You Say Goodbye and I Say HelLao!

When I arrived at the tiny international airport in Luang Prabang, Laos, I (unfortunately) had some extra time to do a little thinking. (We'll get to the reason why in a second.) I was thinking, what are the top five things I wouldn't want to hear from an immigration officer in a foreign country? Number one on my list was, 'Drop your pants and bend over,' followed closely by 'Oh, the judge really likes Americans [wink wink].' What I actually heard the immigration officer say was number four on my list: 'We'll have to deal with this in the morning.' Crap.

You see, I'm an idiot. Not a complete idiot, to be fair; it's not a permanent condition of idiocy. But I'm prone to bouts of real stupidity, the kind that make you shake your head and wonder how someone with 21 years of private school education could manage to botch something so badly. When I got onto the plane in Hanoi for my two hour flight to Laos, I had limited funds on me: a few US dollars and about five dollars' worth of cash from Thailand and Vietnam. I knew that the visa fee for Laos was $36, but I figured I could either a) pay with a credit card or b) get money from an ATM at the Lao airport before I made my way to customs. In my defense, every airport I had been to in Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam had an ATM every five feet, so I didn't think this was such a stretch. Apparently they do things differently in Laos, and by differently I mean they have yet to discover the concept of putting ATMs in airports. So I made my way to customs with no way to pay the visa fee, ie, no way to leave to airport, ie, no way to get into the country. Houston, we have a problem.

So as everyone else on my flight passed through immigration and got their bags, I was left at the counter trying to plead with the customs officer and negotiate some way to pay the fee at a later time. He was actually pretty nice about it and willing to negotiate. But every possible solution he provided involved paying money I didn't have. After a five minute conversation in broken English, he stood there in silence and looked at me with that all too recognizable expression: "sorry dude, you're screwed." His boss comes over and explains that this is a problem that will have to be dealt with later. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the worst. I have visions of being forced to sleep in the Luang Prabang jail and being sent back to Vietnam on the next flight the following morning. I start thinking about what the six o'clock news in LA might have to say if they caught wind of this: "In other news, local moron and bum David Newman was held in a Laotian jail cell for the night for failure to pay the necessary $36 entrance fee into the country. Our sources in Laos remain uncertain why Mr. Newman, formerly a well-paid corporate attorney at an international law firm, was so stupid as to travel with virtually no currency on him. We'll have more as this story unfolds."

But just as things were about to turn from bad to dire, my luck changed. I hadn't been praying, but I got an answer nevertheless: like manna from heaven, a guy from my flight comes up to me and asks if I'm having a problem clearing customs. Mind you, I don't know this guy - we didn't chit chat on the plane; indeed, we never even laid eyes on one another before. I explain the situation with great embarrassment. He says "No problem," whips out two twenty-dollar bills, and then invites me to join him and his wife in their taxi into the city so I can save a few bucks by not getting my own taxi. My first reaction is: people like you actually exist? (Yes.) And it gets worse (or better, depending on how you look at it). Once we're in the taxi, I insist that we stop at the first ATM we come across so I can pay him back. But he brushes me off; it's late and he just wants to get to bed, so he says, "Let's just take care of it in the morning." I keep thinking, "I don't know you, man. What's your deal?" But he doesn't seem to care one bit. The taxi drops them off at their hotel and I continue in the taxi; he turns to say goodbye and never once mentions the money. Of course, first thing the next morning I find him at his hotel and reimburse him and offer to pay for breakfast, which he refuses, because he's about to leave for a boat trip. I've said it before and I'll say it again: the kindness of strangers never ceases to amaze me...

So, I made it into Laos. And it's a good thing I did, because it's a great place to visit. It has lots of land but little population, which means that most of the natural beauty has been preserved. For the most part, it's lush rain forest as far as the eye can see; greenness blankets rolling hills, deep valleys, and jagged limestone karsts. The air is fresh and the sky, when not raining, is endless blue. Sunsets are amazing. Even better than the landscape, though, are the people. In stark contrast to their neighbors, Laotians are calm, polite, and quiet. It's like the entire populace seems to be on some sort of sedative, or constantly smoking marijuana, or both. During the day, most people - if they weren't napping in hammocks - just sat and stared off into the distance while drinking lao lao, the local rice whiskey. When I would walk around the local markets in search of food, instead of hearing people scream at me "You buy here" or having motorbike taxis follow me down the sidewalk and repeatedly ask me "Where you going?" - as would always happen in Vietnam and Cambodia - people in Laos barely even acknowledged my existence. I'd often walk up to street vendors and stand there for several seconds before it registered with them that I wanted to buy something. More than just that, I had the sense that they were almost disturbed by my presence, as if my choice to patronize their stand - and probably provide them with the only income they'd make that day - had interrupted their busy schedule of doing nothing. From all sorts of people selling stuff, I'd frequently get this look like, ''oh, you want to buy something?" Why, yes. Yes I do. That's why I walked across the street to your food stand. That's why I'm standing here. That's why I'm opening my wallet. These are the actions normally associated with a person who's interested in making a commercial transaction with you... Not that I'm complaining. Quite the contrary; this calmness was a welcome break from the constant squawking that I had experienced the previous six weeks. And everywhere I went, people smiled and waived and said hello in a genuine way (actually, they said "Sabaidee," which is hello in Lao, but you get the idea.) Wonderful people, wonderful country.

