vietnam: from russian symphonies to portable pho restaurants

my first impression of vietnam was at a border crossing, dawn after an overnight bus from vientiane. fuzzy after all the sleeping pills and the blurry overnight train, we come to the lao border, spend all our kip on pringles and shuffle into the government building where we stand in awe of the utter mayhem springing around us. the room is packed with travelers, most of them lao, in no particular order desperately trying to shove their passports behind a glass window AT THE SAME TIME. forget lines, forget order- this is asia. it's the same story once we walk across the border, leaving our bags on the bus. we have to hand our passports to the people in front of us, who pass them through the crowd and under the glass window. from there we wait and elbow our way to the glass window to watch the men process, stamp and grimace. we wait while the passport agents flip through the passports, befuddled that jenny and monika have extra pages, until they finally let us through. then the morning fog rolls in, shrouding us all in a chilly mist.

hanoi


motorbikes are everywhere, like ants, honking and whipping around. in order to cross the street, you just walk- very slowly- and they swerve around you like a rock in the middle of a stream, surrounding you in honks and exhaust fumes. the city is packed. there are ladies carrying baskets like giant scales across their shoulders, heads down, pointy straw hats hiding their eyes. they sell fruit, flowers, car parts, set up restaurants on the street and make pho. every brick of the street is a store, a restaurant, or a barbar shop crammed so close that you can't take it all in. as you squeeze through them all, dodging the motorbike that's now cruising the sidewalk, blaring its horn at you, you pass the dishwasher who crouches on the curb with her tub of soapy water and try to cross the street again.


on the other side of this extreme is the luxury of the nicer places in the city. the opera house, a lavish renaissance structure built by the french, where we see a symphony and piano concerto underneath glowing chandeliers. the music of russian masters brought to life again in front of us, moving us to grab for each others hands in the dark. after, dirty martinis and cuban cigars in the gazebo by the sofitel pool. candle light and wicker lounge chairs, talks of graham greene and secret affairs, laughter. the next day, we return to our oasis for high tea, lightly scented lotus, tiny sandwiches, chocolate buffet.

sapa

vodka bottles at a nearby lesson yield english lessons and walrus grins from chopsticks. everything blurred by the orange lights of the train and our friends from the hotel ushering us into the train, hugging us farewell. our windy bus ride from the station to sapa overlooks the rice terraces, carved from the mountain over 500 years ago. they resemble architectural topography, sketches now living in the side of the mountain. we start our trek, followed by a train of hill tribe people and chicken, our pink bunny balloon. the ladies of the hill tribe smile wide, explain the use of the water buffalo and pose for pictures in front of the landscape. then insist that we buy their headbands or earrings or pillowcases after lunch. we sleep in a village of 600 people, the mountain rain tinkling on the tin roof, squeaky wood floors and uno games. the next morning, we set out along the terraces, swimming in crisp river water as children watched and laughed on the bridge above. the next day, the mist rolled in so our walks were like being in a cloud. fog settled above rice fields, gardens of lillies and bamboo tucked into a sheet of mist.




halong bay
the bus operator accidentally plays a pole dance porn video on the neon bus to haiphong. in town, we search for exotic foods and find izakaya instead of blackened sea slug and snails. the japanese business men are from nagoya, so i reminisce about my old city and befriend yamakawa-san, who gives me his vintage lighter. the next morning, we ferry to the bay, through the damp mist to cat ba town. our hotel is on the 6th floor with our own private balcony, overlooking all of halong bay. we play cards and watch the sunset behind the mountains, then take a boat to a floating restaurant where we choose our fish from nets under the restaurant. they prepare a feast of fish, clams, crab and slippers marinated in lemongrass and peppers. we take a boat back to town and dance to the music we make up. dawn and we are off on our own junk- a traditional vietnamese boat taken through halong bay. we are surrounded in an eerie mist as we pass the floating homes of fishermen, constructed above their aquatic farms. chows run along the planks of the homes, barking as we sail by into the mist. we kayak along the salt water reefs, through caves that sing with dripping water. when the rain starts, we hide in a cave and watch the drops dance in the distance. mammoth jelly fish pulsate through the water during the day, and at night the black water glows with phosphorescence while we drink moonshine by candlelight. the bay feels like a mystery, a place where time slows down to a crawl. so little light can actually penetrate the fog that the entire day seems like dusk; like you're looking at the world through lenses of green and gray. and though it's not traditional beauty, it's an honest one; like seeing your lover as they sleep. it's a beauty that is three dimensional.

