Monthly Archives: December 2013

Thursday night, Amy and I left Hanoi for Hoi An. It’s a beautiful UNESCO World Heritage site on the South China Sea – low slung, brightly-washed buildings on a slow-moving river, and at night, twinkling lanterns that give it a romantic feel.

If it wasn’t a real place, you’d think this was the Epcot version of Vietnam. Situated about halfway up the coast between Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), it’s accessible via Da Nang, which is a very quick flight away. But we didn’t fly.

We took an overnight sleeper train.

Neither of us was terribly excited about a 15-hour train journey, but there’s a company in Vietnam that offers a “luxury” overnight sleeper car for western tourists: all the amenities of a hotel room crammed onto the rails, and at a very reasonable price, not unlike a room for a night. So we determined we’d give it a try. I’d convinced Amy of the romance of the sleeper, having experienced it several times during my study abroad. And while Amy has never done a sleeper, she did enjoy a classic train experience on our honeymoon, when we took an Orient Express train from Machu Picchu to Cusco, a three-hour trip that included a five-course meal and a mariachi band.

We were delusional in thinking this journey would be the same. This would not be riding a Eurail pass on an efficient German train, and it would be far from the luxury of the Orient Express. We came to realize this very quickly when we went to the tourist train office. The luxury train was sold out for days – it’s the holiday season, and there are lots of tourists around. Our next best option would be to take the “soft sleeper” offered by Vietnam Rail itself, basically their first class sleeper. So we headed across the street to the Hanoi station ticket office.

Buying train tickets in Vietnam is one part DMV, one part Spanish Inquisition, and one part Rollerball. You have to navigate the bureaucracy, ask relentless questions to get any answers, and meanwhile keep elbowing and shouldering fellow ticket buyers who are literally trying to push you away from the window. We took a number, sat in the airless waiting area, and watched the numbers slowly click by. Eventually our number was called. We approached the window:

“Tomorrow, 26th, Soft Sleeper to Da Nang, 2 persons.”
“NO. SOLD OUT.”
“Next day? The 27th?”
(A guy came up on my left and tried to push me out of the way to access the window. I elbowed him in the shoulder. I lived in New York for twenty years.)
The ticket seller started typing. Then more Typing. Numerous glances at an ancient computer screen. Then a look at several columns of numbers hand-written on the back of an envelope (what?!). Leafing through a rubber-banded packet full of tickets. More typing. More typing….
(The same guy tried to push me again, shoving his number in the window. I elbowed his ribs. An older man sidled up to my right side. I was not afraid to elbow an old man, if it came to it. I needed to get to Da Nang, damnit.)
“NO. SOLD OUT.”
“Okay, HARD-sleeper, two persons, on 26th…”
(I elbowed two people, including a young woman, simultaneously on my left; checked my pocket for my money; looked over my shoulder to make sure Amy was okay on my right – she was shooting daggers at the old man – and I leaned in to obscure any possible entry to the window, making my shoulders broad. I basically stuck my head through the window, like an ostrich. Though perhaps a guillotine is the better metaphor here…)
“NO. SOLD OUT.”

You can see where this was going. Nowhere, fast. About a half-hour and several bruised ribs later, we secured two hard-sleeper berths on the 26th. This is after the ticket lady told me repeatedly that the soft AND hard sleepers on the 26th were sold out, and the 27th would require moving berths to a different car at 1:00am midway through the journey. I think ultimately, after my refusing to leave, my asking question after question after question, and my callous disregard for human life and clear dominance playing “pushy-shovey”, she simply wanted to get rid of me. So we got two tickets for the day we wanted.

An explanation of the hard sleeper: a hard sleeper is a compartment with six bunks and mattresses about an inch thick. Not the luxury tourist tickets we originally wanted, not a first class car as we’d hoped. It was a sleeper car, yes, but now we were riding with the great unwashed. The romance was over… The nightmare was about to begin. There would be no mariachi band.

At 6:30pm on the 26th, we boarded the train at Hanoi Station for our 7pm departure. After walking past a “washing up” area with two already polluted sinks, we squeezed into the hall past about 100 Vietnamese people carrying oversized bags to find our berth. We approached the door and peered in to see which level of hell we’d been assigned.

To our great relief, we found two absolutely delightful British women – Jo and Sam – who, like us, had been stuck with the hard-sleeper. The four of us made introductions, traded war stories, and had a few laughs. We also had two Vietnamese gents with us. They each had the uppermost berths, and retired there almost immediately for most of the journey. They were pleasant, unassuming, and generally kept to themselves except for the occasional trip to the stainless steel bathroom at the end of the train car.

With fifteen hours ahead of us in a room the size of a crowded prison cell, the four of us quickly broke into a handful of tepid beers we brought along, or, in Amy’s case, a bottle of red wine.

We exchanged travel stories and watched the world pass by our window. About an hour into the trip, Amy decided to explore the train and go find the “Club Car,” where we’d heard rumors you could buy food and drinks. From here out things got interesting.

Like a modern-day Marco Polo, Amy came back with fascinating tales of strange people, foreign lands, and a Shangri-La where one could enjoy life with cheap beer and open spaces. The Club Car, we were told, had café seating, big windows on either side, and a small staff eager to serve the weary traveller. But first, Amy warned us, to reach this fairyland, you had to navigate through two cars of open seating – the Greyhound bus of Vietnam Rail – the cheap seats – a veritable Scylla and Charybdis of cranky old people, crying children, snotty teenagers, cellphone zombies, aisle-standers, leg-extenders, loud-talkers, and worst of all, vestibule-packing smokers.

