Summer Journey Through Cambodia & Vietnam

Cambodia - Vietnam July 15, 2013 It has been six years since our last family vacation, a wonderful trip to Bali. Now we are off to SE Asia again and a few pre-trip details should be noted herein, if only because I find them interesting enough to me personally that I want to write them down, so that when my memory is shot the details are not. So honestly, if I am sharing this and you are reading it because you, whoever you are, told me that you are going to Cambodia and Vietnam and were interested in some color commentary, you may want to skip the next couple of paragraphs in order to enter the travelogue proper. I suppose the first legitimate query one might have would be why did we choose these two countries? First and foremost is this; in my youth Vietnam was simply not a place that a lot of Americans would have been compelled to visit, thanks to that event we call the Vietnam War and which the Vietnamese refer to as the American War. It was a war that my dad was a part of, and other relatives of mine were as well. I have had many interesting evenings of conversation with friends only slightly older than I am who were also there as very young men, and so this part of the planet has held a place in my consciousness for over four decades and has always been a region I felt compelled to visit. Secondly, it would be a disservice to my alma mater, The University of Colorado, if I failed to mention that the recently deceased and magnificently engaging professor, Ron Bernier, captured my imagination and led me to a degree in Art History, thanks in no small part to his introductory survey class into the art and architecture of Asia. I was having a difficult time trying to decide upon a major when I first encountered Dr. Bernier. I arrived on the first day of classes at 8am to a theatre style room that had some exotic music playing, music which I had never heard before. There was incense burning, with an image of the temple at Angkor Wat projected on the screen at the front of the classroom. The 80 or so students sat in silence for several minutes, waiting for their instructor to arrive. Dr. Bernier walked in and proceeded to command the classroom with a dizzying array of images and stories of the history, architecture and iconography of this incredible temple. I was hooked on art history from that moment forward and feel that visiting Angkor Wat will be a punctuation of sorts, to a journey that began back in 1979 thanks to Ron Bernier and the passion he shared with his students. As I mentioned earlier, it has been six years since we went on a wonderful vacation to incredibly appealing Bali, so Gwen started pushing for another family getaway. When this discussion began, I was not yet through my first year as Director of Sales and Marketing in a resort that commands a great deal of focus from our parent company, not to mention our private equity owners, and the likelihood of garnering sufficient time away to travel this far and be as out of touch as I am hoping to be seemed like a stretch. Fortunately, my General Manager had been to Cambodia and Vietnam less than two years prior, had a wonderful time, and was supportive of our plans. I asked him for his itinerary, which he had meticulously organized in a binder and had right there in his office at the hotel. He shared some of the highlights of his trip and I put in my vacation request a few days later, and now I find myself sitting on the bathroom floor of the Lotus Blanc Hotel in Siem Reap, Cambodia, at 4am, so as not to wake the slumbering Miles and Gwen as I do my best to type on an iPad. Somewhat ironically, about a week after I had my vacation approved, my dad called to tell me he is going back to Vietnam for the first time since the war. He and Eleanor both loved the trip and added to the positive feedback we had already been hearing. Then recently, our friend Tony Novak Clifford came here to photograph Angkor Wat Temple amongst other things, as it has been on his bucket list as a professional imagemeister. Tony reported some mixed emotions and has yet to truly unveil his thoughts on Cambodia via his blog, but my guess is that upon reflection he will lend a positive perspective to the journey, in spite of the hordes of tourists (mostly from China) that put an unexpected twist on his visit. Finally, I have to say that another huge factor in deciding to take this trip at this time really has to do with several close friends and co-workers who are battling disease, and a couple who did not win that battle. Truly, there is no time like the present to take advantage of one's current incarnation to do that which needs to be done and go there where one needs to go. On top of all this is the fact that Miles has an acute case of the teens, and we just felt the time was ripe for a trip that could lend at least a hint of perspective to the young lad's world view. We shall see....... Tuesday, July 16, 2013 We arrived, finally, into Siem Reap. The flights from Maui to Honolulu, from Honolulu to Seoul, then Seoul to Siem Reap were exhausting. Miles first reaction upon deplaning in Siem Reap was to mention that "it smells like Bali," then to walk over to some bushes and puke. An inauspicious first 60 seconds in Cambodia perhaps, but he was a warrior and carried on as if it were merely a sneeze. We did the customs dance uneventfully and met our guide, Samol, outside the terminal. Samol is a certified tour guide and is a wealth of information about Cambodia, which he pridefully refers to time and again as, “my country." He also let us know that, " in my country, we prefer US Dollars....we are the 51st state." We arrived at our hotel, The Lotus Blanc, sometime around midnight, parked our luggage and crashed immediately in our three separate beds in a room where there is enough space for three more. Wednesday, July 17, 2013 We awoke to a cloudy and humid day and found that Cambodia wears the same sort of olfactory sweetness that we recalled from Bali. Upon waking, we descended two flights of stairs and made our way to the expansive breakfast buffet, where Miles enjoyed saimin and waffles, where Gwen had scrambled eggs and latkes, and I kicked the day off with kim chee, fried rice and an assortment of fruits and breads. Samol and his driver picked us up at 9am and we were off to Ta Prohm Temple and Angkor Wat. Ta Prohm is a beautiful temple near Angkor Wat and was a great introduction to the temple circuit. As with any tourist attraction, there was no shortage of people with a variety of wares to peddle and strings to tug at one's heart. We walked a dusty path through the forest and to the entrance of the Ta Prohm temple compound, accompanied by the sounds of local musicians playing a genre of music I know little about, and look forward to hearing more. It is at this point where I could do my utmost to dig through my memory banks and tap into what I learned in Dr. Bernier's classes in order to describe every detail of every block of passionately carved sandstone that I stopped to admire. You will have to trust me when I say that it could be a lifetime's work to do so, and neither you nor I have the patience to tackle that, at least not here. Besides, with the Internet at your fingertips it is virtually certain that someone has done the job for us already. As such, I will leave the devilish details to the more learned, patient, and knowledgeable scholarly sort. What I would like to share is simply the overarching magnitude of the detail with which these temples were conceived, designed, constructed and carved. Both Ta Prohm and Angkor Wat are sublime and remain so in spite of the ravages of time and war, as well as the disparate politics and beliefs that have taken their toll on these monuments. What endures are these incredible manifestations of divinely inspired conceptualizations, which are so intricately and meticulously and lovingly sculpted, carved, rendered and constructed that the only thing left for me to say is that it is humbling. In a world that moves as fast as ours, it is nice to be in a place where time stands still, if only briefly. We arrived back at our hotel in time for a late lunch, a swim and a much needed nap. Lunch was artfully presented, delicious and inexpensive, even in our "resort" hotel. The peaceful courtyard and pool area were nice for a rest and recharge before taking to the streets of the night market. We caught a tuk tuk ride to the market and wandered around for a bit, before landing at a side street restaurant for a great dinner for three, with beers and a smoothie for Miles, all for twenty bucks. A tuk tuk back to the hotel and day one in Siem Reap is done. Thursday, July 18 Today was spent at Angkor Thom, formerly the walled capital of the Khmer Dynasty. The famous Bayon Temple with its massive carved faces, crowned with carved lotus flowers, is the primary destination in this complex. In addition to the 54 huge faces, there are an array of smaller carved faces and multiple galleries that depict everything from childbirth to legendary battles between the Khmer and the Chinese. There are also images that portray the killing of a pig for a feast, people playing chess, performing acrobatics, and a vast assortment of other activities from the mundane to the divine. I must point out that we encountered many more tourists here than we did yesterday. Multiple busloads of Chinese tourists arrived en masse, and certainly made navigating the temple more