A Weekend Adventure (with a few hiccups)

Note: I’ve added still more pictures to the “Nepal: 25 More Days” album, from rafting and Chitwan. Take a look!

 

It all started out well, I swear!

The plan was to take a tourist bus from Pokhara to a point where a rafting company would take me rafting on the Trisuli River. The morning started out well enough, leaving Pokhara on a nice morning with a blue sky. The first few hours of the bus ride went smoothly, although at our breakfast stop some of us noticed smoke coming from a tire well. Some Nepali boys banged away at it and by the time we boarded all seemed well.

An hour later, we were pulled onto the side of the road in a small town, wheel well smoking away again. This time, the Nepali boys (which every bus seems to have along for such occasions) took the wheels off and then began dismantling the axle. There were ten of us eyeing the entire operation doubtfully, itching to get to the rafting point that was reputedly only twenty-eight kilometers away. We ground our teeth and sweated for about an hour before deciding to thumb a ride. A passing pickup truck agreed to take us for a hundred rupees each (outrageous!) and we all piled into the bed, where there were benches along the side and plastic stretched over a framework above us.

Rafting went well enough, with everyone but the guides and me having their first rafting experience. I jumped into the river a few times, cooling off from the hard work of paddling in the humid heat. Two hours of rafting and relaxing later, we ate lunch at a shack and showered, fully clothed, under an open-air faucet next to two enclosed squatter toilets. Those tourists who were heading on to Kathmandu left; then those heading to Pokhara. The thirteen of us remaining who were headed for Chitwan waited. And waited. It began to rain and still we waited, starting to chew our lower lips again.

Finally, we were told that there was a strike on near Chitwan and no vehicles except tourist buses could get through, and that the next tourist bus would be by the next morning. They pointed down the road and explained that we could camp in tents and have meals, free of charge, while we spent the night and waited for the tourist bus. Many of us had booked package tours at Chitwan National Park, and none of us knew whether the lodges would honor the packages if we arrived a day late. Oh… there was no telephone reception and no landline telephones, either. We were stuck.

Three girls from England decided to head back to Kathmandu. A pierced and tattooed half-naked couple apparently decided to hang out at the shacks and see what happened. The rest of us – two Indians, two Belgians, two Germans, a Japanese girl and me – decided to try our luck in hitching a ride as close as we could get to our lodges, then call the lodges and ask them to send someone to pick us up. We all piled into the first vehicle that agreed: a truck with a large cab. The two Nepali boy mechanics who rode with the rig rode on top until it began to rain. At that point they squeezed in with the rest of us and all our luggage, making our party eleven in a cab meant to comfortably sit perhaps five. We were all rather cheerful and accommodating, chattering away and being goofy.

Until we started passing trucks parked along the side of the road, that is. When we could go no further we, too, pulled over, to learn that about ten minutes earlier, a tourist bus had flipped, blocking the entire road. We sat back and waited. We bought some chips from a nearby shack, and some water, and a little Coca-Cola and whiskey to help one of the Belgians celebrate his twenty-first birthday.

Three hours later – it was 9pm now – the accident was cleared and we were on our way. It was pouring rain and our crew was a bit quieter now. Another two hours and we reached Sauhara, the small village outside Chitwan National Park. We all hugged and exchanged e-mails and went on our separate ways to our separate lodges, having arrived well past the ending time of the strikes. My lodge, the Gorkha Hamlet, welcomed me and the two Belgians (who had not booked a place and decided to try their luck at my place), fed us a limited dinner and sent us to bed. My room was nice, with two beds and a furiously spinning loud ceiling fan, which blew my mosquito netting around all night but kept me cool.

I woke up the next day feeling nauseous and exhausted and with a headache that made me dizzy. My guide agreed to move my program forward a day to let me rest and recover, and I slept fitfully between rushed bathroom trips and sips of bottled water, until 3pm. At that point I joined three Polish travelers for a sight-seeing walk through a part of the borderlands of the National Park, a visit to a park information center with outdated information, a quick trip to some elephant stables, and a culture show that featured a thick Nepali-accented announcer and some wonderful Tharu dances. We managed to spot a gaida, a rare type of creature much like a crocodile but whose snout seemed much longer and narrower.

The next day, one of the Poles – Maria – was sick. The others, Justine and Peter, and I did all of our activities together: canoeing in a long, narrow boat and bird watching on the river; a visit to the elephant breeding center; a quick run to join others who had spotted an Asian Rhinoceros; and an elephant bath. During the canoe trip we saw a crocodile and some pretty birds, including a brilliantly flashing-blue kingfisher. At lunch,  Maria seemed to be feeling better and decided to join us for the afternoon elephant safari. During the safari we saw another rhino, which was huge and really did look as armored as the pictures showed them!

Finally, today, we took a long, bumpy bus ride back to Kathmandu, and it worked out that I’m staying at the same place as the three Poles and the two Belgian guys from my Disaster Day. Actually, this was no coincidence: one of the Belgian guys left his waist pack, which held his passport and money and important papers – in the room at the Gorkha Hamlet. Knowing I was staying there an extra day, he’d called and asked me to bring it to him in Kathmandu, telling me the name of his guest house. And so, here we all are!

Five more days until I return to Turkey, and about two weeks until I head home! Time is flying along!

--Z

Eighth Floor Ruminations

Note: No new pictures yet… but check back in the “Australia: Up the East Coast” album periodically because that’s where I’ll put pictures until I get to Cairns (Sunday).

• Thursday, 10 March: Went to the beach and alternately swam and tanned for a few hours; did 3.8km loop hike around peninsula head up to Byron Bay Lighthouse, stopping to watch dolphins and surfers along the way; lunch at the lighthouse, met Canadian and Australian couples and chatted; ventured back to Aquarius backpacker and showered, rested, ate lunch; wandered around town; realized that I’d lost my spare 4-Gig camera memory card; retraced previous day’s steps to see if I could find it, no luck; mood turned sour; had “free” dinner at backpacker and met a few girls to play trivia with, which cheered me up; flirted with a couple stupid Australian boys; went to bed feeling mildly better.
• Friday, 11 March: Had breakfast out, poached eggs and toast, fruit salad with yoghurt and muesli, yum!; checked out, bought cheap bus ticket and waited around until the bus came; two hour trip to Tweed Heads, which is just a few minutes walk from Coolangatta, where a travel organizer at Aquarius recommended a slightly upscale backpacker; after wandering a bit, I found it and was pleasantly surprised; all-girl’s six-bed dorm room very nice, huge balcony looking out on clear blue ocean beach; met a few roommates, ate lunch, went to the beach with one of them; a few hours later we came back and spent the evening chilling out in the common area, computing and chatting. Mood much improved.

Amazing how a little distance can help improve one’s mood, isn’t it? This morning, I was disgruntled still at the loss of a few items in Byron Bay: my sunglasses, which I’d managed to forget about wearing when swimming in the ocean; and a four Gig spare memory card for my camera, which I’ve been carrying around in my pocket for months and planned to put somewhere safe… soon. As I' did yesterday, I retraced my steps from the past few days and asked at every establishment I’d been in whether they’d found it. No luck.

