Author Archives: John

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…

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

Amy and I spent this week in the southern half of Taiwan, in the historic city of Tainan – a former capital of the island that was founded by Dutch traders, believe it or not. It’s a great city, with interesting temples and old forts, and incredibly nice people. We also made a few day trips. One was a half-hour south to the port city of Kaohsiung, where we dipped our toes in the Taiwan Strait, and had this incredible seafood dinner.

A few days ago we also went to the small mountain town of Guanziling to visit the hot mud baths. That’s right – Amy took me for a spa day.

Guanziling is touted as one of only three places in the world where you can take a hot-springs mud bath. The others are in Kagoshima, Japan and Vulcano, Italy. Not being anywhere near Italy, we figured we’d try this experience while we could get it. This was not an easy task. First we took a 40-minute train ride north to the small town of Xinying, where we had to transfer to a bus. At this point, outside of the “big city,” no one spoke any English. That said, neither of us speaks Mandarin. This led to a lot of pointing, gesturing, and simple guesswork. Fortunately everything worked out.

After a half-hour wait at the bus station, we traveled another half-hour to an even smaller town called Bai He for a second bus transfer at a combination bus station/7-11 convenience store. If you’ve ever been to Asia, you know about the 7-11’s. They’ve got everything – food, drinks, school supplies, magazines, healthcare products, candy, wine, beer, liquor, and disposable underpants. Yes, I said disposable underpants.

That’s four pair for under US $3. If you’re gonna eat a lot of candy, and drink beer, wine, and liquor, you’re going to need disposable underpants. What else might contribute to that need? Fish Peanuts.

Yep, there are little dried fishes in there, along with peanuts and little crunchies. Actually seems like a healthy snack. But with another half-hour wait before our final bus ride, and not wanting to eat Fish Peanuts, we grabbed lunch across the street.

Two very nice ladies, who didn’t speak a word of English, welcomed us to their stand. One was cooking pork steaks and eggs, and the other was making noodles. Not speaking a word of Mandarin beyond “Hello” “Thank you” or “Beer,” you can guess what we ordered: pork steaks and eggs over noodles. It was actually quite delicious.

Then it was on to our final fifteen-minute bus ride. This took us into the hills and to the spa town of Guanziling. With the aid of some other passengers, as well as some pointing, gesturing, and simple guess-work, we were able to let the driver know what stop we needed to get off at, the one closest to the King’s Garden Villa Spa. Turns out that bus stop is a fifteen-minute walk from the spa itself. After one train, two buses, and an uphill climb later, we arrived at the King’s Garden only three hours after we left Tainan. And having covered less than 40 miles. Had we arrived any later, I fear I may have needed some disposable underpants.

The spa is a nice wooded retreat in the hills, with a few views of the valley below. Seems a lot of Taiwanese folks will come for several days like we did at the onsen in Japan. We only got a day pass, which was plenty of time for us, but they do want to make it a nice getaway, as this sign indicates in a somewhat incomplete manner:

And it is nice. We don’t really have pictures of the inside, because you don’t really want to take your camera into a steamy mud bath, and likewise – you know…strangers don’t really like having their picture taken while they’re half-naked in a mud bath.

But we do have some pictures from the spa’s billboards, which are posted along the way on that fifteen-minute walk. These are what the mud baths look like:

Like the onsen in Japan, there are a number of these baths, some hot, some cold, some in between, and most of the warmer ones with varying degrees of hot mud in the baths. The most popular was a muddy brown like a café au lait. One was dark like a hot steeping tea. And another was a bit milkier. While it’s called a mud bath, and there is some of the natural hot mud in it, it’s really like going into a muddy pond – much more liquid than solid.

But they do have a few mirrored areas with bowls of more condensed, darker mud that you can spread on your body or face and let dry for a deep pore cleansing. While I was soaking in a hot tub, Amy said she wanted to put on a mud mask. She left, and I waited. A few minutes later, she came back. And I started laughing – “Do you have any idea what you look like?! You look like Al Jolson in blackface!” Thankfully the mud dried quickly to a lighter gray, and Amy looked less like a minstrel show and more like the Walking Dead. And speaking of race, I should add that as the only white folks there, we were definitely the subject of a lot of stares, and some questions – “Where are you from?” “Why did you come here?” But all in the spirit of curiosity and friendship.

