was trying to get everyone to sing "row row row your boat" and the other three half heartedly joined in. Maybe the other three didn't suck on any rice whiskey. One of them yelled out, "watch out for that rock!", and she just bounced off it without spilling her beer. She didnt even sweat a bit thru her white sunblocked nose. We left thinking maybe we'll do it, not too psyched. The next day we ran into a couple from Colorado at a restaurant and we all agreed that tubing sounded fun, but we didn't want the focus to be getting loaded. Zaz and I both like to rage e'ry now and again, but when someone stands on their tube yelling at a local farmer plowing with his ox to do the Macarana, it sort of kills the buzz for us.

But these two new friends from CO were agreeing with us that we didn't want to go out like that. "I mean, we can have a few beers." "These frat types are sooo cheesy man...." "Can you imagine what the local people think of foreigners after this?" "I heard this guy yesterday just got naked and walked thru town- totally embarrassing himself." "Lets not be like that, lets just have some beers and cruise down the river." "Totally." "Totally." And that was how it went--for about 10 minutes. This couple has possibly never had beer before, and the couple of shots of rice whiskey we had didn't help their tolerance issue. They had these bar type places all the way down the river where there were the usual things for people that had been drinking all day: you know rope swings, zip lines, and cliff jumps. The first sign that things were shady on the new friends front was when they both vowed to never go off any rope swings--EVER....and that promise to themselves lasted until the first rope swing (and the first rice whiskey swig). This only got worse with more beers, and soon zaz and I latched on to people that could hold their alcohol and act stupid because they felt like it. The CO couple soon were fighting and they were off down the river. This is when we met our British friends....and we had a wild time, and I could swear we were singing some stupid song right as we passed where Zaz and I observed others the day before.

We hit up the rope swings, bonfires, and met a lot of people. It was pouring rain for the last hour or so, but it was so hot-nobody cared. I love not caring about getting soaked in the rain. It makes you feel like a rebel or something. At the end of the river, there was a guy holding a taxi sign right by this foot bridge. We agreed to get out there but the river had other ideas. Anna and Rachel were being taken away, they couldn't get a good grip on the bridge to stop. I took off my clark kent spectacles and told eliza to man our waterproof bag (holding money, sunglasses and such) and my tube--I was gonna jump in and get them. I felt a little less like Superman when I jumped into 3 feet of water, but I saved the girls none-the-less. Eliza hadn't quite held her end of the deal down. When I turned around, She was on her stomach with her head underwater holding her raft desperately, she had one foot stretched out barely holding on to my raft and the waterproof bag was casually floating away from us down the river. All this in the pouring rain at dusk. I helped her get control and we all had a really long loud laugh. Zaz said that as soon as I left, everything went in different directions and she held tightly on to an old used flip flop she was using to paddle--taking the priority off of the waterproof bag. We were all really glad that flip flop was safe. Phew.


We all went out that night and had a great time. It's so fun when you have new friends that you really LIKE. If I could just give one piece of advice for anyone heading to Vang Vieng: Don't try the "happy pizza" when your new friends have very strong London accents. I'll just leave it at that. All six of us met in the next town, Luang Prabang. Mom, you'd love this place. Shops lining the street that were not trendy or corporate--all traditional homemade wares for sale and local restaurants. We shopped like crazy here because everything was so cheap and so beautiful. There was a bar called the Hive bar that was straight out of dowtown LA. We swam under a huge waterfall and enjoyed Laos BBQ cooked right at the table with an international group of 10. After the BBQ, we all hit up night Bowling. That was a trip. I couldn't quite figure that place out. Mostly young local Laos including a large population of hookers. The neon lights disguised what the place was really about. Seeing a huge wall of cubby holes filled with bowling shoes on the way out confirmed something. Don't know what exactly but no one was wearing bowling shoes when they were bowling. Our room was $4.50 a night and we ate regularly at this vegetarian place in town for .50 cents. We felt like the beer price was a little high at the Hive at 1.50 for a 22 ounce--boy are we going to have to get used to things when we get home.

Luang Prabang is a splitting up point for many people. It is in northern Laos, it's sort of the end of the line for the curcuit through Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam. Everyone is mainly on the same circuit which is kind of cool, you'll keep running into the same people (sometimes not so good). From Luang Prabang some people head to China, some to Thailand, and most seem to be heading home. We had a semi-plan of a town that we wanted to end up in in China and found out it was a 36 hour bus ride from where we were. We thought we'd take our time, doing a few hours traveling a day to spread it out. That was one of the best decisions we have made this trip.

We started on a boat trip to Nong Khiaw. The pictures of what we saw would probably do it more justice than having me describe it here (and something tells me that eliza will go into detail because she loved it so much), but it was beautiful. The river was surrounded by 99% forest the entire way. Bright green mountains with blue skies and the occasional limestone cliffs. We stopped for a bathroom break and little kids no older than 10 taught us how to fish with a net. The ride was 7 hours and the only down side was the little wooden seats, but when my butt hurt I just went to sleep in the back. That's my new thing. My boney butt hurts when I sit on hard seats. Sorry I turned 90 along the way somewhere. Made me realize how maybe the complaints increase with age. Nong Khiaw was a town as big as a few restaurants. It didn't have really anything to do, which was really nice. One day we went on a walk and found a village and a cave. And everyday Colin and I fished at sunset while all the kids in town laughed at us (we were doing something wrong but couldn't figure out what) The nightlife consisted of watching old Laos men play Bacci Ball while we gave them nicknames. "Silver Balls" ran the show, he was like the guy who shows up to bowling with his own ball all polished and ready to roll.

We had a tight little crew, one guy from Canada(colin), a girl from Korea(cheen), and some insane people from the U.S.(we do need more U.S. travellers out here, I'm not sure we are being properly represented). Zaz and I left with Colin and Cheen to head to Luang Nam Tha in a mini van with 16 people in it. Right on the border of China. I thought the van was full after 5 of us got in, but everything flipped into a seat, and in no time we were driving way too fast around every bend for 4 hours--but that doesn't phase us the least anymore. We'd stop at places along the way for gas and some people would ask for a bathroom. A bathroom? These people hadn't quite got to that stage yet, their kids were playing with the cow that was under the stilted house....they kept pointing to the woods.

Luang Nam Tha was a great choice. It was a bit off the tourist trail, really quiet, small, and many local indigenious tribes and villages everywhere. The second day there we went for an all day motorcycle ride on the border of China up and over old growth mountains and through villages. We left in the morning and got home at dusk. It down poured on us at one point, but we've learned that this is a great way to meet locals. We saw a group of road workers laying under a big blue tarp, and when we pulled over they invited us in. Two of the young guys spoke pretty good english, so we had them teach us some Laos curse words. Not that you would ever need them in Laos--Laos people are SUPER SUPER friendly. What everyone has said was absolutely true. All day everyday you walk by people with the biggest brightest smiles saying, "Sabadee!"(hello). You learn to copy them and add an emphasis on the "deee" and extend it to "Sabadeeeee!"--so fun. You kind of look forward to it when someone is approaching you on the street. After that we had other fun on the road- like getting a liter of gas in a beer bottle and buying an ice cream from the "ice cream man" on a motorbike with a cooler strapped to the back.

We slowly convinced ourselves to buy our bus ticket to China. We thought China was going to be difficult so we were procrastinating on the warm fuzzy couch of Laos. Cheen headed to Thailand and Colin stayed with us. We've been blown away by China ever since. It is modern, ancient, clean, hotels are spotless, bus rides are luxurious with beds to lay in, the people are super friendly (something we heard was not true), and everyone writes in this alien binary code made only for east asians. We came in with a fury of "Neehow"'s (hello), but people are more intraverted here, kinda like us. The first place we stopped was Mengla where we all got some cash. When I asked a guy where the cash machine was(possible only by my phrasebook), he really thought he was helping when he wrote it out in Chinese. We all laughed when he wrote it down. It looked like a small Picasso on a napkin. What could we do with this? I felt badly that we laughed but could he really of thought that we knew his code? It surprises us how much confidence they have in us, many times they think writing it down will help. After we laughed, he scrapped that one and wrote it larger and slower on another piece of paper. We didn't laugh after that.