challenging than it may otherwise have been. As Cambodia continues to grow its tourism numbers, I am sure the temple experience will become more challenging and may at some point require further regulation. For now, suffice it to say that it is time well spent, and that coming here in the off peak time frame is proving to be a good call thus far. Logistical Interlude: While Bill, my GM, was kind enough to share his itinerary and to grant me the time off to take this trip, it was Gwen who seized the moment and made it all happen from a planning perspective. The only thing I did was to request the time off and asked her to tell me what day to show up to the airport. I am generally given to flying by the seat of my pants when traveling, wanting to let each day unfold as it will. So when Gwen told me she had hired a guide and that there was an itinerary to many of the days, I was internally somewhat skeptical about this approach, but must say that it is really enhancing the experience thus far. Mornings have been planned, with afternoons and evenings free to unfurl themselves organically. It is nice to hear the perspective of a local Khmer guide, and Samol has been very gracious in sharing his time, knowledge and perspective. We learned yesterday, sadly, that his father was killed when he was three years old during the Pol Pot genocidal regime, and he lost a brother to measles during that time as well. This is a story that repeats itself time and again here, and which bolsters my admiration for the spirit of the Khmer people who are engaged in a struggle to reclaim their cultural identity and their country in the midst of political machinations and rampant corruption that I can only imagine is not helping that quest. Our time in Angkor Thom concluded with a private blessing at a temple by a Buddhist monk. All I can say here is that some experiences simply need to be lived rather than documented in detail, and I will leave it at that. By the way by the way I should mention Suess Day And even though the expression is not spelled this way Suess day is the pronunciation of the word for hello And is a greeting that we use almost everywhere we go When we need to take a tuk tuk ride and get to town for awhile We greet the driver with Suess Day and it always gets a smile Then we take the tuk tuk ride beneath the Cambodian moon Pay the driver three bucks and we say Au Koon Au Koon is the pronunciation of the words to say thank you And we always use good manners, no matter what we do. There's a question that I have, a thing I'd like to know Is a tuk tuk called a take take, before it starts to go? If I take a take take somewhere, does it become a tuk tuk then? Or is it always just a tuk tuk, and if not then when? If you take a tuk tuk somewhere and then the tuk tuk takes you back Is it then called a take take or is this question completely whack? Perhaps it's just a symptom of always saying Suess Day So I guess I'll let it rest now as its time to go away... But let me thank you first for listening to me sounding like a loon So to my tuk tuk driver and to you, I'd like to say Au Koon. Please forgive me, dear reader, but if you are reading this you know me and you know I can't refrain from getting all rhyme-a-licious when Suess gets in my brain. I know it is an issue that likely needs to be treated, but it usually runs its course and the rhyming gets depleted. Lucky for you, if you are not ill yet, we have reached that destination and its back to the streets of Siem Reap. We took a tuk tuk to the night market in search of food and whatever else may pop up along the way. The night market is a brilliant concept in shopping and dining in a place that features some serious heat and humidity during the day. We could use some night markets in Hawaii and other parts of the U.S. The area is just really intoxicating, with a wild variety of dining options, quaint and cute side street cafes, pubs, vendors, street massage available every 20 strides or so, and an international allotment of tourists wandering around as aimlessly as we were. The night market and pub street are our evening ritual for food and entertainment and definitely a place to check out for any of you who may find yourselves in Cambodia. Took the tuk tuk home and now it's time for night night. Friday, July 19 Today was the day I was in search of. A conundrum for my psyche. A virtual knockout blow to my generally self-absorbed world view, which I am well aware of, but very rarely confronted with. Today was a day of realizing that no good deed goes unpunished, because no good deed is ever large enough to fill the void that exists between the amount of compassion and humanity that is present on this planet, and the amount that is needed. So in the giving, we are painfully confronted with the reality that we have not given enough. Today was the day I was in search of because we truly did want to "give back" as a part of our travels. We also wanted to, selfishly, provide an opportunity for Miles to measure his own life versus others and to leave here with a sharpened perspective, perhaps a more well-defined world view. A selfish intention in a world that often lacks in selflessness. For me, I really just wanted to step outside of my usual pre-programmed existence that revolves around trying to fill 544 guest rooms in a hotel, and do so at a sufficiently high rate to please those that need pleasing, and which will allow me to continue living the life we have become accustomed to over the past several years. Silly me. Fools gold. Today was the day we visited a rural schoolhouse with a student body of 320 undernourished children to deliver a meager 50 backpacks to some of the kids who were still in need of one. Kids who will put on their dusty uniforms and ride a dusty road on a rusty bicycle that is so large for them that they can't sit upon the seat, assuming they are lucky enough to have a bike. These are kids, often times, are only allowed by their parents to attend school because they can get a meal and a drink of fresh water there. These are the same kids who work the rice fields and who stand outside the tourist destinations to hawk postcards, bracelets, books, flutes and whatever else they can possibly find to sell in order to sustain themselves and their families. Today was the day where, in the soggy heat of the Cambodian countryside my sense of humanity was plunged into some icy arctic waters that run between the reality of what is and what ought to be, while my heart was simultaneously being melted by our far too brief encounter with these schoolchildren. And I am compelled to admit that I feel a very real sense of disproportionate privilege that somehow I have been afforded the opportunity to travel and have had enough schooling to be able to document that which we see, eat, observe and experience along the way. We arranged our donation of backpacks to the Khnar School through the Ponheary Ly Foundation: www.theplf.org Gwen coordinated the visit with a young man named Travis, originally from Oklahoma, who found his way to Cambodia via the Peace Corps and who is now the Executive Director of this foundation. Travis was gracious and informative, and yet another human being that makes me feel like less of one in witnessing his devotion to the greater good. Thanks for that Travis, and I mean that sincerely. You and others like you, who do more than your fair share to bridge the compassion gap by giving so generously of your time and yourselves, truly are making a difference in ways that are more meaningful and impactful than most of us. Many people can write a check or deliver backpacks, while far too few actually do the work that needs to be done. Somewhat coincidentally, we stumbled across some strong ties between Maui and the Ponheary Ly Foundation. I told Travis that I will post some photos and videos via social media to provide a pebble of awareness where a mountain is needed, and will think about possible CSR opportunities the foundation might be able to explore via the hospitality industry. I have a few ideas Travis, and will email you upon my return to Hawaii. In the interim, please let your colleagues and the keiki know that Gwen, Miles and I are grateful for our brief time there, and that we appreciate the opportunity. Saturday, July 20th We changed things up a bit today with a ride on an ox cart down a country road in the midst of a seemingly infinite landscape of rice paddies. Two large grey oxen were hitched to a rickety old cart, which was outfitted with two wooden wheels that would not have looked terribly out of place in a Wyoming pioneer museum. Miles and I rode in one cart, seated back to back for proper balance. Gwen rode in the other as we wobbled down the road at ox walk pace and teetered on the verge of toppling into a muddy creek 6 feet below the edge of the road. We all could have easily walked the same distance in half the time, but what the heck, ox cart rides are not generally a part of our day. The two drivers of the carts were grinning and appreciative when we gave them each a tip for piloting us down the road a quarter of a mile, and seeing their toothless grins was worth the bumpy ride in and of itself. The roadside hut where we met the cart pilots was a three walled, thirty two square foot thatched roof structure. The only reason I mention it is that I noticed a leaning wooden chair inside that was painted in a shade of blue seen around here on homes and hand crafted boats, and is