e-Yurt

Bidding the Road Farewell

2011-08-29T13:58:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in Para Coffee in Charlottesville, VA, a stone's throw from the University of Virginia. My alma mater. The kids studying here are so young. I can't help thinking about the way my life has changed since I was one of them. And how it's about to change again.

Fifteen years ago, I left Charlottesville and moved across the country to start a new job and a new life in Seattle, WA. I'm about to do the same thing again. Back then, I was following the path laid out for me by my parents. I didn't know enough about the Path to be unhappy. It would be only a few months before the questions would come: What now? Climb the ladder? Work and save? Is there nothing else?

The unanswered questions eventually drove me to trade the Path for the Road, and it's taken me to some pretty great places like Koh Tao, Thailand. While there, it occurred to me to ask: Why am I doing this? And I had an epiphany of sorts. The Really Big Question is just this: Am I stuck in the life I was born to, or am I free to change it? If I'm not free to change my life -- or if I'm too scared to -- I'm no better than a man living under house arrest. But if I'm truly free, I should be able to give up everything and go out there and make it on my own. You know, prove it, like Thoreau. And just like that, a big piece clicked into place. After two and a half years on the road, I have my proof. That road is mine. I own it.

One question down, many to go. The other answers probably aren't on the Road. I don't know where they are, but I suspect that my best chance at finding them involve being still, building meaningful relationships, and participating in a community.

So once again, I am preparing for a move to Seattle. But this time is different. I'm stepping off the Road onto a Path of my own choosing, and I'm choosing it freely. It feels good. It feels right. Even Thoreau left his shack in the woods eventually. My own experiment at simple living is over for now. A success, I think.

I don't expect to be updating this blog much anymore. Not for a long while, at least. Thanks for reading along. Come visit me in Seattle. There's always room on my couch for you. In my home.

Koh Tao: Over The Top

2011-05-15T23:01:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to get to the east side of Koh Tao for a while now. I tried to hike over the mountain pass once before but was turned back by the blazing sun and the oppressive humidity. Having run out of water before even making it half-way up, I resolved to try again another day. Yesterday, it was a bit cooler and overcast, so I packed a huge bottle of water and my camera, laced up my trainers and hit the trail.

An hour later, after shedding a few pounds of sweat and consuming most of my water, here's the view from the near the top of the pass:

To get there, I had to hike up a "road" that looked like this:

And that's before it got bad. In addition to ruts as deep as I am tall, it was so steep in places I had to scramble on all fours, occasionally climbing over or under felled trees and pushing through huge spider webs. I felt like Indiana Jones.

Bizarrely, there was an abandoned tea shop at the top.

Nearby was a residence, believe it or not. When the owners dog started barking at me, the man came out and gave me a hard look, top to bottom. Then he started laughing. I must have been quite the sight.

Finally, I got to see what the view is like to the east of Koh Tao.

Waaay down there is Tanote Bay, my destination. I certainly wasn't going back the way I came. My only hope was to make it to Tanote somehow and maybe catch a taxi boat from there back to Sairee. Thankfully, the way down to Tanote was much easier going.

When I finally make it to Tanote beach, I threw my stuff down and marched right into the water. Aahhh...

Rested, refreshed and refueled, I treated myself to beer at a beachside bar, and chatted with some folks there: a pair from Alberta, Canada and two blokes from Philly. They said they had gotten there the long way 'round on their scooters, and that they could give me a lift back. Great!

I asked the bartender -- a local -- if he had ever walked over the pass. He raised his eyebrows. "Yes," he said, "once," and smiled.

The four were ready to go, so I got on the back of one girl's scooter. We skidded and sputtered and fishtailed uphill about 20 feet when I told her to stop. "Thanks, and no offense, but this isn't working with me on the back." She said she had been thinking the same, so I wished them all well and headed back to the shack.

There, the bartender told me there was a taxi. Not a boat but a car that left at set times. I killed a half-hour and then met up with the driver. The "taxi" was a big, hulking pick-up truck. I climbed in the back, along with two local Thai women. We took off like a shot.

We climbed impossibly steep, rutted, slippery hard-pack dirt roads strewn with boulders and debris. Up, up, up, in no time, we were bumping along this narrow, windy "road" 100's of feet above the water. Oh my god. What kept us from sliding off the side and pachinko-ing through the palm trees into the bay below, I'll never know. Even the local Thai women were pounding on the cab and yelling at the driver to slow down. No pictures. I was holding on with both hands.

I made it back to Sairee minus a few pounds and a few years of my life, with a new appreciation of all that this little island has to offer. Next time, I'll hire a boat.

VoIP Confusion

2011-05-01T01:01:00.001-07:00

It seems I still don't have this whole phone thing sorted yet. If someone can help me make sense of the following incident, I'd really appreciate it.

Cellphone Support Rep: Hello, you've reached <provider> support. How can I help you?
Me: Hi. There are some charges on my most recent bill I don't understand. The international roaming charges accrued on <day> -- amounting to nearly $100 -- are for calls I didn't make.
Rep: Oh, I'm sorry.
Me: I called previously about this and just got a follow-up email from support. They say the numbers are owned by Bandwidth.com and represent VoIP calls. I've never heard of Bandwidth.com and don't have an account with them. I use Skype from my computer when I want to make VoIP calls. I don't even have a VoIP app on my phone.
Rep: I see. I'll remove the charges immediately. We're very sorry.
Me: Thank you.
Rep: Is there anything else I can help you with?
Me: That's it. Thanks. <hangs up>

As soon as I hung up, I realized that I do have a VoIP application on my phone: Google Voice. After a little digging, I learned that Google Voice uses Bandwidth.com. And from my Google Voice history, I saw that <gasp> I did in fact make those calls. Whoops.