Sometimes its great that no one can speak english. No one tries to sell us anything because we have no idea what they're talking about. And you can get away with stuff. If someone at the hotel asks for an extra charge for towels lets say, you just say sorry I don't understand and walk away. That reminds me of a funny thing that happened to us: North of Mengla we were in this national park where there were supposed to be elephants. The elephants only come out in the middle of the night. We thought that was weird until we woke up the next morning to HUNDREDS of Chinese tourists screaming and yelling at the top of their lungs (the Chinese are loud when they talk). These tourists were led around by tour guides yelling in bull horns! Several of them tried to get into our cabin just to see us! We felt very close to the elephants that morning. I guess we were the only whitey's renting out the cabins for the night. When one man looked in the window we knew he wouldn't understand us if we cursed, so we just yelled "AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH" to scare him or something....These Chinese tourists were so funny to watch, loaded down by huge camera hip packs and stretched black socks tucked into sandales. And every single man in China smokes. That is not a generalization--every one. They would all take a picture where the elephants were "supposed" to be and move on making elephant calls down the trail. Colin, zaz and I had lunch right there with them at the only restaurant place in the woods. Before I knew it, Colin was yelling to take video of him making a speech. He had borrowed a bullhorn from one of the tour guides. (Remember not one person in the entire crowd could understand anything he said) There were about 75 people watching his every move- as is common here in China, and in the wild. He started his speech:



"Excuse me everyone excuse me listen up. I just wanted to let you know that you all have ZERO chance of ever seeing elephants because you are all so LOUD. Please if we can, quiet down and maybe we'll all be able to be graced by the presence of elephants. That's why we're all here right? In other words, you all need to tone it down, OK? Also, I wanted to say that I love China. I have only been here for a few days but it has been really great so far. Thank you have a good day."

A few people clapped.

Since then we've been to the biggest and cleanest city of our trip, Kunming, where we club hopped with Chinese (again everyone was friendly but there is just no way to have a conversation that lasts more than a thumbs up and a pat on the back with a smile), visited the ancient walled city of Dali where marijuana grew freely in the woods for people to pick and these huge black mountains hovered above you like rain clouds, and we sucked up the historic city of Lijuang with old architecture and cobbled streets.(I have some photos of this one that will give you a glimpse--photos do help sometimes.)

We have seen and done so much this go around that I am less excited to write about it-- if that makes sense. We look forward to giving you all a peak at the slide show. We only have a month and a half left!!!! The only thing that has been bad is the food. We haven't hit the Chinese cuilinary hot spots of Chengdu and the South East but its kinda been greasy and not so good so far. And sometimes because of the language barrier, you don't get it your way (sorry for the Burger King plug). I have twice just pointed to chinese characters on the list not having a clue what the dish was. I didn't care anymore after taking 2 hours to find the restaurant. I was pleasantly surprised once when a Corona came out (it could've been worse believe me), but then again I was still hungry. One night eliza and I found this place (because a very sweet Chinese couple that walked us all the way there-happens often) that had pictures on the menu. We thought we were set until I got Pork Knuckles and Eliza got mouthwash mixed with club soda. We had dessert at Walmart.

love,

gregg



p.s. After copy and pasting this headline and writing this blog, I turned to the guy next to me to ask him which button said "POST" (a la phrasebook--because the entire screen is not in english). He said he didn't know cuz it was Korean.

Borders Real and Imagined

Entering Laos provokes a strangely peaceful sensation in the core of your being. Don't know if it's in your muscles or your mind. Makes you feel almost lightheaded. I wouldn't normally generalize, but Grey felt it too- and at this point, that makes it popular opinion. Later we read that Laos is 85% undeveloped vegetation, so maybe it's just the overwhelming amount of oxygen you are inhaling. Either way Laos seems to be a country that lives already in your heart.

I woke at dawn sitting in our filthy bus at the border crossing. Everyone was asleep and snoring, including the driver tucked under his blanket. I climbed over legs and arms and out the door (which, by the way, was never closed the entire journey- maybe it didn't close.) The sky had that rich blue color it has when it is just about to give birth to blaring sunshine. I wandered around looking for a place to pee and wondered at the sleeping line of trucks and buses. Ahead of us lay Laos- wildly mountainous and thickly forested- and behind, Vietnam, a country that felt organized and well behaved to an extreme, structured [do I mean communist? I'm undecided about this- although certain things would catch me by surprise like the "Voice of Vietnam" which would blare over loudspeakers for an hour and a half every morning and evening -is that Welcome to the Monkey House where they keep getting their thoughts blasted? RIP Kurt Vonnegut, by the way, he will be greatly missed.] We have met many people by now on our journey that have been traveling through South East Asia and Laos is a universal favorite.

But at this moment, I was still in Vietnam. As I finally spotted the WC there was a man- the only one awake- who stood in front. "One Dollar!" he demanded. Oh- this country has me too well trained for early morning entrepreneurs! I laughed and went inside. When I finished he was still there. Insistent and whiny "ONE Dollar! One Dollar!" I finally fished something out of my pocket- 100 Cambodian Riel's (probably less than a penny) and he happily stuffed it into his pocket. I was definitely ready to leave Vietnam.

We have many theories on why Vietnam has such a reputation for trying to rip travelers off- one is that tourism is like a new business. People come in and want to buy something and you just try to see what you can get away with- will they pay $100?? Maybe. If not, try again. I really was tired of being asked to buy something every 5 minutes in Hanoi. If it wasn't the moto bike drivers who would hoot and wave from the corners "Moto Moto!! OOOO!!"- it was the Pineapple Ladies with their double baskets, one on either end of a long pole sitting on their shoulder blocking your way "MAdame, very good, Madame, very sweet pine-apple!" and if you tried to get away they would swing their heavy pole on your shoulder and try to get you to take a picture.. And the most aggravating- the picture takers. I am used to people wanting to take my picture (ooo a really pale foreigner!) by now- in India a man even filmed me while I ate- but in Hanoi, people started throwing their babies at me without explanation!! I would grab its chubby body in shock and look up as the shutter clicked.. I would be surrounded by the rest of the family in descending height before I could even say yes or no. Once I was having a quiet moment at the lake and looked up to see TWO people surreptitiously photographing my solitude.. I hated it! I was being haunted by Hanoi paparazzi! I became paranoid and unfriendly- I disappointed dozens of posing families as I handed the baby back.. I became almost a robot in the streets-after saying a million "kam on- no thank you"- I finally walked quickly staring straight ahead and not responding to anyone. Like a good New Yorker.

But I travel to be someone different. To be someone who watches people and cultures. Someone who is happy to meet strangers. Hanoi threatened to make the most foreign of cities a maze of avoidance and reluctant exploration.

BUT I did enjoy the city until I became burnt out. We made some friends who are expats living in Hanoi and working at different NGOs as well as other travelers. I loved going to meet my friend Akiko on her lunch break from saving the world at the UN or having dinner with our two Australians friends we met in Halong Bay before they headed off to Thailand.. Staying in one place affords you the time to make lasting friendships, and to explore every small corner of the city.

While Gregg was involved with his invention, I became the walker. When I first moved to NYC I used to walk from Columbia U to the Village and think nothing of it- I was putting the city together in my mind. In Paris, I would walk home to Monmartre from seeing my friends at Centre Pompidou. And I'm sure I did the equivalent in Hanoi. I think I got to see most of the city- even the sections that the people from Hanoi have probably never visited. I loved doing this. The city is made up of several beautiful lakes and I would come across them suddenly- a small oasis in the honking city of motorbikes. I would discover small coffee shops and write and read and think. Hanoi was a halfway point and a strange feeling of temporary permanence.

At the same time I find that traveling for so long made stopping difficult. Although Grey was busy with his enterprise, I started feeling the slightly lost feeling of the unemployed wanderer. Everyone else was living their day to day lives and racing around... I had nowhere important to be and my main concern was not to get run over in my daily walks.. (there are virtually no sidewalks that are entirely walkable and no one stops at red lights, I felt my heart in my throat at least 5 times a day when I thought I was about to be run over.)

Grey and I did skip town for a few days and go to Halong Bay- an unbelievable turquoise paradise with strange limestone hills jutting out of the water and small floating villages. I collected shells (ok, too many) and felt such peace that I realized I had to go into nature for longer.. So at the end of a couple weeks in Hanoi, I left for Sapa on my own.

Ah Sapa. There is a particular energy that I acquire when traveling alone. It's almost like an electric charge of capability, of personality. I define myself and make all decisions alone. I entered the night train with a nervous excitement- I literally haven't been alone for one night in 5 months! The compartment was empty until the last second when 3 middle aged Vietnamese men filed in, huge confused smiles, only a few teeth among them. We signed a few nonsensical things to each other and finally one seemed to understand "New York." He got very agitated and happy and unpacked his entire bag. Underneath all of his neatly folded shirts lay a plastic wrapped copy of Hillary Clinton's new book!? He waved it around the small room and we all had a real bonding moment. And then we all went to sleep. I had a tiny moment of uneasiness when they double locked the door, but I felt safe among the ardent fans of a strong but corruptible woman.