Once on the $11 bus to Tweed Heads, however, I felt like I could breathe. Byron Bay was just not the right place for me and whatever dark clouds I’d gathered around me from the beginnings of my trip north just wouldn’t be scattered while I was there. Amongst the young party crowd at the Aquarius (the backpacker I stayed at) and the trendy surfer crowd streaming through the rest of town, I couldn’t seem to feel comfortable. I stuck my nose into the pages of my book and rarely came up for air. Even the beach didn’t cheer me up, which is saying quite a bit!

Having chosen the bus to Tweed Heads was just the first of several decisions I made today that improved my situation and mood. The travel desk lady at Aquarius had told me that the best bus for me would be a $24 bus to Coolangatta, which is the town where my flight leaves from on Sunday. Luckily, I recalled that at the travel information center in town, there had been a sign for an $11 bus to Tweed Heads. I looked at a map and found that the two were walking distance from each other, so I ignored the Aquarius lady. Ding, point for me!

Another decision that turned out to be a very good one was to, oddly, listen to the Aquarius lady when it came to backpacker recommendations in Coolangatta. Brochure in hand, I toted all my gear plus a bag of food up one street and, when I realized that the street I wanted was parallel, back down the correct street. I was about to give up on the Kommune Beach Resort and Club when suddenly, there it was in front of me. It looked a bit posh and doubtfully I went inside, asked the price, and decided to splurge by paying $5 more per night than usual. The decision to look for, and then pay for, a spot in a six-bed girl’s dorm at Kommune parted those dark clouds. I got a room on the eighth floor, facing the beautiful beach just meters from the back door of the place. Although three bunk beds are crammed into what should be a small guest bedroom, the rest of the place is great. Basically, it’s a converted hotel room, complete with a kitchen (but weirdly incomplete because there’s no stove, microwave or toaster; there is a fridge, though), bathroom, washer and living room area. Oh, and a lovely balcony on which I can (and did) sit and gaze out at the water.

While not a decision, a third factor which has helped me blow those dark clouds into oblivion is that my roommates are mature, friendly and NOT partiers… at least, not for the time being. So far I have met an English girl, a French girl and a Canadian girl. I think that’s all of us, though I could be wrong.

Anyway, I’m feeling immensely better than when I last wrote, which is such a relief. Reflecting, I can find many reasons for my funk which lasted for quite awhile, although there were brief reprieves:

1. Traveling might be wearing me out. I list this one first not because I think it’s most likely, but because it scares me the most. Honestly, I’m not ready to go home yet. But I always keep in mind that this “year of travel” doesn’t have to be a year. It can end whenever I want… and stretch as long as I have the desire (and funds) to continue. There’s so much more I want to see: Bali is beckoning, a cultural and exotic island paradise; Nepal with its treks and complete change of atmosphere, food and locale; Israel where I’ll meet my parents; Turkey with its beauty and mysteriousness; and beyond. Anyway, in my heart I don’t want this adventure to be over yet. Sometimes I worry, though, that mentally and maybe even physically, I won’t be able to last.

2. Restlessness from not having any responsibilities. To some, this will sound silly, but given the fact that I’ve had a job and mission for the past eight years to throw myself into, and that for the past five months I’ve had absolutely no responsibilities besides ensuring the correct visas for whatever country I was in or going to, well… I think it’s understandable. Also, at various times throughout my travels different mediums have made me realize that I could do so much to help people if I just found the right field to throw myself into. The poverty and corruption in Cambodia; the natural disasters in Thailand and New Zealand; even the badly made film about land disputes in Latin America made me feel mad and then confused as to how I could contribute. So part of this restlessness, I’m sure, stems from the fact that I want to find my next purpose, or calling, or drive in life. Teaching English as a foreign language in some foreign country would be great for me; but I want to feel like what I do next is great for other people.

3. Budget concerns. Australia ain’t cheap, at least not for me, at the moment. The US dollar is worth less than the Australian dollar and to me, Australia’s prices for everyday things is incredibly high: two eggs and toast, $12; fresh bananas, $9.99 per kilogram; books, $28 for paperbacks; and so on. Of course, I’m running through touristy towns. But even traveling up the east coast has emptied my bank account a bit. I figure for my three weeks on mainland Australia I will have spent as much as my six weeks on both islands in New Zealand. And while overall, I’m still staying below my planned budget for this trip, it hurts when I spend over $600 purely on internal travel in Australia (airline tickets, bus tickets, petrol, etc).

4. Realization of bad planning, weather-wise. Originally I’d envisioned getting to Eastern Europe around June/July timeframe, spending two weeks apiece in several countries before heading to Western Europe. I now realize that two weeks per country is ridiculous, but am reluctant to delete any countries from my list. This would be all right, if autumn and then winter didn’t follow summer. As it stands, my itinerary is fairly fixed for the next few months: end of March to mid-April, Bali; mid-April to mid-May, Nepal; mid-May to mid- or end of June, Israel. I have struck Egypt from the itinerary for obvious reasons. So after Israel, I’ll head to Turkey, assuming I’ll spend the month of July there. Next up were Romania, Hungary, Austria and the Netherlands, but if I give each a month, that takes me well into winter (November). Even if I plan only three weeks apiece, that’s October. And I’m not interested in spending winter in someplace cold. What to do? I’m considering possibilities like southern Italy, where I may be able to visit and stay with Maria, whom I met in New Zealand. Or perhaps head directly to Spain and stay in Andalusia, the southern part, which reputedly stays warm. I’ve even toyed with the idea of heading back to Asia and visiting Laos and spending more time in Thailand. In any case, I anticipate that my travels will last later than originally anticipated (Oct 2011).

5. Things getting lost or broken. I’ve been quite bad about this lately. Since New Zealand, I’ve lost about a dozen things and broken at least two. I have a habit of rushing and whenever that happens, I forget something. Time to slow down, think about things and take stock. And actually, this probably isn’t a reason for my mood… it’s probably a result. In any case, hopefully I can take things a little more slowly and keep my mind clear so that I don’t have to buy new things (which leads to worries in #3).

Anyway, regarding the dark clouds, I’m sure they’ll visit me again for these or new reasons. Hopefully I’ll have the sense and the ability to simply move, or sleep, or treat myself to something nice, in order to help dispel them and remember that I AM on an adventure of my own choosing. And therefore, I should do whatever I need to in order to enjoy my time and not fret.

Someone remind me of that next time I write glum posts, ok?!

--Z

Mid-Trip Assessment

Note: I have uploaded two posts today, this one and “I’m Getting Too Old for This.” Don’t forget to scroll down and read both of them!

For those who wonder about how I’m handling a trip like this, I figured a general assessment of how I’m doing in various respects would help to put things into perspective. It’s really NOT impossible and sometimes it seems even more doable in many ways than a 9-5 workday, regular lifestyle!

