36 hours door (Hanoi) to door (W. 94th St.).
Bill slept for about 24 of them.
I slept for two of them
After taking a sleeping pill.
Vietnam→Bankok→Beijing→JFK
Final leg was
Steerage class all the way
A plane packed with brand-new immigrants to the US
Copying their immigration documents painstakingly
From master copies they’d brought with them.
No paper towels in the bathrooms
No hot water
No movie
And a two-hour delay during which
Everyone’s seat was changed
In a thoroughly random fashion.
However
We flew over the Arctic Circle
On a clear, bright day
And saw the ice shelf
Glittering and gorgeous
And traced the thinning ice southward
As the flows began to crack.
A wonderous sight and worth the flight.
Also worth it:
Sitting next to ‘Gramps’
Who true to Chinese tradition
Was served both his meal and his wife’s
As well as his baby grandson’s
And who shoveled in everything he wanted from all the meals
(With such relish for the airline food)
and forked over whatever was left to his wife.
I knew Chinese custom was for the men to be served by the women
And for the women to eat their leftovers afterwards.
But on a plane to JFK??
Now back home in the melting pot
And happy to be here.
July 28
Too tired, too sick
To make a blog entry these last days of my trip.
Enough squatting in markets
And eating questionable foods from dirty bowls.
Nevertheless
There was the layered stewed fruit-bean-salty-sweet-chewy concoction
In Hue
And the fruit salad with sweetened, condensed milk and ice
In Hanoi
And I’ll be looking for something similar in Queens
After I’ve survived this thirty-six hour series of flights
On no sleep
A month of no sleep.
What have I missed recording?
Final days in Hue
Water puppets
An art form unique to Vietnam
A surreal spectacle
A pool of water for a stage
Marionettes gliding through the water
Dragons, fish, foxes, princes moving
In a tripped out rice paddy.
Just the two of us, waiting for the performance to begin
Which it did, late, only with the arrival of a tour bus full of
Corpulent Frenchmen—or were they Belges?
Who talked loudly across rows of seats throughout the spectacle
And looked at trip photos on their cameras.
Americans are no longer the biggest philistines on the tourist trail
Lots of comp from all over the first world.
Next day
Cycled out to a beach outside of Hue
Where we were the only foreigners.
Swam in the South China Sea
Ate pineapples and soup and rice crackers
Sold to us by women
(some were just girls)
wrapped head-to-toe
(To keep their skin ‘protected’ against darkening
Here, sadly, too…)
as they walked up and down the beach
With their heavy loads
In hundred-plus heat
Hoping to make a sale or two that day.
The soup lady had one spoon
Who knows who had already used it
We used it, too
Stifling our concerns.
Final day of our trip in Hanoi
Filed past Uncle Ho in his mausoleum
Guarded by men with bayonets
He looked like a Madam Tousaud special
It was hard to get my head around what I was seeing.
Women’s museum
Excellent exhibit on street vendors
Coming into Hanoi from the villages
To make a few dong
Maybe. On a good day.
Female
You see them doing far more of the work in Vietnam
While the men lounge around and play board games and card games on corners
And nod out on opium in their pedicabs
Calling out listlessly for customers.
Fancy, NY-pricey dinner, ex-pat style
With someone we know from college who lives in Hanoi.
I was burnt, useless
And still have a thousand-and-one questions to ask him
About his adopted country.
And now the long trip home.
To make a blog entry these last days of my trip.
Enough squatting in markets
And eating questionable foods from dirty bowls.
Nevertheless
There was the layered stewed fruit-bean-salty-sweet-chewy concoction
In Hue
And the fruit salad with sweetened, condensed milk and ice
In Hanoi
And I’ll be looking for something similar in Queens
After I’ve survived this thirty-six hour series of flights
On no sleep
A month of no sleep.
What have I missed recording?
Final days in Hue
Water puppets
An art form unique to Vietnam
A surreal spectacle
A pool of water for a stage
Marionettes gliding through the water
Dragons, fish, foxes, princes moving
In a tripped out rice paddy.
Just the two of us, waiting for the performance to begin
Which it did, late, only with the arrival of a tour bus full of
Corpulent Frenchmen—or were they Belges?
Who talked loudly across rows of seats throughout the spectacle
And looked at trip photos on their cameras.
Americans are no longer the biggest philistines on the tourist trail
Lots of comp from all over the first world.
Next day
Cycled out to a beach outside of Hue
Where we were the only foreigners.
Swam in the South China Sea
Ate pineapples and soup and rice crackers
Sold to us by women
(some were just girls)
wrapped head-to-toe
(To keep their skin ‘protected’ against darkening
Here, sadly, too…)
as they walked up and down the beach
With their heavy loads
In hundred-plus heat
Hoping to make a sale or two that day.
The soup lady had one spoon
Who knows who had already used it
We used it, too
Stifling our concerns.
Final day of our trip in Hanoi
Filed past Uncle Ho in his mausoleum
Guarded by men with bayonets
He looked like a Madam Tousaud special
It was hard to get my head around what I was seeing.
Women’s museum
Excellent exhibit on street vendors
Coming into Hanoi from the villages
To make a few dong
Maybe. On a good day.
Female
You see them doing far more of the work in Vietnam
While the men lounge around and play board games and card games on corners
And nod out on opium in their pedicabs
Calling out listlessly for customers.
Fancy, NY-pricey dinner, ex-pat style
With someone we know from college who lives in Hanoi.
I was burnt, useless
And still have a thousand-and-one questions to ask him
About his adopted country.
And now the long trip home.
July 22: Off the trail, small world
Have eaten in filthy restaurants
Shared questionable water with strangers
And ridden on dangerous roads
In a loose helmet
With a beer-swilling moto-driver
Whose cigarette smoke wafted downwind as he drove
All in an effort to get off the gringo trail
And see how people live here.
Most successful efforts have been on our rented bicycles
On our own.
But today
As Leo tossed and turned on Vicodin
(He’s okay)
We paid big bucks to be driven to an off-the-tour town
And then smaller bucks to be taken by moto to more remote villages.
We walked through one of them with one of our drivers
Following the river up into the mountains
To a waterfall
And partying villagers
And spectacular landscape
And the ubiquitous bottles and cans and plastic bags
Among the rocks and in the water.
And got a look at the other villages only
From the road
Which is worth noting was
the Ho Chi Minh trail.
Back to the initial town where we
Walked on our own (free in both senses!)
On back roads and where
All the children came out of their houses and followed us
Pied Piper style.
Hello, they said and giggled, hello.
This is what the guidebooks call the 'Ethnic People Villages.'
Yes, their faces were different.
So were ours, and how.
Was the expedition worth it? Bill asked.
We traveled, we saw.