I arrived in the city in the foothills and jumped in a minivan to Sapa. It was raining and misty and the drive was stunning. Up and up and up. There were backpackers in the minivan chatting, but I was in alone mode and stared dreamily out the window. On arrival, the town was tiny and perched on the edge of a terraced mountain. Rice fields and women in bright tribal dress everywhere. It was surreal and chilly. I ran from the other backpackers and found a small room ($5) on the 5th floor of Queen Hotel with windows on two sides overlooking the mountains. My view was vast and exhilarating.

For the first day it rained and I wandered alone through the streets peering into the misty crevices of the far off peaks. I thought that if it stayed like this I wouldn't mind, I would just wander in my raincoat and drink hot chocolate. But the second day I woke to a clear sky. WOW. I couldn't tell what I was missing before- the surrounding mountains were unbelievable. Unfortunately by this time our camera had broken (along with my heart,) so I have 2 disposable cameras full and there will be no photos posted of this time... That day I headed down the mountain to Cat Cat, a 4 km hike. I bounced down, inhaling the mountain air and shouting "SINJOW!!" to the locals like a deranged blond mountain goat.. At one point I tried to get a small boy to walk with me past a large water buffalo standing in the middle of the road-- they seem friendly, but they have huge horns... He looked quite confused but patiently smiled and let me creep behind his small frame before turning, right before we were clear, sweetly saying goodbye and then pushing/slapping the massive buffalo up the hill with a little stick. He was its tiny shepherd. I felt very humbled.

I spent the next 5 days trekking through the villages. I took a guide for most of them, and one night I did a home stay in a Black H'Mong Village. The woman are dressed so incredibly, I wish I could show you pictures- they are cooler and funkier than anyone I know. And so sweet. There is a certain selling insanity that you have to overcome before being able to enjoy these women. They are even more persistent than the pineapple women in Hanoi. But I think because I was traveling alone, it was easier to talk to them. After I told them I wasn't going to buy anything they still wanted to talk (maybe because they hadn't given up, but it didn't really matter..) I made friends in particular with one woman, Su. I actually did buy something from her- the leg wraps that the women wear that look so punk rock they could be wandering the East Village. While she sewed them we sat and she told me about her life. A difficult one. She is 39 and looks like she could be my grandmother- her face is lined and she has no bottom teeth. She had her first child at 15 and her 4th at 22 before her husband left and was never heard from again. She told me that life in the village had been very hard until 1998 when the tourists arrived. Her babies used to cry with hunger. But now, she assured me, life is good. I looked at her small, wrinkled hands sewing my leg wraps and wondered at her idea of a good life... Poverty can make everything we have seem like too much. As we talked, a lot of the other women gathered around and contributed small pieces of the story and showed me their leg wrap designs. I sat on the sidewalk with them for a long time. I saw her almost every day after that and when I left, she gave me a small wet kiss on my collarbone.

My home stay was also an amazing experience. I stayed with a woman and her two children and 4 French speaking travelers (2 Quebec, 2 Swiss) and our guides. For dinner we were joined by 2 French and their guide. Despite the language barriers (I think I was the only one who spoke French and English and the woman whose house it was spoke only Vietnamese and her tribe's language) we drank homemade rice wine and toasted to the demise of the world (Sarkozy had just won).. and laughed hysterically until we fell onto our mattresses hidden inside gauzy mosquito nets. I woke to breakfast cooking on the little fire pit in the floor. The village women were the most persistent saleswomen in the world- they had their wares on display as I stumbled to the bathroom outside at 6am!! The walk back was a little more difficult after the long evening, but we got to visit the Red Zha tribe whose woman wear these bright red pillow like things on their heads and shave their foreheads.. And they are some of the most beautiful women I've ever seen.

The one disturbing part of the villages was the plethora of TVs. Shacks with dirt floors, fire pits, no running water and a satellite dish outside the door. Even at my homestay they had the television blaring through our dinner. I'm not sure why this disturbs me, TV should be a

revealing link to the outside world, entertainment, culture and politics-- but the night I sat at dinner there was a game show on, and although in Vietnamese, it looked as stupid as anything I've ever seen on television in the U.S. It felt like another form of mind(less) control. The little boy couldn't even tear his eyes away to say hello to us.

It was hard to leave my little nest in the clouds, but I missed my gregoire and we needed to get to Laos, so I descended. In the train I realized how many friends I had made in my short time in Sapa- in my car we gathered- Nicole from Hawaii, Nina from South Africa and her husband from Denmark, an Irish couple, we all traded stories and tips and talked most of the night. Even in Hanoi I kept running into people I'd met in Sapa...It felt like what it had been- a small town. And us, its refugees.

Books read.

The Lighthouse by PD James- sitting in the lobby of the hotel room. felt like a nice quick well written treat.. I like a good murder mystery once and a while, even if I have to stay up all night to finish it.
Fortune's Rock by Anita Shreve- not my favorite. I've seen this author around so much in these traveler's bookstores that I decided to give her a try. People in it were kind of moralistic and annoying. I was relieved to finish it so I could sell the book.
The Drowner by Robert Drewe- I enjoyed this book- had no idea what to expect, an Australian writer that I'd never heard of before.. It jumps around a bit but so do I, and it felt like a voyage that I could understand- part magical, part very real..
Pinkerton's Sister by Peter Rushforth- I keep picking this up, getting impatient with all the reference-rich writing and putting it down.. could someone tell me if I should stick it out??

xxxxfz

PS The worst part of being so far away is not being able to be with your family when you should be... sending all of my love and constant thoughts to sweet Kevin, Alex and Pixie.

A Hundred Baguettes A Thousand Bucks Richer

Woke up on the bus crossing the Dmz from South Vietnam into North Vietnam. It was dark, but even blacker than normal because there wasn't anything out there. It's a 10 kilometer stretch that was 5 kilometers South Vietnamese and 5 kilometers North Vietnamese. A lot of battles occured here. The DeMilitarized Zones of the world are always far from that aren't they? Next time I woke up it was daylight out and it was cold for the first time since northern india. That was really refreshing cuz my legs were getting sick of my pants sticking to them. We were on our way to Hanoi, the capitol, the center of Vietnamese communism for 50 years, Ho Chi Minh, motorcycle mania, and a new wave of hipster.

We left Hoi An which we absolutely loved. The food was so great, the river, the lantern lit streets, the small town feel and the tailor shops. I got carried away in the tailor shops. But anyone that knows me knew that I would get carried away in the tailor shops. I even mentioned skipping Hoi An and eliza insisted we go because she wanted to see what I would come up with. I actually wasn't too interested in the clothing, although I did get a wool jacket made for 20 bucks (my own design). I got more into hats. Honestly don't know where that came from. I like hats I guess. More inportantly these tailors are set up where you can ask them to make anything you want, bring in photos of other stuff, lengthen this shorten that--its great, and its so cheap. People get tailored (obviously) italian material suits made for 80 dollars. I guess that would cost hundreds of dollars at home people said. The post office was filled with suits people were sending back. But I don't really like suits, I like hats I guess. I heard you could get sneakers made, and you could if you like your shoes with fake leather and glue dripping out of the sides. So I passed on sneaks.

I came up with this design which is basically a complete copy of a hat eliza had, but I added a little flare with some bandana material and I made different sized brims and cup depths just to experiment. I mean you can experiment when the hat costs $2.50 to make you know? The couple that owned the hat shop Quoc Tien were so sweet, and man, they were pretty patient with a crazy American dude that would come in twice a day to order three more hats, but this time "can you make the cup of the hat 1 mm deeper?"......yes, I was getting into one of those "I want to get it perfect mode". But I did. And these hats RULE. If you'd like one call my office, they're 500 dollars each --they're designer now. I hope the friends that I sent the hats to liked them.... Before we left, the couple at Quoc Tien made me a hat with their logo on it as a going away gift because we had such a great time together(or it was the amt of money that I spent). The guy that sewed and seamed to be the seamstress liked my design so much that he had a bunch of them made that he hung in his shop for sale. I let him go on the copyrights infringement.