The calls, as they appeared on my cellphone statement, had different numbers than the ones I dialed, and they appeared to be to random locations like Florida and DC. So my confusion is understandable. Besides, isn't the whole point of VoIP to avoid being charged extortionate international voice roaming rates?

So, what went wrong here? I'm certain I had a wifi connection when I made these calls. And even if the calls had switched to the cell network, I have a data plan and this is IP traffic. It's not called Voice Over IP for nothing. This should be covered by my data plan, not my voice plan, right?

Right?

Koh Tao: Night and Day

2011-04-24T02:13:00.000-07:00

I'm killing time in a coffee shop while the rain pours down. It's a good time to upload my backlog of photos and update my blog.

Nightlife

I spend my evenings walking the beach and watching the sun set from beachside bars. Fresh mango shakes and light lager beers beat the heat and humidity, which can be oppressive. On the sand, the locals pass the time playing games.

The locals are very athletic. Below, they're playing a game that's a cross between soccer and volleyball. Get the ball over the net without letting it touch your hands or the ground. They're very good. Flying high kicks over their heads present no difficulty.

After the sun goes down, many beach bars hire local fire jugglers to perform on the beach. They spin torches on the ends of chains, flinging them high into the air and catching them, all in beat to thumping DJ music. This guy took his show into the audience and, to laughs all around, spun his torches within inches of my face. I saw them through my closed eyelids, smelled the burning kerosine, and felt their heat as they whooshed past my face. "Don't flinch, don't flinch," I thought.

Lazy Days

Weekdays are for working, but weekends are mine, and I spend them wandering the island. It's small -- I could probably walk the whole thing in half a day, but I never make it that far. I inevitably find a pleasant beach and pass a few hours sitting under a palm tree or paddling in the shallow, warm waters. The tropical fish swim right up to you and give you a good looking over. The small ones nibble your toes.

Below is some resort in the southwest of the island. Fancy a dip in your own private pool in front of your bungalow on the bay?

Yesterday, I stumbled onto a remote southern beach, over which is perched the Banana Rock Bar. It's a surprisingly large, split level bar made mostly out of driftwood and old weathered planks. The walls are open and the roof is thatched. It juts over the rocks and the water, has a 180 degree view of the bay and faces the sunset. It took me 15 minutes of hiking along the coast from the nearest village to get there. The only other way in, as far as I could tell, is by water taxi. It's surrounded by rocks, palm trees, water, a few bungalows ... and nothing else.

The locals who work there seem to be as awed by the place as the visitors. The Thai who brought me my curry was rail thin and dark skinned. He had long hair, a wispy mustache, and unrestrained enthusiasm for Koh Tao. His home is on the mainland -- an ugly place, he says, where the air is fouled by scooter exhaust. "On Koh Tao ...," and here he takes a deep breath with arms outstretched, smiles broadly, looks out to sea and falls silent.

1 Reason to Stop Dreaming and Start Planning Your Round the World Trip

2011-04-08T03:01:00.000-07:00

Back when I was still living in Seattle dreaming about travel, I signed up for a bunch of travel-related newsletters, so messages like this one from Bootsnall.com would regularly land in my Inbox:

11 Reasons to Stop Dreaming and Start Planning Your Round the World Trip

Every time I got one, a voice in my head would say, "Dammit, why am I still just dreaming? <sigh>"

And going further back, about 10 years ago in a fit of premature travel-lust I went to REI and bought a serious backpack. You know, the kind for world-travelers and backpackers. It sat in the bottom of my closet for years unused and unsullied, silently taunting me every time I opened the closet: "Let's go already!"

Now, my backpack is showing serious signs of wear (yay!) and I'm in Thailand enjoying views like this:

The best part of traveling for me? The one reason that matters above all others?

I've finally silenced that little voice in my head.

Now when I see posts like, "The 11 Reasons to Blah, Blah, Blah," I can just smile. Maybe some people need 11 reasons. I needed just that one.

Koh Tao: Not Sucking

2011-04-04T06:21:00.000-07:00

Me: I'd like to buy a ticket to Chumphon.
Ticket Agent: Oh, no. Flooding. Very bad.
M: I know. It's not that bad. I have a ferry ticket to Koh Tao and I need to get to Chumphon.
TA: Koh Tao! Very bad. Don't go.
M: Please just sell me the ticket.
TA: ...
M: ...
TA: OK. But if you die not my fault.

Yes, she really said that I would die. Want to see what she was so afraid of? Brace yourself....

It's pretty horrible, I know. Regrets about coming? Lots. For instance: why didn't I come here two years ago?

Do your homework. Then feel free to ignore the people who tell you that you can't do something. They just don't don't want you to have more fun than they're having.

Hey, ticket agent lady! Nya, nya! <pbbbttthhhh!!!>

Koh Tao Update: Keep Hope Alive

2011-04-01T22:37:00.000-07:00

Note: This post is an update to the previous.

Meet the new plan. Same as the old plan. That's the short of it. Keep reading for details...

Have I mentioned that CouchSurfing.org rocks? In the depths of despair, I checked the Thailand message board and found a recent message from a Koh Tao resident assuring everybody that Koh Tao was Just Fine, Thankyouverymuch. Huh.

Then, I had the good fortune yesterday to meet a nice German who DJ's on the islands frequently. When I asked him about Koh Tao, he also told me that the island was fine now. Huh. (He also convinced me that Koh Phangan, the next island south, would be a better fit for me since I don't dive.)