Physically

Physically I’m doing well. I’ve been fairly sick just once, although I’ve suffered some reactions to foods along the way. The one time I was sick, it was pretty severe for about twelve hours, but full recovery took almost a week and a half, possibly longer. I’ve been fairly consistently plagued by bug bites of varying natures, but nothing serious or infected. Occasionally I get a headache or feel out of it, but am generally recovered by the next day. Twice I’ve felt cold/flu symptoms coming on, but have been able to avoid full-fledged sickness. I twisted my ankle once fairly hard in Thailand, but it was find the next day. I’ve suffered only one mild sunburn.

Mentally/Emotionally

Mentally I’m also doing well, at least, in my opinion! There are days I feel lonely or homesick, but in general that doesn’t last too long. Oddly enough, I find this hits the most when I’m amongst a large volume of other travelers, due in part because many people travel with friends or partners and therefore don’t always reach out to the singles. One hurdle I passed recently was the “I’m not on vacation” realization. For about two months, I enjoyed my travels as I would any vacation. Then, I started to feel antsy, as if I should be getting back to work. The only thing is… I don’t have a job to get back to! It was a strange feeling, almost like I was doing something wrong. It takes regular reminding that it’s all right to be traveling, and to be doing nothing on some days, even! I have not felt depressed or driven to go home immediately. And thus far, I haven’t begun to worry about my future.

Financially

I’m doing all right on my budget. As most of you know, I budgeted fairly high for this trip. I had the great intention of tracking everything I spent and reporting on daily food, lodging and transportation costs. Unfortunately, my dedication flagged after just two weeks of trying this, so now I track my expenditures the easy way: every time I withdraw money from the ATM, I put it into my spreadsheet. This eliminates the hassle of converting the currencies daily as well as remembering every Baht, Reil or Dong that I spend. My mindset is generally that I be frugal but not extra-frugal; that I do the things I really want to do, weighing them against other opportunities that I’ll have in the region; and that the money I put aside for travel is for my trip and if I run out early, then so be it. But, I really hope I don’t run out early!

For those that are curious, here is a general summary of my costs so far.Each country’s costs is an average of the number of days in the country and the total amount spent in that country, to include the transportation for getting there (flight, train, boat, etc), food, accommodations, fun extras, gifts, mail (packages and postcards), toiletries and unexpected costs, like new cameras. Oh, and ATM fees, which have ranged from $0 to $10 per transaction.

• South Korea: 15 days: $71 average per day; overall, well under budget.
  • It’s odd that I spent so much, since I didn’t pay for accommodation for most of the trip. Unexpected costs included a new camera when my old one broke. Big extras were a flight to Jeju Island.
• Hong Kong: 6 days: $89 average per day; overall, slightly under budget.
  • Again, no lodging costs, but Hong Kong is expensive. Big extras included a trip to Macau and a night-time cruise in Victoria Harbor.
• Thailand: 16 days: $92 average per day; overall, slightly under budget.
  • Some lodging costs; traveled with short-term travel friends for half the time; bought lots of souvenirs and some tailor-made clothes; two day trips with a guide.
• Vietnam: 20 days: $58 average per day; overall, well under budget.
  • Paid for all but three nights lodging; shared several nights lodging with another traveler; big extras were a trip to Halong Bay, a new camera when I lost my other new one, and a motorbike trip in the countryside for three days; ate primarily street food.
• Cambodia: 19 days: $30 average per day; overall, WAY under budget.
  • Paid for all lodging; shared several nights of lodging; ate street food and restaurant food; big extras included three-day pass to Angkor, boat trip to Battambang and a boat day-trip in Sihanoukeville.
• Thailand: 2 days: $72 average per day; overall, slightly under budget.

So, as you can see, I’m under budget! So far I think that I’ll be able to keep slightly under budget in Australia and New Zealand, but I’ll really have to be careful on the big extras. There are just so many to choose from: sailboat trips, sky diving, guided day trips, etc. It helps that I’ll be staying with friends for about two weeks in NZ, but after that, we’ll have to see.

Packing

Thus far, I haven’t found anything that I missed packing. There are a few things I haven’t used yet, but nothing that I will send home. I may have to buy some warmer everyday clothes for Australia and New Zealand, because it’s cooler than I expected. My hiking boots are a bit heavy to lug around, but I’m glad that I have them. My electronics have all worked out quite well, although the used cell phone I bought doesn’t hold a charge worth a damn. My hats are the one thing I haven’t used as much as expected. My packs are holding up fine. While fairly unused, my medical kit keeps me feeling safe and comfortable.

Summary

All in all, so far so good! I’ll try to remember to do these mid-trip assessments every three months or so, to see what may have changed!

--Z

Turtles and Literature

Note: Please note that I’ve posted twice today! So there are two new posts, this one and “Welcome to Hanoi.”

Photos: Vietnam: Turtles and Literature

This morning I woke up around 7:30am and started getting ready for the day around 8am. When I left the apartment, it was with Andy, who gave me a ride on his motorcycle to VimCom Towers, a massive two-tower, several-story-high mall. Then he went off to work and I went off to shop. My mission this morning was to find something – anything! – to treat my chafing welts. I managed to pantomime a baby crying from diaper rash and they pointed me to something called “baby cream” in a nice little jar. I bought it, along with a baguette, some Laughing Cow cheese and a bottle of water. That was all in one supermarket-like store. Then on my way downstairs, I saw a sock store… seriously, that’s what it was called. I went in and bought myself a set of pantyhose, which was recommended by a friend of mine who is a U.S. Marine. She told me that Marine recon personnel often suffered from chafing and wore pantyhose to prevent it. Hey, I’ll try most things at this point!

Luckily, when I woke up this morning the welts had gone down and the chafing wasn’t bothering me so much. I put on a belt, in the hopes that it would hold my pants up around my waist and keep the crotch where it’s supposed to be instead of rubbing my thighs raw.

Enough about chafing. After the mini shopping spree, I went to Ngoc Son Temple in Hoan Kiem lake. It’s a tiny islet connected to the mainland by a pretty red bridge; the same bridge, in fact, that I’d admired my first day in Hanoi. I paid my entry fee and walked in, immediately coming upon some kind of family ritual, where a mother took her little child up some hilly steps to a shrine. This was before crossing the bridge to the islet. Then I crossed over, admiring the view to either side when I was in the middle of the bridge.

The story of Hoan Kiem lake, which translates to “Lake of the Restored Sword,” is quickly related as this: long ago, a king in need of help against invading enemies was given a sword from the gods. He kept this sword long after the battle was won. One day, as he was rowing around the river in a boat, a huge tortoise arose from the deep and snatched the sword, taking it back to the gods who’d given it to him in the first place.

Appropriately, there is an exhibit on the islet of a huge tortoise. I believe my guidebook said it’s actually the embalmed remains of one of the lake’s tortoises. Also, these are one of several holy animals here. The islet was pretty, with a shrine and statues inside, representing (I think) Confucius. There wasn’t much else to do but circle the islet, which took only a few minutes, take a look at the scenery and the temple proper, and then head on back over the bridge. It was a scenic little walk.