on being a quiet american

i originally had a conflict about coming to vietnam. should i spend tourist money in a country whose political system i morally oppose? christmas morning at the vietnamese embassy further concertized these oppositions and made me a weary of testing these waters, but now that i'm here, i am glad to be seeing how communism works, or doesn't rather. this trip is not just about leisure but about education. sometimes, i am an ambassador for my ideals in conversations with others who want to share. this is not about politics, more about seeing the guts of a country and realizing that their way of life has nothing to do with my values. they have the right to live as they please and organize themselves how they wish. as long as they are not aggressors, then it has nothing to do with me. (which makes me really think about the wars...)

oh hanoi, the train, the smells, the noise...i will tell those stories later. right now i want to talk about sam and hannah, the iranian couple who shared our cabin from hanoi to sapa.


we rolled in, laughing and drunk, holding a pink chipmunk balloon and talking to everyone in the way. sam and hannah were already seated on a cot, so allan and i settled in and started talking. when they said, "iran" i was so excited because they were already so warm. for hours, i sat with them and talked to them about their culture and their politics and their conception of americans. i got to cross the lines that the borders and the media barricade between us and reach locals in places our leaders won't let us go. hannah must cover her head in public. sam and hannah have never been to a beach together, as men and women must be separate. alcohol is illegal and must be ordered over the phone like drugs in the us. but, girls do have sex with their boyfriends before marriage, though they don't talk about it. they do drink and live like we do, though they must be secretive in most ways and though i think this is oppressive and would not want to live this way, (which is why i don't), sam and hannah seemed exceedingly happy in their lives, tolerant of their challenges, and excited to share themselves and their culture with others. not all of the population is religious or even agrees with the fanatic government ruling the nation. they said about 5 to 10 percent of iranians think that way and the rest are just like them. if that is true, then i am going to iran. i have never been so in love with a couple: their smiles and warmth, sincerity and joy of life despite its difficulties. we talked about language, poetry, japan (sam lived in japan), culture and love.

and then i thought, if only 10 percent of the population are like ahmadinejad, why don't the rest of them stand up and fight against it? how could a country that was so liberal be forced back into such repression? as i asked myself these questions, i realized that OUR government is being ruled by the same concept. maybe it's a majority, but it doesn't make it right and it doesn't make it free. why can't new, innovative, radical ideas take root in OUR american society? we are always stuck in a middle rut of compromise and moderation, which is just a muddle of right and wrong. it's not easy to pass judgment on something you don't understand and are not a part of, kind of like you shouldn't take the stick from your neighbor's eye when you have a log in your own.

(for more on this theme, please read graham greene's novel, the quiet american)

same same...but different

the motto of laos, same same, but different, has become my motto. i am the same same, but these weeks have made me different. it's a nuance, a cloud lifting and opening my eyes to something wonderful: possibility. through my whole life i've felt obligated to do things without really understanding why. there's been this pressure to please or take care of everyone but myself, but now i'm starting to see that the only person i am accountable to is myself. the only person i need to make happy is myself and i'm doing that.

i love my life

i have said this aloud so many times and meant it with the utmost sincerity. i love my life.

riding the slowboat up the mekong, surrounded by people that see me, that understand me. conversations about murakami with norwegians and sharing beerlao and slow joints. listening to graceland and singing to myself, for myself and admiring the scenes around.