Maybe nothing so new
Peasant life is more or less the same everywhere
In Northern Laos or Central Vietnam
In the hills around Atitlan or the tobacco fields of Mississippi
Different crops
Different staple foods
Different building materials and houses and style of dress.
But what impresses is not the differences
But how small the planet is.
(There were, however, those pipe-smoking women…)
Now back at the comfy, “mid-range” hotel
Where they’ve cleaned the scum out of the pool
Lying on the bed giving in—after several days--to being sick
And not up for adventure tonight.
Shared questionable water with strangers
And ridden on dangerous roads
In a loose helmet
With a beer-swilling moto-driver
Whose cigarette smoke wafted downwind as he drove
All in an effort to get off the gringo trail
And see how people live here.
Most successful efforts have been on our rented bicycles
On our own.
But today
As Leo tossed and turned on Vicodin
(He’s okay)
We paid big bucks to be driven to an off-the-tour town
And then smaller bucks to be taken by moto to more remote villages.
We walked through one of them with one of our drivers
Following the river up into the mountains
To a waterfall
And partying villagers
And spectacular landscape
And the ubiquitous bottles and cans and plastic bags
Among the rocks and in the water.
And got a look at the other villages only
From the road
Which is worth noting was
the Ho Chi Minh trail.
Back to the initial town where we
Walked on our own (free in both senses!)
On back roads and where
All the children came out of their houses and followed us
Pied Piper style.
Hello, they said and giggled, hello.
This is what the guidebooks call the 'Ethnic People Villages.'
Yes, their faces were different.
So were ours, and how.
Was the expedition worth it? Bill asked.
We traveled, we saw.
Maybe nothing so new
Peasant life is more or less the same everywhere
In Northern Laos or Central Vietnam
In the hills around Atitlan or the tobacco fields of Mississippi
Different crops
Different staple foods
Different building materials and houses and style of dress.
But what impresses is not the differences
But how small the planet is.
(There were, however, those pipe-smoking women…)
Now back at the comfy, “mid-range” hotel
Where they’ve cleaned the scum out of the pool
Lying on the bed giving in—after several days--to being sick
And not up for adventure tonight.
July 21: Too far from home
I am eleven thousand miles away from Leo
And last night he broke his clavicle
Climbing a goal post with three friends.
I found out by email
And am sitting in my hotel making phone calls to an answering machine
And hoping he’ll get our messages and call us here.
Now.
While he was being taken to the emergency room
And treated
And put on Vicodin,
We were pedaling through Hue
Exhaust fumes, fish sauce, manure, gorgeous countryside
To the opulent tombs of the last imperial rulers of this country
Who were already on their way out
And spent their days fucking their concubines and writing poetry (lucky them)
And contemplating their deaths by designing grand memorials to themselves
Palaces for their remains
Full of treasures
Surrounded by gardens and ponds
And now magnets for tourists
Lots of French today, a few Spaniards, some northern Europeans, Japanese, Aussies
And us.
The kings and queens of the globe in the Nguyen royalty’s final resting places.
The traveling is boiling hot, dirty, but fun.
Cooled off in the big pool of a fancy-dancey hotel we quietly walked into
Where guests ask the hotel staff to open the umbrellas over their lounge chairs
And where any sense of Vietnam is left outside the complex walls.
Nice swim, but hard to see the appeal of staying there.
Why doesn’t Leo call?
And last night he broke his clavicle
Climbing a goal post with three friends.
I found out by email
And am sitting in my hotel making phone calls to an answering machine
And hoping he’ll get our messages and call us here.
Now.
While he was being taken to the emergency room
And treated
And put on Vicodin,
We were pedaling through Hue
Exhaust fumes, fish sauce, manure, gorgeous countryside
To the opulent tombs of the last imperial rulers of this country
Who were already on their way out
And spent their days fucking their concubines and writing poetry (lucky them)
And contemplating their deaths by designing grand memorials to themselves
Palaces for their remains
Full of treasures
Surrounded by gardens and ponds
And now magnets for tourists
Lots of French today, a few Spaniards, some northern Europeans, Japanese, Aussies
And us.
The kings and queens of the globe in the Nguyen royalty’s final resting places.
The traveling is boiling hot, dirty, but fun.
Cooled off in the big pool of a fancy-dancey hotel we quietly walked into
Where guests ask the hotel staff to open the umbrellas over their lounge chairs
And where any sense of Vietnam is left outside the complex walls.
Nice swim, but hard to see the appeal of staying there.
Why doesn’t Leo call?
July 19
Buddhist teaching:
Nothing whatsoever should be clung to.
Wandered on our bikes today in Hue
once the Imperial City
still full of Imperial architectural marvels
a citadel, palaces
a forbidden city
ramparts, arches
dance, music
easy to get lost if you want to just wander and marvel and ponder
which we did—all of the above.
Pulling up at a Buddhist temple—one of so many—on a little side street
And stepping inside the gate
We were invited to join the prayer ceremony upstairs
Monks at their meal at a table behind the altar
Their movements choreographed to a gong or
The chanting of the men and women out in front
Who were standing, hands pressed together
Or kneeling, head dropping to floor.
Afterwards, we were asked to eat
(Creative soy stuff and a stew featuring lima-fava-type beans)
and it was nothing but an invitation
from people with so little
a welcome to their country, city, temple
nothing asked in return, nothing expected
from fancy foreigners in fancy shoes
(left at the door)
in a place where outside the temple walls
everything is a negotiation
everything is for sale
everything is for profit
an extra penny or two reigns
and we are tempted to bargain up, rather than down
because we can here, because we have so much.
Life’s inequities disturb and boggle me every day
But rarely as intensely as when I travel.
Nothing whatsoever should be clung to.
Nothing whatsoever should be clung to.
Wandered on our bikes today in Hue
once the Imperial City
still full of Imperial architectural marvels
a citadel, palaces
a forbidden city
ramparts, arches
dance, music
easy to get lost if you want to just wander and marvel and ponder
which we did—all of the above.
Pulling up at a Buddhist temple—one of so many—on a little side street
And stepping inside the gate
We were invited to join the prayer ceremony upstairs
Monks at their meal at a table behind the altar
Their movements choreographed to a gong or
The chanting of the men and women out in front
Who were standing, hands pressed together
Or kneeling, head dropping to floor.
Afterwards, we were asked to eat
(Creative soy stuff and a stew featuring lima-fava-type beans)
and it was nothing but an invitation
from people with so little
a welcome to their country, city, temple
nothing asked in return, nothing expected
from fancy foreigners in fancy shoes
(left at the door)
in a place where outside the temple walls
everything is a negotiation
everything is for sale
everything is for profit
an extra penny or two reigns
and we are tempted to bargain up, rather than down
because we can here, because we have so much.
Life’s inequities disturb and boggle me every day
But rarely as intensely as when I travel.