Because I was in the general area, I went to see if I could buy a ticket to a water puppet show, which is apparently a well-known Vietnamese craft and specifically recommended for watching in Hanoi. Unfortunatley, when I went to the box office to buy a ticket for a show this evening, I saw that they were sold out through Sunday. This helped me solve a dilemma, however: I decided to go see if I could find a reasonably priced hotel room and, if I could, to come back and buy a ticket for Monday night or Tuesday early afternoon.

Off I went to attempt to find the hotel the Canadians had recommended to me the day I arrived in Hanoi. I saw a few backpacker hostels but they looked a bit rough, so I didn’t stop to check them out. I’m sure they would have been cheaper, but it turned out that the hotel the Canadians liked was well-priced ($18/night because I picked one with a balcony window on the street) and available for Monday night, so I booked it. Then I went around the corner to confirm my weekend trip with the travel office and to tell them where to pick me up tomorrow morning.

These chores completed, I caught a motorbike to Van Mieu-Temple of Literature, a one thousand year old campus.

An aside about the motorbikes: called xe om (pronounced ze-ohm), you can find these guys waiting on their bikes – sometimes sitting, sometimes laying on them, sometimes sleeping – on almost every corner in Hanoi. Many times they’ll call, “Moto? Motobike?” as you pass by them. The more aggressive ones will ask where you’re going and follow you a little bit. There seem to plenty of nice ones, though, who upon seeing your interest will jump off their bike and see where you want to go. The good ones charge about 20,000 dong for a five to ten minute ride, more for longer trips. Today I found good ones! They have an extra helmet and you can choose how you’d like to ride: straddle or side saddle. I don’t know how to side saddle and so I always straddle and hold onto the back of the seat with one arm. It’s an adventure every time, because no matter if your driver is fast, slow, careful or reckless, it’s the other drivers you’ve got to watch out for. I mostly close my eyes when things get hairy and so far that’s worked out great.

Anyway, I got dropped off at the Temple of Literature, bought my ticket and walked on in. It’s an open air grounds, with successive gates leading into different courtyards. It was quite pretty and I took my time wandering through and reading the signs, which can be found in English, Vietnamese and French, although not always together. My favorite was a courtyard containing a large square pond with turtles in it. It was called “The Well of Heavenly Clarity.” In the last courtyard, I sat on a bench and enjoyed some music, which turned out to be live music. I realized this when I heard applause and so I went to investigate. Sure enough, there were about four women on a small raised dais in the last temple area, playing on traditional Vietnamese instruments.

They only played for about two minutes after I arrived and then they were done. People were encouraged to go look at the instruments and try them out. There were interesting string instruments and something a bit like a xylophone, but made of wood.

After getting my fill of the grounds and starting to feel slightly glazed over, I left the area in search of KOTO on Van Mieu, a restaurant my guidebook said was responsible dining because it’s a social reform business, training kids from the street in the culinary arts. I had tiger prawns, which were presented very prettily and which tasted wonderful, and an apple juice with ginger and lemon. I took my ease a bit, reading some light stuff (“My Man Jeeves”) on my iPod and enjoying the quiet and coolness of the restaurant.

Relaxed and fed, I headed back to the Hoan Kiem lake area to attempt buying tickets for the water puppet show. Unfortunately, by the time I got there they were sold out through Tuesday. I’m going to go to their website and see if I can book there, and if not, I’ll try to call and book over the phone. I was bummed, but decided to just see how it plays out.

After walking around the Old Quarter a bit, finally seeing St. John’s Cathedral head on, I decided to walk over to a vegetarian restaurant my guidebook recommended. I was hungry but not for street food and I figured this would be interesting cuisine. The whole premise of the place is to follow Buddhist thought, which means no harming living creatures but also respecting all people as equal. The idea is, they make the food there to look and taste just like meat, so that they can follow all of their tenets.

While I can’t say I would have confused the tofu for meat, I really did enjoy the meal. They had set menus you could choose from or you could order a la carte. It was a small, hidden away place and I was the first customer in for the evening. I ordered the first menu, which had cooked greens (turned out to be baby bok choy), mushrooms, tofu with tomatoes and chicken with ginger (not real chicken, of course). There was also a soup and some steamed rice. It was fantastic! The baby bok choy was sweet, the mushrooms were wonderfully chewy and salty. All of it was quite tasty, with the only thing not being quite to my taste the cinnamon pate. I also ordered something called lassi, which turned out to be a yogurt drink that was also very good.

When I’d first come into the restaurant there was a cameraman and a professional Vietnamese woman filming right out front. They ended up coming into the restaurant proper and taped an interview with me about the food as well as another diner who’d come in later. Maybe I’ll be in a documentary or advertisement!

Another lone diner asked if she could join me, and so Ash from Ashville, NC, and I ate together. Ash has been in Vietnam for almost six weeks and will head back to the US next week. She clowns and tries to do rehab through clowning at orphanages, hospitals, old folks homes and other places. She’s twenty-five and quite serious about her word. She was fun to chat with and eat with. We walked out together and then parted ways after exchanging e-mail addresses.

With that, I headed back to Michaela and Andy’s apartment. They’ll be out late tonight because the Austrian embassy is holding a ball, which they attended. So I’ve been repacking, catching up on my blog (duh!), applying the baby cream to my thighs and in general, relaxing.

It really felt like a good day today! I can’t wait for the tour to begin tomorrow…

--Z

Welcome to Hanoi

Photos: Vietnam: First Days in Hanoi

On Wednesday morning, I woke up at 4am, just four hours after having fallen asleep. After putting on fresh clothes, packing up and double-checking the room, I retrieved my passport from the hostel lobby desk and went in search of an ATM to pay for a cab to the airport. On the way to a 7/11, which there are bazillions of in Thailand, by the way, a cab driver flagged me down. I told him I was going to an ATM and he waited at the corner for me. He wanted 500 baht, which is silly since the standard price from almost anywhere in Bangkok is 350 baht, and I argued him down to 400 baht. We made it there pretty quick, so I ended up giving him the 400 and calling it good. I checked in to my flight, sent off a few post cards, got a bit to eat with my last couple of baht, and waited for my flight.

You won’t be surprised that I slept from take-off to landing, a mere one hour and forty minutes, but it really did end up reviving me enough to attempt taking on Hanoi.

Arrival was quick and easy: my bag was one of the first off the conveyor belt and immigration/customs was easy. On second glance, I realized that a bunch of maps and a Top Ten Bangkok book that Jeff had given me, which I’d stashed in the side pocket of my big pack, were all gone. There’s no way they could have fallen out, so I’m bummed to say that I think they were taken. Boo!