The spa also sported some kind of workout room with all these archaic weight-loss devices. Remember the vibrating belt machines that Bugs Bunny used? They had them. Here’s proof:

And see that little out-of-focus tabletop machine in the background?

With this device, you would lie down, put your heels in the machine, and it would shift and shake your heels rapidly back and forth – I think the idea was to loosen and align your spine. I remember this feeling from when I was a teenager, and my father would come in and use this method daily to wake me up for school. I never realized back in 1985 that he had correct spinal alignment in mind, but it was certainly effective in stirring you from a deep slumber.

There was also a platform that you stood on, held the handles, and the platform just shook like hell. I have no idea what this was supposed to do, but the people doing it looked ridiculous, and if they had any idea what they looked like, I assure you they wouldn’t have done it. There was a lot of thigh flab flying around. I tell you this, while I’m not the most fit guy in the world, this place did wonders for my body image. Sitting in a mud bath (on a weekday) with fat old ladies and scrawny old men makes you feel pretty fit and trim.

Speaking of fit and trim, there was a dependable scale at the spa. I weighed myself and discovered I’m now 72 kilos, or about 158 pounds. That’s what walking around all day and no snacking will do for you. The last time I weighed 158 pounds was when I graduated from college, and I know this from my arrest records that day (long story…).

We also used the steam room, and Amy used the sauna. But my favorite part of the whole thing was the “Doctor Fish.” Perhaps you’ve heard of these guys. It’s a small pool, about 18 inches deep, filled with little goldfish-type guys. What you do is put your feet in, and the fish come up and nibble on your feet and give you a pedicure. I found an image on Wikipedia to show you what I mean:

First, I’ll answer these questions:
Yes, it tickles at first.
Yes, it is kinda gross.
Yes, I know it’s banned in most of the US.
Yes, I found it highly entertaining.

Amy and I put our feet in at the same time, and we were the only ones using the little pool at that moment. You know how ladies have these cute little dainty feet, all moisturized and trimmed and cleaned? And guys have gross monster feet? Well, about a dozen fish went over to Amy’s feet, and weren’t terribly interested. Meanwhile, I was swarmed. Apparently there was a lot of disgusting fleshy goodness for these fish to feast upon. I have one gamey toe in particular that they loved. These fish worshipped at my feet, literally. But time had other plans, and soon we had to leave. I rinsed off, and then went to the outdoor swimming pool, where I gave my feet a good chlorine soak for about 30 seconds. I may have enjoyed those cute little fish, but I didn’t trust them… For all I know, they could be the main ingredients in Fish Peanuts.

Our trip home was much faster, only about two hours with good connection times, and to top it off, we got a fantastic sunset over Tainan.

Tomorrow we say goodbye to Tainan, and to Taiwan altogether, as we leave for Hong Kong. We’ve really enjoyed our stay here. These two weeks in Taiwan have encapsulated everything we love about travel – we came on a whim to explore a place we’d never been, and along the way learned a great deal, met a lot of very nice people, and had some unique experiences we couldn’t have had elsewhere. That’s why we do this. Xie xie, Taiwan. We’ll meet again someday.

One of the things I’m finding most enjoyable about this trip is the education you get along the way. We came to Taiwan because we heard the island is naturally beautiful, the night markets are fun, and the food is great (all true).

But just by virtue of being here in Taiwan, particularly after being in Beijing, you also get a much better feel for the history of the country and its current relations with mainland China. And no two men better exemplify that history than Chiang Kai-shek of the Republic of China (Taiwan), and Mao Zedong of the People’s Republic of China (which we call, you know…China).

A quick briefing for the uninformed (like I was): Taiwan is the last vestige of “free” Nationalist China, before the communists (under Mao) took over shortly after WWII. Led by Chiang Kai-shek, the remaining Nationalists fled to Taiwan, while Mao’s forces took over the mainland. This geo-political reality remains today, with both sides claiming to be the rightful rulers of both the mainland and Taiwan (although the United Nations officially recognized the communists in 1971, followed by the US in 1979 – something else I didn’t know until recently).