Hanoi didn't seem any different at first. Taxis, motos, and tuk tuk drivers were jumping over each other to have us pick them to be their driver. I lost it here for a second, felt bad about it later but I didn't really regret it that much. The fifteenth guy was asking us to go to his hotel and pushing the pamphlets in our face. They are the only ones highly schooled in english in Hanoi. They start the conversation by asking, "where are you going?". Time and time again we've been so nice and polite and instead of saying, "why the f do you need to know?, it's none of you're business where we're going.", we have learned to have an answer right away. We check the guidebook on the bus before we get to a town, pick a hotel to say where we are going and then walk there or figure out where we really want to go. And if it's too far, we walk until the harassment stops and then we find a taxi. We just don't want to support the way they do it, and hopefully if more tourists do not go with those guys, they will stop. It's not like we don't take taxis everyday and stay in hotels so the money is going around. In fact, we probably take less taxis because of the harrassment. Anyway, we get off the bus and this guy pushes his pamphelt in our face and asks us where we are going, and we tell him the name of the hotel we memorized. He proceeds to call me a liar and says, "fuck you". I actually was kind of excited about that because I was almost wanting confrontation, because we had been so polite to all these harassments for so long. So I said, "NO..... FUUUCK YOOOUU" while I pointed my finger in his face. Neither of us accomplished anything but to stir up negative energy but it sure did feel good for that split second when I had my finger an inch from his nose. Even eliza thru in an F U or something to that effect so I felt a little better that I wasn't over-reacting.

We actually felt a lot better after that(sadly), got into a cab and realized for the first time on our trip that no one spoke english at all. They weren't even getting words like "same same" or "yes", "no", and "thank you". These few words can get you quite far in foreign countries but without them you might as well just stick to sharades. I noticed that even when we used Vietnamese words they didn't understand our pronounciation. I loved it. This is one of my favorite things about traveling - trying to speak a foreign tongue and actually accomplishing something. Even if its buying a loaf of bread, I think its so much fun when you actually walk out of the store WITH the loaf of bread. Funny cuz this might be the same thing that makes me want to leave.

The next day I took a moto (taxis that are motorcycles) to the US embassy because I had this idea for a product that would succeed in Hanoi -really all of Asia-and they had a department that helped Americans in business in Hanoi (I'll get to that later). I was by myself because it was another one of my crazy ideas and eliza probably had no interest. I got out there ok because people knew where the US embassy was, but the way back without the map I was screwed. I walked out of the US embassy and looked for a moto. In Hanoi, that is not a hard thing to do, every 20 seconds there are men on motos yelling, "moto?, motobike?, where you want to go?" I went over to them and realized there was nothing I could say. Not only did I not know the street that our hotel was on, I didn't know how to say the neighborhood (the Old Quarter) in Vietnamese. I knew that there was a big lake nearby but I couldn't remember the name of it. How would I get back?, I thought, with all these crucial components missing. The moto driver being very smart asked me to look in my pockets (just by pointing to my pockets and making a "pulling out" motion with his hands). He noticed an ATM receipt and grabbed it and tried to find an address, which there was, and I was on my way home---or on my way to the ATM near my home. I went out and bought a phrasebook the next day. That little book was my lifeline for the next month. It's amazing how much you can communicate with one word. Anything you need and everything you are looking for can usually be summed up in one word--it's true.

We loved Hanoi. Well ....maybe I should say that I loved Hanoi. Eliza didn't love it towards the end, I think it was too long for her. We sort of came to a compromise (as successful couples do) to stay in Hanoi for one month. I wanted to stay somewhere for 2 months during our trip and really get a feel for the city. I was thinking Shanghai, China and she was not into that, so we did Hanoi that way we didn't have to go separte ways for a while and it was only one month. I wanted to slow down and experience things instead of remembering them later. Just do regular stuff and meet locals, really get to know the culture and the people. Sometimes we are moving so fast that we just see the touristy things, pack up move on and do it again in the next town. I was getting tired of that. I wanted to just see how normal people live and just do what they do. Plus it was nice to just not be moving constantly. Everday in Hanoi we found a new restaurant to have dinner in, a new cafe to have coffee in, we saw a concert, I taught kids how to breakdance (the worm), saw movies, found neighborhoods by walking around and stumbling into them, found ice cream parlors on the lake, found more hidden lakes with cafes on those as well, found so many tree lined streets Savannah Georgia would blush from jealousy, and went to great bars that were popping up everywhere due to hanoi recently becoming more developed.

I have to admit, for the first few days, I did feel a little bit uneasy with Hanoi being the headquarters of the Vietcong and Ho Chi Minh during the Vietnam war. I pretended I could hear the B-52's dropping bombs all over the city during the war. At night all the lights are off including the streetlights, so I would imagine that this was an evacuation and the Americans were coming. They actually evacuated the entire city at one point during the war because it was being so heavily pounded by U.S. bombs and napalm. But that was a long time ago, and Hanoi is making a hip comeback. There are chic bars and clubs, wild haircuts, funky designer clothes, hip cafes with old french balconies, and a large gay scene. Actually I don't know if there is a big gay scene for sure, I just know that everytime we went out we ended up with a roomful of gay people. They're more fun anyway so we were psyched that we tapped in........riiiiiiight....

My favorite thing about it was the absence of global capitalism. I mean it was a big city, and it didn't have 7-11, Mcdonalds, huge supermarkets, or virtually any big chain stores. It's on its way though (KFC just arrived). That is my dream city, maybe not Hanoi, but one with only the mom and pop stores. Maybe its tough sometimes to find crunchy peanut butter from the brand that you like and dirt cheap, but to me its worth not having a homogenius cooky-cutter town that could be anywhere else on earth. Then, once everything is similiar they start making laws against things that are different. For example, a condo complex that my mom moved into in Colorado gave my mom 3 choices of what her condo could be painted: light grey, dark grey, and gray. I can't remember exactly, but I think you got a penalty if you painted it any other color yourself. My friend Jewels and I have gone for long drives looking for these "untouched" towns in the U.S.. It's kind of a fun game we have. Some cities appear to be really quaint and then wham you turn the corner and its strip mall hell. I think I remember the 2 of us being in Beacon, NY this past year. We were near the old town, I guess, because there were these beautiful brick 3 story buildings with trees and cute shops lining the main street, they had barbers that were old enough to have invented scissors. And then WHAM you hit route 6 or 9 and its SAMS CLUB BURGER KING WALMART SUBWAY MCDONALDS BORDERS TACO BELL and on and on until you are numbed back into our boring present culture. Jewels and I have this funny thing that we do when we see these things that ruin towns...we pretend to put up a black curtain to block it out. Well, no black curtains here Jewels!!

We settled into a little place in the Old Quarter that was 12 bucks a night including breakfast and internet. We've had better deals but this place was spotless and maids cleaned our room everyday.....can I get a yeeeeeeeeeeepppeeeeeeeee or something like that? .... we loved that so much that we were convinced that no matter how broke we ever became in the future, we would always have maids. We had high ceilings, french doors to a balcony, cable TV, AC, and a fridge. We turned the fan down to 3 (fan speed is opposite here---what is that all about?) and slept pretty well those first few nights.

We did 2 tourist things while we were there for a month. One, went and saw Ho Chi Minh himself, and two, went to the Hanoi Hilton. Ho Chi Minh's people have gone against Ho's last wishes and not creamated him, they embalmed him. Thats right, the dude is filled with formaldyhide once a year in russia to keep the stench down. He can be observed any day of the week from 8am to 11am at his masoleum where he is encased in glass. Sick riiight? And I don't mean sick like gross I mean sick like "ssiiiiiiiiickk". We didn't make it over there until probably the second week and even then we were the last people let in out of hundreds-maybe thousands. We just couldn't get up in time!! We still get a kick out of that, when we embarrassingly tell other travellers. Especially the eager Patagonia types who are up at the crack of dawn looking for the best hike on the map.

His masoleum is on the spot where he gave a speech in 1946 quoting FDR about the independence of a nation. He thought Vietnam would be independent from '46 on, and he thought the Americans were a great allie to have and respected them dearly. Unfortunately FDR didnt return the favor and publicly separated himself from Ho. Probably because of the Red Scare going on at the time where to even know a communist was grounds for a prison sentence. And Ho fought for independence his entire life, whether on the battlefield himself against the french, or being commander in chief against the japanese and the Americans. Sadly, he didn't live to see his troops take Saigon in 1975 (on that rooftop) and start rebuilding their country into a pretty peaceful, beautiful, and independent state.

10 minutes on line and there he was. They kept the line moving pretty quickly but you kind of go around a full square so you really get a good look. He actually looked pretty damn good....considering he had been dead since 1969...shit even without considering that he looked good. He was still rockin the goatee and the black shirt, he was less than ten feet away. Pretty cool stuff.