Luang Prabang, the first city I visited, was very laid back. Don't quote me on this, but I actually think the city's motto is "Luang Prabang. We're very laid back." Situated on the Mekong River, the main business district is about 500 yards of a single street that was a well-maintained area of cafes, cafes, restaurants, and cafes. The streets and sidewalks are neat and well-kept; the buildings look like they were built in a First World country; and there's not a beggar or homeless person in sight. Some of the architecture is pretty interesting (more mixing of French and Asian styles) and the temples... well, they're temples. At this point, they all look the same to me. But one temple was built on the top of a steep hill (337 steps up to the top), which made for a nice view of the valley in which the city sits. Since it's a small town, it can be explored in a half a day by bike, so I rented one and meandered through the city and surrounding area for a few hours. Is there anything sexier than a guy in a purple shirt riding a pink bike? I think not. At one point, I decided to cross the Mekong by ferry so I could explore some roads less traveled by. I waited 20 minutes for this small ferry to cross the river, and during that time, the ferry driver, who spoke no English, offered me two shots of lao lao, a fruit that I couldn't identify, and some noodles. I got two more shots of lao lao on the way back. With four shots of rice whiskey in the span of an hour, peddling that crappy one-speed became a real challenge...

Most tourists come here for one of two reasons: to chill out for a few days and enjoy the cafes, or to use it as a base for arranging multi-day hikes in the wilderness. (I wanted to do some hiking but, thanks to a large cut on my right foot courtesy of some coral off the coast of Vietnam, it was out of the question.) If you're not hiking in the wilderness or kayaking down the Mekong, there's not a whole lot of things to do in this area. But there are two main "sights" that are worth seeing. First, as with so many places in these parts, no tour of the area is complete without visiting a cave connected in some way, shape, or form with Buddhism. In Luang Prabang, the cave - Pak Ou - houses nearly 4,000 Buddha statues ranging in size from a few inches to a few feet. It's not a temple; it's really more of Buddha statue warehouse. The first statues placed there were leftovers from the nearby temples - the statues were "discards" because they weren't particularly beautiful or expensive. Over time, more and more were placed in the cave until the statues became so numerous that the cave actually became religiously relevant, and now it's a place of major importance to Buddhists in northern Laos. Go figure.

The other main sight is a series of waterfalls that are pretty damn spectacular. The main one is called Kouangxi. When you first get to the trail via the main road that leads to the waterfall, it starts off disappointing. It's just a series of small falls no more than five or ten feet high. After the fifth such one I was thinking, "What a rip-off." And then you keep walking along the trail and there's a loud rumbling noise that gets louder and louder and then the trail brings you to something grand. The waterfall is tall, powerful, and set in an amazing landscape. There's also a series of pools - both at the top and at the bottom - which make it really fun to explore. (I was there in the rainy season, and it poured the night before, so many of the upper pools were not accessible.) What also makes it pretty is that waterfall isn't just a single, straight drop down; the first 50 yards or so cascade over rocks that go backwards into the mountain; this makes the water look like it's being propelled out of nowhere. And the best part: everyone's free to swim in the water. It's cold as hell, but that's not a problem when the outside temperature is 95 degrees. The rope swing is the main draw for swimmers, and I of course took my turn jumping in via the rope. Some people were pretty graceful; others didn't have the upper body strength and basically just fell right in. Nevertheless, good times were had by all.

Although not really a "sight," another fun thing to do in Luang Prabang is to watch the monks collect food for the day in the morning. Unfortunately, this requires getting up at 5:30 a.m., which is pretty inconvenient if you ask me. (I question the sanity of any religion that requires its spiritual leaders to wake up before the sun rises every day of the year. Whatever.) Anyway, it's neat to watch this procession of orange-clad monks walk the streets en masse. Locals stand on the sidewalk handing out food to the monks who walk several blocks between temples on the main road. Most of them are boys or young men, but there are a few old farts in the mix. It lasts for 20 minutes. Afterward, it was back to bed for me.

I also visited a preserve for Asiatic bears. They are fast becoming an endangered species; they are being hunted for their fur and the supposed medicinal qualities that their various body parts contain. (I wonder how that conversation goes with the doctor. Patient: "How bad is it, Doc?" Doctor: "It's not too bad. I'm going to prescribe for you 300mg of aspirin, three times a day, and 50mg of Asiatic bear, twice a day. You should be fine in a week." Patient: "Oh, ok. Wait - what?") The preserve isn't very big but it's a lot like the San Diego wild animal park in that the bears are free to roam as they please; they're not just stuck in small pens. Fortunately, one walked right by me (a small - almost too small - fence separated us) as I was standing at the edge and began playing with this tire. Bears are so cute... until they rip your face off with their claws. Don't mess with bears, people.

After a few days relaxing in Luang Prabang, I boarded a bus (can't avoid buses in these parts) headed for Vang Vieng, a small town set on the Nam Song river in central Laos. It's only 200 miles south of Luang Prabang, but the road cuts through the mountains so the ride took eight hours. (The buses and the roads were surprisingly better in Laos than Vietnam.) One thing worth noting about the buses: the bus drivers work at their own pace. What do I mean by that? Well, the bus driver stopped not once, not twice, but three times to do his own grocery shopping at local markets on the side of the road. The first time the driver stopped for fifteen minutes to by some leafy greens, the second time he got some fresh noodles, and the third time he purchased a hog. It was dead, of course. But there it was in all its glory, feet bound and mouth stuffed, still carrying a fresh coat of thick brown fur. I'd say it was about 40 pounds. And where did here put it? In the luggage compartment at the bottom of the bus, right next to everyone's bags. Yet another reason why I never let my bag out of my sight.