So right now, I'm having a coffee at Hua Lamphong Train Station in Bangkok. I came here to talk to travel agents, learn more about the situation in Koh Tao and my transportation options. Here's what I've learned:

1. Koh Tao is NOT a disaster area (though Koh Samui and Koh Phangan are still recovering).
2. Reduced train service to Chumphon has been restored.
3. Ferries from Chumphon to Koh Tao are running again.

So, if I were so inclined, I could leave on a very late train tonight and be in Koh Tao this time tomorrow.

Instead, I'll wait in Bangkok one more day for my health to improve (I'm already much better) and see if they don't add more trains. Ideally, I'd catch the 7:30pm train tomorrow, which would allow me to take the early morning ferry on Monday. The beach beckons!

I plan to hang out on Koh Tao until Koh Phangan is fully recovered from the storm. Then I'll move over there, rent a bungalow and drop off the face.

I'm hoping for the best. And bringing my rain gear. Wish me luck.

Sent via tiny mobile device

Buddhas, Germs, Floods, and an Anniversary

2011-03-31T22:49:00.000-07:00

Happy Anniversary to me!

Two years ago today, I boarded a train and left my home in Seattle. Two years. Has it really been that long? It's been wonderful, no doubt, but this will be the latest in a line of it-ain't-all-roses posts.

But before we get to that ... Buddhas! Let's look at some now.

The Temple of the Golden Buddha may not be the most spectacular and extravagant temple in Bangkok, but it's easily my favorite.

The building is beautiful, as is the statue itself. With fewer tourists, it's a peaceful place to sit and think to the tinkling sounds of wind chimes.

Of course, I also had to see the famous Reclining Buddha.

Yeah, it's pretty big. But it's a shameless tourist attraction, and people are herded through like cattle. The statue itself is meh, and when it comes to Buddha statues, I really don't get this mine-is-bigger-than-yours mentality.

And with that, I think I'm templed and Buddhad out. No more.

Beach Bungalow a Bust

From Bangkok, I planned to go to a remote tropical location, rent a beach bungalow for a month or two, and generally drop off the face of the Earth. Fresh air, surf, sun, ... I was really looking forward to it. Mother Nature had a different plan. My chosen destination, the island of Koh Tao in the Bay of Thailand, is now a disaster zone, along with the rest of southern Thailand. Massive flooding has devastated the region, cutting it off completely. The Thai navy actually sent its only aircraft carrier to the region to rescue people from Koh Tao. What are the chances? (And who knew the Thai navy even had an aircraft carrier?)

OK, so I refunded my train ticket and will take a loss on the ferry and the bungalow deposit. I need a new plan, but I've been slow to come up with one because ...

Germs: 1, Me: 0

... I've been flat on my back with bronchitis for the past 2 days. I spent a significant amount of time laid low by germs in Hanoi, too. It's discouraging. I admit I may not have the constitution for extended travel in SE Asia. What am I going to do about it? I'll tell you. <pause> I don't know.

In my travels, I've met lots of people who romanticize my lifestyle. Maybe you're one of them. Reality check: sometimes it really sucks. This week alone, I've said goodbye to a good friend, had my plans thrown in disarray, and gotten sick. If I could be airlifted back to my old apartment in Seattle, I'd seriously consider it. <cough>

But I won't.

A Growth Opportunity

I have a dear friend. When she starts a sentence with: "I'm feeling particularly blessed...", I brace myself for a tale of woe in which all the negatives have been creatively spun into positives. I've learned to interpret "feeling blessed" as "the situation is shit, but I'm choosing to focus on the silver lining." (You know who you are, and I <3 you.) My current situation qualifies as feeling-blessed moment. This trip is all about getting outside of my comfort zone and learning to adapt and be flexible. This is my chance.

The weather will blow over. I'll make another plan. I'll recover from my cold and make new friends. For the first time in 2 days, I've left my hotel room. The sun is out, it's warm, and hell, I'm in Bangkok. Don't be such a bloody whinger, right? So, feeling blessed. Trying to, at least.

Universe to me: Happy anniversary! I got you this opportunity. Don't waste it.

Bangkok: Swiftly Moving Stream

2011-03-28T04:43:00.000-07:00

<gasp>

It's been 4 days since the Drunken Swede Incident, and I'm only now coming up for air. Bangkok has caught me in its current. Where to begin?

Last night, I watched my new friend L disappear into the crowd on Khaosan Road with his backpack, possibly never to see him again. It was one of those fast, deep friendships that sometimes happen on the road, and I watched him go with some sadness. He was also alone on the road, having planned his world tour with his then-girlfriend but was traveling through Asia with a buddy instead when his buddy unceremoniously ditched him in Bangkok to be with his now-ex -- a particularly low move in my book.

In spite of everything, L's enthusiasm for travel -- and Bangkok in particular -- were high, and we saw much of it together. That included both a trip to see live Thai boxing ...

(My abs look like that. Totally.) ... and a football match (soccer for you Americans):

L watching the local Bangkok football team, Taro.

The football match has been a trip highlight. We sat by the cheering section, where we were quickly adopted. The local fans taught us cheers both in Thai and Engrish: "We ah chee-ah fo Tey-lo! We ah chee-ah fo Tey-lo!" (Translation: "We are cheer for Taro!") Everybody wanted their picture with us, smiles all around, and beer put in our hands. When the local team won, the fans nearly burned the stadium down in celebration with flares and colorful smoke bombs.

We also saw the spectacular Wat Phra Kaew (Template of the Emerald Buddha), and the Grand Palace:

In our wanders, we stumbled across two of Bangkok's red-light districts. Honestly, we weren't seeking them out -- they're everywhere, and they're pretty creepy. You know those big, laminated menus at Denny's with pictures of waffles and burgers? Imagine menus like that, but with pictures of women instead. Girls stand in front of brothels entreating you to have a look at their menu. <shudder> I didn't linger.

