In Briefs

I figured while I had the time, it would be nice to update the blog as much as possible so it is that I am writing this short entry about today, this very morning that was somewhat cold and wet with drizzle, though lacking outright rain.

We rented a motobike without driver being that I would provide that survice, and headed out to find Silver Falls, a reportedly large-ish waterfall outside of town roughly 20kms on an extremelly muddy and rutted road. The owner of the bike looked a little nervous as we pulled away, either because of our stated destination or because of my driving. It seems I not only have a bit of a heavy foot, but also a lead wrist to match. It took us a half hour of splashing through puddles, sloshing and slipping through mud and careering around corners to reach the falls. They were as tall as advertised and Hilary and I took turns climbing the steps to get a closer look. We did not want to leave the bike alone as we had heard of a scam where someone comes along and vandalizes your bike and then shows up later acting innocently and offering to fix whatever the damage is. The falls, a multi-teared affair, pours down from the top of the mountain and plunges into green forest, passing under a metal bridge in the process. The water looked the color of dehydrated urine, so we didn't bother going down to the smaller pools to washing our faces as many of the Vietnamese tourists were doing, prefer to admire from a fair distance. After that we drove back to town and ate a picnic lunch by the lake in the center of town. All very nice.

Our First Real Village Visit

Everything finally fell into place yesterday and despite the rain, which was light anyway, we followed Chang to her village, first passing the boutiques selling all the same things the H'mong and D'zao people sell on the streets but at a much grater price and with the profits going straight into Vietnamese pockets (this is a bad thing because the hill tribes here are not only very poor but are treated as second class citizens), these intersperced with soap stone carvings shops selling Chinese looking figurines and chess sets and restaurants selling offering a broad menu of which nothing is remarkable but the array of food. Finally, we passed out of town, leaving everyting but the small markets where they sell soda, water, gum and gas out of two liter bottles behind. The road wound down the side of the mountain and eventually we came to a small store where a lot of kids waited for tourists to come so that they could sell them bamboo walking sticks with one end made pointy to stick in the mud because unlike the trail through Cat Cat, this one was not paved, instead mainly consisting of wet, orange clay, slick as a fish's scales. We were immediately surrounded. We bought one for Hilary and I charged ahead without, which was fine until the very end when I got a little careless and ended up flat on my ass in the mud.

The trail started down pretty steeply and we carefully made our way on it, still admiring the beauty of the area. We were surrounded by rice paddies on all sides and could see them crawling up the opposite hillside. You see, we were heading down one side of a ravine to then cross a river and head up the other side. It was slow going for the most part and at one point we were passed by a couple of men, each dragging trees at least 8 feet in length behind them by rope. They raced down the path running at near full speed and I thought, "if this guy slips or turns and ankle, that tree is going be the end of him" when each passed, but thankfully neither did while they were within sight.

We reached the bottom about an hour into the trek and waiting for us was a nice suspension bridge and a steep incline, as muddy as the path we'd just survived, with small trickles of water coming from the collection of rain on the surrounding foliage keeping the clay nice and wet, so slippery. We scrambled up this for another hour and finally came to the village school where Chang would be going if her mother would buy her the school uniform. Despite her absence, she speaks English quite well I'd say, though like most people we've met here, she says yes to anything she doesn't understand, so it can be confusing at times. From the school we could look across and see the trail we'd taken down. All along it were tourists inching their way down. We never saw any of them any closer than this, so I don't know if they went to another village, gave up when the got to the bottom or were run of the hillside by some mad man dragging a down tree behind him at breakneck pace.

Mercifully, Chang's house was not much farther and we arrived safely. There we met her brothers whose names were something like Uhn, Tay, Trung and Co, and her grandfather whose name I do not recall in the slightest, but whose picture appears in this entry. We sat inside by a fire that was already going, sending smoke up through a low-slung straw or wicker platform where some things I never saw and forgot to ask about were drying. Chang cooked us lunch of rice with potatoes and cabbage on this open flame while we talked to her aunt who had come with us from town and played with her three youngest brothers. The little house was virtually surrounded by rice paddies and a river ran next to it. We couldn't see a road in any direction, only paths weaving between rice paddies leading to other little country houses. H'mong villages are not what you picture in a village. The houses are not at all close together and as far as I could tell, there were no specific village activities or policies.