And something else I learned: while Mao is revered in the People’s Republic, Chiang is revered here in Taiwan. So much so that they built him a massive Memorial Hall in Taipei after his death.

I tell you this – Mao may have “won” the war, but Chiang won this battle: when it comes to memorials, the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall crushes Mao’s Mausoleum. It’s not even close. Amy and I checked it out.

First of all, Chiang’s Memorial Hall in Taipei overlooks a massive park, and faces two beautiful buildings, the National Theater and the National Concert Hall – unlike Mao’s Mausoleum seated on the large parking lot called Tiananmen Square.

As you approach the imposing edifice of Chiang’s Memorial Hall, you look up at a massive structure with ornate steps and a blue tile roof. It inspires awe like the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. It’s like you’re ascending to greatness.

Then you go into the Memorial Hall. The Lincoln Memorial comparisons are greatest here, quiet and reflective. There’s a massive statue of Chiang, surveying the nation he helped build. But unlike Lincoln, Chiang’s got a smile on his face.

Why? Despite his troubles with Mao and the communist horde, Chiang led a long and seemingly happy life. How do I know? Because unlike Mao’s Mausoleum, Chiang’s Hall has a museum downstairs where you can learn more about his life and see some of his personal items. Like this:

It’s Chiang’s thermal underwear! Yes, his undergarments are on display. The old man wore termal underwear, and they let you know it. Then there was this display:

That’s Chiang’s slippers, desk lamp, globe, and clock radio. It’s fascinating. If there’s ever a museum dedicated to me, will they display the ceramic bowl I throw my change in, the tin can that holds my pens and pencils, or the pair of old flip flops I used at the YMCA pool? What about the trophy I won for Most Valuable Bowler in the New York All-Media Bowling League? Surely that’s a museum piece.

Here’s something I noticed – look at this photo of Chiang and Madame Chiang outside grillin’ and chillin’. Do you see the stove?

Here’s a closer look…

And here’s that shot, flipped over so you can read it…

Carling’s Black Label! The old boy took a few Canadian beer cans and made a stove! I love it. He not only drank imported beer (from a can), but he was also an avid recycler. Here are some more personal effects:

He’s father of his country, and they show you his soup spoon and chopsticks?! But wait – it gets worse:

Chopsticks that he NEVER EVEN USED! Amy and I had about 40 pair of unused Chinese food chopsticks sitting in our kitchen drawer, but there’s no way they’re going into my museum with the bowling trophy and my flip flops.

My favorite part of the memorial was in this little room that talks about the history of the building itself.

They have some displays about the actual construction of the Memorial, the fundraising, and then there’s a photo presentation of all the dignitaries who’ve visited – heads of state, ambassadors…and this guy:

John Ritter! John Ritter is in the photo gallery of the VIPs who visited! How bummed were the Taiwanese, back during the heyday of Three’s Company, expecting Suzanne Somers would come with him, Thighmaster in tow? Or Mr. Furley? Oh man, I bet they were upset.

All this said, there were some things notably missing from the museum. Chiang may have been the father of modern-day Taiwan, but he had some major flaws that were conveniently left out. For example, the fact that he got beat by the Maoists. That his military record is mixed. And that the people who were in Taiwan before he fled the mainland weren’t thrilled with his arrival, and their protests were met with a massacre. He ruled both the Chinese mainland and Taiwan with an iron-fist.

Overall, despite some of the more questionable things in the museum portion, it was really interesting, and honestly an impressive tribute to the man. Chiang has a fantastic memorial hall, a top-stop in Taipei. In fact, here’s Amy wearing the CKS Memorial Hall as a hat:

TOOTH UPDATE!

Following the debacle on the Great Wall, I got my tooth fixed – temporarily. I made a dentist’s appointment in Taipei last week. Here I am in the office:

And here I am in the chair:

Molds were taken. Measurements were made. Then Amy and I had to take a few hours off while the “provisional crown” was being made. So we went out for a quick lunch:

Then back to the dentist’s office, and after some re-fitting and adjusting…

It’s just a temporary crown which should last for several months. There wasn’t enough time to make a permanent porcelain cap, but once we’re in Australia or New Zealand in a few months, we’ll get that done while we’re there longer. Phase one is complete, and while I’m trying to be cautious about what I eat, at least I’m smiling again.