Vang Vieng is another small town that relies heavily on tourism. The center part of the city - one square block - is all about catering to 18-25 year-old drunk asshole-type Westerners: the sequence of stores is bar/restaurant, tour operator, Internet cafe, massage parlor, hostel. Repeat that about six times and there's your 'downtown' Vang Vieng. The bars/restaurants play either 'Family Guy' or 'Friends' non-stop on their televisions. No joke. That's all they play, all day long. If you wanted to do nothing else, you could watch every episode of those shows in a single day just by walking from bar to bar. In a way, it's really a shame that the city has become a party town because it's situated in this gorgeous valley with a beautiful backdrop of limestone formations that have been cut by the Nam Song river. Very little of the surrounding area has been destroyed other than some rice fields, so it retains its natural beauty. The place is great for hiking and exploring waterfalls and caves. But the main town has that "paradise paved" feel which is why, for the most part, the only tourists to visit are those interested in partying.

The main reason why Vang Vieng has been become such a famous destination for young backpackers is that you can rent an inner tube from a local shop and float down the Nam Song river while stopping at bars along the way. The rental place drives kids 8 miles up the river, drops them off, and it takes anywhere from two to six hours to get back to the city, depending on how fast the river is moving and how many bars you want to stop at. I was there in the low tourist season so it wasn't that crowded, but I heard that during peak season there can be thousands of people tubing down the river at any one time. It's kind of stupid and ridiculous, but let's be honest, is there any better combination in this world than inner tubes and booze? If there is, I certainly don't know of it. But booze isn't the only thing available to tubers: the bars along the river offer a variety of drugs as well: mushrooms, marijuana, ecstasy, and a Lao version of cocaine. (I didn't partake.) Drinking a few beers and a shot or two of whiskey seemed okay to me, but given that the river was flowing pretty rapidly and that it's quite deep in some parts, getting high seemed like a poor decision. Others don't have the good sense I do, and there's a few tourists die every year in the river. But, with no liability laws, the party keeps on raging, year after year. The river-based bars also offer a variety of entertainment activities, like volleyball, water slides, and swings. As I floated down the river, I was tempted by this enormous swing. If you wait to let go at the very peak of the swing, you get about 40 feet above the water. Geronimo!

Having done the tubing thing, I wanted to explore the region without alcohol being the driving force. So I signed up for a one-day tour that would be half kayaking down the river and half exploring some caves that went deep into the limestone mountains. There were eight people in my group, and when we got to the river to begin the kayaking, we all paused. We looked at the river, then at each other, then at the river, and then back at each other. Did I mention that this was the "high" river season; that it had rained the previous 16 hours; and that tour guides didn't really respond to our questions about how strong the river was that day? So what we thought was going to be a nice stroll down the river turned into a paddle-to-save-your-life ride over high and irregular waves, rocks jutting out, eddies everywhere, etc. My partner, a young Japanese guy, and I didn't last 10 seconds before we flipped over. The guide said that was the fastest he had ever seen anyone take a dive. Great, what an honor! To make things more ridiculous, I was wearing a poncho. So there I am, floating down the river completely soaked while wearing a poncho because I didn't want to get wet from the rain. "Waiter, I'll have the moron sandwich with a side of dumbass." Once we managed to get back into the boat, it was a thrilling two-hour ride to some caves (we didn't flip over after our first stumble). The cave was interesting but nothing beyond any other cave I've seen. The real memorable part was not the cave itself but the "hike" to it. This wasn't really supposed to be a hike - just a stroll through some rice paddies. But since it had been raining forever, the mud path turned to sludge. (Pictured here is the "mud path.") At times, the mud was shin-deep. Shoes and sandals were out of the question, so we all walked barefoot for about two miles to and from the cave. If it weren't for the rocks, twigs, and cow dung mixed in with the mud, it would have been a nice little mud bath for my feet. Instead, I ended up with cuts, blisters, and several bites from animals unknown.

On my last day in Vang Vieng, I rented a bike to visit an organic farm outside of town. This wouldn't normally be my thing but a former co-worker (I love saying "former") highly recommended the food there. I was not disappointed. The speciality is the goat cheese, and it was deeee-licous. Then, just as I was about to leave after lunch, fate intervened. It began to rain (again). Mind you, this wasn't just "I-guess-we-can't-have-a-barbecue-on-the-porch" kind of rain. This was "we've-really-pissed-off-Zeus-and-now-he's-letting-us-have-it" kind of rain. As a result, I was forced to stay at this farm for hours longer than I planned. But, for the first time in human history, rain actually led to something good. While I was at the farm, I met a girl who was living there and volunteering at a local school to teach English. After a few hours of her beating me at gin rummy (we had to pass the time somehow), she convinced me to help her teach English for one of her classes. It was an amazing experience; I can see why so many travelers volunteer to do it. The students - about ten in all - came to this school every night from 5 to 7:30 to hone their English skills. They had to qualify for this program, which meant that they actually wanted to be there. The day I was present, they were learning about contractions: 'I'm' and 'they're' and 'couldn't' and so on. The kids, all of whom were 17 or 18 years old, were attentive, polite, and eager to learn. No grade grubbing, no interruptions. Everyone raised their hands during class and everyone said thank you at the end. When they finally understood something, you could see the light go on in their head. I doubt I was ever that good of a student when I was in school. As strange as this may sound, I actually regetted not being able to teach more.

After a few days in Vang Vieng, it was time to leave. Another crazy bus ride, another plane out of the country (no problem clearing immigration this time). Next stop: Singapore...

Good Night, Vietnam!