We ate lunch, the four of us who had hiked in, while Chang's eldest brother sat watching and evidently waiting to pour his homemade plum wine because as soon as the meal was finished he slapped three sake cups on the table and filled them to the brim from a dirty old plastic jug thick with halved plums and chilies bobbing in heavy pink wine. Hilary politely declined and I ended up havnig four rounds with him so that I was a little tipsy when we started hiking again, this time up to Chang's aunt's house a little ways further up the hill. I should make it clear here that we had actually crossed over the hillside earlier and had dropped down the backside a bit to get to Chang's and that her aunt's was up another hill. I hope that is at least slightly clear.

We only stayed at the aunt's briefly, though she offered to put us up for the night. We were pretty beat at this point and wanted more to get back to town, so we politely declined. As it turned out, we did not have to go so far as we had come. True we were farther down the valley, but there was a back way from Chang's aunt's that led down to a D'zao village. It was on this path that I took my spill only about 100 feet from the bottom. At the bottom we passed several tourists on their way to the D'zao village, all looking eager and excited for their visit, but led by Vietnamese guides to houses made to fit the comforts westerners expect. This is not good for several reasons: the village gets very little of the money from the tour unless someone buys something and the village's customs are interrupted to fit other people, not to mention the western influences and the amount of trash that is produced by these groups that often number in the 20s and require their own bus.

At this point Chang's aunt left us and we climbed up to the road just us three. We took motobikes back to town. I had noticed some people throwing the frisbee in the town square earlier in the week and as luck would have it, they were again when we got back. I joined in and Hilary rested, and that was really about it, except that we met a guy named Martin from Arizona whose frisbee I had been using unwittingly, and who was very excited and talkative, so much so that we barely got a word in in the hour we spent with him. At one point he asked us what we'd seen so far, then brushed the question aside before we even got a chance to answer because "it didn't really matter." We received a nice lecture on the iniquities here and some good advice on some places to eat and visit. He also offered to have us over for dinner. He has a small hotel room, but has come for four summers now and has a H'mong girlfriend which evidently is against the law of the "moral police". This is according to him. He said he'd even had a friend busted by the moral police. As he told it, they came pounding on the door at 3 in the morning and haulled him out of bead, demanding he pay a fine of $30usd and threatening that it'd be $100 the next time. We tend to believe him.

Anyway, that's about good. Miss you all. Post comments!

From There to Here, and a Lot In Between

So, once again I am left typing out a massive posting because we've had little time, and I require at least an hour to do the blog justice, and with each stop that time expands greatly as you might expect. Now, having made oh, let's see... I believe about 7 stops. I'll cover as much as I can, as briefly as I am able (those that know me well will know what to expect). I will delay you no further, other than to say that I will start where I left off and try to finish where we are.

I believe our last entry was from the day we arrived in Dalat. We had taken a moderately lengthy bus ride up into the mountains and had found a room that is still the best we've had, both luxury-wise and price-wise. But I suppose no one is reading this anxiously awaiting news of our accommodations, so I'll try to describe Dalat, the surrounding area, and our experience. Unfortunately for us, it was extremely rainy and cold (low 60s, we're babies now) the entire time we were there, so we missed out on most of the things we came for. Dalat its self is a relatively small town surrounding a smaller lake and organized around the kind of tourism that attracts businessmen and families more than backpackers - golf courses, karaoke joints, resorts, etc. However, evidently beyond the city limits there are numerous vast towering and plunging multi-tiered waterfalls, none of which we had the joy of seeing because, as I said, it was pouring the entire time. We did get to see the market which was about the same as every other market we've visited in every other town except for a couple of products unique to the region. They are these: strawberries, some other type of berry that slightly resembled that of the boysen variety, and candied and dried fruits from kiwi to tomato (the later of which I was led to believe were strawberries and if you'd have seen them, you'd have believed it too). Despite the rain, we enjoyed ourselves and made the best of it, suffering it with little complaint, though venturing from our hotel in spirts. In the end though, we were forced to cut our visit short by a day or two. We are definitely visiting again when we come back to Vietnam. The waterfalls must be seen.