All in all, we’re fine, Mom.

Hello Mom!

After five days in Beijing, we’re now in Taipei, Taiwan. Sorry we couldn’t update you while in China – as you likely know, the internet is a bit wonky over there. No Facebook, no Twitter, no New York Times. In fact, here’s what our blog looked like:

Censored in China

No photos, apparently. And while e-mail worked for us, it took a long time to load and had glitches. So now we’re in Taiwan, back online, and ready to give you a Beijing report…

On our arrival, we met our fantastic driver, John Yellow Car. That’s what he calls himself, and if you search Youtube, you’ll find John hawking his services.

He speaks great English (especially compared to my Mandarin), he’s incredibly personable, and was a big help to us the first couple of days here. John Yellow Car – whose car is white, by the way – picked us up, and took us for a drive through Tiananmen Square. Here we got a quick glance of the infamous plaza with the massive portrait of Chairman Mao, the Great Hall of the People, and Mao’s Mausoleum. I turned to Amy: “Oh man, I’d really like to see the embalmed body of Chairman Mao.” Then I added, “I bet I can buy a bust of him here.”

First a little backstory about why we came to Beijing. If you’ve read our “About Us” page, you’ll know that Amy’s top goal for this trip was to take me to the Great Wall of China, and I definitely wanted to see it. But what I wanted from China is completely different. What I wanted was a bust of Chairman Mao.

When I went to Vietnam about five years ago, I bought a gold-painted bust of Ho Chi Minh on a lark. Since then, I’ve decided to collect the entire set of communist revolutionaries and strong-arm dictators – Ho Chi Minh, Mao, Lenin, Stalin – whoever fits the bill. People who know me well know that I collect posters and art prints, so I also thought I should look for some good Maoist propaganda posters in China, but:

A – I already have some from a stop in Hong Kong on that trip five years ago, and,

B – If you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao, you ain’t gonna make it with anyone anyhow.

On Friday, I got my chance. We walked from our hotel to Tiananmen Square, and seeing fast-moving lines, I told Amy I’d like to go through the Mausoleum. Sure, Mao died in 1978, but people line up to see his body every day. I figured, after 35 years lying vacuum-sealed like a bunch of Omaha Steaks, I wanted to see how the Great Leader was holding up.

No pictures are allowed inside, but here’s what happens: after you go through security, all the party faithful (which you better be if you’re Chinese) buy a yellow rose conveniently sold inside. Then you slowly and silently file into the building to find a massive statue of Mao seated and smiling to his comrades. Here the yellow roses are laid on a special platform, which is about three feet deep in roses. Then you reverently head into the actual mausoleum, and there he is, in a big glass box, resting comfortably under a blanket with only his head, receding hairline, and shoulders exposed. He looks, well, pinkish and waxen, like an old bar of Avon soap left in the guest bathroom, but surprisingly good for a man who’s been dead since Love Boat was on television. Then you all quietly file out of the building, and as with all great institutions – airports, mental hospitals, the Korean DMZ – the Mao Mausoleum has a gift shop, and I went.

There were all sorts of plaques and photos, buttons, medallions, bookmarks, even watches – everything Mao. Including this:

That’s a key-chain I bought for Amy. And you know what else they had? Porcelain busts. Porcelain busts of Chairman Mao. But I didn’t buy one. Why? It cost 200 yuan, about $33. That’s pretty expensive for China, and I’m pretty sure you can’t haggle at the Mao Mausoleum. And our next stop was the Pearl Market, where you can get just about anything and negotiate for it. So I decided to bide my time, and we took a bicycle rickshaw to the market.

You can get clothes, sneakers, handbags, electronics (all of them knock-offs), and all kinds of Chinese souvenirs – including porcelain Mao busts. I found one I liked, and started negotiating. But the woman selling it wasn’t going as low as I hoped. She claimed the one I wanted was exceptional quality porcelain, and that I needed to up my price. I held firm, and she lowered, but not enough. She wouldn’t even go under the 200 yuan price given at the Mausoleum itself. Eventually, she countered with another, different bust of Mao, but this one made of a lower-quality porcelain.