After grabbing a map from the information center, I got out 400,000 dong from the ATM and went to purchase a sim card for my phone. As it turns out, 400,000 dong isn’t much: only about $20USD, in fact. The sim card cost 250,000 dong and so I had to go take out more cash. Once the sim card was installed and working, I headed out to find a way into the city center. I got lucky and caught a minibus for pretty cheap. Sure, I was seated on a stool squeezed into the corner by the end of one of the rows of seats, but whatever!

My first impression of Vietnam was how flat it was. I didn’t realize I’d gotten used to Thailand’s rolling landscape! On the way from the airport into the city I saw what I think were rice fields, with workers in them, and thousands of motorbikes on the road. The ride was about forty minutes and left me standing in part of Hanoi’s “Old Quarter.” From there, I just started walking.

The couple I was planning to stay with via Couchsurfing were busy during the day, so my plan was to just wander slowly and explore during the day, find somewhere to relax as it got later, and meet up with them for dinner. What I didn’t bank on was my exhaustion coupled with a pretty intense culture shock, plus carrying around both of my packs and the heat.

So I just started walking, turning down the dozen immediate offers of “Taxi?” and “Moto?” from people standing on the sidewalks. I figured out where I was on the map and saw that I was near St. John’s Cathedral, a landmark in the area. That helped me find what direction I should – and should not – go in. As I wandered, I spotted a tour guide office, which turned out to also be a hotel lobby, open to the street. I was perusing their tour offers and thinking of signing up when an energetic older guy started chatting with me.

"Going to Halong Bay? You should go to Halong Bay! And if you need a hotel, you should take our room here, it’s awesome! It’s… here, let me show you.” And he ushered me outside and then turned me around and pointed up to where balconies overlooked the busy street.

“Some people said it’s too noisy but we love it! Don’t we, honey?” At which point an older woman bustled out behind us and stared up at the balcony adoringly.

“Oh, yes, it’s great to look down on the street and see everyone going by. Are you going to Halong Bay? Don’t book here, go to Sinh Cafe and book there, it’s… oh, honey, where is it again?”

These were Canadians Phil and Nina, who adopted me on sight, apparently.

They gabbled back and forth cheerfully as I stood there, a bit dazed. At length they decided to walk me over to where they’d booked their tour, which they’d thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated. On the way they gave me the card of the hotel they were staying at, in case I wanted to stay there; and told me about a great tourist information center, a Citibank ATM where I could withdraw more than at other ATMs, and told me about their upcoming Sapa trek, which they weren’t going to do originally but their absolutely fantastic tour agent had convinced them and they were leaving that very day.

Well, they left me at Sinh Cafe, with Phil popping back in twice after leaving to remind me about and give me directions to the tourist info center and the ATM. The tour agent, whose name I can’t remember, was nice and booked me on the same three day, two night tour of Halong Bay and Cat Ba that the Canadians had so raved about. She also educated me on the open bus ticket, which gave me unlimited access for one month on a bus that makes stops between Hanoi and Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City), daily. According to her, it only allows thirty people on at a time and is a “sleeper” bus, meaning the seats actually turn into beds. She showed me a picture and if it’s realistic, then this bus should be much more comfy than the one between Bangkok and Chiang Mai. Time will tell. I booked the ticket and hopefully it works out well! The total damage for the two things she booked me for was about $130. I have no idea if I got ripped off but it didn’t seem to exorbitant to me.

After that, I went to the tourist information center, the highlight of which was the free internet and computers. I spent about half an hour catching up on a few things, then got a map and perused their other freebies. I then went out the opposite side that I’d come in, because I saw a pretty lake with benches around it.

This turned out to be Hoan Kiem Lake, which makes up the southeast corner of the Old Quarter. I plopped myself down onto an empty bench and just stared out at the water, letting everything sink in. It was really a very calming lake, with a pretty, arched red bridge going over to a small island. I decided to just chill for awhile, eating an orange that the tour agent had given me and looking through my guide book. A woman came and sat next to me, attempting to sell me a conical hat and some post cards. Before I’d left the US, I had read a book called “Lost Girls,” about three girls around my age who traveled the world. In Vietnam, they learned that smiling when declining offers seemed to help, and so I employed this technique. While she didn’t leave right away, she did eventually, so I’m going to smile at everyone trying to sell me something so that it doesn’t get combative.

At some point, a couple from the Philippines sat next to me and starting up a chat. The man spoke decent English, but the woman didn’t seem to speak any. He told me I’d been cheated on my tour price (although I don’t really care, I think $70 for three days, transportation, accommodation, food and tour guide included, ain’t bad!) recommended the water puppet show nearby, and in general tried to teach me about always, always bargaining with the Vietnamese since they tried to scam foreigners at all costs. He felt the Vietnamese weren’t friendly and only wanted money. This surprised me quite a bit, although I suppose he was just irritated from recent attempts to overcharge him.

They were fairly nice but I got tired of the negativity and excused myself to go search for somewhere to eat.

I wandered a bit more. Crossing the street is absolutely terrifying here. It’s a constant stream of motorbikes, buses and cars, all honking at each other or at nothing, seemingly, and ignoring what the street lights show. I’ve since learned that inching across the street is the best way to do it, never going backwards and rarely stopping or moving faster (you only do this when a car or bus is coming, since they can’t maneuver around you like the motorbikes can.

Anyway, I sat down at an open air food place and ate what I believe to be some kind of pho, although I’m uncertain of the meat that was in it, which was shaped into small patties. It tasted fine and satisfied my hunger, which was good. I copied another guy sitting near me and shredded some of the greens they had given me on a plate, mixing it into the soup. There was basil, I think, and other tasty greens.

After this I decided to head back to the tourist information center, use the computers and ask for a recommendation on a place to purchase a camera. They showed me on the map where a place called “Pico” was and off I went. On the way, I chatted with an Australian named Andrew. He’d been to Vietnam three times and loved it every time. At this point he was just wandering around Hanoi and he walked me to the camera store, at which point we parted ways. Once inside, I had to do some quick math as I perused the cameras. They had the exact model that I’d lost in Chiang Mai, but it was over $100USD more expensive than when I’d originally purchased it, about a month ago.

I ended up buying a model slightly less sophisticated, 12.1 megapixels instead of 14 and without the HD video. It cost me around $230USD, which hurt, but they threw in a 2 Gig memory card for me, which was nice. About the time I was paying for the camera, my stomach started to roil. I asked for the bathroom and they pointed to the stairs and held up four fingers. That was a tough three flights to climb! Turns out, the street food didn’t particularly agree with me.

Twenty minutes later, I was out on the street again. I needed somewhere air-conditioned, with something cold and clean to drink. I found Ciao Cafe and went in, ordering fresh pineapple juice and minestrone soup. They had free wi-fi so I distracted myself with that as I cooled off and relaxed. I ended up spending about an hour and a half there, ordering a water, grilled cheese sandwich and french fries to ensure I wouldn’t get rushed out. I hate to admit it, but at that point I needed familiar food, however, sub-par.