Also creepy was this particular food stand at Khaosan Road, if you call this food.

Fancy a snack?

Khaosan Road

Khaosan is a world apart from the rest of Bangkok. A mecca for backpackers the world over, it's written about in every guidebook. The street is packed with travelers, bars, clubs, rats, cockroaches, junk sellers and scam artists trying to separate tourists from their money. I'm reminded of a line from a little-known sci fi movie I like: "You will never find a more retched hive of scum and villainy."

For all that, Khaosan is actually pretty fun. On what was to be L's last full night in Asia, we went into a club and had such a blast we stayed until closing. Yeah, I was the old guy in the club. Whatevs, it's Bangkok. I didn't get home until 4am. L got home even later, having met a girl and went with her to another club. I'm happy to have helped give L a proper send-off. I hope he remembers Bangkok as the city of beautiful women and uncensored fun that it is.

Heart and Seoul

The next day we were kicking back on Khaosan, killing time before L's flight to Seoul. There we met D, a beautiful Korean woman who, as luck would have it, was also flying back home to Seoul that evening. She loved Khaosan, was winding down her third visit, and her first one alone. She was a bit heartbroken that she had just spent 5 days and a lot of money on a very nice room with a king-sized bed, only to meet nobody to share it with. Huh. Just, huh. This brings up so much for me that I can't put into words, I'll just leave it at that. She and L picked a time and a place in Seoul, and are probably meeting up ... right about now.

Winding Down

After L and D left to catch their flights, I wandered around Khoasan on my own and thought. I was surrounded by people, people (I imagined) much like L and D. I had a sudden what-am-I-doing-here? moment, caught the train back to my hotel and turned in early with "Bottom of the World" by Tom Waits running through my head.

On the train home, I saw this sign and had a laugh.

Bangkok: Off With A Bang

2011-03-23T07:11:00.000-07:00

Me: I'm getting ready to leave the bar.
Bartender: OK.
M: Do you see that man over there, with the blond crew cut and the bulging muscles?
B: Him?
M: Don't point. The one that looks like a professional wresler?
B: Yes.
M: He's a Swede, he's drunk, and he's very angry.
B: Yes.
M: He's very angry at me.
B: Yes. He said you have a bomb.
M: I don't have a bomb.
B: I know.
M: I want to leave, and I'm afraid he will follow me.
B: ...
M: I fear for my safety. Do you understand?
B: Yes.
M: I want you to see that when I leave, he doesn't follow me.
B: We don't have security.
M: I know. Just, after I leave, if you see him making for the door, try to talk to him. Can you do that?
B: Yes.
M: I'm leaving.
B: OK.
M: Now.
B: I'll walk with you.
M: (walks casually to the door and leaves without looking back.)

No doubt you're wondering what in the world I could have done to so infuriate this Swede. Let me start from the beginning.

I was involved in a long and interesting conversation with a Kuwaiti that I had just met. We talked for hours about everything. Bought each other rounds. Were having a blast. He told me how much Kuwaitis love Americans and Brits because of the war which liberated Kuwait. Which got us talking about politics and the recent upheaval in the Middle East. Ali (the Kuwaiti) used his iPhone to translate the phrase, "I love democracy," from Arabic. Touching.

Then we started talking about Arab identity and borders. He told me that as a schoolboy, he was taught that the current borders of all the countries around the Persian Gulf were entirely Henry Kissinger's idea. There was some back and forth where I was saying that I had been taught no such thing and that it seemed implausible, but he thought I was just misunderstanding his words. That's when the Swede jumped in: "Why don't you leave this poor man alone?"

Huh? we said. The Swede went on to say that he had been listening in and that he had "this American" all figured out, and that I should stop trying to impose my world view and yadda yadda yadda. Again, huh? Ali and I both looked at him like he was nuts.

No matter how hard we (including another American who had been drawn into the fray) tried to clear up the misunderstanding (which it clearly was), nothing was getting through. The Swede knew all. He'd traveled everywhere. Lived in the UAE. Had many Muslim friends. He knew, man. Just knew.

Poor Ali. After the Swede punched him in the chest, he gave up, settled his bill and left. I took the opportunity to relocate to a table of women and tried gamely to make the most of my evening. The other American finished his beer and also left, leaving the Swede alone to get more drunk and fume.

Before long, he was haranguing me at the women's table, and I had to feel bad for getting the women involved in this lunacy. I stood up and tried one last time to talk sense. Sensing trouble, the staff came over and persuaded the man back to his seat. Finishing my beer, I could feel the man's eyes on me.

That's when I went up to the bar and had the above conversation. After leaving the bar, I walked in the opposite direction of my hotel, glancing backwards and listening for footsteps. I was tense. "Kick him hard in the balls and run," I thought. I ducked into a drug store, bought some stuff, and waited, watching the sidewalk. Nothing.

There was a train station nearby, so I hopped a train back to my hotel room, where I now sit behind my dead-bolted door.

Welcome to Bangkok! Sheesh.

Hanoi: Last Days

2011-03-21T03:43:00.000-07:00

The day after tomorrow, I leave Hanoi. It's too early yet for reflection, so I'll spare you the verbiage and post some pictures, instead. Yay, pictures!

This is Hồ Tây (West Lake):

This guy was stringing a fishing net in Hồ Trúc Bạch.

On many of Hanoi's lakes you can rent swan boats, and on nice days the lakes are dotted with them. It's very popular with young couples. The one below has seen better days, though. I really like these cast off, dilapidated reminders of everyday life. I'm drawn to them far more than to "beautiful" things.