Apparently, some porcelain is better than others.

In retrospect, I wish I had the haggling skills of my father, who’s made a profession of nickel and diming car salesman. Or my friend Ari, who I once saw get a reduced price AND an upgrade at Enterprise Rent-A-Car by repeatedly saying, “if I’d have known that, I would have gone to Hertz.” I knew we were never going to agree on the high-quality porcelain, so I turned to the lesser quality one. And after a few minutes, still standing firm, I became the proud owner of a porcelain Mao bust, for the low price of 125 yuan.

The next day, Saturday, it was time for Amy’s objective. We got up early and met James, our guide for the Great Wall of China. We were going to visit a part of the wall that’s a little further afield, less traveled, and more difficult to climb. And it’s not even supposed to be open to tourists, but James knows the locals. It was fantastic.

We spent several hours walking, climbing, and learning about the history of the wall along with another couple from Australia. It was really fascinating, and James was a great guide. Then it was time for lunch, which we enjoyed with this incredible view:

And for dessert, a Snickers bar. I took a bite. And then – DISASTER!! Something wrong happened in my mouth. A strange feeling. And I discovered my front porcelain crown had snapped off into the Snickers bar. OH THE HUMANITY!

Apparently, some porcelain is better than others.

If I’d have known that, I would have gone to Hertz. I mean, really?! The Great Wall of China has stood for nearly 500 years, but my damn crown crumbled in less than twenty. Hell, Chairman Mao’s corpse has lasted almost twice as long as that crown. (Interesting fun fact: 1978, the year of Mao’s death, may have been the year I knocked out my front teeth on the side of a swimming pool. Coincidence? Eerie!)

I realized it was just one of those things, and with no other options, we ventured onward, with the remains of the porcelain crown safely thrown into a bottle of pills. Here’s Amy and me together after – please enjoy this iconic photo taken on the Great Wall of China:

Eventually a fantastic day of hiking the wall was over, and we were driven back to the hotel to contend with the remnants of my broken crown. So what to do? We went out and bought Chinese SuperGlue. That’s right – I super-glued the sonuvabitch back onto the post. It’s not perfect, but it works, at least temporarily. It’s not like I was going to some Chinese dentist (and boy, do I want to tell a really old joke about what time the appointment would’ve been if I had…).

The next day outside the Forbidden City

So we’re in Taipei as I write this, and we’re working on getting a dental appointment. Hopefully I’ll get a new crown, and all will be good with the world. We’ll keep you updated on what happens. And as for Beijing – well, Amy finally got to take me to the Great Wall, and I got a porcelain bust, and some busted porcelain. We both got what we wanted – at a price. But we’ll always have a good story to tell, and a reminder sitting quietly on the shelf, head and shoulders only, for the next 35 years and beyond…

A few days ago we celebrated our 2nd wedding anniversary, and anyone who knows us well knows October 29th is always exciting for us.

On our wedding day in 2011, the northeast of the United States was blanketed by a freak snowstorm. Travel in and around Philadelphia was nearly impossible, our wedding was delayed, and some guests had to cancel. Later, a good friend sent me this as a gift, a satellite photo of our wedding day.

The next year, on October 29, 2012 – our first anniversary – the northeast of the United States was hit by the storm of the century: Superstorm Sandy. This was not just a hurricane combined with a blizzard. This was a “superstorm.” On our first anniversary. Here’s that satellite image:

Many people assumed God has it out for us. Most wanted to know what would happen for our 2nd Anniversary. A small number, mostly in the northeast of the United States, told us to get out of the country on October 29th. We clearly complied with these requests.

Overseas, and with no natural disasters facing us, we decided to confront a man-made disaster. For our 2nd wedding anniversary, I took my wife to North Korea.