Sometimes you're the windshield. Sometimes you're the bug. After three days at the beach at Nha Trang, I was feeling like the windshield. There was plenty of sun and almost no rain. I ate great food; I took an exquisite booze cruise; and I never had to use my earplugs while sleeping (an amazing feat when you're staying at budget hotels). Life was coming up roses. The good times were rolling and I thought nothing could stop me...

And then I got on a bus. This wasn't just any ol' bus. This was the Vietnam special, 10 hour "sleeper" bus. It's designed to allow tourists to travel at night so as not to lose a day of sightseeing. It's ironically named because the last thing anyone could ever possibly do is sleep while on this bus. The bus itself, while shit, isn't even really the problem. It's a regular bus but instead of seats there are three rows of bunk beds stacked right next to one another. The "beds" basically look and feel like hospital gurneys: long and narrow foam pads with metal bars sticking up on the sides to keep passengers from falling out. The beds are way too short for me, so I had the pleasure of having my knees in my chin for 10 hours. Despite all this, sleep might have been possible if not for the fact that the driver thought he was Mario Andretti. For reasons unknown, he decided that the best way to drive this particular bus over unpaved and potholed roads, sans suspension and shocks, was to put the pedal to the metal. So there we are, 35 tourists lying down in these beds and flopping around like fish out of water. (Kinda like this fella, right before he became lunch.) So when we arrived at 6am the next morning, everyone on the bus went to sleep for eight hours, thus not only defeating the very purpose of the sleeper bus but also undoing all the good vibes built up over the last few days at the beach. In just a mere ten hours, I went from feeling like I was the windshield to feeling like I was the dead bug being washed away by the wipers...

So I arrived in the city of Hoi An on that note. Fortunately, Hoi An is the kind of place that soothes the soul. It's a small place that can be walked from edge to edge in about 20 minutes. I'd call it a quaint town. (Is there any other word regularly used with "quaint" other than "town"? Quaint village? Quaint home? Nothing comes to mind. I'm not sure where I'm going with that, anyway. These are the random things you think about when you're alone on a bus for 10 hours.) The main "sight" in Hoi An is actually a subsection of the city known as Old Town Hoi An. It's about ten square blocks where the buildings erected in the late 19th century have been preserved. These buildings blend Vietnamese and French styles for an interesting look. The best part of Old Town is that it is closed to traffic so it's just people milling about. This becomes particularly pleasant at night as tons of low-key bars, restaurants, boutiques, and tailors open up to locals and tourists alike. Thousands of people are just walking around these beautiful streets with not a car or moped to be seen or heard. It's basically the ideal place to live whether in Vietnam or the US - people are having a good time, there's a laid back and safe feel, and everything you could possibly need is within walking distance. I only had time to spend one night here and I regret not staying longer.

Since I sure as shit wasn't taking another sleeper bus, the next morning I boarded a plane to Hanoi. From the second you walk off the plane, there's no mistaking where you are: the capital of Vietnam and the home of all things Ho Chi Minh. Pictures of Uncle Ho are everywhere; he always has a benign little smile and the propaganda billboards inevitably picture him holding a little child or having a white dove flying behind him. As expected, his mausoleum looms over the city like an ever watchful eye in the sky. It's not the tallest structure, or the biggest, but it's quite imposing. I was looking forward to seeing the man in his tomb (although interestingly he gave specific instructions that he wanted to be cremated), but I have shitty timing. From September 2 to November 7, they take his body to Moscow for "cleaning." I'm unsure why a guy who's been dead for 35 years needs to be cleaned two months out of every year - or what that even entails - but this nonsense caused me to miss seeing him by two days, since I arrived on September 4. Nice planning, moron.

In addition to the mausoleum, there's a huge complex of buildings related to Uncle Ho: the house he lived in when he was in power (pictured here); the Presidential Palace (which you can't go in, or even really get close to), and a museum dedicated to the history of Vietnam after it declared independence from France. As always, the information has to be taken with a grain of salt given that it's written by the government. But the story about Ho Chi Minh's background and his path to the top seems well-documented and presents an interesting tale of how he came to power.

Like every other major city in Vietnam (and Southeast Asia), Hanoi is crowded and moves at a fast pace. Street vendors are everywhere; crossing the street is an extreme sport; and there's never a quiet moment. I'm getting used to it now, so it just becomes the background noise of life. Besides the Ho Chi Minh-related sights, there's plenty else to see. For starters, there's the park dedicated to V.I.Lenin. The park itself is small and not really noteworthy. However, it seemed to be to be the place where degenerate teenagers congregate and do nothing. It's probably the closest thing that Hanoi has to LA's Venice Beach, so that was kind of heartwarming for me... I also visited the revered Temple of Literature. "Temple" is a bit of a misnomer; it's actually the first university in Vietnam dating back to the 11th century. It's little more than a few courtyards and two main structures, but the architecture is original so it provides an interesting glimpse into traditional Vietnamese design that's 1000 years old. And no tour of Hanoi is complete without visiting the Old Quarter, located in the southeast part of the city. One of its functions today is to house the significantly large number of tourists flooding the city, but it is also the historic center of the city and as such many native Hanoians are tied to this area. The center of the Old Quarter is Haem Boak Lake. There's a really interesting legend about the lake involving a giant turtle, a dragon, and the king, and how they all tied together to lead to the formation of Hanoi as the capital, but I forget it. Regardless, there's a monument commerating that legend in the middle of the lake. Tons of people come to sit down and enjoy some ice cream and sit by the lake. I can't say it's all that relaxing, though, because there's only about 10 yards of buffer (a small patch of grass and the sidewalk) between the lake and the road, so all you hear is honking, all the time.

