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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!

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.