When I was a kid, I thought trees should be straight and symmetrical. Now, the more gnarled the better.

OK, not a great picture, but it cracks me up. Someone clearly wants to be helpful with this sign, but they didn't quite make it.

So, where to now? Any way is as good as another. It's the journey, not the destination.

Halong Bay

2011-03-20T03:05:00.000-07:00

Halong Bay is a World Heritage Site considered to be one of the most spectacular sights in Vietnam. Only 3 hours by bus from Hanoi, it's a must-see. The rumors were true: it's amazing.

The elements have carved the limestone into countless fantastically shaped islets. I got a package deal that included bus rides there an back and a 2-day, 1-night cruise on a junk with my own little cabin. Of course, ours wasn't the only tourist boat on the bay that weekend.

There were eight of us total, aside from the crew: 4 Chinese electrical engineers, a Chinese musician and his girlfriend, an Austrian woman and me. We cruised the bay and visited "Surprise Cave," then the adventurous (me!) hopped in some kayaks and paddled around for a bit. I went to investigate the local fishing village. People actually live and work here. This is just somebody's house:

The weather didn't totally cooperate, but that just means I got lots of moody, gray shots of the islands and the local fishermen shrouded in mist.

Before supper, the crew took us back to the fishing village and we each picked our dinner, caught that day and still wriggling. The group picked out some freaky prawn-like things, all legs and eyes. I picked out some clams. Back at the junk, the chef whipped up a feast that we all shared. I ate one of the creepy little sea monsters. Not that bad! The clams were buttery and delicious, but I lived to regret them -- my stomach was tied in knots for a week.

Card Sharks

After dinner, the Chinese engineers pulled out a deck of cards and started playing a 3-player game I'd never seen before. They called it Landlord and taught me the rules. It was complicated. When my turn came to play, I fared badly.

Looking to save face somewhat, I taught them Hearts. I also came to regress this. They took to it quick. When I started explaining the strategy, they simply smiled: "Yes, it's obvious. If you trade away all your spades, you could be passed the Queen and have no way to get rid of it." "Oh, damn," I thought, "I'm screwed." They crushed me. But it was fun, and from that point on, they did nothing but play Hearts, long into the night and all the next day.

It was inky black that night. Lights on the other junks, diffuse from the mist, reflected off the water. It felt like we were suspended in space. The sounds of muted, far-off laughter came from all directions. I hung out with the musician and his girlfriend for a bit, who were fishing off the back of the boat, then retired to my cabin and slept soundly.

I woke to a heavier mist and rain. My photos from the next day are even moodier.

We had a Western-style breakfast and then just cruised around in the mist for a bit. We pulled back into the harbor around noon, had lunch and then rode the bus back to Hanoi.

Here's me and the engineers. The one with the camera is the musician. A good bunch of guys -- I really liked them a lot.

Hanoi by Haiku

2011-03-10T08:22:00.000-08:00

Is business too slow?

Karaoke bar empty?

Try more neon lights.

Dumb pedestrian.

Sidewalks are for parked scooters.

Go walk in the road.

Boiled chicken and skin.

Chew, chew, chew, chew, chew, chew, chew!

Makes the flavor last.

Slinky dress and heels.

Mmm, I wonder who she's with.

Oh damn, that's a dude.

Air should not be brown.

Thank goodness for my face mask.

Can I bum a cig?

Christmas tunes in March.

Happy new year, all year long.

Why stop the party?

I made this for you,

Karaoke neighbor dude.

It's an I.E.D.

Taxi cab for hire,

Honking right into my ear

Won't get my business.

Life in the fast lane!

Why's it always The Eagles?

This is not a haiku.

All Work And No Play ...

2011-02-24T00:47:00.000-08:00

My friend J said she wanted my life. I mean, who wouldn't, right? World travel, adventure, new people, exotic food, and all those life-enriching experiences. It's like one big party all the time.

Except it's not. Here's a dirty secret: my life is pretty boring. I have a job. I work. I don't talk about it much because blog posts about a boring life are ... boring! But it's the truth. Like anybody in the working world, I have ... oh hell, it's all too boring to type. Here's how I spend my days: working! Exciting, huh?

"But you get to work in exciting places." True, and it's great. I can look out the window at people -- Vietnamese people! -- having fun. Woo.

It's not always like this. A consultant's life is feast or famine. When the workload is light, I can spend more time enjoying my surroundings. I can even choose not to take a client at all, but if I did that all the time I'd just be a bum. When I have a client, it doesn't matter that I'm in Vietnam. It doesn't matter that I'd like to spend a couple of weeks touring the countryside. I can't. I'm too busy. It's INFURIATING.

In fact, I'm too busy to be blogging. But really quick, here's purty a pic I snapped while walking to the coffee shop this morning:

OK, back to work.

Where Are You From?

2011-02-19T02:31:00.000-08:00

I met a guy at a bar last night. Abdullah. He had a dark complexion, but I couldn't place his ethnicity. I asked him where he was from, and with a vacant look he said flatly, "I don't know."

First, let me say that I've met some strange characters during my travels. The expat life in particular seems to attract some real wackos. I could tell you stories. But this guy seemed perfectly sane and reasonable.

"What do you mean, 'You don't know?'" I asked. He insisted he didn't know where he was from. He looked me straight in the eye. No bullshit. He didn't know.

I got wise. "OK, where were you born?" He burst out laughing. I had cracked his code. Then he told me his story. "I was born in Cambodia. I studied overseas. I live in Vietnam. My mother is Vietnamese, but my father is Somalian. So you tell me: where am I from?" I confessed that I didn't know. Abdullah is clearly frustrated with not having a simple answer for such a simple question. Around and around he goes with every new person he meets. Sounds exhausting.