(Please note: many of these photos are blurry because of the rocking of the train. It’s not a terribly smooth ride in Vietnam, and we tried our best.)

I was game, of course, but Jo and Sam were happy to stay back in the sleeper, likely looking forward to a little peace and quiet. Amy and I went into the hallway and immediately started following two other gents headed in the same direction, each tippling a can of cheap Vietnamese beer along the way. We had encountered another advance team from the rear of the train.

After a few minutes, we reached the elusive Club Car. And Amy was right: there were about six train employees, all looking incredibly bored, and a handful of Vietnamese passengers eating bowls of soup. Wooden booths were set next to large windows, and a run-down bar at the end of the car stood opposite a few refrigerators and cases of beer, soda, and other supplies. The two advance-men slipped into a rear booth by the door, and with no other seating available, Amy and I asked if we could join them.

Here we met Chris and John, an Irishman and Aussie, respectively, who had only recently met as part of a tour group. They were the reason we couldn’t get the luxury tourist berths, as their group was taking up the entire car. Apparently they had been through a rough tour day together, and were escaping their wives, families, and less sociable tour members. They had been to a Vietnamese “water puppet” show earlier in the day. We asked them how it was. John replied, “it was SHIT!” Chris said he was unsure, because he fell asleep when it started. John said he would recommend it to all fellow travellers, because “if I had to sit through that rubbish, then so does everyone else!” We all got along swimmingly.

During our conversation with Chris and John, a clearly inebriated Vietnamese fellow sat at the table across from us, drinking a glass of hot milk. He interrupted our conversation to ask where I was from. He laughed and we shook hands. Then he asked Amy for a piece of paper, and wrote something totally illegible. He laughed even harder, so we all laughed with him, nervously. Then he made a two-finger pointing motion, a la the Three Stooges eye-poke, and said something like “FEE-SHEE!” Then he made a slashing motion: “CHECK!” He repeated this several times. I mimicked him. “FEE-SHEE! CHECK!” He laughed even harder. We did this about 10 times, back and forth, and he was laughing hysterically. This guy would not stop laughing. He slapped me on the back several times, shook my hand again. Then I tried to explain to him as best I could that I had no idea what he was talking about. He asked Amy for more paper, and wrote something equally as illegible. Then he motioned to take pictures. He couldn’t stop laughing. We took this picture:

Then we shook hands AGAIN, and he made another “FEE-SHEE! CHECK!”, laughed like a hyena, and was off into the night, never to be seen again. If anyone out there is familiar with Vietnamese culture or humor, and can explain this to us, please do!

After that new friend left, we met a newer one. I spotted a mouse. A small black critter the size of a ping-pong ball scurried across the floor from one booth to another. From here out, Amy kept her feet up on the booth. Several times over we would see the Club Car mouse flitting from booth to booth. Chris and John wanted to buy the mouse a beer. With all the excitement, Amy went back to liberate Jo and Sam, letting them know the Club Car was a good time. They joined us, and we all shared several good stories told over several bad Vietnamese beers.

At one point I got up to use the restroom. This is what it looked like:

Like all the other bathrooms on the train, it was stainless steel, the floor and seat covered in water. Chris and John told us their Vietnamese tour guide had actually taken sheets of newspaper and cut holes in them to make seat covers for the tour group. We were not so lucky. But I’ll tell you this without any going into any graphic detail: I never once sat in one of those bathrooms the entire trip, I only stood. And in standing, I noticed an electrical panel. Here’s a close-up of what caught my eye:

I have no idea what that button does, or what you would push it for, but I sure as hell was not going to find out.

Closer to ten o’clock, a few other things happened. We were joined by a bunch of Vietnamese military who sat in a booth near us. They looked at us and laughed.

John was now stacking beer cans. The mouse was getting cocky and making regular appearances. And one of the waitstaff put her hair in curlers to create buns on the sides. We called her “Princess Leia.” I tried to take a stealth picture of her, but because of the increased rocking of the train, the green focus light kept flashing, and she waved me off angrily. The picture never turned out because the train was rocking so much.

A few minutes later, we were presented with a sign that said the Club Car was closing at 10pm. We hadn’t seen it before, but it was obvious we’d worn out our welcome. We all said goodbye, and retired to our respective sleeper cars. Jo, Sam, Amy, and I got back to our bunks to find our two upper-berth mates fast asleep. We all quietly rearranged our bags, got ready for bed, and I slipped into the middle berth, with Amy on the bottom bunk. Here’s a point-of-view shot of my berth:

I had my toiletry bag hanging next to my head. My day-pack was at my feet, along with my button-down shirt and jacket. I had two posters rolled up next to me. It was a tight fit, not helped by the two chains that hold up the berth on either end. And I was otherwise fully clothed, minus my shoes.

The pillow and duvet were actually pretty nice, but the mattress – what there was of it – had no give. If you lay on your back, your spine started to get sore. If you lay on your side, your hips started to get sore. If you lay on your stomach, your knees and pelvis felt the brunt. It wasn’t horrible, by any means, but it didn’t help me sleep at all. And I was stupid enough to keep my belt on, so the buckle and leather ate into me as well.