relaxing in luang prabang, the french colonial city speckled with lao culture. the wats overlooking the long french windows, drinking wine in fishbowl glasses and runs along the river- the markets illuminated with white lights and bananas roasted on an open grill. the lao disco where we drank scotch and danced till we were drenched and the locals laughed at our charisma. the waterfalls- pools so clear and blue we argue about whether or not they're real. we hiked up through the fall, past the danger signs, following the groves made by the water and stood at the top of the enormous fall. the lush forest in the distance, the green blue layers of water falling, falling to the ends of the earth.



the smell of fresh mint everywhere. splashing in the tube in veng vieng, kicking my feet, calling to the mountains in elation. the color of the sunset, a burning red behind the sharp blue cliffs as i drove a moped down the street, overcoming a paralyzing fear. lagoons, crisp and refreshing after a blistering bike ride over rocky roads, and the lighting of the caves illuminating the golden buddha inside. dancing- fireside while everyone rested in hammocks and finding ben in the crowd, making up words to the song based on back to the future. moments that make you laugh so hard you can't talk. running around the boardwalk, screaming for ben as he screamed for me to dance thriller. kayaking from veng vieng to vientiane, admiring the boulders, the child fishermen and conquering the rapids.

our last night in veng vieng, i looked around at our crew- a group of 15 strangers who had kept running into each other and formed a bond. misunderstandings and fights morphed into daredevil moments and crazy conversations. each of these people brought something diffent to the table and each of them has left me a little bit different, better. but mainly, this is about my girls. traveling with jenny and monika has been the best choice i could have ever made. both of them enrich me in ways i forgot i needed and every moment with them i feel more and more complete.

from monika, i'm learning to leave time and space for myself. to create and let go, to have the guts to take chances alone. also, to commit to things and follow through with the crazy ideas you come up with.

from jenny, i'm learning to learn. i'm reminded of my love of learning and beautiful things and how to make my goals translate into long term possibilities.

i am the same person i have always been- the core is the same, but the layers around me are peeling and changing colors- more vibrant, more rich, more. i am same same, but i feel so different.

the gibbons experience

as a youth, i always marveled at the idea of tarzan swinging through the jungle on the vines of trees, calling out to the open space- a king of the natural world. i thought i would never find a place so untouched and so alive, but i was wrong. i found such a place in the jungle outside of houay xai, laos. we woke up with the town rooster crows, packed and ate our muesli and fruit. we then climbed into a white landcruiser, 9 near strangers following trails into the bokeo reserve, where the gibbons experience has set up its operation. the landcruiser came to a stop at a small village. we all piled out and were greeted by sang keo- a short, muscular lao guy with a light chocolate complexion contrasted by a huge, toothy smile.

almost immediately, we were off, following him and sheil down winding paths. soon we came to our harnesses and put them on; awkwardly shifting our weight and tying the carabeeners to the loops around our waists. sang keo attached himself to the zipline and took off, singing and swaying like the line was an extension of himself, completely relaxed and at home in the jungle. then it was our turn: i snapped my safety on first, then attached my roller and held my breath. "okay" sang keo shouted and i jumped. i held onto the roller at the top to steady my swaying but the wind rushed over my body, whipping my clothes and hair. i looked around me- water running below, 150 meters down. trees everywhere, canopies, green, lush, birds, and a treehouse stuck in a tree below. in the distance, the mist and the mountains, an infinite space where you are completely alone. then i shouted- i let out an exultant cry of elation and i have never felt so free. imagine flying across the canopy of the jungle, looking out for the first time


this first zip line was over 300 meters long- the longest that we would do and by far the most memorable. throughout the next 3 days, we zipped over 20 times, to where it was as natural as jumping for us at the end. the gibbons experience was started by a french guy who was interested in preserving the rainforest in lao. he pays the government "rent" to keep this area a reserve, free from poachers and loggers. we were told stories about how the staff have stolen baby asiatic bears from poachers and brought them to bear camp to try to assimilate them to jungle life. jeff, the french "owner" of the gibbons experience, has constructed 6 treehouses throughout the jungle using ziplines and trails to connect them. our first day we did about 5 zips before coming to the first treehouse, where 6 of us would sleep. we dropped our things and zipped to a waterfall, stripping down to our bathing suits, we swam in the clear, freezing water.