Nothing whatsoever should be clung to.
July 17
Bike ride to beach on broke-down Soviet clunkers
One speed up and down steep hills
Breathing in exhaust smoke
Beautiful little beach
With groups of college students in town to sit exams
Playing drinking games and volleyball and soccer
At least the boys.
The girls sat by watching
The girls here go into the sea in shorts and T-shirts
No bathing suits for them or their moms.
I put on my rash guard to add a little modesty to my bikini
The water was warm and lovely.
Steamy hot ride back to town
Under a brutal sun
Thinking about how much you miss when you can’t read the signs.
What’s that way?
Restaurant, café, or bar?
Hospital, school?
Right, left or straight ahead?
What’s that plaque for?
What’s going on in those tents set up on the big boulevard?
What kinds of food are they selling?
Why is the door locked? When will they open?
Can I drink this, or will it make me sick?
Visited a cool Cham ruin this morning
With spectacular photo ops
But our camera is broken.
Ate yogurt w/tiny pieces of different fruits and chipped ice, served with a straw and a spoon
Ate dinner overlooking the sea
But
Had to ask to have the muzak turned down
So we could hear the waves lapping the rocks below us.
Muzak as ubiquitous here as fish sauce
Used to love fish sauce until a couple of days ago
Never could stand muzak
Though I can’t help singing along to Bridge Over Troubled Water
One part original song, one part La Vache Qui Rit cheese.
One speed up and down steep hills
Breathing in exhaust smoke
Beautiful little beach
With groups of college students in town to sit exams
Playing drinking games and volleyball and soccer
At least the boys.
The girls sat by watching
The girls here go into the sea in shorts and T-shirts
No bathing suits for them or their moms.
I put on my rash guard to add a little modesty to my bikini
The water was warm and lovely.
Steamy hot ride back to town
Under a brutal sun
Thinking about how much you miss when you can’t read the signs.
What’s that way?
Restaurant, café, or bar?
Hospital, school?
Right, left or straight ahead?
What’s that plaque for?
What’s going on in those tents set up on the big boulevard?
What kinds of food are they selling?
Why is the door locked? When will they open?
Can I drink this, or will it make me sick?
Visited a cool Cham ruin this morning
With spectacular photo ops
But our camera is broken.
Ate yogurt w/tiny pieces of different fruits and chipped ice, served with a straw and a spoon
Ate dinner overlooking the sea
But
Had to ask to have the muzak turned down
So we could hear the waves lapping the rocks below us.
Muzak as ubiquitous here as fish sauce
Used to love fish sauce until a couple of days ago
Never could stand muzak
Though I can’t help singing along to Bridge Over Troubled Water
One part original song, one part La Vache Qui Rit cheese.
July 16
Sick of exhaust smoke and fish sauce.
They’re permeating every pore
And impossible to avoid.
Could eat Lao food forever without tiring of it
But the food here in Vietnam, though good
Gets monotonous quickly and all tastes of fish sauce
Except at the veggie places.
Laos was a more comfortable, peaceful, enjoyable place to travel
But Vietnam is more interesting as a global phenomenon
A poor nation modernizing at a frenetic pace
And haphazardly, from the looks of it.
Smog, cell phones, wireless, plastic bags
Hand-made fishing nets
Home-made noodles
All collide on the street corner
Where people sit low to the ground on
Tiny chairs at tiny tables
(have I commented on this already?)
eating a bowl of phờ or drinking a beer.
Later, some will lie down more or less where they are
Moving a few feet to just inside the open front doorway of their home
And crash for the night.
At least that’s the way it looks to this insomniac
That people in this country lie down wherever they find themselves
And shut their eyes and that’s it.
I wouldn’t do too well here on a permanent basis.
As usual, the accommodations on this trip have been all about
Searching for silence
Without the advantage of being able to say
Away from the roosters, the restaurant, the other guests
Away from broom closet, the elevator, oh, and
especially the other guests.
Currently bedding down at the Hoang Anh Gia Lai hotel
HAGLE for short, it says it on the towels and soaps
Appropriately named as haggling is the name of the game here
(and everywhere in this country)
though pleasantly
by pleasant people.
Scoring a room up high and in a far building
Of a nearly empty hotel
required the persistence of a Hollywood agent.
But Bill insisted by pantomiming his crazy partner and her crazy sleeping
And maybe to shut him up they gave in.
We’re in a room with a balcony on the sea
And we’re comfortable
And laughing at the tacky take on ‘resort’
And enjoying being in a place that hasn’t seen much tourism
Yet.
They’re permeating every pore
And impossible to avoid.
Could eat Lao food forever without tiring of it
But the food here in Vietnam, though good
Gets monotonous quickly and all tastes of fish sauce
Except at the veggie places.
Laos was a more comfortable, peaceful, enjoyable place to travel
But Vietnam is more interesting as a global phenomenon
A poor nation modernizing at a frenetic pace
And haphazardly, from the looks of it.
Smog, cell phones, wireless, plastic bags
Hand-made fishing nets
Home-made noodles
All collide on the street corner
Where people sit low to the ground on
Tiny chairs at tiny tables
(have I commented on this already?)
eating a bowl of phờ or drinking a beer.
Later, some will lie down more or less where they are
Moving a few feet to just inside the open front doorway of their home
And crash for the night.
At least that’s the way it looks to this insomniac
That people in this country lie down wherever they find themselves
And shut their eyes and that’s it.
I wouldn’t do too well here on a permanent basis.
As usual, the accommodations on this trip have been all about
Searching for silence
Without the advantage of being able to say
Away from the roosters, the restaurant, the other guests
Away from broom closet, the elevator, oh, and
especially the other guests.
Currently bedding down at the Hoang Anh Gia Lai hotel
HAGLE for short, it says it on the towels and soaps
Appropriately named as haggling is the name of the game here
(and everywhere in this country)
though pleasantly
by pleasant people.
Scoring a room up high and in a far building
Of a nearly empty hotel
required the persistence of a Hollywood agent.
But Bill insisted by pantomiming his crazy partner and her crazy sleeping
And maybe to shut him up they gave in.
We’re in a room with a balcony on the sea
And we’re comfortable
And laughing at the tacky take on ‘resort’
And enjoying being in a place that hasn’t seen much tourism
Yet.
July 15
Greetings from Quy Nhon
Pronounced Oui Ñon
(say first word as in French, second as in Spanish)
sort of
Vietnamese is far more difficult than Lao
More tones, more vowel sounds, a feast of foreign marks over otherwise recognizable letters.
My attempt to say, “One pineapple juice, please”
(freshly made, creamy, delicious)
still seems to come out as “I’m here to fuck your grandmother.”
People solicitous nevertheless.
Imagine that Stateside.
Arrived in this mid-sized city
After a death-defying bus ride.