From Dalat, we took a bus to Nha Trang, which was really just a a stopping point before we continued to Hoi An. The city was nice and because we were taking an over-night bus to Hoi An the next day, we got more than a day to explore. Being right on the sea and with several small islands just off the coast, it is immensely popular and the beach is populated by an astonishing number of men in speedos or similarly tight and short swimwear, and women in bikinis (I only note this because Vietnam is a fairly conservative society as far as dress, and we were surprised by how indifferent or ignorant of this many tourists are). All along the beach is a boardwalk and at night it is largely frequented by Vietnamese playing soccer, eating at the various vendors (we even saw lobster offered at one) and children renting and driving mini-cars like the plastic jeeps and Corvettes you buy at Toys R Us. That first night we even caught a group of Vietnamese teens break dancing. We had prapared to eat lobster seeing as how it was seemingly was offered everywhere, but we found it to be more expensive than at first glance. The restaraunts trick you by putting it in terms of price per kg. It would've cost us each around 400,000 dong to eat which is more than $20usd each (the exchange rate is commonly 16,000 to the dollar). We ate noodle soup for 15,000 dong instead.

The next day we rented a motobike as we had until 7pm when our bus left. We spent most of the day driving up and down the coastline checking out the local temple, which wasn't all that spectacular because we are quite templed out, having seen as many as we could in Thailand and Cambodia. We also drove to some smaller towns and beaches. We both ended up a little sunburned because we neglected to put any protection on whatsoever. I got it worse than Hilary as I was the one doing the driving and so facing the sun most of the time. If we ever come back, we'll go to one of the small towns to stay.

We didn't do one of the island tours because most sounded like booze-cruises and as I've said before, that's not really our scene. We managed to make it a full day and at 7pm climbed aboard our bus for an extremelly long and uncomfortable night of travel, I with my knees pressed firmly against the chair in front of me and Hilary with only my shoulder to rest on. Despite our best efforts, we got very little sleep and arrived in Hoi An quite haggard and in dire need of showers. We hadn't the opportunity since the morning the day before and had spent the entire day in the sun on the motobikes. You can imagine the odor that we carried of sleep and sweat and recycled are. Not good to say the least.

Hoi An, as it turned out, is a beautiful old French colonial town with narrow streets and a small river bisecting it. We visited for this reason and because it is the tailoring capitol of the area. There are tailors on virtually every corner and they are all seemingly desperate for your patronage. Also, I don't think they can distinguish between white people very well because often we'd be asked to come and look at someones shop several times in a day no matter how we responded. The tailor next door to our hotel was especially adept at this, asking us to visit his shop both as we left and again as we returned, both of which were fairly frequent due to our hotel's proximity to town. We are generally polite with vendors of all ilk, so we did not try rudeness, anger or insult. Perhaps those are the tacks to take. Instead we shopped where less badgered to do so. We ended up spending more than we expected, but not that much at all by US standards. We priced the first day until we found a tailor shop we felt comfortable with, based on a mixture of price, availability of material and personal character. In the end, we bought two suits for me (one nice bright green wool one that is pictured - dapper if I say so, and I do) and several things for Hilary, including a pretty summer dress and some skirts and pants. When I first asked about the green suit, the shop owner refused to believe that I was serious. She kept insisting that the material was too hot and really only for coats anyway, but in the end we managed to convince her that I was indeed serious about the suit and she made a beautiful one, or rather the place that does their sewing did. The person who actually did the stitching requested that he be called when I came to pick up the suit because he wanted to see it on me. I don't think he believed I wanted it either.