One of my favorite sights to visit was the Hoa Lo Prison, better known to many Americans as the "Hanoi Hilton." It was a huge prison structure built by the French in the 19th century that was later used by the Vietnamese as a POW camp for Americans during the war, with the most famous POW being John McCain. (They claim that this is the actual pilot gear that McCain was wearing when he was captured.) The prison is a shadow of its former self; 90% has been torn down and rebuilt as a commercial high-rise. What little is left of the prison is now a museum largely dedicated to the history of the French detention of Vietnamese prior to 1954. There's only a single room in the museum that describes the detention of American POWs. The way they describe it, GIs were living in resort. I love the third paragraph in this little sign they had posted. I wonder what the POWs would think of that? They also have pictures and artifacts showing the POWs playing volleyball, laughing while watching movies, and generally having a good time. I don't remember that from my American History class.

Finally, no trip to Hanoi is complete without watching some traditional water puppetry. These puppets, about two or three feet tall, are attached at the bottom to poles that are hidden under water and moved around by people who are shielded from view by a screen. The closest thing I can compare it to is a marionette, but instead of wires from above, it's poles from below. I'm told that the puppet operators have to train for three years before they can perform before an audience. It's accompanied by traditional music that is performed live. It was thoroughly entertaining even though I couldn't understand a word.

Perhaps my most memorable experience in Hanoi was the time I got screwed by a taxi driver and then decided to screw him back. So I get into the cab and tell him to go to one place about 5 miles away. After 10 minutes stuck in traffic and going nowhere, with the meter running furiously, I told him to just take me back to my hotel. Whether by accident or not, he ignores my request and drives way out of the way before I finally get him on course. It ends up costing an extra 10 dollars, which in Vietnam would cover food and hotel for a day. So when I get out of the car, I give him way less than the meter - basically, what I think the fare should have been. I take off like the car is on fire and try to disappear into the sea of humanity on the sidewalk. Just when I think I'm in the clear, I look back (never look back!) and... you guessed it, he's chasing after me. Finally, I get to a point where I can't get away because of a pedestrian jam, and at this point, he's in my face and shouting pretty loudly which of course draws the attention of some locals who start forming a circle around us. Part of me was thinking, "Alright guys, you want to dance, let's dance. I'm at least a foot taller and 40 pounds heavier than each one of you." But the more rational part was thinking, "Shit." Just at that moment, some other-worldly force was kind enough to create a break in the traffic, like Moses parting the Red Sea. I made it across but my pursuers were left on the other side of the street. Ahh, sweet, sweet victory.

From Hanoi, I took a day trip to what is commonly known as the "Perfume Pagoda." It's built into a cave that's a bitch to get to - first a two hour bus ride, then a one hour boat ride, then a one hour hike in the mountains. The pagoda is really just a series of altars that people come to for worship. My guide told me that around the New Year in February, hundreds of thousands of people come to pay homage and pray for... whatever. There are other pagodas in the area and they are also very inspiring given their locale and the expansive view that they have of the surrounding valley. This one was built into the hillside in the 16th century and remains an active place of study and worship for monks. The best part of the trip was by far the boat ride. A single Vietnamese woman was at the helm of this tiny little boat with seven tourists and was rowing as hard as she could. (Calling it a "boat" is pretty generous. It was more like a curved piece of scrap metal.) It was a perfectly peaceful little trip down the river. But this boat was clearly not designed for seven larger-sized people as the edge of the boat was only two inches from the water by the time we all sat down. Not a problem when it was sunny and clear out because the river is virtually still, as pictured here. But on the return trip, it started to drizzle, then rain, then the heavens opened up and then... oh shit, there's water coming into the boat. We all look to the boat driver and she's yelling at us to do something. After a few seconds of us looking at her dumbfounded because we can't understand a word she's saying, she makes the international gesture for "get-off-your-fucking-lazy-asses-and-start-doing-something-to-get-the-water-out-of-the-boat." Hilarity ensued as the seven of us (me, three British, and three Spaniards) were frantically using our hands to get water out of the boat. It was working, sort of. We really thought we were going to make it. But then one of the Brits jinxed us. We were just within reach of land when he said, "We made it." Nope, thanks for playing, good luck next time. We needed the boat trip to have been four feet shorter, that's how close we came to making it. Harsh reality then set in: water, water everywhere. Galung, galung, galung. Down she went. Fortunately, I was in the front of the boat and made a giant leap for it (thank you, long legs and light frame). I didn't quite hit land, but where I landed the water was only about shin deep. The Spaniards... not so fortunate.

(At this point I'd like to give a special thanks to the good people who operate the Sofitel hotel in Hanoi. They have a great pool. One afternoon when the temperature deviated from the normal "really hot" to "hot enough to melt the skin off you bones" I decided to crash there for a few hours. I lied and said I was a guest. Here's the best part: at noon the pool boy came around with a plate of fresh fruit and at 2pm he came around with chocolate ice cream in a waffle cone. Free to all "guests." Sofitel - you've earned my loyalty. I'm only going to lie and cheat my way into your pools from now on. Stay classy, Sofitel.)