a blue that reminds me of Krishna. Mounted in front of the chair was one shelf, where there was a set of shears and combs, above which was 12 inch square mirror that was not as clear as the reflection of the hut in the muddy creek below. The ox cart rental hut was also the local salon, and when we drove by it a couple of hours later there was indeed a young man seated in the leaning blue chair getting his hair cut by one of the ox cart pilots. After the ox cart ride, Samol met us with a vehicle and drove us along the banks of the chocolate milk colored creek. It was a sandy, muddy and bumpy ride for approximately five kilometers. In another month, when the serious monsoon rains fall, this seasonal road will be covered in water as the creek swells and becomes part of the lake. I noticed lots of debris in the tree tops and confirmed with Samol that the debris was a good indication of the water level of the lake during the monsoon season, which was about eight feet above the road we were on. Hoping it does not start raining hard today. Along the way, I was noticing several small boats that were crafted much like dragon boats, but without any ornamentation. They were either floating in the creek or parked on the banks of the creek. I also noticed several varieties of fish traps, rudimentary oars and long bamboo poles. There were families living beneath tarps, as well as a few that were living on larger boats that were covered with tarps or tin roofs, waiting for the monsoons to swell the creek and set them afloat. Eventually we came to a bank in the river where there were several long boats that exist to capitalize on the tourists who make the bumpy trek along the seasonal road, to the point in the creek where it is deep enough for them to launch. There were a dozen or so people hanging around the area and as we pulled up and got out of the van, a cute young girl walked up and, without warning, snapped a candid photo of each of us. I thought it was a bit odd in this relatively remote, moist and muddy environment that someone would emerge from a tattered boat and snap our picture, but really did not think too much of it since we have been snapping so many pictures ourselves and all the tourist attracting temples have hundreds of humans doing their best to snap the life right out of every resilient structure or person that gets in their way. We boarded one of the long boats that, like a small aircraft, have two rows of seats with an aisle down the center. In this case, there were five seats on each side of the long narrow boat and there were rattan chairs nailed to the wooden floorboards. The craft was equipped with a noisy, aromatic and fickle diesel engine. Atop the tin roof of the boat was a long bamboo pole that our captain used to push us away from the bank. He was a deeply bronze young man with dusty bare feet, which he used to manipulate the clutch on the floor beneath the stubborn steering wheel. The throttle was a string that he deftly controlled with his toes, and which wound its way across the inner bow before being tied to a chain that ran the 20+ foot length of the boat and back to the rumbling engine. We made our way along the chocolate milk creek past a shrine and a large temple, and past a few camps of people living at the edge of the creek. I did notice that the driver was very aware that he needed to slow down well before we reached the camps, as even the small wake created by the boat would be enough to swamp the temporary residences. As we journeyed along the creek, the water began to get slightly less brown, and at times we had to blast through a thick array of lotus plants and hyacinth. Eventually we emerged into Lake Tonle Sap, where the water was another shade lighter but by no means clear, and we turned to make our way to a floating village on the largest lake in SE Asia. This lake, by the way, has a symbiotic relationship with the Mekong River in that each feeds the other, traversing an impressive distance to do so. We motored along and passed by several women and men who were up to their armpits in the lake, amongst the water vegetation, tending to nets and traps. Some made their way around in primitive boats using narrow oars and others had a more modern fiberglass longboat with an engine. As we continued, the density of the floating homes increased, as if we were boating from a more rural sort of density of lake dwellings into the “town” of the floating village. We passed a floating school where the children in their standard navy blue and white uniforms waved from their classroom windows and where there were boats parked in front, rather than bikes. All manner of life was taking place in these floating homes, built on a bamboo foundation that rises with the monsoons and falls when they recede. They rise when the Mekong feeds the lake, and fall when then lake feeds the Mekong. Along the route, we waved at everybody we saw and most waved back with a friendly smile. Many people sat on the deck outside their one room home and worked on their fishing nets, while others were swinging in their hammocks, resting between doing the work that sustains them in this village on the lake. We reached an aquatic cul de sac at the end of the liquid road, and our driver clunked the engine out of drive, grabbed the bamboo pole and maneuvered us so that we were facing back from whence we came. We then docked at a floating market where there was a meager selection of dusty souvenirs and where we felt compelled to buy something. A couple of tee shirts later, a pat on the head of a small puppy and a look at a few crocodiles that were in a floating cage attached to the floating market and we were off for the trip back through the buoyant community , down the muddy creek and to the bank where we'd meet our driver. Miles, by the way, found this excursion to be his favorite thus far. The kid loves water. When we hopped off the boat and walked up the sandy silty muddy bank of the creek, there stood the young girl who had snapped our photo an hour and a half earlier when we had arrived. And there in her hands, she held three objects. We have no idea how she printed the images, here in the middle of what will soon be part of the monsoon fed lake, but she had. Three crappy photos of each of us, mounted on a hexagonal frame made of wall paneling with background imagery of Angkor Wat and the floating village. How could I say no? Nine bucks for three cheapo souvenirs and an abundance of great memories. Before I let this topic go and move on to others, I should point out that this is one of those activities that is worthy of debate. Like whale watching excursions or shark cage dives or any number of activities that facilitate taking people to places they would not otherwise be, the tour of the floating village fits that profile. The diesel fuel floating on the surface of the lake was noticeable throughout the village, and knowing that these people survive on what they harvest from these waters, well, yet another conundrum. The tours help support the residents and bring a certain amount of capital into the floating community, while simultaneously degrading the ecosystem that these villagers depend upon. I'm thinking kayaks, SUP, and outriggers are the way to go, but I'll leave the ultimate judgment on the topic to the people who are living and working on the lake. Clara Interlude After the trip to Tonle Sap, we visited a couple of more temples, both exquisite. It is here that I encountered Clara. Like every temple in Cambodia there are the hawkers who are selling selling selling. Gwen commented that she should hire them to sell her art. They are persistent, to be sure. I was approached by a young lady, perhaps in her late teens, who asked me my name. I told her. She said, “Scott, my name is Clara and you buy scarf from me when you leave temple, only three dollar." One hour later when we were leaving the temple, the young lady approached me and said, " you buy scarf now Scott?" Having successfully avoided making any such purchases to date, I replied, "it's your lucky day because one of my grandmothers was named Clara, so I will buy a scarf from you, but only if you tell me your real name." So now, Joli has three bucks and I have a blue scarf that I am not sure what to do with and that my grandmother would have loved. Sunday, July 21st We awoke to a bit of sadness today, as we are leaving Cambodia where we have had an amazingly rich and memorable stay. One last breakfast with our sweet and demure servers, Aliza and Chen, who greeted us every morning and helped me with any new Khmer phrases I was trying to learn. We flew via Cambodian Airlines to Saigon, where Thi met us at the airport and dropped us off at Le Duy Hotel in the heart of the city. There are over 5 million motorbikes and 8 million humans in Saigon. The place is buzzing with activity and a big shift from our Cambodian pace of the past few days. But when in Saigon, do as the Vietnamese. So, it was time for pho! We ditched our bags and made for the noisy and chaotic streets of Saigon in search of a place called Pho 2000 Noodle, where they are purported to have some top notch dishes at super great prices. Bill Clinton even found his way there when he was the Prez. It is a smallish place with very basic decor and basic utensils and killer cuisine in an upstairs dive environment. For those of you readers from around my former residences, think Arthur Bryant's original location in Kansas City, Village Cafe or