Amy, of course, can sleep in a hurricane. I, on the other hand, am a light sleeper, and spent most of the night awake. I heard the guy in the upper berth snoring. I felt the rocking of the train. I heard the whistle, I heard coughing down the hall. I heard everything. As I told everyone in the morning – either I couldn’t sleep, or I had a very vivid dream that I couldn’t sleep. I occasionally peered out the window, but couldn’t see much, other than once seeing a beautiful sliver of the moon that faded into some trees all too quickly.

But it could have been worse. Consider the following photos. This woman’s bed is in the hall, right by the bathroom. No doors, nothing, just an open platform next to the latrine.

See this folded up lounge chair in the sink area? – a woman SLEPT in that lounge chair, next to that sink. And her husband slept in the desk chair – upright!

People were sleeping anywhere there was a flat surface, or a surface to lean against. I say this with a great respect and jealousy – the Vietnamese can sleep anywhere. At one point, in the midst of my restlessness, I took a trip to the can. I slowly eased my way down to the floor and my shoes, and saw a mouse – maybe the same Club Car mouse? – run across the floor. I withheld that information from Amy until morning.

Eventually morning did come, and with it the news that we were running two hours late. Of course we were. Bathed in our own filth, each of us got up, rearranged our bags, and quietly waited to arrive in DaNang. We had become the great unwashed.

We did get to see some pretty good scenery along the way, though, as we chugged along the coast of the South China Sea.

At one point Amy and I returned to the Club Car to get coffee and tea. First we walked through the open seating car – Oh Lord! It smelled like a ripe high school locker room. Just humid and sweaty and reeking of humanity. When we got to the Club Car, Amy ordered a coffee, and I pointed to a menu at the words “Lipton Tea.” What I realized all too soon, however, was that the menu was printed over a picture of some of the beverages on offer, and the person serving us thought I was pointing at the picture, not the words. I was given a Heineken for breakfast. I was not going to complain. I needed it. FEE-SHEE! CHECK!

We returned to our bunkmates, and a few uneventful hours later – 17 hours after leaving Hanoi – we pulled quietly into Da Nang station. We said our goodbyes, grabbed our bags, and after an hour-long taxi ride, Amy and I were at our hotel in Hoi An. We took long showers. We stretched out and napped on the queen size bed. We watched bad movies on HBO. It was a great afternoon.

Today is our last day in Hoi An. We’ve recovered fully. We also ran into Sam and Jo on the street; they seem to have recovered well, too. We’ve been taking bike rides through town and the surrounding countryside, generally enjoying the wide-open spaces. And tomorrow morning, after we say goodbye to Hoi An, we’re flying from Da Nang to Saigon.

Not your average hotel room video here… A peek inside our 6-person sleeping berth on the overnight train (my first!) from Hanoi to Hoi An. I won’t bury the lead: We survived! (Shout out to my old friend, Red Wine.) A full narrative of the trip to come from John shortly.

Well, here it is. It’s Christmas Eve in Hanoi, just minutes from Christmas Day. And perhaps the most alien of Christmas seasons I’ve ever spent. Amy and I have been on the road for three months now, and we’ve known the whole time that we were going to miss Christmas at home.

Of course we did something special to celebrate the holiday. First we went to vigil mass at the big church here in Hanoi, St. Joseph’s.

As chance would have it, the service was in French, with the occasional Vietnamese thrown in for good measure. My high school French helped along the way, as well as a familiarity with the liturgy, so we were able to follow along pretty well. I should add that I was certain when they were talking about “the lamb of God” because I’ve eaten at several French restaurants. The best part of the mass was when they had a bunch of kids come up dressed as Joseph and Mary et al, and Mary (Marie?) plunked the baby Jesus doll on the floor – right on cue – when it got to His being born in a manger (or “creche,” as the Frenchies call it). It was truly fun and fascinating.

Afterward, we went out for a very nice dinner at the Hotel Metropole, a century-old Hanoi establishment which boasts a reknowned guestlist including such luminaries as Charlie Chaplin, Somerset Maughm, Brad and Angelina, a cadre of Prime Ministers and Presidents, and Brendan Frasier (I’m not making this up). All in all, we made the most of our Christmas Eve in Hanoi. But it’s just not the same.

I’ve never missed Christmas. There was the one year I got home from studying abroad late on Christmas Eve, but I was there with the family for Christmas Day. And another year I spent Christmas in Bermuda with a girlfriend’s family (she was there, too, naturally), but I was around for the holiday build-up, and spoke to my parents. And of course I’ve had Christmas with Amy’s family, but that’s still family, and it still feels like home.

This year, let’s face it: we’re missing Christmas. We’re in Vietnam, for one thing, which isn’t really synonymous with the yuletide spirit. There’s no Charlie Brown Christmas, or Hermie the Elf, or Heat Miser, or any of those things that feel familiar and make me happy every holiday season. In fact, there’s been no real “holiday season” at all for us to experience – no putting up lights, no 24-hours of “A Christmas Story” – or even Black Friday or Cyber Monday or any of the crummy Christmas stuff. No Al Roker lighting the tree, no Darlene Love on Letterman.

We did see decorations going up in Seoul right after Halloween.

We did have a great Thanksgiving dinner in Hong Kong.

We did see Santas and reindeer in Ho Chi Minh City.