The Hanoi hilton was a prison that had a long history with the Vietnamese, but the Americans gave it that name. Supposedly, the Americans were treated so well at the prison during the Vietnam war that they called it the Hanoi Hilton. They're were even pictures of American soldiers in the prison playing basketball, tennis, cards, guitars, and just generally sitting around enjoying themselves. John McCain was there in the mid 70's and he was in some of the photos. His actual airsuit uniform that he was wearing when his plan was shot down outside of Hanoi was on display. Along with photos of many other Americans with captions that read things like, "Here's anti revolutionary American soldier John Smith enjoying one of the many delicious sandwiches provided by the Peoples Army" I haven't researched whether these claims were true about how the soldiers were treated but I'd love to know if anyone does know. It could easily be that propoganga machine we've seen often here pumping out this crap. But I couldn't help but think, where did the nickname come from then? Does sound like it makes sense--the Hanoi Hilton.

I was also thinking that if these stories were true, this prison in the center of "enemy" territory was easily the safest place for an American male aged 18 to 30 from 1965 to 1972. If they were treated so well, hey why not, look at your options: A. You live in the U.S. and sweat every time the mail comes because you know one day your number is going to get called, and off you go to Vietnam. B. You are already fighting in Vietnam. The Americans knew where the prison was and they did not bomb that area--so no worries there. Not a bad place to be....during that time, and the sandwiches did look pretty good..

Eliza and I were kind of doing our own thing while we were in Hanoi. We always met up throughout the day, it was sort of like a regular life actually. She was off seeing fun places, writing alot, and she even escaped for a week to go into the country, and I got into the business of motorcycle seat covers. Sounds odd I know, but in Hoi An I came up with a really good idea. There are millions and millions of motorcycles in South East Asia. It's the main form of transportation, the cities are overflowing with them. One problem that I noticed that everyone has is protecting the seat from rain and sun. People put plastic bags on them, paper, cardboard boxes, and cotton sheets. I thought they could use a uv protective tarp like material that they could easily take on and off and could be shoved in the storage under the seat when not in use. This material would block the sun to keep the seat cool from the baking hot sun, and keep it dry from rain. The idea sort of steam-rolled from just an idea, to "let me try and see how far it goes for fun", to getting business advice from the American Chamber of Commerce and the US embassy, to getting a manufacturer to make them for $1 each, to getting Yamaha to buy 2000 of them for $2 each...

After coming up with the plan I thought I'd try to implement it. The plan was: get someone to make these things and look for someone to buy them. It sounded crazy but this sort of thing is fun for me, I like this stuff. Some people think its weird that I worked on a supposed "vacation", but it didn't feel like work --it was bizarre, and maybe some money would come out of it and that was good whether you're on a vaca or not.

By far the best part of it was meeting Huy. He owned the second shop I walked into in a neighborhood where seatcovers were made, sewn and cut. The first store owner laughed at me when I explained my project (boy did he miss out). Huy was 35 years old and blind. He tried to hide it behind the dark glasses and didn't "tell me" until two weeks after of us knowing each other. I told him that I knew the first day that I met him and I didn't care- he ran a tight ship. Plus he believed in the idea. Shit he spoke english, that was a dream come true. It wasn't perfect but with my phrasebook and his 4 years of english before his accident (never found out what it was) we made deals, argued prices, made jokes, talked seat cover quality size and shape, and discussed New York City hospitals. He had 4 or 5 guys and girls in their teens and twenties that were part of his family and worked for him. They were very loyal to him and respected him. On the first day when I was there and I was describing the tarp material that I had in my hand that I wanted to use for the seat covers, I forgot he was blind and got up to show it to him closer. One of the closest boys jumped up and politely grabbed it from me and put it in Huy's hands so he could feel it. He said, "this is ...how you say?....long pause........not beautiful." I said "yeah I know that doesn't matter." Huy's shop made seat covers that stapled to the seat--the actual seat cover, the designer stuff with patterns and stuff. Mine were just a raincoat for a seat. It took about 20 minutes to explain what I just did in one sentence and he said, "I think.......long pause.......I think................very good idea."

From there it went to me going over there to finalize the details with his staff, like what pull-tie to use or what color string, or how many stitches would go around the thing with how much elastic. All this just for 3 seat covers that fit virtually every bike in Asia from Piaggo to Honda to yamaha to vespas. His staff helped me learn Vietnamese and i helped them with learning some english. They were so amazing, so sweet, open and friendly. Every time I walked in there they would all say "Helloooo!", all in differing pronounciations laughing hysterically as if they didn't know what it meant--they just remembered that I taught it to them.

Took over a week to get those three seat covers, but now I had them and it was time for step 2: sell them. I got kind of scared during this step. I felt motivated that I had turned an idea into something that I could hold in my hand but now the prospects of selling them seemed highly unlikely. No one spoke english for one. That is kind of a big barrier when you are trying to convince sometone to part with their money. Also, I was a little worried about breaking the law, I did not want to do that. Its not big brother who is watching in Vietnam, it's Big Red. We even noticed some things being censored on TV like the word, "liberal" on the larry king show one night, and google just acts strange-we can't find anything we're looking for. I thought I'd take it slow and go to distributors, small shops, motorcycle parts and accessory wholesalers, and mechanics, just get a feel if people were interested. To make this already long story a lot shorter, those all failed miserabley mostly due to lack of the Vietnamese language. Many people liked the idea but didn't want to buy them. I met with the World Health Organization to try to get them to buy some to put ads on them for a helmet intitative that they were doing---no go.

I said screw it, I'm going to the top, I'm going to Yamaha. It was starting to become work. I was shaving everyday and I bought a pair of slacks. I mean I didn't want to be in the seat cover business for the rest of my life, this was just a crazy idea. I wouldn't have had any regrets if nothing materialized. All the experiences I had with Huy and his family were worth this whole thing. The Yamaha dealership agreed to buy some(after a meeting where I was sitting there with my sneakers painted black with a magic marker trying to spruce up my look a bit, thinking that these guys are going to throw me out of the building at any minute), they were going to use them as a promotion give away, they said I'd have to give them some more details. I definitely had more respect from these people because I was American. They sort of took me more seriously, can't say that this would work as well at home. After discussing it over with Huy so he agreed and getting him to drop his orginal price so we could make more, I got in touch with yamaha, told them they were $2 each with a minumum order of 2000 "units"(I thought throwing in "units" was a nice touch--don't you?), they'd be delivered in 3 weeks exactly, gave them a list of colors, meet my boss Huy, and write the check to him. They said fine, he would, they picked, they met, they wrote, and I banked. Half of half of half...the old capitalist way. Except the last "half" was the communist way--a tax that us capitalists are always being threatened by, you know the %50 of everything deal.....it did kind of hurt. Thought I had 2000 but I came out with a little over 1100 americanos! Not too shabby if I don't mind saying so myself. Plus I introduced a local businessman and new friend to a potentially lucrative partnership.

I kept one seat cover with me on our way out of Hanoi, partly to show people at home and partly if we ever need to raise some funds in China. The Chinese market is insane---biggest motorcycle market on earth! Na ....I think I'm over it, I'm on sneakers now. I keep seeing name brand sneakers everywhere for rock bottom prices but they don't have sizes bigger than an American 9. I'm gonna keep looking in China....I don't even want to sell them I just want to wear them.....

We are rounding the last bend of the trip....we just booked our tickets on the trans siberian train from Beijing to Moscow. We've been in motion for more than 5 months straight....

finally started missing home.......gg

Guilt, Beauty and Change

Why must we Americans forever skulk around the globe waving our faux Canadian flag patches like so many tiny pleas for truce? The answer lies in our behavior throughout these countries.. it makes me furious to hear what monsters our government has supported, and even more angry to think of what they are doing now. I knew that our history here was riddled with deception and with death on all sides- but I guess standing on the bloodstained ground of our so many battles makes it much more real somehow. South East Asia itself is a lesson about paying attention to your government, about educating yourself about the truth.. however elusive.

Gregg spoke about the Cu Chi Tunnels, crawling through these tiny holes in the ground, seeing American tanks sinking slowly into the earth, and all over the gaping holes left from B52s.. One of the saddest moments for me at this site was when we watched the "documentary." They listed all of the fighters for Vietnam and the awards they got- the awards were "American soldier exterminator hero" and "American killer hero" and the numbers that each one killed were listed- "This hero killed 14 American invaders!" All I could think of were the families that heard that news about their 18 year old son that had just lost his life somewhere far away and strange, right here. All the kids that grew up in our generation, fatherless. Because our government sent them over here to do their dirty work. I guess I realized who the faceless enemy is- it is us. And those boys would have killed them first if given the chance. And many times did.