Relaxed and feeling better, I went to sit on one of the park benches. My chafing problem had returned so I didn’t want to continue wandering. Also, it was starting to get dark and I was uncomfortable, not knowing where it might be safe to hang out with my packs. I considered going back to Ciao Cafe, but then Michaela, my couchsurfing hostess, called me and we made plans to meet up. I was to head to her apartment where I could shower and clean up a bit, and then we would go out for dinner. She coached me on how to relate my destination to a taxi driver or a moto-bike. “Just say, Die Co Viet, Van Ho.” She also told me to expect to pay 20,000-30,000 dong for a moto-bike, more for a taxi. She also recommended a specific taxi company to use, who wouldn’t drive me around the long way.

I watched the street for a bit when suddenly a guy on a motorbike rolled up and said, “Moto bike?” I looked at it doubtfully, wondering how my bag would be balanced, and shook my head no. He waved at me and showed me that he would put my pack between his legs (it was like a Vespa-type bike). Suddenly I wanted to do it, so I agreed and asked the price. He said 100,000 dong. I declined and said 50,000, figuring that it was still double what I should be paying. Then a Vietnamese lady walked up and asked if I was ok, if I needed help. After talking with him, she told me it was fine, I should go and it would be 50,000 dong. So I hopped on nervously behind the guy and off we went.

I think I held my breath for the first half of the ride. To be fair, he was nice and didn’t drive wildly, but that didn’t stop the other crazies from zigging and zagging, swerving and zooming, all around us. At several points when we were going quite fast, I could have reached out and touched the face of other moto-bike drivers, they were that close!

We made it safe and sound, just after having nearly hugged the broad side of a bus. He then demanded 100,000 dong. I was too wigged out to argue and paid the guy, who looked inordinately pleased with himself.

Long story short, Michaela came to meet me and walk me to her place; I showered and powdered and wore a skirt to dinner; we went to a cafe she liked afterwards; and I slept on the floor on a couple of yoga mats and a sleeping bag.

I slept until 10am this morning!

Today, after lunch out with Michaela and Andy, her boyfriend, I walked back to the Old Quarter and visited the Women’s Museum and Hoa Lo prison (called the Hanoi Hilton by American POWs during the Vietnam war, called the American War here in Vietnam). The  former was really interesting and the latter was disturbing. Their depictions of the happiness of the American prisoners, who got to know the culture and the people and regretted having attempted to destroy it, were at extreme odds with what I’ve heard from POWs at various military functions. An interesting (and ironic) factoid about that, though: Hoa Lo prison was actually built by the French (and called “Maison Centrale”) to hold Vietnamese political revolutionaries! In fact, the prison/museum now focuses primarily on that, and on the atrocities committed against the Vietnamese people there, with just two rooms dedicated to the Americans. As my dad mentioned, it’s like the recent Iraqi prison atrocities… built for one population to abuse another, then used by the abused to further abuse others.

At that point I decided to walk back to the apartment and the chafing started in again. It was getting pretty painful to walk, even taking short steps, and of course I got lost. When I finally made it back, I changed into shorts and decided to stay in for the rest of the evening. The chafing had raised big, red welts on my inner thighs. Ugh!

My main impressions of Hanoi so far:

• Very pretty parks and lakes. When you enter the parks or walk on the pathways near the lakes, the din of the city and traffic seems to fade away a bit. It’s still there, in the background, but it’s like the volume has been lowered by remote or something.

 

• Traffic. Imagine US-1 in Miami, during rush hour. Now, change all those cars into motorbikes and have them all honking and beeping, nonstop. That is what the streets are like here almost all the time. When a traffic light turns red, you see about fifty motorbikes inching into the intersection,ready to take off. Crossing the streets is terrifying.
• The Vietnamese like to overcharge. I don’t mean a few thousand dong, or even doubling the price. I’m talking about them charging five, six, ten times what you should be paying. A lady tried to sell me two donut-hole looking things for 20,000 dong tonight. I ended up paying 2,000 dong and I think that I was still overcharged. Granted that $1USD=~20,000 dong, but still… it gets a little irritating.
• Vietnamese youth seem to enjoy practicing their English with English-speakers. Yesterday a group of teenage boys stopped me to say “Hello!” and “Hi!” and “Where are you from?” And they seemed pretty excited that I responded. Today, a group of girls in school uniforms, sitting at a picnic table in a park, called after me to speak with them too. I enjoy talking with them, although when they do in individually it’s usually a prelude to trying to sell me things.
• I love seeing the street vendors who carry their wares on a pole over their shoulders, with baskets balanced to either side or, more often, in front of and behind them.

 

--Z

Couchsurfing in Chiang Mai

Photos: Thailand: Chiang Mai's Inner City

As I think I may have mentioned, my plan for Chiang Mai was to couchsurf for most of my time there. In Bangkok, I requested the couches of two women; one told me that she was currently traveling and so could no host me. The other, named Lucy, said I was welcome to stay with her, although she had also agreed to host a couple at the same time, so I would get floor space instead of the guest bedroom. I agreed and met her on Wednesday, with the plan to stay with her until Saturday.

For those who haven’t heard of couchsurfing before, or have heard of it but don’t know much about it, here’s a brief explanation: it’s an organization made up of and for people who love travel and travelers. There is a free website, www.couchsurfing.org, on which you can sign up and make a profile, for free, sort of like Facebook but geared for travelers. Anyway, you can be a couchsurfer and host people, which can mean meeting with them and showing them around your neck of the woods, or giving them a place to sleep in your home. There are no rules, insofar as who can host, or who can surf, or how long you have to host for, etc. It’s all about your comfort zone. For example, I’ve met people who give their couchsurfers a spare key and give them free reign on everything in their home. I, on the other hand, wasn’t comfortable with that, so I told surfers that they needed to be out of the apartment when I left, and gave them a time when I would be back. Also, this a free setup; no one charges people for staying at their place, unless it’s arranged privately (which I’ve never heard of happening unless it was for a really extended amount of time).

Anyway, Lucy, my first host in Chiang Mai, had a rules list printed up. She’s older – 72, in fact – and has hosted hundreds of people. She’s a bit of a curmudgeon but overall quite motherly. Her rules weren’t actually strict; they were more along the lines of common sense and cleaning, and listing what she’d like to do (help find Chiang Mai things to do, recommend places to eat, etc) and thinks she wouldn’t (eating out with you, etc). She also asked that people not cook in her kitchen without discussing it with her. My bed consisted of a soft pad, then a New Zealand sheep mattress pad, sheets and a blanket and a pillow. It was actually fairly comfortable, if hard overall.

On Thursday evening, I went to bed feeling just fine, but on Friday morning, I woke up feeling sick: sore throat, stuffy head, achy muscles. I put on my eye mask and rolled over, trying to stay asleep for as long as possible and drifting in and out of a light doze, feeling worse each time. Finally, the noises of the house seemed unbearable to my overly sensitive ears and I got up. I felt like a zombie and John commented cheerfully that I looked pretty tired. I let them all know that I felt like I was getting sick, that I was achy and sore and my throat hurt. They all became “motherly”, slicing up some garlic for my toast and giving me vitamin C tablets and offering me an egg.