Later that day, we discovered the market which is similar to all the other markets we've visited but different in that it also has a wing filled with tailors that charge at least $10 less per suit than the tailor shops. I don't know the breaks on women's attire, though Hilary did get a coat there while I got a third suit. We both chose floral print linings, which evidently hadn't been done before judging from all the fuss over it. Again, the clothes turned out very smart.

We spent the majority of our time in Hoi An strolling the narrow streets and eating in various colonial-style buildings. We found ourselves at a wonderful French bakery at least once a day to get sesame rolls and pain du chocolat (sp?). Hilary also purchased something like 10 purses because they were so nice and also ludicrously cheap - some buys were encouraged by the fact that the proceeds went to help disabled people, others were simply too nice to pass up. On the riverfront we discovered fresh pressed sugarcane juice. They make it by pushing a long stock of sugarcane through a press, then taking that same sugarcane, folding it around a lemon and running it through again. It is delicious and very thirst quenching. Don't tell Gatorade. They may show up and try to steel the formula. We also found another kind of pomegranate that is yellow on the outside and has light pink seeds on the inside. Very good, though not as sweet as the red kind we get in the US, however, you can get about 4 for the same price.

Clothing, purses and fruit are not the only games in town, as there is a booming shoe trade also. There are multiple streets utterly lined with small shoe shops that have various designs and colors ranging from the common place to the utterly absurd and ornate. Some of the material would be better suited for a Kamono than a pair of sneakers, but there they were. These shoes are not to by, but are designs to choose from. When you go to one of these shops, they sit you down and measure your feet, then hand you a few catelogs to look through to pick a design. Then you get a pile of materials to choose from, like you might choose a dress. After you've chosen all of these things, your shoes are custom made. All for as low as $7usd. Not bad.

On our last day, we rented bikes and road the 4kms to the beach. The ocean was blue and the sand white, as you may have suspected, and we walked it for a couple of kms. It was lined with ridiculously sized resorts that just as easily could've been small towns considering that people staying there have no need to leave. All had in-house tailors and gift shops carrying the same things as in town but at a mark-up of maybe 100%. These places never cease to amaze me in their grandiose seclusion, and their detachment from almost anything resembling the country in which they are situated. They are much like McDonalds or any other chain in that you could be in any country in the world when inside one. They are so similar as to allow very little differentiation. You could fairly expect to walk out of one and be in another country entirely. I guess I just prefer getting a genuine cultural experience verses the canned one provided by resorts and the like.Getting back to the point, these bike excursions always make our travel seem more real, or at least more in line with what we'd imagined for ourselves before setting out. I think it's the intimate view of the countryside, the ability to view people living their lives according to their culture and traditions rather than as dependent on tourists, and the escape from the throngs of tourists themselves.

Anyhow, we enjoyed Hoi An greatly, but were ready to go when it was time. Too many tourists and the food was too expensive. So we caught a bus to Hue, which was about a three hour journey and only another stop-over before going on to another stop-over in Hanoi, which would lead us to Halong Bay. Hue was nice and once again we were taking a night bus the day after our arrival, so we were afforded time enough to explore the city. On our only full day we rented bikes and went over to the Citadel which is the old imperial city. There are several smaller "cities" within, though the entire thing is maybe a square mile. The architecture was interesting and we enjoyed the visit, but don't really have much to say about it on the whole. We're not really museum goers or sight see-ers anyway. We prefer natural wanders. That night we took a sleeper bus instead of the standard bus we'd taken on our last over-nighter. The sleeper bus was supposed to have reasonably plush bed/chairs and be a lot more comfortable, with plenty of leg room. As it turned out, the beds were more like narrow bunks on a submarine and neither Hilary nor I could fully stretch out. Hilary wore her bitchin' new moose socks given her by Oley and life-savors as the bus was near fridged. Then, in the middle of the night, the toilet began overflowing. Thankfully it was down a little from floor level and near the side doors so the water that came pouring out went under the door and onto the road. I had woken to use the bathroom and found the toilet already brimming. I told the bus driver, but he thought I was asking to use the bathroom I guess because he kept thumbing at the back of the bus, saying bathroom. Finally, an hour later we stopped to pick someone up and I rushed to the front. Again they tried to tell me to use the bus toilet and again I tried to explain the disaster that was occurring in there. Finally I just told them to take a look while I went pee in the bushes, and I got off. When I returned, they had discovered the problem. There wasn't much delay however. I think they simply turned the water to the toilet off, but I don't know. I didn't check.