Two-lane highway with
Four cars across, passing one way or the other
At breakneck speeds and a centimeter of clearance.
Other passengers (as many as could squeeze in)
Hanging over their seats to stare at us, at what we were writing, doing.
Transportation packed as in Central America
But they got our broke-down school busses
While the Vietnamese got some very reliable Japanese cast-offs.
Got on the minibus just as it was pulling out
Because we went to the wrong bus terminal first.
No time to trot out our important phrase:
How much?
And got taken for four times the fare
Which was still less than a cab ride downtown
For a four-hour trip.
Which we discovered later we could have made by train
For less.
Lonely Planet
We’re dependent, but it’s like that little girl with the little curl.
Quy Nhon is a mid-sized city on the coast
About midway north-south
Still totally off the gringo trail
Except for Barbara
Who arrived from New Zealand in the 70s to do something altruistic
And stayed
And is a welcome font of info
After several days of traveling with no language
An interesting activity
Have the vaguest idea of what it might be like to be illiterate
And she rents bicycles
Shitty ones
That were made when I was
But they’ll get you back and forth
If you don’t try to raise the seat too much
And pedal with your knees out to the side.
Cham ruins to visit here
(I’d never heard of the Chams until a few days ago)
and some spectacular beaches
which we’ll visit tomorrow
weather and bikes permitting.
Will close tonight with food. Surprise!
Pho for breakfast
When in Rome…
Bun for dinner
And
Three veggie restaurants we know about in this town.
As in Quang Ngai, Buddhist, Vietnamese veggie
Not backpacker veggie.
Have lunched at two so far.
They do cool stuff with soy products here.
Now drinking rotgut rum
With freshly squeezed Pineapple juice in
Hotel room.
It’s late. I can hear the waves.
Pronounced Oui Ñon
(say first word as in French, second as in Spanish)
sort of
Vietnamese is far more difficult than Lao
More tones, more vowel sounds, a feast of foreign marks over otherwise recognizable letters.
My attempt to say, “One pineapple juice, please”
(freshly made, creamy, delicious)
still seems to come out as “I’m here to fuck your grandmother.”
People solicitous nevertheless.
Imagine that Stateside.
Arrived in this mid-sized city
After a death-defying bus ride.
Two-lane highway with
Four cars across, passing one way or the other
At breakneck speeds and a centimeter of clearance.
Other passengers (as many as could squeeze in)
Hanging over their seats to stare at us, at what we were writing, doing.
Transportation packed as in Central America
But they got our broke-down school busses
While the Vietnamese got some very reliable Japanese cast-offs.
Got on the minibus just as it was pulling out
Because we went to the wrong bus terminal first.
No time to trot out our important phrase:
How much?
And got taken for four times the fare
Which was still less than a cab ride downtown
For a four-hour trip.
Which we discovered later we could have made by train
For less.
Lonely Planet
We’re dependent, but it’s like that little girl with the little curl.
Quy Nhon is a mid-sized city on the coast
About midway north-south
Still totally off the gringo trail
Except for Barbara
Who arrived from New Zealand in the 70s to do something altruistic
And stayed
And is a welcome font of info
After several days of traveling with no language
An interesting activity
Have the vaguest idea of what it might be like to be illiterate
And she rents bicycles
Shitty ones
That were made when I was
But they’ll get you back and forth
If you don’t try to raise the seat too much
And pedal with your knees out to the side.
Cham ruins to visit here
(I’d never heard of the Chams until a few days ago)
and some spectacular beaches
which we’ll visit tomorrow
weather and bikes permitting.
Will close tonight with food. Surprise!
Pho for breakfast
When in Rome…
Bun for dinner
And
Three veggie restaurants we know about in this town.
As in Quang Ngai, Buddhist, Vietnamese veggie
Not backpacker veggie.
Have lunched at two so far.
They do cool stuff with soy products here.
Now drinking rotgut rum
With freshly squeezed Pineapple juice in
Hotel room.
It’s late. I can hear the waves.
le 14 juillet
Greetings from off the gringo trail.
Thank goodness.
This installment comes after three days in frenetic Hanoi
A day in tourist trap Hoi An
And finally a couple of days without seeing another foreign face.
Let me address the traffic in Hanoi first
As it’s the first thing anyone mentions about the city
Including a college acquaintance who’s lived there for years.
Yes, it’s a buzzing hive of motorcycles, pedicabs, cars, bikes
Pedal to the metal, hand on the horn
No, there are no traffic lights
Or only a few
And some don’t work
And some ignore the ones that work.
Yes, crossing the street is an adventure sport.
It helps to be from a city where we
Practice jaywalking regularly
But we ain’t got nothing on Hanoi
Not anywhere close.
Saw many museums
The stand-out being the poignant Museum of the Revolution.
French, Soviets, Americans
Colonists, occupiers, killers all
At least the French and Soviets built things
You can see it in the lovely French-Asian buildings
And the oppressive block buildings.
I’m not giving the nod to the French or the Russians
But we just came in here and destroyed.
And now back to the regularly scheduled trip blog.
Ate some good meals in Hanoi
Not as good as in Laos
And some not-so-good ones.
Best meal in Hanoi at Cha Ca La Vong
Serves only one dish
Of fish and veggies sautéed tableside
Put over noodles and add your own mix of sauces and greens.
Walked, walked, walked all of Hanoi
Best way to see life
And we did
City style
Bill got hair cut (head shaved) highway side
Breathed mad exhaust fumes for days on end
Wonderful hotel in old city
With a balcony for watching Hanoi at all hours.
Next stop, Hoi An
Another UNESCO world heritage site
For—again—its historic temples and other ancient structures
And again, the UNESCO seal is a mixed blessing.
Or in the case of Hoi An, maybe just full on nightmare.
Tourists, tourists, everywhere
And not a drop to… well, something like that.
More motos, more exhaust to breath in
Locals literally pulling at you to get you to buy
Their tailor-made clothes (beautiful, actually)
Food from their stalls or restaurants
An English language local newspaper from two days ago
A ride on the river in their boat—one hour, one hour.
Walked around town.
Rented bikes (one broke down near end of excursion)
And headed for nearby beach
Worst ride ever
Inhaling moto exhaust
Horns blaring
Cars with loudspeakers squawking about their wares
Crowded beach with hot bay water.
Pretty once upon a time, when deserted.
I was sick the whole day
Stomach, head, muscles, everything.
And disheartened at talking only to locals serving the tourist trade
Not doing so great at Vietnamese language, either
Hurt my pride a little not to have the basic phrases down by day three.
Needing to get off tourist trail.
Bill and I fought bitterly at dinner.
Bill threatened to go back to NY the next day.
I said fine, and left the restaurant without him.