i climbed along the waterfall, playing and slipping in the swirling pools of icy water. we laughed and raced in the pond, then dried off and tried to make our way back to the treehouse for dinner. we got lost and luckily a girl who worked in the kitchen zipped up to us and showed us the way home. our dinner was there waiting- a bamboo box of sticky rice, mushrooms, bok choy, and beef with onions. we had fruit and nuts to our hearts content, then i made tea and the others lit candles so we could play uno in the dark. we pulled down our mosquito nets and settled into sleep with the sounds of the jungle lulling us. the bird calls intermingled with the cool mist and protection of the canopy.


soon it was dawn and the bird calls changed to something more bright and chipper. we were awoken by the sound of sang keo zipping into the house, "morning! coffee? tea? who want?" we packed our bedding as he laid out drinks and cut up a pineapple with his machete, we ate and soon were off again to the kitchen where we met up with the others for breakfast. the day was composed of trekking through the woods, up hills so steep i felt that if i stopped i would not be able to start again. i welcomed the burning muscles and the panting from loss of breath. after so much time in one place, sitting on the boat, i loved the intensity. the jungle looped around us, embracing our crew with its arms and scented flora. the earth was moist and smelled fresh. we zipped- every time seeing the forest from new perspective and each time loving it more. it was like being completely alone for one minute, a solo celebration. tonight we stayed in treehouse 5, a two story treehouse with a honeymoon suite as the loft. jenny, monika and i took the loft, since it's meant for 2 people and we don't mind sleeping close. we can see people enter the house on the zipline and enjoy a 360 degree view of the jungle around us. it's truly stunning. we have seen and heard so many smaller animals, but unfortunately no gibbons. i think we are too loud, having too much fun with each other.

sang keo took us on another trek from the exit zip, past the kitchen to the primary entrance zipline. it was an intense hour of hiking, in the middle of which we found an enormous tree, probably 40 feet tall, which had grown around a hollow center (unless it was once a tree that was squeezed to death by the vines of another). i climbed up the center, following sang keo like an agile animal, crawling vertically hand over feet, pulling up, switching for strongholds- live sturdy branches and vines. we towered up, poking our heads out of the mammoth tree. every few feet our heads through a different gap, our smiles and our hands showing our friends below where we were inside the tree. 3o feet? 40 feet? i'm not quite sure how high i went- but in the bowels of this tree, i reminded myself of my college days, climbing trees with jacobi and terrance- scaling the ficus trees in the arboretum, napping in the arms of the trees on campus, the youth of our spirits. when i came back to the treehouse and showered, the waterbeads fell from the the tree down to the bottom. it looked like a silver shower of light beading its way down forever.

we started to stir when the birds' song changed again into morning tunes; when the sky began to show its misty grey of dawn. it was moist and cool when those of us who wanted to look for gibbons left the treehouse by the entrance zip. now, zip lines are constructed so that you are going downhill, which is why there is an entrance and exit zipline. this morning, to avoid the same hike as yesterday, we had to do a reverse zip and climb the rest of the way up the cable. allan went first, barely reaching the center before turning around to pull himself up the line. jenny followed, his weight making it easier, then marnie, then me and monika. 5 people, white gloved pulling themselves up the cable in the grey early morning. we hiked to an observation spot and listened for 30 minutes. we wanted to hear gibbons. instead, we got to hear the entire jungle wake up: the birds call, the deer bellow, the domestic kitchen animals compete with the others. the sun rose between the trees, a burning orange ball that melted into a pale yellow.