It just all seems so fresh here and makes me think of the war sites my children will wander through sadly in the Middle East someday.. Wondering why their parents couldn't stop it.

So, hello from Hanoi.

I have just ripped myself from my windowless nest to write everyone- I've had a cold for the past few days and been forced to stay in bed trying to get better so that I can join the whirlwind that is the greggoire. We have left the beautiful but baking town of Hoi An for the cooler north.

Hoi An had a the slightly haunted feeling of a town rich with ancient history that is just starting to be stampeded by hungry tourists. There is the sense of a village on a precipice, below a loss of soul, but above, no money to live.. I have had this feeling a lot in Vietnam. There is a struggle to retain a sense of identity, to work for/by themselves and at the same time become modern, join the rest of the world with money and little plastic privileges. I can understand the desire to sell trinkets to tourists- one painting of a farmer in a conical hat hoeing the land will probably make more than that farmer makes in a month- maybe more. But in the end we who are the tourists, and whose money is sought, find only the stores with the paintings of the farmers and the conical hats, but no actual farmers in the hats..

One day I left Grey to his tailor endeavours and went on my own through the walking tour of the village. It is actually a very cool way to see the town. I bought a ticket for a lump sum and with it got 5 different categories of visits- museum, old house, temple..etc. Then I chose one of each, whichever sounded the most interesting. The old village is a World Heritage Sight and they encourage you to do this tour as a way of supporting the village as a whole.

I bought my ticket and set out to decide what sights I wanted to see. I was determined to break free from The Lonely Planet- which is an amazing guide, but ensures that you will see nothing but slightly bedraggled and eager and somehow embarrassing versions of yourself for the entire tour. I opened the complicated map they had given me and dug in. Quickly I realized that the map was entirely in Vietnamese. I raced back to the ticket seller and they shrugged dismissively- no more English version. I felt almost better about the town- they weren't giving in to tourist needs!! But worse about my own prospects, it was me and the Lonely once again. It was still a really interesting way to see the town- especially the old house which was still being lived in by the family after 7 generations. In fact, I passed an elderly gentlemen sitting quietly at the kitchen table and looking slightly forlorn. Later I realized from the pictures around the house that it was his house!! He was just having some alone moments at his kitchen table while I wandered through. I think this best describes the birth of a tourist town. The museum pieces are still alive.

One of the most beautiful nights I have experienced yet was in Hoi An during their full moon party. The town is lit only by lanterns and they float candles in paper boats on the river. Gregg and I took a small wooden boat through the candles and wandered to the untouristy parts of town where people shouted hello and treated us as if we were strangers. It was comforting somehow. We are supposed to be strangers.

After making good friends with the hat maker (if anyone needs a hat in Hoi An, just mention Gregg's name and they will greet you with warmth and curiosity) we set out for the DMZ. We spent only one night in Hue so I didn't get to visit the tombs for which the town is famous- but we decided to save it for another day.. we were ready to get to Hanoi.

The bus ride from Hue to Hanoi was reminiscent of India- people were smoking and spitting and staring. We were the only backpackers on the bus and definitely had that old feeling of sticking out. I was reminded of why I hated bus rides in India. When the sneezer was joined by the cougher and the smoker and finally the spitter, I wanted to crawl off. Grey looked at me worriedly but I held on.. I do think that is why I am sick now though. You just can't spend 15 hours on a bus with people throwing their saliva everywhere and not get some kind of germ in your nose.. This reminds me of the face masks that are everywhere. I wonder if they are left overs from the SARS days- less in Hanoi, but in Saigon and all of the small towns a whole day can go by without seeing a single face- just eyes above a mask.. It is a bit disconcerting and makes you wonder if you should be wearing one. One man told me it was less for the pollution and germs than for keeping the skin white. But the two women across from us on the bus wore theirs all night- and I wish I had too..

We've been loving Hanoi. The city is full of huge lakes, millions of pretty neighborhoods to discover, Vietnamese sitting on tiny plastic chairs and supping on strange looking items (we are getting our nerve up!!), and of course, in the center of it all, Ho Chi Minh's embalmed body lying open to viewing... We had an amazing night out with a bunch of rowdy expats on a boat/club and discover cafes every day. One of my favorite spots was the Temple of Literature. I just wonder why it's the first one I've ever seen. Of course literature should have a temple!!

Speaking of.. a couple people have asked me to write a book list of what I've been reading while I travel. I have tried to compose a complete list, but I know there are a few missing. The choice of the books is very random since I have been mostly limited to whatever anyone else has traded these small bookstores. This limitation also makes me read things I wouldn't necessarily read, so in some ways I think this book by book travelling is more interesting than my local library. If anyone wants more information on any of these, let me know- I wasn't sure if I should write plot or review.

In India:

Such A Long Journey by Rohinton Mistry- this isn't the beginning of my love affair with RM, I read A Fine Balance before I left and this seemed like a perfect beginning to the trip.. I was shocked by the parts which I had found exotic in the US becoming mundane in India.
Family Matters by Rohinton Mistry- I wanted more of that feeling that someone understood where I had landed. Also found the book just after my Uncle Dev had a stroke and the grandfather's story made me feel very close to him.
Freakonomics by Steve D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner- Not usually my type of book, but Teddy passed it on to me and I found it pretty fascinating. I was also looking for solutions about why society can end up with these enormous problems. Not sure I found them, but at least it showed me a different way to ask questions.
Holy Cow! by Sarah MacDonald- Another book passed along to me. I couldn't read it though because it was almost too similar to my travels and I didn't want to pre-read my own adventures.
Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse- seemed appropriate to our time in Rajasthan. Made me look differently at the skinny, hungry looking turbaned men that surrounded me. Found it a bit frustrating and spiritually saturated though.
My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk- a juicy one. A little too detailed on the miniaturist's art-although it's relevance to the loss of history and the demise of the appreciation for the artist was interesting.. and then there is the love story..
Human Croquet by Kate Atkinson- not as good as Behind the Scenes At the Museum.
Stupid White Men by Michael Moore- passed on to me, don't really like the way he writes but I enjoy his movies and learned a few things..
No Great Mischief by Alistair MacLeod- realized that I'd already read this but read it again anyway because I enjoyed it so much the first time.. Cold Canada in India felt very surreal, but the immigrant theme relevant.
The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri- Appropriately, my final book in India. Felt the sadness of being divided between old and new, wondering how anyone could adjust to life after only knowing India. And how to live between those worlds.

Thailand

The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields- sneaking suspicion that I've already read this too. But so good, read it like new.. Felt very foreign to where we were, but the themes of motherhood and identity were valid even in Thailand.
Abookthatican'trememberbutwasn'tthatgreat.
In the Beauty of the Lilies by John Updike- I love these types of books that go through generations and tell the future in small teasing pieces..maybe liked the beginning better than the end, but loved the characters.. I always think of Updike stuff as too over-explained, but then I get sucked in and I've loved everything of his..
Waterland by Graham Swift- I loved Last Orders so I tried this one- very different but ended up really liking it even though it was hard to jump around so much until I got used to it.. I love the way he writes, even if sometimes he feels tangled up in his words.. (don't we all)

Cambodia

Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant by Anne Tyler- The title seemed appropriate.. really enjoyed this one, although had a hard time forgiving one of the characters long enough to read about him sympathetically. One of those books that tries to present all personalities empathetically. And succeeds somewhat.
Fingersmith by Sarah Waters- a lovely surprise. Had a tacky cover, but looked interesting so I took a chance. It was completely absorbing and delicious. A girl who saw me reading it and said that if I enjoyed that I would enjoy this one: (a gift from her)

(finished in) Vietnam

The French Lieutenant's Woman by John Fowles- Really enjoyed this one. Although the multiple choice endings was as frustrating as the author meant it to be.. not sure I want to realize that my books are being written by someones imagination..
Leaving the Land by Douglas Unger- very moving. not necessarily uplifting. like real life.
The Tender Bar by J.R. Moehringer- first half the pages were all stuck together, but when I got them open I enjoyed it- ended up liking the parts outside the bar better and sometimes he got a little drifty in his prose.. but in the end I really did like it.