We packed up and split for a shabby little beach town
Near the site of the My Lai massacre
Which hardly sounds happy-making
Neither the beach not the massacre site
But it worked quite nicely.
Memorial and museum at My Lai is
Deeply poignant
Extremely tastefully and beautifully done
Sad beyond words.
Foundations and shells of destroyed houses left as they were
With a simple plaque at each one
Giving the names and ages of those killed there
Paths of cement poured to resemble dirt
And imprinted with chaotic footprints of
Army boots and bare feet and bicycle tires.
Guestbook at museum filled with heart-wrenching comments
Including a lovely one from Tim O’Brien.
Trip brought me to tears numerous times.
And then to our shabby, ant-filled hotel
Fine for one night.
A run on the beach and a swim
Stars at night—first time on this trip.
Lunch and dinner at beachside shacks.
Say the word for fish and take what they give you.
At lunch: grilled fish served do-it-yourself spring roll fashion.
We had to be shown how to roll up the rolls.
Thought the wrappers were paper at first—weird napkins?
At dinner: fish soup… or rather the head of the fish
With some noodles and very strong greens and a couple of beers
Served warm with ice.
Slept badly. Love to travel, but it rocks my insomnia.
Short run, swim in AM.
Wandered to find a most delicious iced coffee at a riverside joint
Over a little bridge, away from the coast
Chatted with older Vietnamese couple
Trotting out our few Vietnamese phrases
Thier few English phrases
Arranged for them to take us to our next stop, 20K away, by moto
For a rip off fee
But having fun schmoozing
Until
Bill got a weird look on his face and said to me
We need to go this second.
We went.
And Bill said
He put his hand on my dick and squeezed it.
At least someone did, he added.
Hightailed it back to hotel
Packed up
Called a taxi
For only slightly more than the motos would have cost
And split town before the couple arrived to ferry us onward.
Now in Quang Ngai
Small city
No tourists
No English
Very comfy hotel with big pool and wireless
To research next leg of trip.
Lunch at a veggie restaurant
A welcome relief after all the fish heads
But Vietnamese veggie
Not hippie veggie
Buddhist veggie
Veggie soup
Veggies over tiny grains of rice
With all manner of cool tofu/soy ‘meats’
Happy traveler, happy trails.
Thank goodness.
This installment comes after three days in frenetic Hanoi
A day in tourist trap Hoi An
And finally a couple of days without seeing another foreign face.
Let me address the traffic in Hanoi first
As it’s the first thing anyone mentions about the city
Including a college acquaintance who’s lived there for years.
Yes, it’s a buzzing hive of motorcycles, pedicabs, cars, bikes
Pedal to the metal, hand on the horn
No, there are no traffic lights
Or only a few
And some don’t work
And some ignore the ones that work.
Yes, crossing the street is an adventure sport.
It helps to be from a city where we
Practice jaywalking regularly
But we ain’t got nothing on Hanoi
Not anywhere close.
Saw many museums
The stand-out being the poignant Museum of the Revolution.
French, Soviets, Americans
Colonists, occupiers, killers all
At least the French and Soviets built things
You can see it in the lovely French-Asian buildings
And the oppressive block buildings.
I’m not giving the nod to the French or the Russians
But we just came in here and destroyed.
And now back to the regularly scheduled trip blog.
Ate some good meals in Hanoi
Not as good as in Laos
And some not-so-good ones.
Best meal in Hanoi at Cha Ca La Vong
Serves only one dish
Of fish and veggies sautéed tableside
Put over noodles and add your own mix of sauces and greens.
Walked, walked, walked all of Hanoi
Best way to see life
And we did
City style
Bill got hair cut (head shaved) highway side
Breathed mad exhaust fumes for days on end
Wonderful hotel in old city
With a balcony for watching Hanoi at all hours.
Next stop, Hoi An
Another UNESCO world heritage site
For—again—its historic temples and other ancient structures
And again, the UNESCO seal is a mixed blessing.
Or in the case of Hoi An, maybe just full on nightmare.
Tourists, tourists, everywhere
And not a drop to… well, something like that.
More motos, more exhaust to breath in
Locals literally pulling at you to get you to buy
Their tailor-made clothes (beautiful, actually)
Food from their stalls or restaurants
An English language local newspaper from two days ago
A ride on the river in their boat—one hour, one hour.
Walked around town.
Rented bikes (one broke down near end of excursion)
And headed for nearby beach
Worst ride ever
Inhaling moto exhaust
Horns blaring
Cars with loudspeakers squawking about their wares
Crowded beach with hot bay water.
Pretty once upon a time, when deserted.
I was sick the whole day
Stomach, head, muscles, everything.
And disheartened at talking only to locals serving the tourist trade
Not doing so great at Vietnamese language, either
Hurt my pride a little not to have the basic phrases down by day three.
Needing to get off tourist trail.
Bill and I fought bitterly at dinner.
Bill threatened to go back to NY the next day.
I said fine, and left the restaurant without him.
We packed up and split for a shabby little beach town
Near the site of the My Lai massacre
Which hardly sounds happy-making
Neither the beach not the massacre site
But it worked quite nicely.
Memorial and museum at My Lai is
Deeply poignant
Extremely tastefully and beautifully done
Sad beyond words.
Foundations and shells of destroyed houses left as they were
With a simple plaque at each one
Giving the names and ages of those killed there
Paths of cement poured to resemble dirt
And imprinted with chaotic footprints of
Army boots and bare feet and bicycle tires.
Guestbook at museum filled with heart-wrenching comments
Including a lovely one from Tim O’Brien.
Trip brought me to tears numerous times.
And then to our shabby, ant-filled hotel
Fine for one night.
A run on the beach and a swim
Stars at night—first time on this trip.
Lunch and dinner at beachside shacks.
Say the word for fish and take what they give you.
At lunch: grilled fish served do-it-yourself spring roll fashion.
We had to be shown how to roll up the rolls.
Thought the wrappers were paper at first—weird napkins?
At dinner: fish soup… or rather the head of the fish
With some noodles and very strong greens and a couple of beers
Served warm with ice.
Slept badly. Love to travel, but it rocks my insomnia.
Short run, swim in AM.
Wandered to find a most delicious iced coffee at a riverside joint
Over a little bridge, away from the coast
Chatted with older Vietnamese couple
Trotting out our few Vietnamese phrases
Thier few English phrases
Arranged for them to take us to our next stop, 20K away, by moto
For a rip off fee
But having fun schmoozing
Until
Bill got a weird look on his face and said to me
We need to go this second.
We went.
And Bill said
He put his hand on my dick and squeezed it.
At least someone did, he added.
Hightailed it back to hotel
Packed up
Called a taxi
For only slightly more than the motos would have cost
And split town before the couple arrived to ferry us onward.
Now in Quang Ngai
Small city
No tourists
No English
Very comfy hotel with big pool and wireless
To research next leg of trip.