Dot's Diner in Boulder, or maybe Da Kitchen on Maui. Great food in a no frills environment. The exhilarating part of being in Saigon is getting around the city by walking. Holy hell and a shotgun shell, crossing the street is an extreme sport. Fortunately, my dad provided the strategy of walking a straight line at a constant speed and allowing all the motorbikes, cars and trucks avoid you. We did that several times successfully, but not without hearing a shriek of terror from Gwen during one particularly sketchy crossing. Though we leave Saigon for the Mekong tomorrow, we will be back in a couple of days to do battle with the traffic once again. Monday, July 22nd Good morning Vietnam and thanks for the most sleep I have gotten on this trip thus far. I snagged five hours last night. Currently I am sitting on the lanai in front of our room at the Mekong Lodge, where I am having a Tiger Beer and watching boat traffic motor by, while huge clumps of hyacinth float along at the considerable pace of the Mekong's current in the river’s rising tide. A gentleman named Quang just walked up and introduced himself as our guide to the floating market and a candy factory tomorrow. But before that, Gwen, Miles and I are off to have dinner at the Lodge's restaurant. Getting to the Mekong Lodge was a day full of really unique experiences. When we left the hotel, we needed to change some dollars into Dong and in so doing; we suddenly became millionaires for the first and likely the only time in our lives. Two hundred bucks garnered over four million Dong and we were off to Cai Be, where we mounted our trusty single speed bicycles and a young man wearing an FBI cap guided us along a wild maze of trails. These roadways, some paved, were generally about as wide as a standard suburban sidewalk. In some cases we left the narrow paved roadways for a gravel path or single track dirt trail that was even narrower. No matter what the surface was, there were always people riding a bike or motor scooter. They were all going somewhere, transporting goods, moving their family, doing something. The key to cycling around Vietnam is to hold your line at all times. There is fluidity to the Vietnamese version of a peloton moving in both directions, and on many of the pathways with just barely enough space for commuters traveling in opposing directions to eek by without touching handlebars. The topography of this area makes you feel as if you should be the only person out there riding, and this is simply not the case. It is a landscape that is simultaneously jungle farm, urban center, rural township and motorbike superhighway with a maze-like network of secondary pathways that tie it all together. Many of the paths had either the Mekong or one of its tributaries on one side, and an endless parade of homes on the other. And while most of the homes were extremely basic, there were a few really beautiful and architecturally interesting ones interspersed amongst dwellings I would describe as squalid. The Mekong landscape is beautiful in how the complexities of people working to sustain themselves and to make a living have evolved in such a way that life feels much simpler here. Not that it is by any means whatsoever, it just feels that way to this American and his western ways. Our first cycling adventure took a detour and we parked beneath the well-swept dusty ground beneath Mr. Hay’s pomelo trees. Mr. Hai is a farmer of all sorts. He has a considerable variety of fruit trees he tends, fish he harvests from the Mekong tributaries that he manipulates to irrigate his land, as well as a variety of vegetables in his gardens. It is a lovely piece of property and Mr. Hai a lovely gentleman. After parking our bikes, we were welcomed into his home where he poured us several cups of green tea that he served in beautiful China teacups. Mr. Hai handed me a flower and, smiling, urged me to give it to Gwen. He then handed a flower to Miles and prompted him to do the same. As we were enjoying our tea, I noticed an old guitar with an odd looking fret board sitting on his bed. I had our guide ask him if he would play, and if it would be alright for me to film him playing. Without hesitation, we were treated to a beautifully rendered song about I know not what. However, I have it on video and will share it soon, and hope that my Vietnamese friend at home, Ha Le, might translate for us. Following our impromptu entertainment, Mr. Hai delighted in making the three haoles wear the traditional hats that I believe are called "nonla." One local gentleman told me that they are simply called, "conical," but that seems to me far too obvious. We toured his garden and ended up at a table amongst his fruit trees where he shared with us a variety of fruits and some jasmine tea. We had pomelo, rambutan, mountain apple, pineapple, mango, jack fruit and a couple of others that escape me right now. There was also a bamboo woven hammock, which Mr. Hai urged Miles to crawl into via our communication by charades. We don't speak Vietnamese and Mr. Hai speaks no English. Once Miles was in the hammock, Mr. Hai serenaded him with a lullaby that is apparently a Vietnamese standard, as Miles the teen played along with nary one roll of the eyes. It was another great experience in a litany of many. We jumped back on our Asama bicycles and road away, navigating several different paths on our way to Mr. Son’s beautiful century old home, built by his family. There was a distinctive Chinese element to the furnishing of the home, which featured a gorgeous shrine and several pieces of incredible furniture, all inlaid with mother of pearl. The vaulted ceiling of the home was at least twenty feet high at its center, with the ceiling being made of brick tiles that were perfectly crafted to interlock with the wooden beams supporting them. Incredible craftsmanship everywhere I looked. Our visit was for lunch, and we were seated at a table near the shrine in Mr. Son's home with a view overlooking his meticulously landscaped garden, where a variety of colorful butterflies surfed the Vietnamese breeze. As soon as we were seated the home cooked food began to appear. Several dishes were presented and we were given instruction on how to prepare our spring rolls. We dipped the rice paper wrappers into water, set them on our China plates, and filled them with lettuce, a fish called Elephant Ear, rice noodles and fish sauce. The Elephant Ear was a whole fish that was set at the center of the table and dissected for consumption by our guide, Thi, who urged me to try the crispy tail of the fish as it was his favorite part. The spiny tail tasted like a very dense and chewy smoked potato chip, or at least that's the best characterization I can muster. We also had plenty of rice, a chicken salad, hot and sour soup and a chunk of local watermelon to finish us off. Stuffed, we thanked Mr. Son and rode off on our bikes to meet the sampan boat that would ferry us to wherever we were going next. The boat ride took us upstream in this Mississippi sized arm of the Mekong for about an hour, where we met a man who was standing in a small and narrow teetering boat. Here, we disembarked the larger vessel and seated ourselves in this wobbly craft, captained by this elderly man who stood at the back of the boat wielding two narrow oars that were maybe six or seven inches in width at their widest point. I wished I had a couple of proper carbon fiber SUP paddles so I could say, dude try these! But of course, a lifetime of navigating the Mekong and its many tertiary byways has given him full command of his longboat in spite of any equipment issues I may have perceived. He took us on a super cool trip through a narrow creek that was, at times, covered in a tunnel of trees. Even here, people built their homes on the banks of this little byway, fronted by small boats waiting for their next utilitarian assignment. We passed a couple of gentlemen who delighted in holding up the sea snakes they had caught from the stream. It was a really interesting detour out of the heart of the river. We eventually emerged from the tunnel of trees tributary and rejoined our primary sampan that whisked us across the speedy current of the main channel and to the Mekong Lodge. We registered into our river front room and decided to take another bike ride. The Asama brand single speed appears to have cornered the market here, and the Lodge has about four dozen of them. We stopped by the office, which may or may not be attended at any given time, and were fortunate enough to find someone to ask about using the bikes. They assigned us a guide, as I am guessing they do not want their guests getting lost in the jungle maze of trails. However, when our guide went back to the office for an unknown reason we decided to just roll and plead stupid if anyone questioned us later. There was a security guard tending the gate at the rear of the resort and he gladly opened it and pointed us down the grey trail of gravely mud, so we didn't feel as guilty about ditching our guide since the guard facilitated our departure. We road this main thoroughfare past dozens of homes where children who saw us would call out with a hearty "hello hello." It is a great way to get a feel for the countryside, though doing so requires an adequate sense of direction and attentiveness to landmarks if one wants to make it back to the nondescript rear entrance to the lodge. If a person wanted to arrive to the lodge by a means other than