Hope that was interesting to anyone.

love,

fz

"105 Degrees and Rising"

You know that famous picture of an American helicopter evacuating troops from the roof of the U.S. embassy in Saigon at the end of the war? Did you know that was not the embassy in that photo? Or U.S. troops? Yeah, me neither. Funny how what actually happens in history is not nearly as important as what is reported to have happened. History is only lived once with no one around, but its written over and over again to an audience of millions. I love history, especially those historic moments that have some direct connection to me. (that just sounded like the intro paragraph to a seventh grade essay)

Whether good or bad, I realized that I was so interested in learning about the Vietnam War that I will definitely be excluding some amazing things to see and do in these countries. I am Ok with that, and the way I am looking at it is I can always come back and really see these countries more closely some other time. My dad just told me that he'd like to see these areas--so there you go...I'll be back. Luckily for me, Zaz was interested in getting the inside scoop also. ...

Didn't surprise me that Pol Pot (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pol_Pot ) organized often on the western border where we entered Cambodia. Like Zaz said, it was one of the lowest points of our trips culminating in tears running down Zaza's face. I wasn't pissed until I saw those tears. I was trying to remind myself that she just cries when she gets angry-it wasn't that she was upset, she just felt helpless. The guy who abandoned us without a bus to get to Siem Reap in Cambodia literally had black eyes without a hint of color or brightness in them. He really looked evil. I thought maybe he was a direct descendant of Pol Pot, who I found out later had lived and organized in that area. Or maybe he had met some of my descendants in the last 50 years. But once again a bad situation turned good and we got a taxi (way way faster and more comfortable) all for the same price everyone else paid for the entire trip from Bangkok to Siem Reap, Cambodia. Travelers now ask us for advice on how to overcome the "Bangkok to Siem Reap bus scam" (yes it has a name). When the taxi pulled up, a toyota camry covered in red mud from a road we would soon meet, some tourists with us gasped. I saw the extra suspension that was added jacking it up like a truck, and I noticed the tires were like small truck tires---I thought this thing would get us anywhere we needed to go, I was psyched. I wonder if I would have had that same reaction before experiencing India. Doubt it.

People ask us what's the best part of Cambodia (I hate that question--but I like our answer) its the people. They are so warm and friendly its like no where else I've ever been. How do borders align generosity levels? I don't know- let me get back to you on that one. Siem Reap and Phnom Phen, their two major cities. They're beautiful cities with tree-lined streets, french architecture, surrounded and dissected by rivers with walkways along them. In Siem Reap we toasted with green beer for St. Patricks Day and in Phom Phen we hung out with a local bartender named Lee who took off work for the rest of the night and took us out to the hottest club in the city: "The Heart of Darkness." Phnom Phen is stained with rich corrupt politician's kids who ride around in brand new Hummers, Mercedes, and Cadillacs with chrome wheels reflecting starving limbless kids on the street--victims of the countless landmines that are left over from the previous wars. It's a real concern here actually. Even our guide book advises us not to take a piss on the side of the road--you never know who's weapons lie underneath the dirt. It could have a Russian, Vietnamese, or American patent on it. Farmers, and kids looking for firewood get blown up all the time. We found out most of them are not designed to kill but to maim, because a maimed soldier costs more to repair and take care of for many years. How much of my taxes go to pay the economist who crunched those numbers?

The Killing Fields. It brings tears to my eyes as I write this ---10 days later. There are still human bones and clothes around the ditches that were dug to slaughter 2 million Cambodians. Check out the link above on Pol Pot. Even though he grew up wealthy, he tortured and killed almost 1/4 of the population of Cambodia from 1975 to 1979 because he wanted Cambodia to return to an agrarian society. The cities were emptied and people were forced to farm. He killed people who did not have rough hands, even though this guy never lifted a farming or "working class" tool of any kind. Uhh... its one thing to read about, but to see our taxi driver tear up just because he had to wait outside while we went in is another. We didnt even ask if one of his family members were taken....we just knew. Everyone over the age of 30! has a story of a loved one that was last seen being questioned then put into a truck. People say they were afraid to talk to anyone, even their neighbors, because people ratted each other out to protect their own families.

We crossed the border into Vietnam on a bus. We passed right over the Ho Chi Minh Trail...the direct road/ trail/ rivers that was the avenue for supplies from the Northern Vietnamese (Vietcong) to their Southern rebels. We entered Saigon on the same road that the North Vietnamese did at the end of April in 1975, after the Americans had left. The next day we took a bus to Chu Chi tunnels. This was an extensive underground tunnel network built by the vietcong completely surrounding an old American military base (their largest in Vietnam). Part of the base was even built on the tunnels allowing them access to the inside! You should see this...you drive pass the base 5 minutes and you're inside the Vietcong's tunnels. The two fronts couldnt have been more than a mile apart. At one point we were guided through the tunnels by an ex Vietcong soldier who was very friendly even when I told him that I was American. Is this unreal? It's just a different digit on a calendar year that stands between this guy killing me on the spot. There was a left over blown up American tank there that stayed where time left it. Or a bomb left it I should say, time didn't help those Americans out at all.

Then we heard gunfire. From a machine gun. I never heard a machine gun before but to those that haven't, don't worry you'll know when you hear a machine gun. Our guide was leading us to a sort of snack place where we could take a lunch-break slash firing-range where you could shoot an M-16, AK-47, or any number of assault rifles. Did I say that right Josh? Assault rifles? Aren't they all assaulting? We had this option in Cambodia but we were so heartbroken by the stories of Pol Pot's violence, we couldn't even think about it. In Cambodia they give you a bigger selection too. You can fire an AK for $30, a rocket launcher for $200, and even take the old tank out...I'm not playing. If you want, for an extra few bucks they'll let you kill a cow or a chicken. So let's just say, none of this put us in the mood, especially the "kill something alive" deal in the backyard of the Killing Fields. But, I don't know, this set-up in Vietnam didn't have such a dark cloud over it. I mean the cloud was dark from an American perspective, and an overall human kind war is a horrible thing perspective, but we were on Vietcong turf, and these guys are pretty damn proud of winning the war. You can get any number of killing machines, sodas, sandwiches, you know your every day snack bar. Ihe guy behind the counter asked me what I'd like. He said the money goes to the museum and there's too many bullets in Vietnam, so its a good way to make money. Good enough for me--conscience cleared, i'll take a coke and that AK-47 right there!

And wait....look who's tagging along right behind me wondering if we can split the clip.....that's right...the AK Zazzadoo. It was fun actually, I like guns if you just shoot stuff in the woods. There were these targets really far away (Im bad with long distances--would guess almost a football field) and we both nailed them a couple of times. Sometimes its hard to tell because an AK makes a mess when it hits so there was a lot of dust where it would land--but wow these things are not for kids man. If you held the trigger too long it would just rip automatic LATATATATATATA, or you just hit it once BBBAAAOOOM. Its SOOO loud, like lighting an M-80 in your ear. Crazy. The whole thing just kind of left me shaky. Just made me more conscious of the violence that happened in those woods.

There were huge B-52 bomb craters in the next area that we saw. After my stint with the machine gun, I was trying to imagine what the plan would be for any given battle....I mean its thick jungle (the forest is very young now due to the napalm dropped everywhere(another tragic story hopefully zaz will elaborate) but you could imagine--plus you see the thick jungle everywhere else) What would the strategy be? Go straight, and kill any Vietcong you see? Or hide and kill when people move? Go left? Who goes first? Who ever goes first is definitely dead, how do you go? What if everyone in your group gets killed and your face down in the mud in South East Asia wondering how did I get here? This is not a good place to be....for what reason? I could be at a Grateful Dead show right now with my girlfriend and I am face down in the mud preparing to die. For what? They say we're fighting commies so our kids can go to a Grateful Dead show with their girlfriends in the future.....can't we just make up with the commies? The commies won and the Grateful Dead still went on...

The commies did win. Although the American military out-fought the Vietcong(meaning they killed 2 million Vietcong -while 55,000 Americans died) and won many more strategic battles, the North Vietnamese Vietcong soldiers took Saigon on April 30, 1975 and Vietnam is still communist. The Vietnam War (or as they call it here "the American War") had two fronts and the U.S. Military "lost" the front at home with public support. The Vietcong have since said that they wouldn't have been able to hold on much longer. Ho Chi Minh has said that the American anti-war movement was crucial to victory for the North Vietnamese. Who won and what we won all depends on whos writing it. The American War museum here in Saigon reminds you how both sides are just people---so similar--but we find ways to make some the bad guys and some the good guys.

Zaz and I printed a copy of that famous photo during the fall of Saigon of the American chopper lifting people off the roof of the embassy. Just a few clicks of the mouse and you find out that the photographer's message "down the street from the embassy" got lost in translation and history was re-written, or written I should say. It was in fact an apartment building right in downtown Saigon- not the embassy. I got the address and stuffed the printed photo into my pocket and off we went in search of this famous building.