Lunch at a veggie restaurant
A welcome relief after all the fish heads
But Vietnamese veggie
Not hippie veggie
Buddhist veggie
Veggie soup
Veggies over tiny grains of rice
With all manner of cool tofu/soy ‘meats’
Happy traveler, happy trails.
July 7
The palace museum was closed once more.
(Here come those cynical New Yorkers again.
Bolt the gates.)
The street food rocked once more.
Today’s food highlight:
Assorted packets of… stuff
Wrapped in assorted savory leaves,
For a few cents apiece.
Or rather a few thousand kip.
For example
A few noodles, a pearl-sized fruit, some type of veggie paste, spices, some crunchy veggie
Wrapped in some sort of edible leaf.
Little dumpling-like creations
Each one different
Made as we ate
By a woman with bare hands who
Popped things in her mouth with those bare hands
As she worked.
Guidebook says don’t
Taste buds say do.
Tromped around town on this last day in Laos.
Full moon tonight
(not that you can see it, as it’s raining again)
But it means that it’s a holiday here
Full moon, no work
Even for the little monks.
Made it to the temple at the top of the hill at the center of town
Great view of greater Luang Prabang, mountains, vats (what??), Mekong
And across the river by canoe
Ferried by a man who
Wasn’t Sheila O’Shea’s guide
And who waited
While we explored the town across the way.
Back on the strip, I
Downed so many pineapple shakes I lost count.
Finally getting my ear around the Lao language
And putting together new phrases from what I already know
But must change gears so I can find my way to the bathroom
When we arrive in Vietnam tomorrow.
Can say only ‘hello’ right now.
Need to study up.
Back to the room to finish red wine
Which we can’t take on the plane.
Chúc súc khoė
Yea! Now I know two things in Vietnamese!
(Here come those cynical New Yorkers again.
Bolt the gates.)
The street food rocked once more.
Today’s food highlight:
Assorted packets of… stuff
Wrapped in assorted savory leaves,
For a few cents apiece.
Or rather a few thousand kip.
For example
A few noodles, a pearl-sized fruit, some type of veggie paste, spices, some crunchy veggie
Wrapped in some sort of edible leaf.
Little dumpling-like creations
Each one different
Made as we ate
By a woman with bare hands who
Popped things in her mouth with those bare hands
As she worked.
Guidebook says don’t
Taste buds say do.
Tromped around town on this last day in Laos.
Full moon tonight
(not that you can see it, as it’s raining again)
But it means that it’s a holiday here
Full moon, no work
Even for the little monks.
Made it to the temple at the top of the hill at the center of town
Great view of greater Luang Prabang, mountains, vats (what??), Mekong
And across the river by canoe
Ferried by a man who
Wasn’t Sheila O’Shea’s guide
And who waited
While we explored the town across the way.
Back on the strip, I
Downed so many pineapple shakes I lost count.
Finally getting my ear around the Lao language
And putting together new phrases from what I already know
But must change gears so I can find my way to the bathroom
When we arrive in Vietnam tomorrow.
Can say only ‘hello’ right now.
Need to study up.
Back to the room to finish red wine
Which we can’t take on the plane.
Chúc súc khoė
Yea! Now I know two things in Vietnamese!
July 6
I can now say I’ve had water buffalo shit on my sport sandals.
Rode two hours to a massive, impressive gorgeous waterfall
Through tiny villages
Over green mountains
Through terraced rice paddies
Plowed by men with buffalos.
Hiked to the top of the waterfall
Up steep, muddy, lush banks
And back two more riding hours
To our guesthouse in town.
Only an intermittent light rain for our excursions
And the skies opened up again as soon as we got back.
More great street eating.
Fried tiny bananas
Stir-fried noodles with veggies
Green papaya salad
A Lao dumpling—more like a bun filled with hard-boiled egg, mushrooms and pork
Pineapple shakes so delicious we each had two.
People are gentle and friendly and mellow here
I have a lot to learn.
Rode two hours to a massive, impressive gorgeous waterfall
Through tiny villages
Over green mountains
Through terraced rice paddies
Plowed by men with buffalos.
Hiked to the top of the waterfall
Up steep, muddy, lush banks
And back two more riding hours
To our guesthouse in town.
Only an intermittent light rain for our excursions
And the skies opened up again as soon as we got back.
More great street eating.
Fried tiny bananas
Stir-fried noodles with veggies
Green papaya salad
A Lao dumpling—more like a bun filled with hard-boiled egg, mushrooms and pork
Pineapple shakes so delicious we each had two.
People are gentle and friendly and mellow here
I have a lot to learn.
July 5
Rain, rain, go away…
Though it has, in fact, slowed us down to
Appreciate the charms of this town
Which weren’t apparent the night we pulled in
And I thought it was an upscale 8th Street
Commercial Street P-town
Anytown, hippietown, tsochketown, cute
Now I’ve walked the narrow, brick-paved side streets in the rain
And studied the buildings—French Colonial meets Asian
Plaster and polished wood
I’ve left my shoes outside many doors
Shops
Restaurants
Temples
And a gym
Where I left my wet sandals by the door
But changed into sneakers in the dressing room
To work out in yet another foreign country
Hoping it will help me sleep at night.
Rain, rain, wet all day
Didn’t bike to the waterfall
Or take the boat to the caves
Or visit a Hmong village up in the mountains
Or trek in the countryside.
Didn’t even visit the museum in the royal palace yet
Twice we arrived when it was closing.
It’s across from our guesthouse.
Rain, rain, go away.
Did observe the procession of monks through town at sunrise
(What sunrise? Only rain.)
to collect alms.
Did drink red wine in the hotel lobby
And the hotel room
And finally read a few paragraphs of my book
And ate well. Again.
Cheddar and apple crepe for lunch from a street stall
And for dinner
watercress salad
fish steamed in banana-leaf ramakins to a custard-like consistency
chicken coconut curry soup
and fried morning glories—the green parts.
Feeling okay—knock wood
Though I’ve drunk the water
Eaten street food
Gotten bitten by Asian mosquitoes
Malaria (I’m taking a pill), Dengue (no pill available), and a host of lesser-known diseases
because
I can’t stand the bug spray.
Vein still swollen, but not as much.
Email from my doctor
It sounds like a superficial blood clot
You’re where?
Take motrin.
Traveling is a hypochondriac’s paradise.
Traveling is fun.
Though it has, in fact, slowed us down to
Appreciate the charms of this town
Which weren’t apparent the night we pulled in
And I thought it was an upscale 8th Street
Commercial Street P-town
Anytown, hippietown, tsochketown, cute
Now I’ve walked the narrow, brick-paved side streets in the rain
And studied the buildings—French Colonial meets Asian
Plaster and polished wood
I’ve left my shoes outside many doors
Shops
Restaurants
Temples
And a gym
Where I left my wet sandals by the door
But changed into sneakers in the dressing room
To work out in yet another foreign country
Hoping it will help me sleep at night.