boat, there is no way they would ever find the place without a guide. From the dry land side of the lodge it is probably just over a mile to any sort of primary roadway, and that mile is traversed via the twisted and intertwined paths that connect people's homes, farms and other commercial enterprises. I am not sure even the best GPS could do the job. Dinner was at the sleepy Mekong Lodge. While we were eating our corn soup, fried rice and spring rolls, some guests from the Netherlands and France were taking a cooking class while Keys looked on with high hopes of a morsel. Keys is the name Gwen has given to a local dog who has an assortment of keys hanging off of his collar and who lurks around the establishment. Upon returning to our room, we found that the beds had been draped with mosquito netting that was supported with bamboo poles and attached to the bed frame. It gave the room that exotic touch but did nothing at all to dissipate the incredibly loud helicopter sounding motors of the boat traffic that is virtually 24-7 here. If I have learned anything at all in my short time on the Mekong it is this; the smaller the boat, the louder the engine. It is not a hard and fast rule, but appears to be an accurate assumption about ninety percent of the time. Most of the sampan vessels are loud, but I am not exaggerating when I say the small sampans that are about fifteen feet in length almost always have the helicopter decibel engines. In spite of this, one never feels inconvenienced by it. The boat sounds just sort of melt into the flow of the Mekong and are part of the vibratory patterns of this place. We really like it here. Tuesday, July 23rd Today we awoke and had banana crepes, freshly baked French baguettes, dragon fruit, pineapple and watermelon for breakfast. We then climbed aboard the hotel sampan with Mr. Quang and the couple from the Netherlands for a trip to the floating market, a candy factory and a street market. Apparently the floating market has really been in decline since roadways have improved and it has become more economical to transport goods via pavement rather than water. As for the supposed improvement in roads, I now can't begin to fathom what it must have been like prior to the improvements! It was interesting to see the variety of produce that is traded from one boat to another, and the candy factory was equally intriguing. The highlight though, was the insanity of the street market. It was a bit of a physiological challenge for me because all the vendors have umbrellas and tarps over their areas, which create a shaded aisle to walk. However, these tarps and umbrellas are strung at about 5'6" height, so I walked the entire marketplace stooped over like the hunchback of Notre Dame. The vendors looked at me with the same sort of curiosity with which I looked at their tubs of live eels and bottles of snake wine. Miles, I think, was somewhat horrified at the geese, ducks, and chickens that had their feet tied together as they waited for whatever fate had in store for them. And the piles of meat and fish that are all marketed in a manner that was entirely unfamiliar to him left him slack jawed. I think perhaps he is beginning to come to grips with the fact that the world is more than the island of Maui. We returned to the hotel for a rather ho hum sort of lunch, and I say this because it was the same lunch that Mr. Son had served us in his home the day before. I will admit that I am not a huge fan of the Elephant Ear fish, as I am entirely spoiled with the fish we are accustomed to in Hawaii. I suppose it is at this point that I should mention that the Mekong is not the cleanest of waters, and so the Elephant Ear just does not measure up in my palate of preferred seafood. In fact, I believe the Mekong has at times been named the most polluted river on the planet, which may be why the Mekong Elephant Ear reminded me of some carp I once ate from the Mississippi. My advice is to stick with the fish so nice they named it twice, Mahi Mahi. After lunch, we grabbed a boat with Mr. Quang and the couple from Amsterdam to ferry into town and then ride bikes to a temple before cycling back to the lodge. The Buddhist temple was full of incredible furniture, sculptures, artifacts and the pictures of deceased faithful in front of urns filled with their ashen remains. As we left the temple, it finally began to rain. We were beginning to wonder if it really is monsoon season, since we had not yet seen rain. The rain was really just a drizzle and not very consistent, and it certainly did not dampen Mr. Q’s enthusiasm in directing us to “look at this flower, it very beautiful!” “Look at this, you know this plant? It very beautiful.” Time for a cyclist confession. I was starting to believe I had become directionally acclimated to the area around the hotel, but I am not even close. The network of trails is so vast, random and seemingly endless that once Mr. Quang made one unexpected turn, I had no idea where we were. There is one reliable indicator however, and that would be the noise of the diesel engine boats on the river. Once I heard those, I knew we would be nearing one of the wider paths that would lead us somewhere near the Lodge. So when we venture out again tomorrow on our own, at least we'll have an Elephant Ear's chance in the Mekong of making it back without getting too lost. I think for all of us, the cycling has been the highlight of the Mekong thus far. It is the best way to cover a lot of ground, to see a lot of sights and interact with the local people in a way that they are accustomed to and familiar with. Everything flies by too quickly in a vehicle or on a motorbike, and walking has its limitations in terms of the distance one can cover in a short amount of time. Touring on a bicycle is perfect. Wednesday, July 24th It is our final day on the Mekong today and I am sitting here in the pre-dawn peacefulness watching the hyacinth float up the river. Last night they were moving in the opposite direction. It is an intriguing measure of the day, to witness the tide come and go by watching these locally important plants move in one direction or the other, and for a brief time, not move at all. I had noticed how all along the river, there are bamboo constructs that appeared to be designed to catch and retain the hyacinth. I had been told they use the plant to weave bags and make slippers, but I had theorized that accumulating a thick barrier of hyacinth in front of one's property might also serve to mitigate erosion and act as a buffer against the ever shifting tide. Mr. Quong confirmed my hypothesis for me, and now I can go about my day feeling a smidgen more scholarly than yesterday because I used the word hypothesis in a sentence, and it was independently verified by the scholarly Mr. Q that said hypothesis was on target. Time for breakfast, a final Mekong bike ride, and a trip back to Saigon after lunch. I know that if you have made it this far in reading my as yet unedited travelogue, which I know is making my writer friends cringe with my grammatical errors of all sorts, including but not limited to errors in punctuation, misspelled words and a variety of other sins for which I will be flogged by the gods of good grammar one day, or at the very least the pages of Elements of Style will wrinkle, shrivel and perhaps ignite in a spontaneous combustion because I have posted such blasphemy in a public forum without one shred of guilt. Okay, maybe a little guilt. But truth be told, I don't have time to edit all these words just yet. And were it not for the fact I wake up a few hours before Miles and Gwen each morning, I wouldn't even be writing this at all. So what you are dealing with here, primarily, is a guy who is sitting on bathroom floors in hotel rooms around SE Asia at 3am. The dude typing this thing is tired. Give him a grammatical break, would ya please? At least until he can employ some spell check somewhere along the way. Hell, maybe FB has a spell check function and I'm just too dense or lazy to find it or look for it. Whatever. I'm in Vietnam and you are not......take that and put it in your erudite editor's pipe and smoke it! So yes, we did leave the Mekong Lodge yesterday, but not before one final ride through the fascinatingly addicting puzzle of trails. Gwen has really loved the riding as it is all flat terrain, save then concrete bridges that allow us to go back and forth over the nearly infinite tributaries and irrigation canals that bridge the synaptic gaps from one experience to another. Today we took three ferry rides to cross the Mekong and those proved to be adrenaline enhancing experiences, primarily the first one since the ferry was packed full with motorbikes we had to battle with for position. We rode right on and promptly followed the lead of Mr. Q, who turned his bicycle around so that we were at the front of the pack when the ferry reaches its destination. There is apparently little concern for damaging the ferry or its equipment during docking procedures. The captain of the vessel, with its disembarking "ramp" that is constructed of rebar, barely slows down as the rebar scrapes onto the concrete portage and grinds the boat to a noisy stop. With Mr. Q leading the way we all rode off the ferry as the peloton of motorbikes whizzed by in a mad rush for who knows where. And here's the thing, all four dozen of us are shooting for the same pathway that is about two motorbikes in width. It was a bit insane and another