A few days ago, Amy and I went to the DMZ, the borderline no-man’s land where North meets South in a fantastic display of military strength, propaganda, and posturing. Let me start by saying there won’t be a lot of photos in this post. One thing they don’t let you do in what’s still considered an active war zone is take a lot of pictures. We were heading to the one place in the DMZ where the two sides actually meet head-to-head, a small compound called Panmunjeom that’s used for armistice talks and prisoner exchanges. It’s fascinating.

It all started out with a one-hour bus ride north of Seoul. Our tour guide Gina told us the history of the Korean conflict, and some background of the DMZ. We also had the chance to ask questions to a recent North Korean defector who now works for the tour company. She, her sister, and her children all escaped via China, after planning silently for three years! She didn’t even tell her husband, who she left behind. There wasn’t a lot mentioned about the husband personally, other than his being a pro-government guy, and by the sounds of it all, a bit of a turd (my word, not hers, clearly). Apparently they had about 2 hours of electricity a day, and little to eat. Like every mother, she wanted a better life for her kids.

We made a stop at Imjingak, a peace park very near the border. Since this is the closest a South Korean can get to North Korea, they come here to hang ribbons in honor of their ancestors and families stuck somewhere on the other side of that river, hopeful that some day they’ll be reunited.

Here we learned there’s a genuine desire among the South Koreans for a unified country. They’ve actually spent all kinds of money on a rail line to Pyongyang, with the hope that it will eventually open – it just sits there crossing the river into North Korea. I hope they’ve rust-proofed the hell out of it, because it doesn’t look like it’s going to get used anytime soon. But again, it’s a symbol of hope for the South Korean people.

And then, of course, a reminder of the present-day reality as a platoon of South Korean soldiers moseyed up next the park, out on patrol, and likely posturing for the other side.

(By the way, if you’re one of my old high school buddies who served in the military, don’t give me any crap about platoons or patrols or whatever – you’re right, I have no clue. Now shut up.)

After the peace park, it was off to the main event – the DMZ. Again, no photos while on the United Nations base. After a number of checkpoints, we were handed over from Gina to US Army Private Martinez of the Bronx, who checked everyone’s passports against a pre-submitted manifest. Then past another checkpoint, and off to Panmunjeom. Google it. It’s a small area the size of your parents’ backyard where they literally face off every day in a fantastic display of military posturing. And while it’s not active every day, it’s a real, honest-to-God front which could erupt at any moment. There have actually been a few times since the end of the war when people have been killed in this “neutral” zone – two by AXE MURDER!

And we went there. As tourists. On our anniversary.

We were led into the main conference room building, which spans North and South. Both sides are allowed in this building, and hold talks at a table that sits right on the border. It’s the only place on the peninsula where the North can go into the South, and the South can go into the North. Private Martinez told us what I just told you. And then he gave us the thumbs-up on photos – it’s not like the North Koreans don’t know what it looks like.

That’s us in North Korea, next to a South Korean guard.

This is a picture I took in North Korea, looking back into South Korea. I think you can make out the borderline, that cement slab. We’re literally in North Korea looking into South Korea.

This is a selfie of us in North Korea. NORTH KOREA. Hi, Mom. We’re fine.

This is another South Korean guard, who probably would have strangled me with his bare hands if he knew I took this picture surreptitiously. I found out later I wasn’t supposed to do that.

This is the main table, right on the border. The guard is spanning the border.

Then we were led outside, “safely” back in South Korea, where Private Martinez gave us an extensive briefing about the site in full view of the North Koreans. Again, he gave us the go-ahead to take photos. Take a look:

This was the North Korean guard who was checking us out the entire time.

I swear, at one point while I was zoomed in taking a picture, he was focused in on me, specifically.

We’d been in NORTH KOREA. Wild. Then we returned to the UN base on the DMZ.

Like all great institutions – art museums, mental hospitals, airports, and fancy hotels – the DMZ has a gift shop, and we went (again, no photos on the military base). You can get key chains, hats, t-shirts, Zippo lighters, ice cream, and coffee mugs; and through some kind of ridiculous agreement, they actually sell North Korean liquor there. You can buy “grape wine” (as opposed to rice wine, I guess), another “special” grape wine, and some kind of crappy brandy. I bought the grape wine.

How did it taste? Not good. Not good at all. Like bad communion wine (I assure you, Jewish friends – that ain’t good). And look – there’s things floating in it.