Rain, rain, wet all day
Didn’t bike to the waterfall
Or take the boat to the caves
Or visit a Hmong village up in the mountains
Or trek in the countryside.
Didn’t even visit the museum in the royal palace yet
Twice we arrived when it was closing.
It’s across from our guesthouse.
Rain, rain, go away.
Did observe the procession of monks through town at sunrise
(What sunrise? Only rain.)
to collect alms.
Did drink red wine in the hotel lobby
And the hotel room
And finally read a few paragraphs of my book
And ate well. Again.
Cheddar and apple crepe for lunch from a street stall
And for dinner
watercress salad
fish steamed in banana-leaf ramakins to a custard-like consistency
chicken coconut curry soup
and fried morning glories—the green parts.
Feeling okay—knock wood
Though I’ve drunk the water
Eaten street food
Gotten bitten by Asian mosquitoes
Malaria (I’m taking a pill), Dengue (no pill available), and a host of lesser-known diseases
because
I can’t stand the bug spray.
Vein still swollen, but not as much.
Email from my doctor
It sounds like a superficial blood clot
You’re where?
Take motrin.
Traveling is a hypochondriac’s paradise.
Traveling is fun.
July 4
A town packed with gringos
And restaurants and shops
Crafts, wine bars, internet cafes.
Wall-to-wall guest houses
Adventure tour services
Tuk-tuks waiting for your business.
Ironically, A UNESCO World Heritage site
For its many spectacular temples
And saffron-robed monks
Who forgo material possessions.
Here come a gaggle of tourists to ogle them
And spend money in town.
Beautiful architecture
Brick-paved paths
Foliage
Great food, more great food
Roll me home, Scottie
Green, mountainous landscape
Rice paddies, rivers.
Arrived at night.
Bad sleep. Again.
Walked and explored
In the rain, rain, rain, all day
Lunch at a street stall
Prepared with bare hands
Safe? Sanitary?
But delicious
Lao noodle soup and a Lao omelette
Talked to a young man—Lao, building a guesthouse here for his parents
He studies in Melbourne
And was a font of information
And sweet and lovely
Better before all the tourism, he agreed
But gave good tourist info
Places to see, where to eat, where not.
Highlight of the day was
Talking to a 16-year-old monk
At a stunning wat
Who told us some of the stories pictured in the mosaics
On the outer walls of the buildings.
A magic turtle--tuh-r-uhta--turned young man
Who fell in love with the King’s daughter.
The novice seemed a special kid, bright, sweet
Open to the world, though cloistered in his monk life
Which he will leave when he finishes high school
Clearly the best route to an education, food, solidity
For children without means.
I miss Leo.
Little boy monks at 5PM filling a wat and chanting
We watched from the street
Two kids in the back row whispered to each other and couldn’t sit still
Nothing new under the sun.
Dinner at a restaurant that specializes in typical Lao food
For the tourist crowd
Which is to say, you get rich information along with an excellent meal
Never double-dip the little ball of sticky rice you’ve made
Don’t lick your fingers
But don’t trail food on your fingers, either
Can you accomplish both at the same time?
And without a napkin?
And restaurants and shops
Crafts, wine bars, internet cafes.
Wall-to-wall guest houses
Adventure tour services
Tuk-tuks waiting for your business.
Ironically, A UNESCO World Heritage site
For its many spectacular temples
And saffron-robed monks
Who forgo material possessions.
Here come a gaggle of tourists to ogle them
And spend money in town.
Beautiful architecture
Brick-paved paths
Foliage
Great food, more great food
Roll me home, Scottie
Green, mountainous landscape
Rice paddies, rivers.
Arrived at night.
Bad sleep. Again.
Walked and explored
In the rain, rain, rain, all day
Lunch at a street stall
Prepared with bare hands
Safe? Sanitary?
But delicious
Lao noodle soup and a Lao omelette
Talked to a young man—Lao, building a guesthouse here for his parents
He studies in Melbourne
And was a font of information
And sweet and lovely
Better before all the tourism, he agreed
But gave good tourist info
Places to see, where to eat, where not.
Highlight of the day was
Talking to a 16-year-old monk
At a stunning wat
Who told us some of the stories pictured in the mosaics
On the outer walls of the buildings.
A magic turtle--tuh-r-uhta--turned young man
Who fell in love with the King’s daughter.
The novice seemed a special kid, bright, sweet
Open to the world, though cloistered in his monk life
Which he will leave when he finishes high school
Clearly the best route to an education, food, solidity
For children without means.
I miss Leo.
Little boy monks at 5PM filling a wat and chanting
We watched from the street
Two kids in the back row whispered to each other and couldn’t sit still
Nothing new under the sun.
Dinner at a restaurant that specializes in typical Lao food
For the tourist crowd
Which is to say, you get rich information along with an excellent meal
Never double-dip the little ball of sticky rice you’ve made
Don’t lick your fingers
But don’t trail food on your fingers, either
Can you accomplish both at the same time?
And without a napkin?
July 3
Bad night
Slow morning
Best walk of Vientiane
Around the outskirts of town
Ordinary life, ordinary day
Haircuts, weddings, little bits of commerce
Woman who weighs and measures people
With an apparatus she pulls around on a rickshaw-like contraption
And a man
Splitting open Rover to
Roast him on a spit—woof-woof
I’ll stick to veggies, ka-lu-na
Maybe for the rest of my life.
Cold fruit drink by the Mekong
Too much sugar, but good
Visited the largest collection of
Buddahs in Laos
Knelt before the altar of the biggest one
And felt immediately emptied
Calm
How can this be?
Need to do this every two hours or so
And especially before bed.
Crepes for lunch with a yummy salad
Eat, eat, eat up the culture.
Goodbye Vientiane.
Next stop, Luang Prabang.
Slow morning
Best walk of Vientiane
Around the outskirts of town
Ordinary life, ordinary day
Haircuts, weddings, little bits of commerce
Woman who weighs and measures people
With an apparatus she pulls around on a rickshaw-like contraption
And a man
Splitting open Rover to
Roast him on a spit—woof-woof
I’ll stick to veggies, ka-lu-na
Maybe for the rest of my life.
Cold fruit drink by the Mekong
Too much sugar, but good
Visited the largest collection of
Buddahs in Laos
Knelt before the altar of the biggest one
And felt immediately emptied
Calm
How can this be?
Need to do this every two hours or so
And especially before bed.
Crepes for lunch with a yummy salad
Eat, eat, eat up the culture.
Goodbye Vientiane.
Next stop, Luang Prabang.