lesson in picking a good line and sticking with it. We made one larger ferry crossing and rode around some more peaceful pathways through the jungle, past farms and orchards, and anytime Mr. Q would pass something he thought we may find interesting he would shout out, "STOP!" In fact, the entire ride he enjoyed shouting all sorts of things that I never even heard as his words disappeared in the humid Mekong breeze. We stopped at a tapioca factory that was not operating because it was going to rain and the "workers stay home to drink rice wine when it is going to rain." We also pulled up to a random home where Mr. Q noticed people rolling out tapioca paper, which looked much like a thin flour tortilla to me. He said something to the owner of the home and the next thing we know, we have parked the bikes and are being led into a side shed of the home where a very pretty and elegant young woman is rolling out the tapioca paper, with her not yet two year old daughter sitting there learning to do the same. She would grasp a clump of the mixture and within 15 seconds had rolled it into a perfectly round tapioca tortilla, which was then placed on a woven mat to dry in the sun. At this point I was wondering why the tapioca factory team was drinking rice wine rather than working to produce more of the tapioca batter this woman needed to continue her part in the production process. But who am I to question a good excuse to drink instead of work. The ride through the tapioca producing part of the jungle eventually spilled us out onto one of the main roads in Cai Be. It was the road that leads to the street market we were the day before. The traffic was much more dense and the speeds of travel much faster. Mr. Q led us over a bridge with Miles right behind him, me, and then Gwen. He shouted, "left turn," and dove across the oncoming traffic into the market. I saw Miles look back and make a prudent decision to pull off to the shoulder of the road, as a bus was barreling down on him quickly. I decided to pull over and help him and Gwen as well, since she had pulled over to avoid the chaotic melee. There is a problem with this situation, in that when you get out of the flow of traffic, it is difficult to traverse at a right angle to cross. I tried to demonstrate the strategy for crossing by getting into the flow of the moving mass and riding further up the street, then merging across and pulling a U-turn on the shoulder on the other side. I did so without incident and road a hundred meters or so to join Mr.Q on the other side. I guess the example did not take, because I looked up to see Miles leading Gwen straight across the street, with a motorbike nearly t-boning Gwen in the process. Gwen was psyched that no one yelled or cursed at her, as far as she knows, and I was just happy no hospital visit was required. We returned to the lodge to enjoy lunch and our final couple of hours at this very special destination. As we sat enjoying lunch, the monsoon rains blew in, validating the tapioca factory workers decision to stay home and drink rice wine. Thursday, July 25th Full blown day of Saigon tourism today. Our trio of big city acclimatized street walkers boarded a mini bus and we were swept away to the Binhtay Market where, supposedly, the prices are wholesale. The aisles of this massive marketplace are more narrow than Paia's Mana Foods, and there are a plethora of human beings selling everything from duck feet to Gucci loafers. It was somewhat chaotic and disorienting because we were moving at snail’s pace, looking at the voluminous inventory of everything under the sun, while everyone else was in a hurry to get wherever they were going in the pursuit of commerce. At one point a woman blasted a huge loogie on the walkway right in front of Miles. The look on his face was one of priceless befuddlement and the only thing missing is a videotaped record of his reaction. We bought a few items here and I was very tempted to buy much more. Funerary product is apparently a huge enterprise in Vietnam and one can purchase a wide variety of paper items to burn at a person's funeral. Stacks of fake U.S. $100 bills are a popular purchase for igniting. But our favorites were then packages that contained paper suit and tie, paper cell phone, stack of cash, paper iPad, paper Porsche automobile and several other paper mock-ups that would be set ablaze at a loved one’s funeral. I really wanted to buy several of these and then send them to everyone I know for Christmas or Birthday gifts and wait to see if anyone would actually ask me why in the hell I sent them a package full of all these paper items. Sorry friends, no space in the luggage. After the market, we visited a really interesting Daoist Temple that features an abundance of impressive relief carvings, sculptures of various iconic priests and dozens of massive incense spirals hanging from the temple roof, some of which can burn for several days. It was smoky, fragrant, and a very interesting place of sanctuary in this big city. Following the temple we made our way to the former Presidential Palace, which is where two armored tanks crashed into the building, symbolically ending the Vietnam War in 1975 and marking the reunification of north and south. This building was full of interesting and historic rooms, artifacts and stories. Far too many details to explore within the context of this travelogue paragraph but suffice it to say that it brought to life the final days of the war. We were able to see then Presidential living quarters, dining rooms, banquet halls, and the underground bunker facilities as well. We also saw the 1970's era phones, typewriters, communications equipment, furniture, and the old reel to reel movie equipment used in the cinema room. All of that late 60's and early 70's era equipment really reminded me of my youth and just how many years have peeled off the calendar. Our last destination for today was the War Remnants Museum, a very somber and gut wrenching collection of photos, stories and weapons from the Vietnam War. As mentioned previously, it is known as the American War here in Vietnam, and the museum definitely tells the story of the conflict from the Vietnamese perspective. There are plenty of disturbing images and stories in this museum, with a plethora of images used to convey the desired narrative. However, perhaps the most poignant and savvy strategy in orchestrating this collection was the decision to have the US Declaration of Independence as the very first panel of the exhibit. "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” So, you start the tour by reading this and then get nailed with a dizzying array of images that all serve to convey an American disconnect between these words and our actions in the war. All I can say with any certainty is that propaganda cuts in many directions, in every nation, and across all party lines and political perspectives. It is a beast that needs taming in order to find the underlying truths surrounding any particular subject. I have read several American perspectives of the war and have now seen an archive that documents a Vietnamese perspective. I am fairly certain that the truth probably lies somewhere in that undefinable middle. Friday, July 26th Today we left Saigon for what used to be a three hour drive but is now a five and a half hour drive to the South China Sea, thanks to a burgeoning Saigon population and resultant traffic woes. We are on our way to the resort destination of Phan Thiet, near Mui Nei, so that our Maui surfer dude can get a taste of saltwater between intensities in ten cities. Getting out of the city is an adventure unto itself and one I am glad our minibus driver had to navigate, rather than me. Once we got outside of Saigon, I was not entirely surprised to see that commerce just never rests around here, but was amazed at the scope and expansiveness of it. Imagine if you will that you are driving from your home town to a destination that is five hours away. Now imagine that along each side of the road, the land is divided into approximately 1/4 acre segments, and on each of these segments is a Minit Stop, Quick Trip, 7-11, Circle K or pick your favorite poisonous pleasure of a junk joint. Further imagine that many of these establishments have a thatched roof seating area that also features dozens of hammocks for weary drivers to catch a nap in. Finally, imagine that the drive takes place on a two lane road that has motorbikes moving at one speed, and kamikaze bus drivers moving at a more rapid speed overtaking the slower traffic and playing a variation of the game we know as chicken, in order to keep to schedule. This was the drive to Phan Thiet for the first four and a half hours. In the final half hour of the drive the density of commerce lessened thanks to a large swath of dragon fruit farms, but it never disappeared, and as soon as we got into Phan Thiet, it was game on for commercial enterprises all over again. Saturday, July 27th We spent most of the day today doing not much of anything. However, I do have to share what was probably our last bike ride of this vacation. The Allezboo Resort Hotel had bikes for rent, four of them to be precise. Of course none of the bikes were anywhere near the size I needed, but nothing new for me on this trip. All of my rides have been of the circus clown variety, with my knees nearly over my head as I peddle. What was interesting is that two of the bikes were 18 speed Asama mountain