I couldn’t finish the glass. I dumped out the rest of it, and here’s what the bottle looked like:

Look at the crud left in the bottle. Gross. The North Koreans can’t even produce a decent drinkable table wine.

That’s twelve bucks down the drain. And here’s the first thought I had after I bought the grape wine: Did I just fund a fascist, human-rights abusing regime? Maybe. But Amy reminded me that the money raised is supposed to support reunification efforts, so…okay. I don’t know…

It was a surreal day. And also a bit of a sad day. Sure, we stepped into North Korea, and that’s pretty crazy. But imagine if we were never allowed to cross the Mason-Dixon line. What if you never saw your parents again? It’s sad. It was a novelty for us to do this, sure, a political anomaly. But for Korea, it’s a reality. I wish the best for both of these countries – one that will hopefully be freed from a long nightmare, and another that will finally be reunited with the people they love. It’s a long-shot, sure. But there’s always hope, even if it comes in the form of a small room in a neutral zone in the middle of no-man’s land.

Amy & Private Martinez

Hey Seoul… it’s been pretty cool hanging out here so far. Your food is awesome. I particularly love the barbeque pork, and the kimchi,…

And the food stalls and night markets, with the outdoor grilling and dining…

…And the crazy ice cream you eat out of a bent cone that looks like a saxophone.

Your sights are pretty cool, too. For example, here’s a 12th century palace with a mountain behind it.

And here’s a beautiful ancient pagoda in a nice autumnal setting.

Those are all really neat, and I appreciate what you’ve got going on here.

But people of Seoul, I have some advice for you: STOP STARING AT YOUR PHONE!

Waiting for the subway.

Sitting on the subway.

Young lovers in love…with their phones.

Only one of these people is not glued to their phone.

Wherever we go, trying to navigate your streets and subways, we can’t get around the throngs of people texting, watching movies, or reading – I don’t know…whatever – on their phones.

Look at this:

This guy is watching TV on his phone, on the subway. There’s even a little antenna! I’ve seen this a bunch of times. We’re in the midst of the Korean baseball championship right now, so maybe I’ll let this pass.

I don’t have a picture to show you, but imagine this: on a crowded subway car full of people looking at their phones, when there’s a sudden jolt or stop or turn, everyone just falls into everyone else like dominos. It’s happened to us several times, and it’s hilarious.

So you really want to use your phone? I have some productive solutions.

For example, you can call the Korean McDonald’s and have them deliver you a McBulgogi burger. That’s gotta be delicious, because it’s sweetly marinated barbecued beef. At least that’s how our guide book describes bulgolgi. How McDonald’s prepares it is a different question altogether.

Or call your local Seoul KFC and get the “MaxX.” The picture’s not that great, but look closely – NO BUN, ALL MEAT! – that’s a grilled piece of chicken between two pieces of fried chicken, with cheese and bacon. Nobody can tell me American exceptionalism is on the wane.

(We haven’t eaten either of these sandwiches yet, but I’m making a point of trying out regional burger varieties, particularly McDonald’s.)

Or you can call this lady. I saw this business card lying on a sidewalk on a Friday night outside of a bar. Her business card is promoting some kind of good or service, but I can’t honestly tell you what she’s selling because I can’t read hangul (the Korean lettering).

Or this one – if there’s a water problem in a public restroom, just call the Korean Toilet Association. They really exist, and I bet you can call them. Perhaps you can even speak with the Chairman of the Korean Toilet Association, who I imagine is named Loo Waters. I wonder how they answer: “Hello, KTA Hotline…what’s the nature of your toilet emergency?”

Speaking of toilets, you can call the Korean home shopping network, and BUY a toilet.

Look, there’s even a bidet feature. It’s pretty much a steal at 209,000 won…

And while we’re watching TV, you can call Korean Idol and vote for your favorite contestant.

Don’t let Korean Simon Cowell persuade your voting, everyone knows it’s his job to be the bad guy.

(This guy may not have made the cut. Just look at him, trying to keep his cool. But you know he just wants to strangle Korean Simon Cowell for the raw criticism of his heartfelt performance.)