July 2
Needed to use the toilet at Laos’ most famous national monument
Which is a golden phallus of a temple
And which we visited just as the afternoon skies opened up
In a tropical rainstorm.
Waited out the worst of it in a breezy arc of temple
Drinking a too-sugary iced green tea from a bottle
Imported from Japan
No bathroom in sight
I formulated my question by patching together a few learned words
And basic grammar.
Mii hawng nam.
Have room water.
The answer was mii.
Have.
Yes, we have a bathroom.
Which she showed me.
Outside of the temple, across a square
Very, very slowly in the rain
Without my umbrella
Opened the padlock on the outside of the building
Inside, a hole-in-the-ground affair
Which you flushed by dipping an oversized ladle in a bucket
And pouring the water quickly into the toilet hole.
Mission accomplished.
Toto, not in NY anymore.
Covered all of Vientiane by foot
Hitting most streets
And several numerous times
Visited an impressive wat
What wat is what?
Well this one was the only building that wasn’t razed
When the Siamese sacked this city
Which was rebuilt by the French
When they moved in and took over.
And they’re still everywhere.
The French, I mean.
The gringos of Laos.
Along with Aussies
For whom this is their back yard and
Who speak a language that’s not exactly mine.
Highlight of the day
Talking our way into a middle/high school
Where I was once again at the front of a room of students
Forty of them, maybe
No behavior management, either
Hello! What’s your name?
You speak excellent English, but I want someone else to answer now.
Served water (do you want some coffee) by the associate director
Who was happy to move slowly and graciously and give us a tour.
Awesome lunch. This is the Oaxaca of Asian food.
Leo would be in heaven.
Dinner in the night market.
We could have been far more adventurous
Fried assorted organ meats, anyone?
But we were adventurous enough.
Beerlao by the river.
Heavy talk.
Insomnia. What else is new?
Good day. I love traveling.
Which is a golden phallus of a temple
And which we visited just as the afternoon skies opened up
In a tropical rainstorm.
Waited out the worst of it in a breezy arc of temple
Drinking a too-sugary iced green tea from a bottle
Imported from Japan
No bathroom in sight
I formulated my question by patching together a few learned words
And basic grammar.
Mii hawng nam.
Have room water.
The answer was mii.
Have.
Yes, we have a bathroom.
Which she showed me.
Outside of the temple, across a square
Very, very slowly in the rain
Without my umbrella
Opened the padlock on the outside of the building
Inside, a hole-in-the-ground affair
Which you flushed by dipping an oversized ladle in a bucket
And pouring the water quickly into the toilet hole.
Mission accomplished.
Toto, not in NY anymore.
Covered all of Vientiane by foot
Hitting most streets
And several numerous times
Visited an impressive wat
What wat is what?
Well this one was the only building that wasn’t razed
When the Siamese sacked this city
Which was rebuilt by the French
When they moved in and took over.
And they’re still everywhere.
The French, I mean.
The gringos of Laos.
Along with Aussies
For whom this is their back yard and
Who speak a language that’s not exactly mine.
Highlight of the day
Talking our way into a middle/high school
Where I was once again at the front of a room of students
Forty of them, maybe
No behavior management, either
Hello! What’s your name?
You speak excellent English, but I want someone else to answer now.
Served water (do you want some coffee) by the associate director
Who was happy to move slowly and graciously and give us a tour.
Awesome lunch. This is the Oaxaca of Asian food.
Leo would be in heaven.
Dinner in the night market.
We could have been far more adventurous
Fried assorted organ meats, anyone?
But we were adventurous enough.
Beerlao by the river.
Heavy talk.
Insomnia. What else is new?
Good day. I love traveling.
July 1
28 hours NY—Bangkok
didn’t sleep, despite taking a sleeping pill
did learn some basic Lao, which I’ve used on my first day here
stops in LA, Tokyo
in LA, bill discovered he’d left his camera in JFK
he raced through LAX filing claims and trailing loose ends
found camera in his bag before boarding again
Tokyo airport has a store full of spectacular origami
Which rivals the origami tree at the Natural History Museum
Bankok airport hotel overnight
sleeping pill worked
sort of
nice swim in nice pool in AM
talked to some aussies and thought they were going to phuket for a wake
(oh, I’m sorry, I said)
but no
it was a week
well, of course
on the beach, with their family
one more flight
Bangkok to Vientiane
And check this out
NY→LA: many hours, no meal
Bangkok→Vientiane: 40 minutes, meal, fresh flower corsage on deplaning
Would have been the loveliest flight ever
Except we sat next to a junkie
Having DTs and twitching and nodding out
Happy, happy to get away from him
And arrive in the sleepy capital of Laos
Where we ate street food for lunch
And a delicious dinner in a lovely restaurant
And walked and marveled
I used most of my Lao phrases
And people laughed and smiled
I have no idea if I’m saying anything correctly
Since I learned it from a book
And haven’t gotten my ear around what I’m hearing yet
Sabaidee baw
One bad thing:
A vein in my lower leg became swollen and hard and painful in transit
Looking up DVT online
(when I can actually get a signal from my sweet hotel with a view of the Mekong and Thailand across the way)
and thinking I may die any moment
sabaidee
hello, goodbye
it’s been a great ride.
That ends my first installment.
didn’t sleep, despite taking a sleeping pill
did learn some basic Lao, which I’ve used on my first day here
stops in LA, Tokyo
in LA, bill discovered he’d left his camera in JFK
he raced through LAX filing claims and trailing loose ends
found camera in his bag before boarding again
Tokyo airport has a store full of spectacular origami
Which rivals the origami tree at the Natural History Museum
Bankok airport hotel overnight
sleeping pill worked
sort of
nice swim in nice pool in AM
talked to some aussies and thought they were going to phuket for a wake
(oh, I’m sorry, I said)
but no
it was a week
well, of course
on the beach, with their family
one more flight
Bangkok to Vientiane
And check this out
NY→LA: many hours, no meal
Bangkok→Vientiane: 40 minutes, meal, fresh flower corsage on deplaning
Would have been the loveliest flight ever
Except we sat next to a junkie
Having DTs and twitching and nodding out
Happy, happy to get away from him
And arrive in the sleepy capital of Laos
Where we ate street food for lunch
And a delicious dinner in a lovely restaurant
And walked and marveled
I used most of my Lao phrases
And people laughed and smiled
I have no idea if I’m saying anything correctly
Since I learned it from a book
And haven’t gotten my ear around what I’m hearing yet
Sabaidee baw
One bad thing:
A vein in my lower leg became swollen and hard and painful in transit
Looking up DVT online
(when I can actually get a signal from my sweet hotel with a view of the Mekong and Thailand across the way)
and thinking I may die any moment
sabaidee
hello, goodbye
it’s been a great ride.
That ends my first installment.
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