After a few days in Hanoi, it was time to move on, again. I was headed for Halong Bay and Cat Ba Island, about a four hour drive from Hanoi to the South China Sea. Halong Bay is famous because it has thousands of limestone karsts jutting out of the water. It makes for an amazing scene. Most backpackers opt for a two- or three-day an organized tour of the bay and the major islands. I heard some bad things about these tours - too structured, terrible food, crappy guides - so I tried to arrange my travel plans on my own. The first day worked out well as I caught a bus to the bay and took a five hour boat trip to see some of the karsts up close. There's a bunch of natural caves in these limestone formations - some down in the water, others hundreds of meters up in the rock - and the tour guide took us on a little boat ride to explore them. There are also a bunch of lagoons only accessible by small breaks in the limestone at sea level, like this one. After the first day was completed, I broke off on my own with the goal of heading early the next morning to Cat Ba Island - the largest and prettiest of the islands in the bay. And so begins the story of why you shouldn't venture out on your own for these sorts of things. I had no idea how to actually get to Cat Ba Island; I just figured there would be a ferry or I could pay for a quick speedboat. Nuh-uh. After I disembarked from the tour boat, I proceeded to ask four different people about the best/fastest/cheapest way to get to the island. Here's what happened (note: most of these conversations were in unintelligible broken English. I've translated as best I can):

Me [politely]: "Excuse me. What's the best/fastest/cheapest way to get to Cat Ba island tomorrow morning?"

Unhelpful Person No. 1 [woman at information desk at harbor]: "There's a 7:30 am ferry the next morning but it leaves from a different city and doesn't take tourists, so it won't work for you."

Unhelpful Person No. 2 [hotel manager]: "There is no ferry anywhere. the woman is wrong. The next earliest tour boat is 1pm tomorrow and would take five hours to get to the island. Or, you can pay me $112 to arrange a private charter at 8am."

Unhelpful Person No. 3 [random street vendor]: "I don't understand a word you're saying."

Unhelpful Person No. 4 [internet cafe manager]: "You can just hop on one of the tour boats at 9am. It will take 5 hours because they will tour the bay but it will only cost a few bucks. The captain will be glad to take you money. Under no circumstances should you pay for the private charter."

So there I was, dazed and confused: four different people, four different, contradictory answers. If there were ever a time for a beer, this was it. And who would have known that my desire, my need, for a beer would provide me with the solution to all my problems. The woman who owned the bar started talking with me (I was the only customer) and explained everything - there was a ferry, it was in a different city but it was only a five minute taxi ride away, it left at 7:30 am, and of course it didn't matter that I was a tourist. Then, as if that weren't helpful enough, she wrote everything out in Vietnamese that I need to say to people (ie, for the taxi driver, "I want to go to the ferry for the 7:30am boat"). The kindness of strangers never ceases to amaze me...

So I made it to Cat Ba Island the next morning. Was it worth the travel and the hassle? Eh. No doubt it's pretty but it rained for two days, thereby ruining virtually every outdoor activity I had planned, including rock climbing, which was what I really came to do. The limestone karsts in the open sea make for great climbing, so I'm told, and the best part is that you can climb to the top of these karsts and you don't have to climb down - you just jump into the water. There was some sun that peaked out every now and then, and when it did, the island's beauty lit up. At one point while I was riding my motorbike, I just stopped on the side of the road to enjoy the scenery. Damned prettiest road I've ever been on. Plus, there's the added bonus of coming across the occasional goat fight in the middle of the road. How often can you say that? Overall, though, on a scale of 1 to 10, I was expecting "Holy Shit!" but only got "Not Too Fucking Bad."

And so ended my trip in Vietnam. The beer was plentiful, the beaches were great, and the end came too soon. I thoroughly enjoyed my three weeks here, even if getting from one place to another was a real pain in the ass. After Cat Ba Island, I took a bus back to Hanoi. Vietnam and I said our goodbyes and parted ways at the airport. Now, it's time for Laos...

Roadtrip, Vietnam style!

After a few days in Saigon and surrounding areas, I hit the road for greener pastures. With only a bus ticket, a bottle of water, and one clean set of clothes, I boarded my minibus to begin my journey up the coast to my final destination in Vietnam, Hanoi. Like most tourists, I opted for the "open tour" bus. It allows you to buy a ticket for a designated number of stops along the way; you can get off at any of the stops at any time; and you get back on whenever you want. It's not a bad deal and it's a pretty easy way to explore the country. Granted, the bus line keeps you on the beaten path, but if you're not spending an inordinate amount of time in Vietnam, there's simply no way around that.

The first stop was a small beach town called Mui Ne. It 'should' be a three hour drive from Saigon, but due to traffic and rain and some of the worst "highways" ever designed, it took about six hours. I know I've complained about this before, but it still amazes me: the "highways" are basically just roads, often unpaved, that are one lane in each direction. If you get caught behind a truck or, as sometimes happens, a herd of cattle, well that's just too bad. On the bright side, you might have a crazy driver (not unusual) who'll try to pass the vehicle in front even if there is oncoming traffic, as it was with our bus driver. Several times I thought we were headed for collisions, and once - not kidding - I braced myself for impact. Seriously, I put my whole left side of my body flush with the seat in front of me and grabbed my backpack as extra cushion. I watched with terror as the seconds passed like hours and the headlights became brighter and brighter. People often say they see a light just before they die; well, I saw two: the headlights from a 1996 Toyota Previa. My minibus came within about six inches of hitting the Previa at 80 lm per hour. Just once, why can't I have an smooth and non-near-death-experience on a bus in Southeast Asia?