Also, keeping with the TV theme: PLEASE use your phones to Google why Solid Gold is still on in Korea…

Is Loverboy still big over here? Or the Romantics? Better yet, why do I keep referencing 80’s bands that wore red leather outfits?

Totally unrelated, but this guy is awesome.

He CAN call me, and we WILL hang out, talk about tough guy stuff, and intimidate people with our tough guy looks.

Wait a minute. Oh no…

Oh goodness, not you, too…

Okay, fine.

Perhaps I should just accept that this, too, is part of Korean culture. Great food, incredible sights, and everything Samsung. Plus your own toilet association. Thanks for hosting us, Seoul. Give us a call sometime. Next stop: The DMZ.

Yesterday we left Japan and arrived in Seoul, South Korea for a two-week stay in this country. We truly enjoyed our time in Japan, an entire month spent visiting some cities we’d never been to and experiencing some things we’d never seen. It was really great, and as ridiculous as it sounds, we can’t wait to go back (after stopping in a few other places first). In honor of our time there, I give you our version of “Japan: By the Numbers.”

Days in Japan: 27
Cities/Towns visited: 7 (Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka, Noboribetsu, Niseko, Sapporo, Otaru)
Various Accommodation: 10 (five hotels, two apartments rentals, one condo rental, one “onsen” resort, and one “capsule ryokan.”)
Forms of Transportation: 9 (plane, train, commuter rail, subway, bus, taxi, bicycle, foot, and…monorail!)

Current exchange rate: Approx. 100 Yen to US $1
Largest coin in Japanese circulation: 500 Yen (about $5 US)
Number of 1 Yen and 5 Yen pieces you actually use: none
Average amount of cash in change you’ll have in your pocket: $25
Number of cold green teas bought from vending machines to get rid of change: innumberable

iPhones lost on airport busses: 1
iPhones recovered from airport bus companies: 1
Times Amy told me “try not to be stupid”: 1

Octopus-on-a-stick eaten: 2

Sea snails eaten: 2

Jellyfish eaten: 1
Cod sperm in a rice bowl eaten: 1 (came with the rice bowl, not specifically ordered, or enjoyed, for that matter.)

Number of visits to McDonalds: 1 (try the delicious “McPepper.” Hamburger, hash brown, and an au poivre sauce. It’s like Smith & Wollensky on a bun.)

Meals featuring “The Genghis Khan,” where you cook your own lamb: 1

Days your sweater smells like lamb after eating the Genghis Khan: 3
Cost of dry cleaning a sweater: about $8

Cost of gourmet organic grapes: $50 (not purchased)
Cost of French’s Yellow Mustard (squirt bottle): $4 (not purchased)
Cost of a can of Campbell’s Tomato Soup: $3 (not purchased)
Cost of a bag of six tofu donuts: $3 (purchased and consumed immediately)

Cost of a glass of wine: about $7
Cost of a beer: about $7
Cost of a mixed drink: about $6 (this surprised me. It’s cheaper to get a cocktail than a beer).
Cost of a glass of milk: no idea.

Minutes spent mesmerized as candy was pulled by hand in a Tokyo food hall: 25
Number of times we ran into this demonstration thereafter: 3 to 4
Time spent watching at last viewing: 20 seconds passing by

Number of Sumo matches attended: 1

Number of Japanese Baseball games viewed live on TV: 3

Number of Manchester United matches viewed live on TV: 2
Number of those matches viewed by Amy: zero

Various Random One-offs:
One typhoon suffered (if “suffering” means walking around a pedestrian mall all day)
One karaoke in a kimonos
One street interview by Japanese TV (no idea when or where that aired)
One slightly tipsy 3am walk home in Sapporo (John only)
One visit to hair salon in Tokyo (Amy only)
One witnessing of a hooker getting picked up at the Grand Hyatt Tokyo
One witnessing of Tom Hanks & Rita Wilson at the Grand Hyatt Tokyo (unrelated)

It was a good month.

Sayonara, Japan. The civility of your culture, the friendliness of your people, and the vitality of your everyday life are something we’ve likely taken for granted during our stay. Arigato gozaimasu.