After a shower I felt no better, but I wasn’t about to hang around the house, so I packed up, took a DayQuil and headed into Chiang Mai city center. Before I caught a seongtow, though, I dropped off most of my clothing at a laundry just around the corner from Lucy. They said it would be clean and ready by 5pm the next day.

Chiang Mai’s city center is pretty cool: perfectly square, there’s a moat-like canal on every side, and the old city wall, which dates back to the 1200s, still exists in some form. There are “gates,” or openings where roads go in and out, along each side. These make great landmarks (like, “let’s meet at the Tha Phae gate”). My plan for the day was to meet Stan and Jason, the Australians that Jeff and I met in Bangkok at the Blue Elephant, at a vegetarian restaurant where they were taking a cooking class. I was to show up around 12:30pm to eat the dishes they’d prepared with them for lunch.

It was only around 10:30am or so by the time the seongtow dropped me off at the Tha Phae gate, so I just wandered into the city, looking around. I ended up buying a used Lonely Planet guide for Vietnam, Cambodia and the Greater Mekong Region, then finding a little restaurant and sitting down to relax for awhile. I ordered orange juice, but they were out, so I got pineapple juice instead, plus a bowl of vegetable soup. It was just what I needed, almost comfort food! I ready my book and watched the foot traffic go buy and ate my soup. After that I wandered around the area, just looking at the architecture and the stores. I realized at one point that I’d left my camera back at Lucy’s, but there was no way I was going back for it.

I had two chores to complete that day: sign up for a cooking class and buy a train ticket. The bus was just a bit too hard for me and so I’d decided to suck up the price increase and take the train back to Bangkok. First, I went to the address of a cooking school from a brochure I’d seen, but I didn’t get a good vibe there: an old lady sat at an information booth which was behind a locked gate, and when I said hello, she said, “Call. Is better.” That was about all she’d say, so I walked away. Lucy had recommended a travel agent with whom she was close friends, and so I went and found her office, which was in the same quarter of the old city as the vegetarian restaurant. I figured she might be able to recommend a good cooking school to me.

Sure enough, Pom, the travel agent, gave me six pamphlets for cooking schools, going over the differences: number of dishes I could make, locations of the school and whether or not they had market visits for ingredients. I finally picked a full-day, out of the city center, seven-dish class, scheduled it for Sunday, arranged a pickup location (near where I hoped to be staying that night, with a different couchsurfer), and paid 900 baht ($30USD). Then we discussed train times and tickets, and I settled on a daytime train ride. It leaves from Chiang Mai at 8:45am and arrives in Bangkok at 8:30pm. Since it’s during the day, I didn’t get a sleeper, opting for an air conditioned second class car instead. Even if the seats aren’t the most comfortable, I can get up and walk around, which I couldn’t do on a bus. The train ticket cost 611 baht, plus a 50 baht commission for Pom.

My chores done, I wandered around a bit. Finally, at around 12:30pm, I found the restaurant and sat downstairs. Not ten minutes later, Jason came in and invited me out back and up the stairs to a balcony, where he and Stan were working on their seventh dish. They were the only ones in the class and they had two women cooks working with them. Their food looked and smelled divine. I was allowed to just sit and watch and chat with them as they cooked three more dishes, including phad thai, and then we all trooped down into the air conditioned restaurant and sat down for a huge meal. We waited for a friend of Jason’s to show up before digging in, but then there was just complete silence as we made our way through all the dishes, which tasted as wonderful as they smelled.

We spent maybe an hour or a little more eating and chatting, and then went our separate ways. Jason and Stan invited me out for drinks later, if I was still in the area. I agreed and said I’d call them if I were still there in a few hours. Then I wandered off, finding an internet cafe and putzing around on the computer for about forty-five minutes. At this point I was feeling a little better, if tired. I decided to check out a couple of the Wats I’d  seen, including the one in the city center called Wat Chedi Luang. The first one I found was Wat Phantao, which was a beautiful teakwood hall with a lovely, huge Buddha inside. I sat and contemplated for awhile, just gazing at the serene face and beautiful carving all around me. Then I wandered out and headed for Wat Chedi Luang, which was just next door. I noticed a large sign saying, “Monk Chat: Don’t Stand There Watching, Come and Talk.”

Intrigued, I headed in, first visiting the magnificent main hall, which is long, has many wooden pillars leading to the front, and has three huge, towering Buddhas at the end, which are quite imposing in their size. I went inside, sat down on the floor and just stared, taking in the details, facial expressions, and people around me, praying. I’m not sure how long I sat there, taking it all in, but eventually I wandered out and looked for the “monk chat” area. I found it and sat down, meeting a monk whose name I cannot remember. He was twenty-seven years old and had been a monk (or an initiate) since he was sixteen. His robe was bright orange, like all the monks, and he was quite adamant when we talked about the basic principles of Buddhism. It was really interesting and he was a talkative fellow. I was tired, though, so after about thirty minutes, we parted ways. There were about ten other monks in the area, talking to a variety of people and tourists. What a great program!

I wandered to the back of the Wat, where the ancient chedi, crumbled and mostly ruined, stands. A chedi is a structure built around a relic of the original Buddha – maybe some hair, or a piece of bone or tooth. This one was pretty magnificent, with the setting sun’s light hitting it. There was a row of large bells in front of it, and I watched as some Thai people came by and rang them, one by one, setting the local mutts howling.

About the time I started to get hungry again, I went back to the internet cafe I’d gone to before and used up my last fifteen minutes. A couchsurfer I’d requested a couch from had responded, so I had a placed lined up for Saturday and Sunday night! Better yet, she said she was going to be out of town and so I could have her apartment and bed all to myself! This was a pleasant surprise, since I expected from reading her profile to be sleeping on the floor again. I then called Jason, who said to meet them at their hotel.

As it turned out, we just all hung out in Jason’s hotel room, which was more like a furnished apartment. They reheated the leftovers from lunch, popped open some beers, mixed me a vodka and sprite, turned on music from their iPods, and put the tv on mute, showing a channel with music videos. It was a really chill evening. By the way, both Jason and Stan are gay, and the ‘friend’ at lunch was a Thai guy Jason had met online. So it was a perfectly comfortable atmosphere with lots of silly dancing, mocking of accents and general good humor. At one point we ran out of sprite so Sun (the Thai guy) used a vegetable juice to mix the vodka with. It didn’t taste as bad as I’d feared, although it certainly wouldn’t be my first choice.

Around 9pm, they all decided to go out to a place Sun (the Thai guy) recommended, but I decided to head home. I already knew that having a few drinks was probably not the best of decisions, likely to make me suffer getting sick more quickly, and I figured going out would make a poor decision worse. So I caught a seongtow and headed back to Lucy’s. Everyone was abed when I got there, so I changed, got ready for bed, and read my book for a little bit before dozing off. In the middle of the night I had to get up several times for an upset stomach. Every time I even pictured the orange vegetable juice I wanted to throw up. It wasn’t the kind of nausea I’ve gotten in the past from drinking too much, so I think that maybe some of the food had turned. Anyway, I finally fell asleep again around 4am and slept until almost 8am, as dead to the world as could be.