I should have wised up sooner. After all, I have the same problem with the seemingly simple notion of "home". I like Abdullah's style. He wasn't afraid to directly expose my false assumption. And like in some Socratic dialog, he let me figure it out for myself so the point would really sink in: "Some people don't fit in your neat little boxes."

Point taken.

HCM vs. KFC

2011-02-12T22:36:00.000-08:00

There are no US fast food chains in Vietnam. No Starbucks. No Burger King. No McDonalds, even. There's only one exception: Kentucky Fried Chicken. For the past month, I've been racking my brain, trying to figure out why the Vietnamese would make an exception for the Colonel. And then it hit me. Look:

Ho Chi Minh	Colonel Sanders

Freaky, ain't it? Like they're separated at birth, or something. So I checked up on it. They were both born in 1890! I think that fairly proves it, right?

Hanoi Miscellany

2011-02-12T01:26:00.000-08:00

I'm in the cafe above the Hanoi Cooking Center drinking espresso. I'm the only one here. Behind the Cooking Center is Bookworm, and while I tap at the keyboard I can peer into their second-floor window and watch people browse the used books. Hello, book-lovers.

I took my camera out for another walk today. Even on a misty, overcast day like today, it's amazing how much beauty this city holds.

I pass scenes that fascinate me: an old man holding an extravagantly plumaged fighting cock, smoothing its feathers with obvious pride and affection. A religious(?) ceremony in a pagoda: two young men sitting on their knees facing each other, an older woman in brightly colored silk robes dancing to traditional music waving sparklers over them. I want to photograph everything, but I don't know the etiquette here and I'm too shy to stick my big Western nose where it doesn't belong. I content myself with taking pictures of inanimate things.

Scooters shoot past me wherever I go. Young women on the back look over their shoulders and giggle at me. I'm reminded of how different I am.

Different or not, I'm slowly making local friends. Kiên, a young Vietnamese man, works at the House of Son Tinh. In Kiên I've finally found a local who is happy to share his love for his home country and his hopes for the future. His girlfriend is leaving Vietnam for Singapore, but he will never leave.

Kiên describes what Vietnam was like before it embraced capitalism. "To buy anything, you needed stamps," he told me over rice wine one night. "There were no big houses in Hanoi because you needed stamps to buy bricks, and the government only gave you enough stamps for 15 bricks a week. You couldn't even build a house for your dog. It didn't matter how much money you had, not that we had any."

Change started in 1989, he said. No more stamps. A free market. The effects are plain to see: growth here is explosive, and Kiên takes obvious pride in it. "But what would Hồ Chí Minh say about the new capitalistic Vietnam?" I ask. Kiên gives his head a quick shake. "These are different times."

And then he tells me about the American war, a topic I've been careful not to broach with anyone. Yes, people were angry -- very angry -- for a time, he says. But not now. Time has passed. "If your father killed my father, it doesn't matter. You and I are friends now." I'm humbled by this man's heart.

On my walk today I passed a furniture store. In the window was a sofa that, in shape and color, reminded me of the sofa I owned in Seattle -- a sofa that still waits for me there. I felt a sharp pang of homesickness, but it passed as I walked. My old life will always be there, I remind myself. My new life is here, now.

Happy Tet

2011-02-02T20:53:00.000-08:00

Today is the first day of the Vietnamese new year -- Tet. The streets of Hanoi are eerily quiet. Most Vietnamese are home with their families, the way Westerners would be on Christmas day. All the shops are closed for the holiday.

There was a week-long build-up to Tet. Motorbikes with precariously perched kumquat trees clogged the roads. The air was heavy with burnt offerings made to the Kitchen God. Midnight flower markets sprung up, and everybody everywhere rushed to pack their fridges and purchase last-minute Tet gifts, knowing full well that after the stroke of midnight, Feb 2, nothing would be left.

Today's emptiness is a stark contrast to last night, the new year's eve celebration. Around every pagoda, whole cottage industries sprung up selling every kind of burnable and edible offering. Young people congregated around Hoan Kiem lake in the Old Quarter to be entertained by jugglers and snake handlers and live music, and at the stroke of midnight, fireworks.

For most of this, I ambled and observed. It was just about the first warm sunny day since I got here, and I took pictures. These were taken before the sun set, and reflect the calm before the storm:

The next one was taken downtown a few hours before midnight. I found a quiet, little spot above the fray for a beer and a bite where I could observe the madness from a safe distance.

I'm now sitting in one of the very few coffee shops left open in the city. The place is slowly filling up with Westerners, just the way a Chinese restaurant might fill with Jewish people on Christmas Eve. No family to go to, no tradition to fall back on, no gods to worship but the usual ones of coffee and work.

Hanoi: the Great Salad Bowl

2011-01-26T01:17:00.000-08:00

I've heard the US likened not to a melting pot but a salad bowl, the idea being that different cultures are all tossed together, but they never really mix. That's great for cultural identity, but not so great for cultural exchange. The same could be said about Hanoi. The expats sit around together and talk about how hard it is to meet Vietnamese.

It's not surprising. Culture, and especially language, are powerful unifying forces. Even at our housewarming party (attended predominantly by expats), the Italians stood at one end, the Vietnamese at another, and the rest of us squeezed in the middle chattering in English. While I've been here, I've met New Zealanders, Aussies, Italians, Germans, Irish, Scotsmen, Englishmen, Canadians, one or two other Americans ... and no Vietnamese.