Anyway, back to the important stuff. Mui Ne is a tiny town whose population can explode during the busy beach season. This was not the busy beach season; there wasn't a soul around. I got off the bus at 9:30 pm and walked around a little to compare beach resorts. I settled on a smaller one and when I asked for a room, the receptionist took me to one of the three (out of 35) bungalows right on the beach. Yup, the place was empty. I woke up the next morning on the late side and took this picture around noon. Notice the absence of any human beings. It was really weird. It's not like the place is off the map or crappy to crash at for a few days. Mui Ne is the closest beach to Saigon and it's a nice little town; the beach is a miles-long stretch of fine white sand and the water, while not crystal clear, is clean and warm. The town is also very nice to walk around because it's just a single stretch of road behind the resorts with plenty of restaurants, bars, boutiques, ice cream stands, etc. But I really felt like I woke up in one of those movies where some virus has killed off everyone but me. Don't get me wrong, it was great to have the beach to myself. But eerie. Very eerie... Since I was alone, I made friends with this hammock. I called him Hammie. We laughed. We cried. We waxed philosophic. I was sad to see him go, but we promised each other we'd write. (I was reluctant to leave such a nice beach setting but, let me tell you, the Vietnam sun is an angry sun. It burns ferociously. You can't spend more than 20 minutes on the beach without feeling like you're a pig on the roast. It would only take a few minutes for me to get that sweat puddle in my belly-button... I drank four large bottles of water in two hours and didn't have to use the restroom. FYI - that's the proper measure of heat in Vietnam: how many bottles of water you drink before you piss. My two days in Mui Ne registered about a four and five, respectively.)

Mui Ne is also known for something truly bizarre given that it's in the middle of a tropical jungle: sand dunes. It's palm trees and mosquitoes as far as the eye can see and then, ribbons of orange sand. The best part is that local kids hang out at the dunes and offer to teach tourists how to properly slide down them. Eight kids swarmed me the second I hit the sand. Here they are helping to set up the perfect slide - it requires a little "topsand" to reduce friction and therefore increase speed. The ride lasts all of four seconds, but it's super fun. Then I spent a hilarious 30 minutes getting the kids to explain, in broken English, who should get the only money I had on me at the time, which was a five dollar bill. One kid was a pretty smooth talker so he ended up with the money despite the fact that he looked to be the youngest.

After two days in Mui Ne, I headed inland to a town called Da Lat. Da Lat is in the central highlands - four hours inland from the beach and about 4,000 feet up. As a result, it's blissfully cool. During the two days I was there, the temperature never reached anything higher than 80 degrees. It was the first time in over a month I didn't sweat profusely within five minutes of stepping outside my hotel room. Da Lat is on the beaten path, but not really. Since it's a bit of a pain to get to - the road is narrow, windy, and treacherous (and caused the guy sitting across the aisle from me on the bus to vomit ) - it's often overlooked by travellers. (I get the sense it's also overlooked by younger travellers because it's not a town where you can really party.) Let's put it this way: if you wanted to visit six cities in Vietnam but only had time for five, you'd likely drop Da Lat from your schedule. This would be a shame because Da Lat is a very nice town on a lake. There's nothing spectacular about it, but it has a comfortable feel and you get the sense that you're actually in a real Vietnamese city. I was told that the thing to do is hire a motorcycle driver to show you around for the day. So I did. These guys call themselves "Easy Riders" and speak pretty decent English and actually explain things in a way that makes sense, which I've found to be rare. Over the span of about six hours, he took me to several interesting sights, like one of the summer palaces of the last king of Vietnam (built in the 30's) and this famous pagoda that's been around for hundreds of years. At the pagoda, I met a monk who spoke excellent English. He started by asking me where I was from, how long was I staying in Vietnam, etc., but eventually I turned the conversation to him and he was a fountain of information about Vietnam, Buddhism, and being a monk. When I asked him how long he'd been a monk, he said, "14 years, but I may eventually return to living an earthly lifestyle," and gave me a wry smile. I assume that was a nice way of saying he wanted to have sex again at some point, but I figured I was overstepping my limits by asking him to clarify...

Perhaps the best payoff for visiting Da Lat is the road to the next town I visited, Nha Trang. This "road" is not the same road that you travel when entering Da Lat - it's so much better. Not the road itself - all roads suck here - but the view: amazing. It's a less windy but more picturesque view of the seemingly endless pine forest covering infinite rolling hills. For at least a good 45 minutes, there's not a trace of human development (except the road, of course). It's green as far as the eye can see, and then more green.

I arrived in Nha Trang ready to be sizzled by the sun again and I wasn't disappointed. Unlike Mui Ne, this is more than just a beach resort town - it's a major city with major tourism, as evidenced by the big name hotels (Sofitel, Sheraton, etc.) towering over the beach. So the beach is well-populated by locals and tourists alike. It's white sand about 5 miles long and maybe 30-40 yards deep. The water is super clear but some trash is visible on the beach and in the water. After the beach, there's a walking path and some green space, then a major boulevard and then the buildings begin. It's like Venice beach in L.A., or, if I recall correctly, the beach in Miami. I settled in and let the sun do its damage for a day. But I had an experience on the beach that I can't let go of without mentioning. It's one of those things that makes me ask, "what the fuck is wrong with people?!" So I find a stretch of beach where people are about 70 yards apart. What do I do? Naturally, I space myself 35 yards from each group of people so that everyone, including me, has their privacy and some peace and quiet. Isn't that standard? Hasn't the worldwide beach-going community tacitly agreed that you space yourself equally from other beach goers? Apparently not. Not less 10 minutes after plopping down, a couple sits down about 5 yards from me, thereby leaving about 30 yards from the next-closest people on the beach. Um, what? Why would you do that to me? And why would they do that to themselves - don't they want a little privacy? My conclusion: those tourists (whose nationality remains unknown) suck at life. But then it happened again, the next time with some locals. So I ask, once again, what the fuck is wrong with people?