we returned to our treehouse and packed. we left on the trek back to the village: a 6 hour trek with 9 zips over the river. we followed the trail through an unused portion of the jungle. the earth was moist, scenting the air with a soft, cool aroma of things dying and new things growing from them. the leaves were quilts, covering the next generation of life. mold and mushrooms grew over old wood and broken branches. we followed the river. thorn-covered trees and vines gripped at our legs, tearing at us. leeches reached out for our shoes and clothes, attaching themselves to our ankles. throughout the journey, sang keo rarely left the lead. he used his machete like a key, gracefully opening up the locked doors of briar and vines, opening up the mysteries of the earth to us. my muscles burned and i was short of breath, but i was too joyful to notice and too melancholy at leaving the heart of the forest.

we arrived at the end almost by surprise. we were suddenly walking down solid paths made by tires, not machetes. we zipped our last line without realizing it- i leaped from the platform, first in line, listening to "no cars go" by the arcade fire. "i know a place where no trains go. i know a place where no ships go...no cars go" i unhooked myself and yelled "okay" then sat down and scribbled in my notebook, trying to encapsulate the joy, realizing that this experience is too complex to articulate. we walked to the river and put our tired feet in, admiring the river devices the villages had constructed to mash rice: two windmills powered by the river current which raised a large mallet and then dropped it onto a basket of rice. soon we were in the landcruiser again, leaving the village with its sow and 3 piglets, all black and squealing, leaving all of them for the bumpy road. the car brushed past hundreds of plants, throwing their soft, billowy pollen into the air like a cloud of dancing snow flakes. i sang tiny dancer and remembered singing arm in arm with line in tokyo- that night i rode the roller coaster and she and kjersten waited for me and then we ate cheeseburgers.

that night, we slept in beds, ate dinner at the pizza shop and went drinking at a swank bar. it was the one with the great lighting and the chairs made from tree stumps. they served good vodka and let monika pick the music. we talked all night, weening ourselves from the sounds of the forest, trading them for the howls of the stray dogs in houay xai.

river trips, hill tribes, elephant rides...the end of thailand

thaton

the bus to thaton was a crazy green with polished cielings so that we could see our reflections in the metal- it screamed vegas. the air became sweeter as we pulled away: the smell of bamboo and horses on the outskirts of chiang mai gave way to even subtler scents- of honeysuckle and bananas. i peered at locals piled into a pickup truck, adorned with bright linens and colored headdresses. the mountains are not peaked like they are in america, but clustered fists covered with lush foliage. i am pleased to be outside of the city now, away from the pollution and the hustle.

when we arrived, i tripped and fell from the bus. a terrible dizzy spell and a sickness i've never felt followed and i couldn't sit up straight at the bar where we had looked for shade. out of no where, a thai woman with rough dreadlocks saw me and ran to get a key and lay me down in one of her rooms. she but tiger balm under my nose and some rust colored powder on my tongue, instructing me to wash it down with water. she returned to the room with a wet towel and wiped me down, instructing me to rest. she had such a calm, serene authority to her, that i never questioned her motives or techniques. i let her nurse me and make me soup and lecture me that evening about not wearing long pants. i turned out to be very sick- though i'm not sure what it was. perhaps my body just needed some time to adjust to this new culture or to purge itself before starting again. i'm not sure, but i had a hard time getting out of bed for the next two days. i slept most of the time in thaton.

that is, with the exception of visiting the karan hill tribe outside of the city. the karan are a indigenous people to northern thailand who elongate their necks using gold coils of metal that stretch out their necks and knees. they look like giraffes, walking down the street trying to hold the weight upright. in addition to these, there are women with elaborate headdresses and black teeth, some of which have stretched out earlobes. the groups of women (i'm not really sure where the men are) sell handmade scarves and trinkets for tourists who pay to come and see them in their "natural habitat", which is strange because it gives them a freak show quality which i found really awkward and distasteful. i felt bad taking their picture. i kept looking at the little girls with these massive coils around their necks and knees and wondering if they did it for their own cultural reasons or if they do it so that tourists will come and gawk at them and give them money. i have a feeling its the latter, which made me feel strange.