I mean, I've spoken with the locals, but I haven't been befriended by one. The closest I've come is the 15 year old boy who works at the pho place I like. He jokes around with me and likes to exercise his high-school English. In rapid fire, I got "What's your name?", "Where are you from?", "How old are you?" When I asked him if he was studying English in school, he giggled and ran off.

Another time, he pointed at me, tapped the top of his head, and flexed his bicep, which I took to mean, "You American. Big. Strong." (Either that or, "You American. Bald. Think you're hot stuff.") Until this exchange, I didn't have a clue what kind of an impression I made. Looking around, I realized I was the only foreigner in the place.

Seasoned expats here have casually told me that I'll never be more than a foreigner to the local Vietnamese, even if I spoke the language. Getting an invitation to dinner from a Vietnamese person is a Big Deal, and when it happens, it's likely so you can be shown off as your host's "foreigner friend". Ugh. I don't know what I was expecting, but that's not it.

Hanoi Rock City

Some friends and I stopped by a new club, "Hanoi Rock City", for some live music, cheap beer, and some steamy, hot bonfire action. The dim light was a bit much for my little camera. These are some of the least blurry pictures. Note the absence of Vietnamese faces.

Hippie drum circles and expats go together like flies and you-know-what.

Play that funky music, white boy.

Cute girls! Don't get thrown by the Asian one---she's from Montreal, as is her friend. As hard as it is being a Westerner in Vietnam, it's apparently harder if you're a Westerner of Asian descent, because the locals expect more of you.

There actually were Vietnamese people at Hanoi Rock City, and the owners are young Vietnamese who traveled extensively in Europe and decided Hanoi needs music venues. They're trying to bring everyone together through music (and alcohol). It might just work.

Why I Like CouchSurfing.org

2011-01-20T21:30:00.000-08:00

You probably could have guessed that I wouldn't be a homeless homebody for too long. The good folks at CouchSurfing wouldn't let me.

Yesterday, I got a random CS message from a Kiwi girl trying to get folks together for drinks in Hanoi. Still in hermit mode, my lame response was that I was going to check out a bar in Ho Tay called Le Pub and that she was free to meet me there. That, I felt, pretty much guaranteed that I would be left alone to read. Not so. Her response was immediate: "I'm in Le Pub right now!" Really?!

Sure enough, there she was surrounded by a klatsch of couchsurfers drinking and trading travel stories and tips. I couldn't get away from these people if I wanted to! And I don't. They dragged me out of my funk and made me excited about traveling again. Oh yeah, I love this.

Note to self: travel is a passion, and passion is meant for sharing.

Homeless Homebody

2011-01-18T04:43:00.000-08:00

I'm alone in my room in Hanoi. Out there is new stuff, real stuff, exciting stuff to explore and experience. But sometimes I get a bit overwhelmed by all the newness and realness. It can be exhausting.

When I lived in Seattle, there were so few sunny days that there was pressure to make the most of the few that you got. "What did you do with the sunny day?" we'd all ask each other, as if reading a book or watching a movie on a sunny day were some sort of misdemeanor.

As a nomad, I sometimes feel pressure to make the most of my time in a new place. Bars! Restaurants! Parties! Museums! Culture! And always an endless stream of new faces. Um, 'scuse me while I crawl into my hole and read my book.

Don't get me wrong. I consider myself very, very fortunate to be able to have new and exciting experiences. But they can't be as comforting as the old, familiar ones. And there's nothing wrong with that, but it's easy to forget.

Some people tell me they're jealous of my trip. I definitely want it to live up to everybody's expectations, my own included. But "to thine own self be true." And the truth is, as a nomad, sometimes I crave a little piece of home.

Now if only I knew where home was...

Hanoi in Pictures

2011-01-15T01:28:00.000-08:00

Today, I hitched a ride on the back of a scooter to the city center -- the Old Quarter around Hoan Kiem Lake -- and took my camera. The lake was lovely, as was the Ngoc Son Temple in the middle and the lake-side cafe where I drank Vietnamese coffee and read my book, but like usual I found the people and the street life more interesting.

I had no idea Vietnam was so big!

Old women. Rice paddy hats. Overloaded bicycles. Asian kitsch. (How much is the doggy in the ... mat? ... blanket? ... tatami? WTF?)

Snails, anyone? Eeew.

Get. In. My. Belly.

Hanoi: Seconds

2011-01-13T04:13:00.000-08:00

Pictures! Here is my alley. It doesn't even show up on maps. Can you see why my poor taxi driver got his car stuck here?

And here is my first bowl of real Vietnamese pho.

That bowl left me unsatisfied, so today I tried a different place. Like that first one, this was a mom-and-pop-lean-to-with-a-corrugated-tin-roof-and-plastic-lawn-furniture kinda place. I ducked in (literally -- low ceiling). A boy said "pho bo". I said "pho ga" ("Beef soup?" "No, chicken soup.") and took a seat. The lawn furniture in this place was made for 6 year olds. When I sat on the chair, my knees were so high I couldn't get them under the table. Can you picture it? Hilarious. But the pho! Died and gone to heaven. I was thorougly pho-filled. Ha! I slay me.

Last night my old friend Tamara from Seattle picked me up on her scooter and we plunged into the chaos that is Hanoi's street traffic. (Yes mom, I wore a helmet.) It seemed less life-threatening this time. I credit Tamara's skills (and sanity). We drove downtown to Tamara's favorite Vietnamese restaurant and met up with a couple of her friends. The catfish spring rolls were every bit as good as Tamara promised.