And yes, even Cambodia has Christmas decorations.

But random decorations in a faraway land pale in comparison to being home for the holidays, whether it’s with family, or your own home. I freely admit I miss Christmas in New York. I miss buying a five-foot tree for a half-million dollars, and fitting it into a one-bedroom apartment, only to find random pine needles behind the stereo in August. I miss the rush, the madness, the lights on Broadway, and the crowds I enjoy complaining about near Rockefeller Center, which you avoid like the plague, except for the one time you have to go see the windows at Saks on your way to drinks at the King Cole Bar. There’s something magical about Christmas in New York, I’m not afraid to admit I’m corny about that stuff.

And all the things people post on Facebook. The holiday dinners, the catching up with old friends, and even the snow. We saw that “Christmas Jammies” video like every other human being with an internet connection. I saw pictures of the New York Reds Christmas Party – I love that party, and seeing the pictures made me jealous. And there was another post about Christmas songs that mentioned the Waitresses’ “Christmas Wrapping,” which other than Darlene Love’s “Merry Christmas Baby (Please Come Home)” is just about my favorite Christmas song. It made my heart sink, because I hadn’t even THOUGHT of that song until December 18th or so when I read it. And I hadn’t thought about Darlene Love until I wrote this…

Jammies shmammies…Amy’s going to make a video about her sweet holiday hat!

I know… We’re on a year-long world tour. Poor John and Amy… I get it. But if there’s one time I wish I was home, this is it.

This week, I’ve been a bit homesick.

But we’re not coming home. We’ll Skype with our families tomorrow, we’ll have a memorable day on an even more memorable trip, and we’ll file this one away as “A Very Special Vietnamese Christmas.” And we’ll look forward to ringing in 2014, seeing the rest of the world, and being home with our families for next Thanksgiving and Christmas.

But until then, we’ll keep meeting like this. From both of us: To Mom and Dad, Annie, the Arndts, the Scan-Fenns, the Brueckners, the Barkhorns, and Jack; to Gram Smith and Gram Mack; to all our friends and family; and to everyone else following us on here: Merry Christmas.

Looks like Santa has lost some weight on his new diet of pho and banh mi.

HOLIDAY POSTSCRIPT: And speaking of Christmas, the answer you’ve all been waiting for: It’s a Christmas Miracle! Several days later, the Mekong Catfish appears to have caused no ill effects other than some jangled nerves and Howard Hughes-like attention to bacterial avoidance. Case in point: yesterday we had a few draft beers on a popular corner here in Hanoi. But we did NOT order food. Why?! Because this is LITERALLY the view into the kitchen from the bathroom – WHICH HAD NO DOOR:

We continue to be vigilant. It’s a New Year’s Resolution (which will be broken by March like all New Year’s Resolutions).

PEACE OUT!!

Amy’s attempt at a holiday gang sign for “ho ho ho”

A quick update for you from Luang Prabang, Laos. We’ve been here a little under a week, and tomorrow we head to Hanoi where we’ll spend the holiday. As you’ll see from this story, we’re hoping for a Christmas miracle…

Luang Prabang sits on the Mekong River. It’s a sleepy, albeit beautiful, UNESCO world heritage site with dozens of Buddhist temples and monks. Today, Amy and I started the day by taking an hour-long ride upriver in a rickety longboat.

It was a lot of fun, and we got to see the river up close, including some fishermen, the muddy riverbanks, and, regrettably, a lot of pollution, in the form of these bubbly chemical masses floating downstream.

After the boat ride, we strolled along the Mekong and found a place to sit and relax and have a drink, and possibly some lunch. We picked a place with a good view of the river, and more importantly, somewhere that looked like it catered more to locals than tourists. Always interesting. Our waiter took our order, and when we told him all we wanted was to split a big beer, we got that look all waiters give cheapskates. He grudgingly got us our beer and went to take care of other tables.

In the meantime, a large party of Lao folks sat next to us and ordered a bunch of food. They seemed to be having a fun Saturday out, and they smiled and nodded to us, very friendly. After bringing out their order, our waiter came back to us and asked if we wanted another beer. Sure, why not? Then he asked us if we wanted to order something to eat. “No, I don’t think so…” Then he pointed over to our new friends at the table next to us – “How about that? Fish salad – Mekong catfish – Lao special dish…” Amy and I looked at each other, and feeling a bit pressured and guilty, we figured, okay, when in Rome, right?

A few minutes later out came the fish salad and its garnish. Turns out this is prepared like many other Asian dishes – a lump of meat, some rice, and garnish rolled up in a piece of lettuce or the like. How did I find out how to make it? Because the waiter showed us. With his bare hands. He pulled out the lettuce and garnish. Dipped his fingers in our rice. And made me a fish salad roll. “See? Very easy.”

I looked at Amy and said, “Well, this is where it gets dangerous.” Consider these rules I normally like to follow when dining in a foreign country:

1. In the Third World, never eat vegetables that don’t have a peel or you haven’t cleaned yourself. Leafy greens, in particular, are hard to clean and susceptible to bacteria.

2. Don’t eat fish out a river that a half-hour earlier you witnessed as totally polluted and clearly full of mud and who knows what kind of parasites.