bikes, rather than the usual single speed Asama, which is what Miles rode. I mustered all the strength I could in order to get the rusty seat post of my bike to move up a couple of inches in order to have a slightly less clown-like cruise through town. Gwen's bike, as rusty as mine, was frozen in a gear that was probably a 38:14, while mine was frozen in a rusty 28:12. So off we rode on the primary artery through this resort area of Phan Thiet. On his single speed, Miles had the perfect gear for this flat terrain and Gwen was in a good gear as well. I peddled as fast as I possibly could, probably in 110 RPM range, but had no chance at all of keeping up. We rode for a half hour in one direction, stopped for a water at the local hand pump diesel fuel, water, cigarette, and pigeon egg convenience store, then rode back to the hotel where we ditched Miles. Driving through the main town of Phan Thiet, known for its famous fish sauces, we had seen the fishing boat village from the minibus and wanted to get some pictures. After dropping Miles and his bike at the hotel, Gwen and I decided to ride the hilly five miles back the other direction to the bridge overlooking the dozens of 1976 AMC Pacer era powder blue painted fishing boats. By now it was. 10:30 am, ninety-some-odd degrees with the most humidity possible without actually having rain falling on us. Oppressively warm. So I in my Vietnam flag tank top and jean shorts, and Gwen in her denim shorts and sleeveless top rode our not-so-trusty but super rusty steeds back to town. The ride to town drove home the point as to why a huge portion of the millions of humans on motor bikes wear face masks. The diesel fumes of the countless busses of all sizes that whiz by, only inches from pancaking you, are gnarly and nasty. If I lived here I'd buy a few masks myself. The masks double as a fashion statement, for there exists an amazing variety of patterns and designs, with my favorite being the leopard print mask worn by many women who can simultaneously text while riding a motorbike and looking awesome in skirt and pumps. And of course, helmets are compulsory and there are just as many styles of those as well. But I digress, back to the bike ride. We survived the narrow bus infested road and down the kilometer long hill to the bridge overlooking all the blue boats, where we snapped some photos and turned around to ride back to the hotel. And yes, we were the only idiots riding up this hill in the dripping heat. I have had two songs stuck in my head this entire trip and if you care to listen, they are as follows: Hard Sun by Indio (covered later by Eddie Vedder) British People in Hot Weather by The Fall Don't ask why, I have no idea, but they both keep popping up whenever I see local people laboring under the big hard sun or white people in shorts and tank tops, glistening with sweat as locals walk around in long pants and long sleeves without a hint of perspiration. Sunday, July 28 We are driving the long five hours back to Saigon today, but not before I had an hour long massage at this resort hotel for only three hundred thousand Dong, which is not quite fifteen bucks. I show up to the spa and the therapist stands there and tells me to take off my clothes and "put on these underwear" She hands me a package that I open, out of which I pull some see through white panties that would not fit Gwen or Miles or probably not anyone over four feet tall and eighty pounds. My therapist just continued standing there and I commented, “wow, small underwear for big guy." She smiled and said again, "put them on." After stretching the lacy "underwear" enough to step into them and experiencing the donning of my first man thong ever, I had a great hour long massage, though I can't help but wonder what the point was to wearing them, because they covered nothing at all as they were so small and appeared to be little more than a wisp of cotton around my waist and.........never mind, TMI. Our five hour drive back to Saigon for our final night in that big city was interesting in that our minibus driver decided to take a detour after our brief stop at the same roadside joint we had used on the drive south a couple of days prior. Before departing this roadside version of an American truck stop, we discovered a vendor of sandwiches, who used the best French style baguette I have ever had. The roast chicken sandwich cost all of ninety cents and was the best ninety cents I could imagine spending. As for the truck stop, let me remind you that this is not an island the middle of an interstate as in America. The Vietnam version is simultaneously truck stop and convenience mart and they are lined up one after the other for almost the entirety of the five hour drive down the two lane "national highway." As I was mentioning earlier in this paragraph before being detoured by a baguette, our driver opted to detour from the insanely congested Sunday afternoon traffic and take an alternate route to Saigon. This seemed to me a good strategy, since all along the national highway many of the truck stop convenience store restaurants also serve as gathering places for wedding celebrations, which were easily identified by the red and pink decorations that were draped around the awnings of the hosting establishment. Sundays are big for weddings in this Catholic part of Vietnam so getting away from this added traffic seemed to be a good plan. We left the main drag and we immediately deposited onto a dusty and bumpy road. About ten minutes into the detour, our driver pulled over to ask a roadside shop owner if the road would in fact get us to Saigon. The driver resumed the chosen course and we were treated to a washboard ride through rural Vietnam. I was actually happy to be seeing what rural Vietnam looked like, since thus far we have not really seen what I would call rural here in this country, as even in jungle of the Mekong Delta, humans were everywhere amongst the foliage. We passed through a few villages and eventually hit a stretch of rubber tree orchards. Apparently a big cash generator, the rubber trees are planted in perfect rows that were hundreds of trees deep from what I could see as we bumped along the road. I noticed several blue tarps strung between trees, under which a person was resting in a hammock, protected from the gentle rain that was falling. Presumably, these were the workers who gather the sap which is caught in coconut shells that are attached to the tree trunk and which feed the bank accounts of the millionaire orchard owners, according to our guide. We made our way back to the suburban traffic of Saigon and to the Le Duy Hotel for our last night on this huge city. Monday, July 29 Off to the airport we go, for today we fly to Hanoi. We arrived and immediately took in a couple of temple visits, both quite beautiful and set within the lushness of this city's antiquity. It is an older city than Saigon, not as big and sprawling, and has a great charm about it. Our hotel is only 45 rooms and is located in the heart of the old district, where narrow bustling streets that are abundant in the exotic charm of this region are the perfect way to finish off our journey. We checked into the Hanoi Boutique Hotel and were immediately captivated by the charm of the building, its staff and our tiny room into which they somehow managed to fit three beds without compromising the functionality of the space. We loved this place as soon as we stepped out of the minibus and onto the steps of its narrow entrance. For dinner, we decided to get our bearings by walking around the area and honing in on the businesses that occupy intersections, since remembering street names is nearly impossible. After about three blocks of walking and perusing a few menus, we found a place called Foodshoppe 45 that had a fabulous looking Indian menu. Having had our share of Vietnamese cuisine, we were looking to change it up a bit. This restaurant, like many in this part of town, can only seat a dozen people comfortably. Fortunately, there was space for the three of us and we had a really tasty meal. Great breads from the tandoori oven, dahl, tandoori chicken, samosas, paneer. This place had everything one would desire from a great Indian restaurant and with a couple of beers each, less than twenty five bucks for all three of us. Our server, who was trying to give me my change from the $30 I left on the table and was somewhat shocked that I would leave five bucks for her, followed me out the door and said, "sir, you come again sit." I told her I would and she replied, "you promise?" I promised. Tuesday, July 30 We spent the day hitting all of the primary tourist attractions of Hanoi. Requisite visits to the art museum and the Hanoi Hilton and a couple of temples. Truth be told, I think we are all a bit fried on the tourist destinations at this point and would prefer the entertainment of just being in the heart of this really appealing city. There is so much activity on the streets that just walking around is entertaining. However, we did do two things today that are worthy of mention. We took the requisite "cyclo" ride through the French quarter and back to our hotel. The cyclo is a reverse tricycle whose driver peddles and serves as your slow motion cab driver. Each of us had our own cyclo rider, and they took us on a great hour long ride through Hanoi. The round-abouts and major intersections were exhilarating in that the confluence of vehicles is just so intense that it is rather