Some locals seated next to us wanted to know where we were from and what we were doing in Hanoi. I told them about my trip and about New York. They told us about growing up in Hanoi and in Saigon (not Ho Chi Minh City, huh). A pitcher of dubious-looking yellow fluid arrived at our table. Our neighbors smiled and raised their glasses -- a gift! The drink was cool and refreshing, made from sweet corn. Really, a very pleasant dinner. Afterwards, Tamara drove me back and we talked a bit about life in Hanoi. "Either you'll hate it or you'll never leave," she told me. "It's addictive." I don't hate it. Should I be worried?

I wandered around some today taking in the scene and mulling over what I've experienced so far. Mostly, I walked in the street because either there are no sidewalks or else they're occupied by people selling fruit or sitting on lawn chairs eating and drinking. I never felt threatened by the traffic whizzing around me. There's a natural flow, and I was part of it. I thought about that flow. There is no road rage here. People just toot their horns and go around obstacles. I thought about the locals I had met the night before. Friendly and open without a hint of animosity toward their former enemy, the Americans. Maybe the war was just another obstacle for them to go around. No rage. Just go with the flow.

And I thought about the contradictions these people live with effortlessly: the traditional and the modern, the clean and the dirty, the rich and the poor. Nobody notices or cares. Even the patchwork construction and the crazy power lines going everywhere ... it all seems very organic. Just going with the flow and not worrying about it. I could get used to it.

Hanoi: First Impressions

2011-01-11T20:12:00.000-08:00

I'm taking my first sips of an Americano in a very Western coffee shop called "Highlands Coffee" on Xuan Dieu in Hanoi. I have a backlog of work, but I MUST get my first impressions of Hanoi down before they're lost forever.

It's overcast here. In part, it's the weather. It's also haze from moto exhaust and the countless roadside fires smoldering here and there for no apparent reason. The scooters are innumerable and jockey for position on Xuan Dieu alongside taxis, bicycles and carts peddled by old women wearing those rice paddy hats you see in movies. People avoid breathing in the haze by wearing scarves and face masks, but then take them off to breathe in cigarette smoke.

I rode a taxi from the airport last night. After haggling with the driver halfheartedly, we took off like a shot. This driver would give Italians pause. He leaned on his horn and flashed his high beams the whole way, laughing and talking and thumping his steering wheel in time to the American dance music pounding out of his speakers, weaving around trucks and scooters and even driving head-long into oncoming traffic at times. It was like having Jason Bourne for a cabbie. I discreetly reach for the seat belt. By the time we made it to my new neighborhood, I was ready to have a coronary. Then he slowed and got serious, studying the address I gave him and the street signs we passed. When he found my alley, he whooped and pointed and pounded my arm like we were old buddies. He then made a terrible mistake, misjudging the width of the alley and of his car, getting it stuck, scraping both doors and mangling his bumper. The poor guy was bereft. I gave him some extra money for his troubles, and shook hands with my new roommate, Luca, who was waiting for me at the door. I collapsed on my bed and -- after the adrenaline from the cab ride wore off -- fell into a deep sleep.

The coffee shop I'm sitting in is in a big new mall that wouldn't look out of place in the US. Christmas music blares from the speakers. Right next door is the "restaurant" where I had breakfast: my first real bowl of pho. I say "restaurant" because I almost didn't recognize it as such. It was really just a sort of lean-to built out of this and that with a corrugated tin roof and a sign out front that chirps "Cafe 29". Traffic whizzes by just outside. Under this flimsy shelter, a girl takes orders, a boy assembles the soup, and an old woman runs it out to patrons sitting on plastic lawn furniture. Looks like a family affair. I smile contentedly to myself as I drink in the scene and a cup of green tea -- finally, a new adventure! The soup arrives. It's much like the pho ga that I've known and loved in Seattle, except the chicken skin is left on, making it chewy and unpleasant. My search for a really good bowl of pho has only just begun.

Many Hanoians are dressed impeccably. Hair like in a Japanese anime cartoon. Fashionable designer jeans and flat, pointy, expensive-looking shoes, the kind you might find in a European boutique. And yet the streets are lined with garbage. The most picturesque ponds are sullied with rotting bicycle tires other detritus. I can only imagine what it would smell like in the heat and humidity typical of Hanoi's summers. Nobody seems to notice or care. It's hard to fathom.

Everything is under construction. Buildings being thrown up seemingly at random. The alleys are a maze around patchwork structures of all description. Bundles of low-strung power lines run every which way. Getting lost here is a given. I must keep my wits about me because my smart phone can't get me out of trouble here.

I got my first taste of Communism last night when I tried to log onto Facebook and found it was blocked by the government. I asked Sara, another new housemate. An Italian architect, she laughed about the government's halfhearted censorship, likening it to her own Italian government's lax law enforcement, in contrast with, say, China's. Sure enough, with a little poking, I too was able to find the holes in their firewall. LOL.

That's it for now. Stay tuned... pictures to come.

"Papers, Please"

2011-01-08T12:26:00.000-08:00

It's not enough to just show up in a country and expect to be let in. As an American who has traveled throughout Europe and the English-speaking world, it's easy to forget that fact. Vietnam is the first country I'm traveling to that actually requires a paper tourist visa. And let's not forget, they're still a Communist state. They like to keep a tab on their peeps.

I read the website of the Vietnamese Embassy to see what was available. It was a mess ... out of date and often contradictory information. The information I got on various traveler websites and message boards was equally confused. So I called the Vietnamese Embassy in the UN (open between 1200 and 1205 every third Thursday, or something) and and got the answer I was looking for: yes, a 3-month multi-entry tourist visa was available.

Paperwork completed, I mailed it off with my passport, a cashiers check and a return envelope to the Embassy in NYC and held my breath. And voila!

I am now authorized to enter Vietnam! Purty, ain't it? I couldn't be more pleased with myself.