3. Don’t have a strange man with substandard hygiene dip his fingers into your food.

So what did we do? We ate the whole thing. We had crossed our own bacterial Rubicon. Several times the waiter came up, or the table next to us leaned over, and asked, “you like?” And we smiled and nodded, slowly saying, “Uh huuuuuuuuh.” And it WAS delicious, the waiter was right. But the entire time, Amy and I discussed what kinds of antibiotics we had. I swilled my remaining beer in the ignorant hope that the alcohol would kill any microscopic nasties. We took pictures, just to remember what we ate if things turn bad. Amy asked me what I was doing, and I responded, “taking crime scene photographs.”

So there you have it, friends, the groundwork has been laid for some possible gastrointestinal fiasco. Start laying your odds now. Will we get sick? Will we find ourselves enjoying Christmas from the inside of a Hanoi bathroom, our own personal Vietnam? Will we “deck the halls” with Amoxicillin?

We’ll report back as nature reveals itself (so to speak) good or bad. Stay tuned…

Hoping our prayers are answered…

So my sisters have shamed us. In response to our frivolous trip around the world and accompanying blog, they have both created their own blogs. And they both update them multiple times a week! And they’re funny (funny to our family, at least). So, for my New Year’s resolution, I resolve to update our blog more regularly. Warning: This may make for some mundane posts. Like this one, about my breakfast: Banana pancakes with sausage, fresh fruit and coffee with milk.

Pancakes: In my observations over the past 3 months, I have found most of Asia to be obsessed with pancakes. There were multiple pancake restaurants in Korea and Japan (one in Tokyo with a line around the block every day!) and pancakes appear on every menu (breakfast, lunch and dinner). I love pancakes. But I didn’t order them until we got to Cambodia last week. Since then, I’ve had them 4 times. They’re crispier on the outside than your average flapjack. And most places don’t serve syrup, but the sweet, delicious, slightly crispy pancakes hold up on their own. Thumbs up.

Sausage: Not sausage…hot dogs. Thumbs down. Though John will probably eat them once he wakes up. (Sorry, neglected to mention that our current accommodations in Luang Prabang serves breakfast from 6-11:30am and they serve it right outside your door at little tables on the balcony. Very nice!)

Fresh fruit: All the fruit in Asia has been amazing…bananas, mangoes, watermelon, papaya, kiwis, that white fruit with little black specs in it. Yum! I haven’t had any coconut or coconut juice/milk but coconuts are everywhere!

When we got all our pre-trip shots, Dr. Mandell did tell us to steer clear of fruits and veggies after a certain point in our travels. But all of these are peeled fruits, so I think I’m OK. (And I have a stomach of steel…no issues to date. But I probably just jinxed myself.) Dr. Mandell also told us not to pet strange dogs. Good advice. He probably should have included monkeys, too.

Coffee with milk: Many places in Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos serve their very strong coffee with sweetened, condensed milk. Sounds gross, right? Wrong. Delicious! I first had it in Vietnam at the suggestion of my cousin. I was immediately addicted. I think it used to be harder to get/keep fresh milk hence the milk-from-a-can substitution. As my sister can tell you, I like my coffee SWEET. And this fits the bill. Yum.

So there you have it. I promise to make my next post not so boring. And actually, you can help! Christmas Day will mark 3 months on the road for us. I know you have some burning questions like: Are you sick of your clothes yet? (Not quite yet…) Are you and John still speaking to each other? (Most of the time.) Is there a Keihl’s store in Laos? (No.) What’s up with your grey roots? (Getting them done in Hanoi next week, hopefully. John’s new nickname for me is Bonnie Raitt.) It would be great if you guys sent us your questions and we can do a year-end Q & A. You can post them here, on the message board, Facebook or send us an email. Happy Holidays from the Mighty Mekong!

Tomorrow we leave Cambodia, and with it great memories. We enjoyed the relaxed pace of Phnom Penh, and marveled at the Temples of Angkor Wat near Siem Reap. But we were most sad to leave Sihanoukville and Castaways – it was a great stay made only greater by our host, Mr. Ox.

The day before we left Sihanoukville, I came to the realization (confirmed by Mr. Ox) that Castaways likely does not take Diners Club or American Express, and that I better check our cash supply. Quick math predicted we were going to be a little short, and I would need to get to the nearest ATM in town at a place called Serendipity Beach. The issue was how to get there from our beach.

Since it was just going to be me with no bags, I determined the cheapest way to do this would be hitching a ride on a “moto.” A moto is basically a guy on a motorbike that gives you a ride like a taxi. Coming to the beach Amy and I needed to take a “tuk-tuk” because of our number and bags (see photo below). It would have been about three bucks for a tuk-tuk ride to town, but a moto could take me for maybe a buck or two.

I approached Mr. Ox and let him know in my best broken English: “Ox – can I get moto for Serendipity? Just me, no Amy.” Ox nodded in his quiet, untroubled manner, and we headed toward the road. But he stopped just short of the road and pulled me over to what I can best describe as a shed. In this shed was Ox’s own Honda motorcycle. I thought, “oh, man, Ox is going to take me himself, he’s so nice.” Then it hit me – he was letting me use his bike. His real, honest-to-God motorcycle. And then I had the flashbacks…

When I was about 13 years old, we were visiting a family friend’s house, and they had a moped. I thought that was awesome, and they let me take it out for a spin. I was zipping around the neighborhood, and then I got to the end of a sidewalk and a patch of dirt. Time to turn around. I gunned the engine to get over a 2-3 inch lip where the sidewalk met the dirt, and then it happened – the moped wiped out, right on top of my right leg. I immediately knew something was wrong. I picked up the moped to find my calf torn open deeply and bleeding a deep red with – sorry – some kind of white fluid as well. It had caught on the engine housing. 40 stitches, and now 30 years later, I have a big six-inch scar that reminds me daily that motorized bikes and I are not compatible.