This morning, then, I got up, showered, and greeted the day feeling amazingly better! I ate breakfast with Lucy, John and Janet and expressed my plan of cleaning the bathroom, stripping my “bed,” packing my stuff, and leaving my stuff there while I went into the city and wandered about. I figured I’d come back out to Lucy’s in the evening, pick up my laundry and pack it, then head to the new couchsurfer’s place. Lucy invited me to go to the market with her, so I went. She wasn’t feeling too well, unfortunately. We made it to the market, which was just like a US supermarket but with Thai stuff, and I bought a dragonfruit, an orange and some grape-like things that aren’t anything like grapes.

On the way back to Lucy’s house, she remembered that she was supposed to meet her next couchsurfer (replacing me) at 10am at the same Wat where I met her. We drove there, picked up Christy, and headed to Lucy’s house. I checked at the laundry and they said they could have my stuff done by 12pm, so I hung out at Lucy’s until then, chatting with Christy and Lucy. Lucy eventually had to go to bed and rest, still not feeling well, and so Christy and I got to know each other and decided to go to lunch together to a vegetarian place she’d looked up on the internet.

Christy is a twenty-eight year old vegetarian chef from LA, California. She’s got some odd (to me) views, which seemed to jive with some of Lucy’s. For example, that it was too bad that the more intelligent and educated people of the world, who of course don’t eat meat or harm animals, also didn’t believe in overpopulation, and so didn’t have children, because who would want to bring a child into this terrible world anyway… that it was sort of ironic that the more educated and intelligent folk didn’t have progeny to pass on and teach their beliefs to, and so the ignorant masses would keep procreating, creating a cycle of world extinction.

Oy.

In any case, we headed out at 12pm, me with all my stuff with me, and picked up my laundry. Then we caught a seongtow to another Wat, in back of which was the vegetarian place Christy had found. It turned out to be completely wonderful and cheap food and we spent almost three hours there. The length of time was also due to the incredibly slow service, but it was absolutely worth it. Christy invited a guy she had met some time earlier, and he showed up about an hour into our lunch. Steward was a thirty-something Australian playboy, whom Christy evidently was crushing on quite hard. We all had a good time, chatting about travel and food and that kind of stuff. Finally, we split up, me and Christy heading to my next couchsurfer’s place and Stew, who threw me the occasional deep, flirty and charged over-sexed look, headed off on his newly rented motorbike to… well, to do whatever it is that Stew does.

Christy and I made it to Annika’s, my host new hosts, but she wasn’t in. It turned out that she had decided not to leave for the weekend, but she’d left me a note with the key at the front desk of her apartment building. I quickly dropped of my stuff and removed the pant legs from my pants, and then we were off. I left Annika a note telling her our plans and left the key at the front desk, as she had requested in her note to me.

We wandered around, visiting the Wats that I’d been to the day before, but this time armed with a camera. At 5pm, we met yet another couchsurfer who Christy had lunched with the day before, at the southern gate of the city center. From there we walked through the Saturday market, a well-known street lined with food and goods. We spent about two hours wandering through, admiring the woodwork and clothing and foods and purses and everything else there was to see. The market crowd was populated by tourists and locals alike, which was nice. I ended up finally buying a white Thai cotton shirt, which I’ve been wanting ever since Jeff bought one and looked so cool in it. It cost me 140 baht, or just under $5USD.

Finally, I headed back to Annika’s on my own, having made plans with Christy to meet at the vegetarian place for lunch on Monday. And here I am, sitting and typing and relaxing on my floor-bed. Annika is out for the evening but assures me I can do whatever I want, which as it turns out is not much at all. It’s been a good day, but I’m tired. I hope I can sleep well tonight on the floor. Annika said I could choose where I want to sleep, the bed or the floor, but I feel kinda bad taking the bed. We’ll see what wins out, though: manners or comfort.

PS – In case you’re curious about the picture I put in at the very beginning of this blog, well, here’s my non-explanation: Stew and Christy had both gone to the bathroom at the Wat after lunch, so I was left holding Stew’s helmet. I couldn’t help it, I just put it on and put on a weird face for when they came out. It surprised both of them to the point of giggles. Guess I was just feeling silly!

--Z

Travel Problems

While my hope is that this kind of post won't occur too often, experience tells me that there will be problems now and then throughout this year of travel.

Last night, after I posted, Mara, Justin and I went out for dinner to a Korean barbeque place they'd been to before. Our communication skills once again failed us when we asked for the beef meal and the waiter insisted that they had only pork. Their last meal there, Mara and Justin had had a beef meal, but we finally stopped trying to convince them and agreed to pork. Not ten minutes later, the waiter brought out two fried pork dishes, covered in a white sauce. I spoke up and insisted that's not what we ordered, and the waiter brought over the owner, who spoke a little English. We finally successfully conveyed that we wanted the barbeque meal with beef and they stared at us, shocked. They pointed to our fried pork dishes and nodded, and we shook our heads no. They frowned.

Finally, they took the fried pork away and got us the beef barbeque. The original waiter informed us, kindly, of the words we should use when we wanted to order barbeque. It sounded like "colby" and so now we know!

The communication barrier is one I know I'll run into often, since I don't know much more than a smattering of Spanish, even less Hebrew, along with English.

The other problem, however, I need to find a solution for. For those who don't wanna know all my personal business, you can stop reading here.

The other problem is this: chafing. I chafe and once it starts, it gets worse really fast. When I wear skirts or loose shorts, I tend to chafe my thights. I've found a semi-solution for this, which involves putting deodorant on my thighs, oddly enough. Vaseline or baby powder doesn't work for me, but deodorant does. My other chafing problem happens further up, along the panty line, and I haven't found a solutin for this. It occurs anytime I sweat through my clothes and walk a lot, which I anticipate will happen quite often on this trip. Baby powder soothes after the fact, but I haven't figured out a way to prevent it yet.

Some ideas I have:
1. Go without underwear, as it's the edge of the underwear that causes the chafing.
2. Bring an extra pair of underwear with me and change halfway through the day, to keep things dry.
3. (Mara's suggestion) Wear moleskin in the trouble spots.

Number three isn't gonna work: ouch! But perhaps one of the first two, or a combination of them. Anyone out there have any suggestions? Any preventive measures a girl can take?

The reason I write about this today is because I chafed awfully yesterday. By the time we left dinner, I could only waddle and even that was painful. We ended up taking a cab home to spare me the agony. This morning, there are still angry red lines and I've yet to put on underwear (don't worry, I'm in my pajamas). I've baby-powdered and aired out - how do you like that visual - but I'm still not quite prepared to tackle a day of walking around a lot.

Anyone out there have a solution for me?!

--Z