hard to be in the fray with no control of the outcome. We all survived the traffic and made it to the hotel to freshen up for our evening at the water puppet theatre. Miles was very skeptical about going out again for yet another tourist attraction when we have a perfectly functioning television with the Cartoon Network in our room. I told him that my dad was skeptical as well, but had seen the show a couple of months ago and said it was great. We went, and it was. The music was phenomenal and the water puppet show was so unique and creative that I am thrilled we took this in and highly recommend it to any would be travelers out there. The storytelling was engaging, the lacquered puppets were works of art, and the puppeteers expertly maneuvered their characters in time to the music, and in the water. Really cool. Oh yeah, guess where we had dinner? Foodshoppe 45…….I promised. Wednesday, July 31st Gwen and I, along with Miles, spent our 14th wedding anniversary touring a few of the nearly 1000 islands of Halong Bay from the two decks of our own private junk. It is slow season here and we had no idea that the three of us would be on this huge boat that seats at least 48 people on the dining deck alone. It was a great treat and a surprise for an anniversary tour of this ridiculously beautiful and other worldly part of our planet. I have never taken so many pictures as I have on this trip, as I am generally just trying to soak as much in as humanly possible. However, I went overboard this time, and much of it was today at Halong Bay. We got lucky too, as the boats are not going out tomorrow due to an approaching typhoon, and today was the first sunny day we have seen except for our brief stay in Phan Thiet. Good fortune. We departed the harbor where twenty years ago there were only thirty junks for hire and now there are 479. This place is coming into its own as a destination resort town, thanks to its feature natural wonder and attraction, the bay. Our crew of five greeted the three of us, so I was pretty sure that service would not be an issue with that employee: guest ratio. The cruise across the open space of the bay was peaceful and calm, and in the distance we could see the many islands that appear as one long mountain range from afar. After about twenty minutes, we approached a bay of one of the islands and could begin to see some of the many individual islets that had looked connected to one another just a few minutes before. Our junk pulled into the bay and we disembarked with our guide who proceeded to lead us up a couple of hundred steps and into a vast cave that was beautifully highlighted with strategically placed lights, making the stalagmites and stalactites glow like gemstones. The formations were psychedelic and looked like everything we could possibly imagine, depending upon where in the cave we were standing. Some of the formations were bulky and bulbous like giant cauliflower or coral heads while others were smooth and lacy like giant butterfly wings. Some appeared as Buddha sculptures, elephants, tigers, serpents and so many other entities that I can't recall all that we saw between the three of us. Suffice it to say that the two massive caverns we walked through were breathtakingly magical mystery tour de forces. The ceiling of each cave was probably seventy five feet above us in some parts, and we probably walked in about 150 yards deep. This was an unexpected surprise and detour from the boat ride, and while we snapped plenty of photos, there is simply no way to capture the depth and breadth and beauty of these pukas in the planet. Back on the boat, they asked us to come down from the upper deck to enjoy lunch. We were greeted in the dining room with white linen service and a menu that included prawns, spring rolls, whole crab, fish, spinach, rice, calamari, pineapple and a bottle of Vietnamese white wine. It was a great lunch and to be able to enjoy it with Gwen and Miles on our Anniversary, and while peacefully drifting through this jaw droppingly gorgeous seascape-landscape while in Vietnam was pretty special. We motored gently and quietly under, around and among dozens of the spectacular islands and islets that burst up from the bay. Several of them reminded me of smaller versions of Yosemite's El Capitan, Half Dome and Sentinel Rock. Some of the stone faces reminded me of the Black Canyon of Gunnison. There is a vast array of rock here and Miles and I both wanted to climb and cliff jump, but that was not going to fly with our crew. As such, we simply sat and relaxed into the ubiquitous peacefulness of Halong Bay. This place is something special and I feel blessed to have experienced it. Thursday, August 1 I am sad to report that this was our last full day in Hanoi. We have really taken to this city and have been enjoying it thoroughly. Miles has been looking forward to playing paintball in Vietnam for quite some time now, and today we made that happen for him. Unfortunately, after arriving at the paintball field about four miles from our hotel, we found that there were no other players. As such, I had to take one for the team and play against him one on one. The people at the facility were so nice and I think a bit surprised to see the three of us come walking in off the street. It was blazing hot and steamy, but we managed to blast pink colored paintballs at one another for about an hour. It was my first time playing and I will admit that is was more fun than I had anticipated, and there was some parental satisfaction in splattering my kid with pink paint in this urban setting in Vietnam. After the war games in Hanoi, we let Miles chill at the hotel while Gwen and I went to cash in some final dollars for dong. We got to the bank and it was closed for lunch. As such, we decided to walk down the street and find a cold beer and a final bowl of pho while we waited for the bank to reopen. It was very humid and hot so we were looking for an indoor restaurant that may have some conditioned air. We were both sweating profusely when we walked into the outdoor foyer of a restaurant and a hostess suddenly emerged and urged us to follow her. Next thing we know, some clandestine doors were opened and we found ourselves walking into a room filled with probably 40 bank employees, all dressed in black slacks and neatly pressed white shirts. We were the only non-Vietnamese people in the room, sporting our hot-sweaty-unkempt traveler appearance, and it was fun to watch them watching us. I am unsure if it was just the fact we were there that was curious, or if they simply wanted to see if we could handle the noodle soup with our chopsticks but whatever spurred the intrigue, we enjoyed our experience at this place. It was a great final bowl of pho before returning to our afternoon and evening of shopping, eating, and having our last Hanoi beers. The final night beverages were at a place we have dubbed "Strong Alcohol," because that is what is written on the chalkboard outside the little place whose real name we can't pronounce properly. We enjoyed sitting on the mini chairs that are the norm on the streets of Hanoi, and simply watching the world spin by. The tiny women who carry heavy loads in two huge baskets that are suspended from either end of an 8 foot long plank of 1x3 are amazing. Whether they are carrying loads of produce or loads of product, their stamina is incredible and I can only imagine what it must be like to do that for seven days a week. We also enjoyed watching the young lady who would come out every evening to grill chicken feet at the edge of the sidewalk while motorbikes ferrying high heeled women in short skirts rode by, alongside the other honking cyclists, kids on oversized bikes, cyclo-cab drivers and a never ending brilliant parade of humanity in this unique and intoxicating city. The rhythm of this vacation has been perfect. From the temple circuit in Cambodia, to the Khnar School backpack distribution, taking tuk tuks in Siem Reap, to the floating village of Tonle Sap, a blessing from a Buddhist Priest and on to the frenzy of Saigon, the cycling and boating in the Mekong Delta, to the resort at Phan Thiet, the incredible beauty of Halong Bay and the sheer joy of just cruising in the old. quarter of Hanoi, it has been a near perfect three weeks with a wide variety of places we have seen, experiences we have enjoyed and, of course, some really wonderful people we have had the opportunity to be with along the way. Our drive to the airport for the first of three rides in the time traveling tube-o-humans flying machine was one final chance to just stare out the window of a van and watch the colorful buzz of people doing what they do and getting to where they've got to go. Life is carrying on all around us and in many different ways, and travel is a sure fire way to be able to step outside oneself and try on a different style every now and then. We are all grateful for having had this experience and I am grateful to all of you who have been following along with my lengthy posts of questionable grammar and multiple spelling errors. I will clean it all up and add it to a blog page, but until then, let me leave you with one last slice of Hanoi. As we were driving out of the city, one of the last signs we saw on a store front read, "Baby Swear." I only wish I had the time to stop and shop for some baby's wear at Baby Swear, but I guess that will have to wait until another time. Fabulous trip and thanks for coming along.......