I looked at Ox and just shook my head – “Ox – I…motorcycle…can’t drive!” He looked at me and nodded knowingly. This paunchy, desk-job New Yorker has no idea how to drive a motorcycle. He led me to another outbuilding, and here was a scooter. He called to Mrs. Ox. They exchanged a few words, and then I realized what was happening: I was offered Mrs. Ox’s scooter. With my pride already low, and the continued kindness extended by the Ox family, there was no way I was turning this offer down.

I got on the scooter. Ox motioned to the ignition, and gestured at how to start the machine. Then he asked me to get a liter of petrol, the price of my using the scooter. No problem. And then the moment of truth. I started the scooter. Ox watched as I turned the key, hit the throttle…and stalled out. I tried it again…and stalled out. Ox grabbed the key, got it started, and held the throttle, revving the engine until I grabbed the throttle from him and prepared to head off into the sunset. Ox gave me a solemn look, reached out, and handed me his wife’s dainty orange helmet. I put it on my head – it fit poorly – and nodded back to him. We both knew: I might never make it back alive.

I slowly opened up the throttle and hit the open road; in this case, a rutty stretch of dirt that extended about 500 yards until the first right-hand turn. I was certain that very soon I would either A) be walking the scooter back completely stalled out, or B) get a matching scar on my left leg, and be the proud owner of a totally demolished scooter. Luckily, I made the turn, covered another 200 yards of dirt road, and got to main paved road. Things were looking up. That’s when I noticed the gas tank was almost empty. I had to find some fuel, fast.

Once I hit the main road, I gained a slight bit of confidence. I was on a flat surface, and there was little traffic around, except for the occasional tuk-tuk in the opposite direction. I hugged the shoulder and opened up the throttle a bit more, getting to a speed that was slightly faster than a bicycle. Every patch of loose gravel required a reduction in speed. I needed fuel, but was taking no risks. Is that dark spot an oil slick or just asphalt? Who cares, slow down. Is that a stick in the road? A rock? Everything I saw was an obstacle thrown at me like something from a video game. It was just before noon. I only had about 5 kilometers to go. At this speed, I should get there by nightfall, if I make it at all.

I got to a three-way intersection. There were cars on the road now. Not just tuk-tuks and motos. This was the big time. I slowed down, and spread my feet wide as I navigated the turn. Made it safely, and here I gladly encountered four roadside stands selling one-liter glass liquor bottles filled with gasoline.

I checked out my options. First was a guy about 30 years old. Then a young woman, followed by an older woman with three naked children, and lastly an unattended stand. I went back to the first guy.

Here’s my reasoning: as far as the scooter was concerned, I was an idiot. I needed someone who could give me their undivided attention, show me how to open the gas tank, and very likely get this thing started for me after stalling out three times. The lady with the naked babies would have no time for me, and the young girl, well…my pride was already damaged enough without that emasculation. I pulled up to the dude.

He was a great help. I told him I needed a liter of petrol. He grabbed a bottle and waited as I monkeyed with the keys and the seat, trying to gain access to the gas tank. He opened it for me and poured in the gas. I paid him the $1.50 for the fuel, locked up the tank, and put on Mrs. Ox’s helmet. And then I tried to start the engine. As predicted, no dice. The gas man came over, and slowly and deliberately showed me how to start her up – pull this button over, hold the brake, turn the key. Genius. I put my shades on and grabbed the throttle. And then the gas man stepped back, quickly eyed all his other bottles of fuel, and threw out his hands – “SLOW!! SLOW!!!” I slowly pulled out, looked back, and waved goodbye before turning around in time to avoid an on-coming minivan.

With half a tank and spirits high, I inched towards Serendipity. I closely followed a local on his bike for about a kilometer, until the point where he quickly veered into the opposite lane and nearly ran into a tuk-tuk. Then I saw why: “COWS!!” There were two cows standing in the road about 20 feet in front of me. I veered off, slowed down and caught my breath. Only about 2 kilometers to go. I avoided feral dogs. I was honked at by a delivery truck. I was briefly scared by the shadow of a tree blowing in the wind. I negotiated a traffic circle. And soon enough, I rolled past a bevy of backpackers into Serendipity and parked the scooter in front of an ATM. I turned the key, put down the kickstand, and took off Mrs. Ox’s orange helmet. Tranquility Base…the Eagle has landed.

After I got cash from the ATM, I walked back to the bike. I gave the eye to the surrounding tuk-tuk drivers, super cool, as if I’d been doing this for years. That is, driving a lady-scooter with a tight-fitting helmet. I fooled them. I’d only been driving a lady-scooter for a good forty minutes. Suckers. I got back on the scooter. I thought back to what the gas guy taught me: button to the right, pull the brake, turn the key…SUCCESS! Growing confident, I backed out of my spot, put on Mrs. Ox’s orange helmet, and hit the throttle.