I'm really sorry for the length--you wouldn't believe how much is being left out...plus this is for me too.

Ok, we leave with the address and a photo. I felt like a journalist with some leads. We find out that the street was renamed--- at least we got that far we thought. We half-heartedly kept looking hoping with little confidence that the number was the same even though the street name changed. We found number 22 Gia Long St. This was supposedly the real CIA headquarters which was disguised as an apartment building called Pittman Apartments across the street from the fake official CIA headquarters which is no longer there. The people boarding that helicopter were CIA, some other press and South Vietnamese--not American military 'running away', as some news outlets printed. We saw 4 men in their 50-60's(when I see men this age here I always wonder: where were they during the war? Who's side were they on?) sitting in black leather chairs laughing at a joke one of them had told. They look like they work there, a few of them have badges. I write down "Pittman Apartments 22 Gia Long St" next to the photo and show it to the men because I knew that they wouldn't speak English, not many people do above the age of 30 here. I accidentally hand them this one : (which we never found the location of)http://www.elpais.com/elpaismedia/domingo/media/200310/12/reportajes/20031012elpdmgrep_10_I_LBW.jpgand eliza realizes and snatches it away and replaces it with the correct one, this one: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/a/a8/Vietnamescape.jpg where I had scribbled the address and name. I thought they looked puzzled until one of them nodded and wrote "C I A" on the piece of paper. Zaz and I said, YES YES. At the same time, they all agreed in Vietnamese I think.

We asked, very politely, in sign language if we could go to the roof and take a picture. Confused, and not too sincerely, one of them left with the photo and it seemed we should wait. A woman came back who spoke english and she asked if we wanted to go to the roof. We told her yes if it was OK, and she politely said it was not possible. I learned in India just by asking the same question twice, many times you get the answer you are looking for. You sort of get a coupla free bees because of the language barrier, it's great I wish I could use it at home. So I said again, "Is it Ok if we go to the roof to take a picture", like she never even responded the first time. Eliza kept saying, "history, history" it was hilarious. She said wait she'll check. (See?) She came back and said she would have to get clearance from the Director of the Building(dont know what that is --Communist Bureaucrats we thought) so its not possible. I said again so politely, "Can we get clearance from Director to take picture on roof?" "It's OK?" Eliza: "history, history?" She said to wait again and came back with the first guy who we originally spoke to and she said that he was going to escort us to the roof.

We were doing pretty well considering it was our first guerrilla journalism experience. We thought he was taking us to the roof but led us into an office titled 'Director of Operations'. These are common titles in Communist countries. I think I know this from my limited study of Chinese politics at CSU. Business and politics sort of blends sometimes. We enter a room straight out of 1970 with lime green rug and brown paneled walls all included. We even got a 1960s-70s dark brown blown glass ash tray on top of those plain gray metal desks with a dirty orange desk cover, you know the kind that have the cheesy carved wooden weights on each side--they prolly mass produce these in plastic for Office Depot now. The whole thing was topped with an old roledex like a cherry on a sundae. It even smelled like the seventies- cafeteria food and old cigarettes. There was a simple non-exotic plant thrown on some metal file cabinet that had a shade of green that matched every color in the room. How DID plants survive in those places back then?

The man behind the desk seemed to be only interested in business which led me to believe that this was a our dead end. He had a young, 20-something woman in a suit standing next to his desk. He asked us to sit. We sat in the two chairs in front of his desk and I sat on the edge of my seat, sort of leaning on to his desk--I was trying to make this less important than it looked. It wasn't THAT important, I was thinking, its just a photo. Zaz sat back a little, looks like she helped me with the photo downstairs and her reassuring "history, history" back-up, but she looked more over and out now. I had to curtail this charlie 9er 9er and take us home. (sorry for that).

But when he spoke he had a huge inviting grin on his face that made me really comfortable and had Zaz inching up a bit in her chair. He asked very matter-of-factly if we spoke Vietnamese--like there was a really good chance that we did. This was when we found out that the young woman standing to our right was the translator because we didn't.

We said that we knew hello, good-bye, delicious, and thank you.....and we were IN. His smile turned into a chuckle and I knew we had this guy--or he had us with his charm. Let's just say we were all charmers. We had a great exchange of personal questions ...well not really exchange but we answered really well with funny answers that really got him rolling. Then he got somewhat serious and said (through the interpreter) that this was CIA headquarters during the war. We both thought he said it was CIA headquarters now and an image of us getting assasinated flashed my mind. Luckily it was the former, and he said if we go and look or take pictures of the roof(he didnt care what we did on the roof), afterward, when we go back to New York we should tell our friends and family about the nice people of Vietnam and forget that War forever. He said this cuz previously we had said how nice people are in Vietnam and we were surprised being Americans and all....we agreed and thanked him and we were on our way up to the roof.

That was really cool, standing on that actual spot just after the code words "The Temperature in Saigon is 105 Degrees and Rising" was said repeatedly on the radio after "White Christmas". This was the signal to the CIA and to the rest of American Saigon that this was the end and it was time to go to your designated point where helicopters or buses would be waiting. the South Vietnamese soldiers were shedding there uniforms in the streets because the Vietcong tanks would round the corner any minute. I looked at the city streets. I read about a Dutch reporter that stayed....he said moments after the last American had left Saigon the Vietcong were at the city center. he said that they were really nice and welcomed him with open arms. He described how bizarre it was to be hanging out with the "enemy" and how they were all right guys.

Even this exhibit at the Gerald Ford Museum in Grand Rapids Michigan is flawed in more ways than one. Even the ex-Pres discussed the staircase atop the roof of the U.S. embassy in Saigon when this exhibit opened. As far as this staircase, who knows where its from, maybe somebody is missing a fire escape in Queens: http://www.fordlibrarymuseum.gov/museum/exhibits/permanent/Shuttle-Diplomacy.asp

What a nice guy, I thought about the Director. Man I hope the War didnt effect his family. How could it have not? This is a Wikipedia site again: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vietnam_War ...It goes through the history of our involvment and why...Is it the best site for info? I don't know, but is it enough? Yes. I asked a south Vietnamese guy that was in his thirties if anyone was happy that the Americans came to help them fight the North Vietnamese. He said that there were some that were happy, they liked the new money-the capitalism, the change of pace and new culture, but most people knew that the South Vietnamese government was funded and followed the Americans interests. And when that leader(Ngo Dinh Diem) was accused of possibly making peace with the north and simply not getting control, he was killed(by his own coup supported by U.S.) and Kennedy put someone else in his place that would listen to the Americans. Eventually Nguyen Van Thieu was president in 1967 and he was abandoned because the U.S. public lost interest. Would they have fought without us? It really doesn't look like it. It was the U.S. fighting the Russians with the Vietnamese filling the roster. All the weaponry we see over here is 100% Russian made. And they like to show it off, so we see a lot of it.

I have to say, its really weird visiting places in the world ; India, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, that have all had a lot of problems because of Western interests in their politcs and economies--then sitting in all these cafes with travelers from those Western countries. Like we are the only ones that can afford to travel because we've taken advantage of their countries in the past. I know that is not the whole story but its a chunk of it. A couple of weeks ago, we were sitting at one of these hotel/ pool room/ restaurant/ lounge TV room guesthouses filled with white people that they have everywhere and we were looking across a lake in Phnom Phen. To our left were a few french, to our right were some Brits, behind us were some australians. If you looked past the beautiful red reflecting off the lake during the sunset, you could see a massive neighborhood where Cambodians lived. It was tacked together with rusted metal scraps and old rotten wood. The dirt streets were filled with garbage and sewage and it went on for miles. I couldn't help but feel guilty. There weren't any Cambodians in that bar, the local people cannot afford these places---maybe because they got f--ed by every country represented here.

Any American who is embarrassed to say where they are from because of the actions of our government, I'll let you know that we are not alone- although sometimes people want us to be. The french are not angels to the Algerians, the Aussies are in Iraq too, Britain has had its share of empires, and germans hardly bring the subject up--wonder why? And the crazy thing about it is that the people in this region know that there is a difference between the American government and the American people and the past and present. Lucky for us.

Hoi An---french food, french architecture, and tailor shops lining the streets. I have lots of ideas for hats I want to make....don't ask. The heat is kinda getting to us so its going to be nice to go north a little. "The temperature IS 105 degrees and rising!", and thats no code--it was 110 today....

over and out

p.s. if I said something that wasn't true, please inform me.....I'm interested in what happened not what was written....

gg