mae kok river
thaton to chiang rai via bamboo raft

from february 28th to march 1st, monika, jenny and i pulled a huckleberry finn in the most authentic way imaginable: we floated on a handmade bamboo raft down the mae kok river. it was the most leisurely pleasurable experience so far on the trip because it got us far away from other foreigners, and go slow enough to really absorb everything around us. our raft was about 20 feet long, most of which was a covered hut where the three of us played uno, read or listened to music most of the day. the rest was the bow and stern where our guides stood and steered the vessel that they had assembled for the purpose of our adventure down river. the bow is handled by me, a dark old Thai with laugh marks entrenched in his face. he's always pointing to things and asking for them in english. when he messes up, he laughs hysterically and turns his head, revealing the mole on his neck from which 3 long silver hairs burst like streamers. tan, the stern, is much more mellow and reserved. he rarely tries to speak or respond to us, he just smiles and smokes from his long, hand-rolled cigarette. tan always wears a straw hat that, since he looks so young, makes him seem even more like one of mark twain's characters, except he wears a bright green t-shirt that says, "happy halloween" on it. tan's always the one sneaking up on us with plates full of fresh fruit- papaya, watermelon or pineapple that he's literally just sliced up with his all purpose machete.

over the days on the river, tan and me taking care of us was the main theme. they liked to try and joke with us in their limited english- entice us to sing and then laugh at our silly songs or what they hear as garbled language. we stopped in 3 villages along the way, meeting many small children who loved to show us through the streets of the village. pointing out where they live or showing off their little brother, the pregnant ox or the local mission. when we would return to the boat, tan and me usually had lunch of noodle soup ready or, if we were camping the night, had begun setting up the grill for dinner. every evening we slept on the raft under mosquito nets after feasting on fresh fish grilled on the open fire over a handmade bamboo grill.

on our last day, we went to a hot spring that had been made into a spa and soaked, relaxing away the sore necks from sleeping on the hard floor. then we continued to float until we came to an elephant camp. here, at my request, we had worked in a stop at a place to ride elephants. we automatically bought food to feed our elephants, which made all of the others acts giddy and perform for the possibility of getting fed. one balanced in a tripod using her trunk and front legs, kicking her back legs up gleefully. the others were equally excited and blocked my way with their trunks- sticking the moist, pointy end toward me and sucking in torrents of air. we paid our money and were off- two guides, three girls and two massive elephants rocking down the road. we switched places a few times, so that in the end the guide was walking and giving verbal commands as i rode on the elephant's enormous, bristly head.

chiang rai- chiang khong

shortly after the elephant camp, we arrived at our stop for chiang rai. a driver met us there, we said our goodbyes to tan and me, and we were off to chiang rai. though chiang rai is a pretty big city and there is probably a lot to see, we decided to head directly for the smaller border town of chiang khong and stay at a guesthouse there. we relaxed and had a hot shower, did laundry, played with the guesthouse kittens and had our thai massages. the matron's mother and i bonded over a game of charades, trying to find the thai translation for "ginger" i finally went into the kitchen, but still couldn't find it, so jenny looked it up online. king is the word. so grandma and i had ginger tea together and then i was invited to share breakfast: purple sticky rice that you mash with your hands and then press into a second dish- pork with stewed garlic and vegetables. as we were talking, it turns out that she lived in osaka for 5 years, so we spoke a little japanese and she pulled out her pictures from 20 years ago and how happy she looks beneath the sakura blossoms. now it's time to raise our gaze to the other side of the mekong, the river that you see if you look out beyond the guesthouse as you sip your ginger tea. that's the city we're moving too. houay xai, laos. a whole new country. a whole new chapter.