Feeling more comfortable, I followed my tracks back to Castaways. I went around the traffic circle, and noticed the massive golden lion statues in the middle. I saw a huge hotel being built with workers laying bricks on the 4th floor with zero safety precautions. There was a group of primary school kids goofing around in their school uniforms. Roadside stands sold a wealth of mystery foods and beverages. And there were cows, and ducks, and pigs – and water buffaloes – all over the place. I looked at the passing motos, and tuk-tuks, and cars, and grinned back at a few smiling faces. There was the Gulf of Thailand on the right, rice patties on the left, and sunshine overhead. And then it hit me: I wasn’t watching the road anymore, or white-knuckling the throttle. I was enjoying myself and watching the world go by. Like James Dean, Marlon Brando, and Peter Fonda before me, I had heard the call of the open road. On a lady-scooter.

Then I got cocky. I rolled up on a tuk-tuk which was going slower than I liked. I peered into the opposite lane and gunned it. Adios, tourists! The wind whipped past me and the road hummed beneath the wheels. I had no idea how fast I was going, so I did something I hadn’t needed to before: I checked the speedometer. It read zero. The speedometer was broken. I tapped it a few times. Nothing. I took the scooter up to zero for a few more minutes, and eventually got back to the dirt road, and Castaways.

I pulled in and parked the scooter where Ox had originally left me. Feeling good about myself, I took the helmet off, dropped it in the front basket, and stood over my trusty steed for a few seconds, marveling at my accomplishment. Realizing nobody cared, I walked into Castaways, where I found Ox and Amy. I turned to Ox: “I’m alive!” Ox looked at me, paused, and in his unassuming manner simply said, “Yes.” He smiled, and went back to work. But he knew as well as I did. I was alive.

The author and his ride

Hi Mom! I know it’s been a while since we provided a substantial update – it’s been a bit of a whirlwind, and we’ve finally found some down-time to catch up here in Sihanoukville. After Thanksgiving in Hong Kong (thank you, Marni), we flew to Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam, where we spent three nights with Amy’s cousin Melissa (thank you, Missy), who lives there. Really not a lot to report, in all honesty, as we spent the first day doing much-needed laundry, slept in a few days, and saw a few sights like the Reunification Palace and War Remnants Museum. It was a pretty quiet couple of days, but we’ll be going back to HCMC at the end of our SE Asia loop. Looking forward to spending some more time there and seeing it more in-depth.

From Ho Chi Minh, we took an eight-hour bus ride across the border to Phnom Penh, Cambodia. This was really meant to be a quick two-night stopover before heading here to Sihanoukville, and then on to Angkor Wat in Siem Reap, but we enjoyed it enough that we extended a night. We had a great inexpensive hotel, food and drinks were cheap, and the pace of the city was relaxed. Which brings us here to Sihanoukville.

After another lengthy bus ride a few days ago, we arrived in this beach town on the Gulf of Thailand. There are several beach areas here – one that caters to young backpackers out to party, another area that’s more of a relaxed party atmosphere, and then our beach, Otres II, which is meant to be nothing but peace and tranquility. For the most part it is, and we found a beachfront bungalow at Castaways Beach Bungalows and Bar.

Castaways is run by Mr. Ouk (aka “Ox”), who with his Khmer family, operates the kitchen and bar, cleans the rooms, and maintains the facilities. The facilities, I must admit, are minimal. We have a bed, a toilet and shower, and a roof over our head. And that’s about it – see Amy’s last post if needed. But for $15 a night, who’s complaining? I’m quite glad we’re staying here, actually, because it’s the one place in the area that’s owned and run by locals, and not some French or Russian ex-pats, or a Japanese conglomerate. We’re basically living (in our own bungalow, mind you) with Ox and his family in their outdoor living room and kitchen area. It’s great, and you feel like part of the family. Here’s a flavor of what it’s like:

5:00am – A distant rooster starts crowing.

5:30am – A nearby goose starts honking in a cartoony manner, relentlessly.

6:00am – A very nearby set of Mr. Ox’s children start running around and being generally goofy, but entertaining kids. A mother starts cursing loudly in the Khmer language shortly thereafter.

7:30am – The hammering and circular saw start up at the Japanese hotel construction site next door. This will continue for the entire day.

8:00am – I guess by now we have no choice but to get up. It’s already 85 degrees and cloudless.

8:30am – While eating breakfast, a naked six year-old Ox child stomps through the grounds, soaking wet, singing “B-I-N-G-O! B-I-N-G-O! B-I-N-G-O!…” I guess that song is universal.

8:45am – First hawker of the day. This one is a 7-8 year old kid who will play Rock-Paper-Scissors for a string bracelet. I lose, I buy; he loses, he gives it to me for free. I say repeatedly – “No, thank you. No, thank you.” He’s like an Arab rug trader, at 8 years old. But you can’t support it, it only keeps the kids from going to school, and it’s probably some syndicate anyway. Think Oliver Twist.

9:00am – First dip of the day. Avoid the hundreds of white jellyfish only 10 feet offshore, a slight inconvenience.

9:05am – See an incredible navy blue jellyfish. Get the camera from the bungalow.

9:10am – Run back into the bungalow, quickly find the laptop, and google “how to dry wet camera lens.” Take battery out of camera, dip lens in a bowl of rice, turn on fan,…pray.