This wasn't my only strange experience on the beach, and it brings me to David Newman's Ten Random Observations (To Date) About Vietnam, Vietnamese People, And Life. These are in no particular order:

1. Vietnamese people, mainly men, urinate anywhere and everywhere. I saw it repeatedly happen against walls, behind cars, in alleyways. I thought, "Ok, I can accept that. If you gotta pee, you gotta pee." But then I saw it happen at the beach. And by at the beach, I mean ON the beach. Guys would just whip it out and pee in the sand. Which is strange, for two reasons. First, they're at the beach, so why not just walk into the water. I'm ok with peeing in the ocean. The ocean is the world's largest urinal. But in the sand, in front of everyone? Not ok. Second, this beach had public bathrooms. So why not walk the same distance to a place where the urine is supposed to go, instead of a place where someone may want to lay down later and relax?

2. The Vietnamese language uses Roman characters. I'll admit, I didn't know that until I got here. This can lead to some hilarious looking words if you think of them as being in English, like this hotel sign. Call me crazy, but if I were operating a tourist-related business that catered to English speakers, I'd make sure the name of my hotel didn't include a slang word for fecal matter. But that's just me. The Vietnamese language also has six - six! - different accent marks, often with one accent mark on top of another. (Frequently I'll see what looks like a rainbow below what looks like an apostrophe.) I think there should be a universal one-accent-mark-per-letter rule instituted worldwide. If you need two accent marks on a single letter, just come up with a new letter or vowel to symbolize that sound.

3. Common to many crowded countries, there's no personal space here. At all. And people touch a lot, which I don't stand for. I want to say, "I don't know you, man. Let go of my elbow." Or, "Please stop rubbing against me." Not cool, people. Not cool.

4. Along the same lines, people here tend to speak very loudly at all times with no consideration for volume modifications. Quiet restaurant - loud. Bus at night when people are trying to sleep - loud. I don't get it. (One commonality with Americans - people are just as rude with cell phones, i.e., answering the phone at a table in a restaurant or talking loudly when others are trying to sleep on a bus. If looking down on these as rude makes me a prissy bitch, so be it. But I stand for manners.)

5. The roads suck. I've covered this ground before.

6. Walking down the street, random people will say, "Hello. Where you from?" I usually am honest and say "USA," but every now and then I tell people I'm from Spain or Germany, or I give them the old line from the Coneheads skit on SNL, "I come from France." Yet it doesn't seem to matter because - and this is the weird part - most of them don't understand my response regardless of what I say. Somehow all they learned in English was "Hello. Where you from?" Whatever my answer, I usually just get blank stares.

7. I'm not used to getting the "look at that tall white guy stare", but I'm getting a lot of it here. Sometimes it's benign but sometimes people - usually younger-looking girls - come up to me, giggle, then run off to their friends who laugh and point. Thanks. Thanks a lot. It's nice to feel like a circus freak.

8. Along with the crappy roads, people use their car horns like it's a drug. I estimate that there's a 40% chance that at any given moment, a driver of any type of vehicle is honking his or her horn. They do it to warn others of their presence; to signal that they're about to pass on the left (or right); to cut through traffic; and probably a whole host of reasons I don't understand. It becomes just a cacophony of horn honking. So forget trying to sleep on the bus - the driver is honking away like there's no tomorrow. With one particularly angry bus driver, I started to time how long he was honking his horn to get other vehicles to move to the right so he could pass. The longest time I measured was 11 seconds! Doesn't seem that bad? Next time you're on the road, hold down your horn for 11 consecutive seconds. Trust me, it's a long time.

9. Europeans smell. I don't get it. Not all, to be fair, but many. Too many. It boggles my mind; it befuddles me; it leaves me speechless. First, it's so hot and humid out that, during the day, everyone probably sweats out four or five pounds of water. You feel disgusting when you get back to your hotel; you get that grimy feel that makes you yearn for a shower. If you don't feel the desperate need to bathe every night, something is seriously wrong. And that's just it - I think they go without showering. Second, I think it's a lack of deodorant use. I fail to understand this. It's not that hard nor that expensive. Me: I'm a loyal Right Guard user. Three swipes for each armpit - up, down, up. It takes me 5 seconds at most, and sometimes if I'm in an rush I'll multi-task and do it when I'm brushing my teeth. It's really pretty basic. How is it that an entire continent of people from industrialized, modern countries have missed this basic step in their morning routine?

10. Beer is everywhere in Vietnam. People sell it in the streets like it's Coke, literally. As far as I can tell, anyone can drink it anywhere at any time. You have to respect a country that supports rampant alcohol consumption...

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Nha Trang. I spent a few more days in Nha Trang enjoying the beach, including a boat trip around the bay. I thought this was just a tour boat that would take us to various snorkeling spots (which it did), but it was really just an excuse for a booze cruise. About 40 people, mainly young tourists, packed in for non-stop beer and banana whiskey. If you think about it, this combination - deep ocean and hard liquor - is probably not a safe way to go. But fuck safety, this was fun. At one point, they set up a floating bar and we all got inner tubes and swam out to the bar and drank whiskey while letting the warm breeze of the South China Sea gently cool us down. It was one of those moments where I looked to the sky and smiled and nodded, just because the moment wouldn't be right without a sly smile and a silent nod to the heavens for letting me have such a fine day. After we came back to the beach, a bunch of us from the boat got pizza and beers for dinner, and then I passed out. I'd trade a thousand tomorrows for another day like that.

After three days in Nha Trang, it was time to move on. Another bus, another city...

PS: I'm aware of the typos and grammar mistakes, but I'm writing these posts in cramped, hot, smoky, noisy internet cafes in Third World countries, so don't expect Shakespeare.