9:30am – The first of twenty times in a day I will sweep sand out of the bungalow, only to have Amy come in with wet, sandy feet. “HEY! HEY! – I JUST SWEPT THIS OUT!!” (Sound familiar, Mom? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…)

10:00am – The local Khmer hawker women are out in full force on the beach. They want to sell you a manicure, a pedicure, leg threading, a massage, or a bracelet. One will come by every 10 minutes. They are an unstoppable army. Others sell fruit or “fresh” lobster, which a nice Belgian guy in a Speedo will tell you (in no uncertain terms) gave him “diary” for a week – with descriptive hand motions to indicate the ferocity of his “diary.” Avoid the lobster.

10:30am – Amy: “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet today.” Me: “Me either.”

11:00am – 2nd dip of the day. The jellyfish are now 30 feet offshore, which is only knee high.

11:30am – The three-year old Ox child comes up, points at me, laughs, and runs away. This is not the first time this has happened to me. See: High School, Girls.

11:45am – Amy has brushed her teeth by now.

12:05pm – Amy: “Is it too early to get a beer?” IS it too early to get a beer? It’s like 90 degrees out and I’m sunburned. It is NOT too early to get a beer. Hell, they’re only $1. Please get me a nice cold ANGKOR in a can. Tagline: “My Country My Beer.”

12:30pm – The bronzed, Brazilian, hairy-chested, ponytail guy in the Speedo goes for a swim and ruins my lunch.

1:00pm – TEETH BRUSHED!

1:30pm – A manicure lady comes by. Get another beer. Sun for a few minutes. Cool off in water. Dry off. Ox’s pregnant mutt shifts from sleeping under my beach lounger to sleeping under Amy’s beach lounger. The sound of reggae drifts over from the resort next door. Repeat all afternoon.

2:30pm – A boat full of coconuts floats by and unloads next door.

3:00pm – A fishing boat pulls up in front of the bungalows and starts taking in its nets. A paltry catch, but this is subsistence living, I guess.

3:30pm – For some unknown reason, all the local beach dogs start howling in unison. It’s 3:30…what the hell is going on?!

4:00pm – The jellyfish have all disappeared. Where did they go? I mean it, if you have the answer, please let me know. There were hundreds along this beach this morning, and every morning. Did they just drift out to sea?

4:30pm – The three Ox children are fascinated by the pictures on Amy’s laptop. The laptop isn’t a big deal though – that’s how they watch “BEN-TEN” every afternoon at the bar, in English or Spanish.

5:00pm – Sun is starting to lower in the sky, which is pink, orange, and gold. We decide to take a walk down the beach and see the sights.

5:30pm – FIRST THIS:

6:00pm – THEN THIS!

7:00pm – Mrs. Ox grills fresh squid served with rice. Delicious.

8:00pm – We check on the camera. As the photos here suggest, things are in working order. Crisis averted.

8:30pm – This is in the night sky.

9:30pm – We walk along the star-lit beach for a while. Come back to our little bungalow. Get ready for bed. Find this in the bathroom! As big as a small fist. Amy names him Hermie.

10:00pm – Fall asleep to the sound of the waves lapping against the shore.

3:00am – We are awakened by the sounds of a goose in major distress. This could be dinner tomorrow night. Only time will tell…

Additional notes: We sleep under a mosquito net. I have not washed my hair in three days. I’ve worn the same clothes to dinner for three days. Amy normally has fantastic dental hygiene. The Belgian guy in the Speedo left us saying he “had to go to work.” In his Speedo. Amy got her legs threaded for $10. And the greatest of mysteries: As I write this post this morning, there were no jellyfish. None.

PPS – Amy wants you to know photos on the photo page have been updated through Hong Kong. Enjoy.

Our current accommodations in Cambodia. Roughing it a bit but not too shabby, really….

So I know we totally skipped blogging about Ho Chi Minh City but it was a whirlwind…and we’ll be back in early January anyway. (Headlines: Awesome; interesting historical sites; saw my cousin and her family; connected with other friends; great food!) This morning, we took a 7 hour bus ride from HCMC, Vietnam to Phnom Penh, Cambodia (not as bad as it sounds, actually). The itinerary for the next month is as follows (subject to change): Phnom Penh/Sihanoukville/Siem Reap-Cambodia; Luang Prabang-Laos; Hanoi/Halong Bay/Hoi An-Vietnam. Then we’ll head back to my cousin’s place in HCMC right after the first of the year, pick up the giant suitcase, and spend one night (or more) in Bangkok before heading to points south.

So clearly, December is Adventure Month for the Brueckners! Stories to come, for sure, but in the mean time, enjoy this hotel room video…

Hi Mom! Today is our last day in Hong Kong before heading to Vietnam and a month traveling around Southeast Asia (or as John calls it, the Heart of Darkness). It’s also the last day of Thanksgiving weekend so I thought it would be a good time to reflect on all that we’re thankful for these last two months…

– Technology that allows us to stay in touch with our family and friends.

– Friends, both old and new, who’ve helped keep home-sickness at bay.

– Our lack of food allergies because, sometimes, we have no idea what we’re eating.

– Super Glue because…you know.

– John’s patience and sense of humor in allowing me to take goofy photos.

– Clean public bathrooms. (I realized I probably just jinxed myself so in lieu of the aforementioned, I am also thankful for Kleenex, Purell, and wet wipes.)

– And finally, John is very grateful that Chairman Mao made it home safely.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, MOM!