In Hanoi we were greeted by a crush of motobike drivers and hotel hawkers all trying desperately to get you to use their services, as usual. And as usual we pushed through them to get some space and figure things on our own. We had met an Italian couple on the trip over and we decided to split a taxi with them. (Luckily people have not outwardly had contempt for us being US citizens and given us a fare shake as far as we can tell. We have been admitting to being from the US rather than proudly announcing it, so maybe that has something to do with it. But maybe they just give us a fair shake because they've realized that people no more reflect their governments than than tin cans reflect an image). Anyway, we found a nice little hotel and began shopping around for trips to Halong Bay and Cat Ba island. As luck and expenses would have it, our cheapest and best option was the trip our hotel provided, so we signed on and began to explore the city.

Hanoi was nice for the day and they have bootleg DVDs for less than $1usd, so we bought a bunch. You can even get the entire series of Seinfeld for all of $20, seasons 1 through 10. We didn't. Our only night in town happened to be Saturday, so there was a big street market as I assume there must be in every city in this part of southeast Asia. We explored it but only got some kem (ice cream) and almost hit by several motobikes. The next morning we left for Halong Bay bright and early, taking a small bus to the harbor where our guides had to buy tickets and arrange a boat for us (the thing was well planned as you might guess). After sitting in the sun for maybe an hour, we finally boarded a boat. This did not however mean that we were taking to the sea, though it may have implied otherwise. Instead we sat docked for another hour and a half, part of which was spent eating lunch. There was a little excitement as a small knife fight broke out on an adjacent boat, but the sour feelings were quickly quelled without bloodshed or further violence. I guess maybe pirates still do ply these waters. Finally our boat put to sea and we grinded out into the bay, bumping the boats next to us to get free. Slowly, as the harbor disappeared, we began to get a small taste of what we were in store for. Small and large limestone islands matted in green vegetation launching straight up from the water with little or no beach, and sometimes even an indentation where the water lapped the sides and wore away the soft rock loomed up before us. We stopped first to visit a cave on a smaller island and were met by a sign advertising the eco-friendly nature of the island park behind which you could see toilets that emptied directly into the ocean. The cave was quite large, lit by several florescent bulbs of various colors and called something like the Heavenly Palace. It was kind of neat but its neatness was greatly diminished by the number of people forming a solid straight unbroken line throughout, the cement path, and the addition of sprinklers behind rocks made to appear as natural geysers but clearly not. After a brief tour we got back on the boat and continued on to where there was a floating village complete with a school and a local water cave. You could take a 20 minute visit to both for $2usd. We passed. At this same stop we saw the first of many vendor boats selling fruit, cookies, chips, soda and cold beer. I think if you were trapped on a desert island, you could still find a Vietnamese vendor to supply you with food. They've probably already got some stands on Mars just waiting for the day. We were getting into the real islands. What we'd really come for. Once we set of, the beauty of Halong Bay began to become very apparent. All around us were sheer islands like the ones I've described earlier. Magnificent graceful things, pristine and almost virtually untouched. Many simply to sheer to attempt to climb at all. And the water spread out around them green as the skin of a lime. Sadly, much of the water was utterly lousy with cigarette butts, plastic bags, processed food packaging and other rubbish. We next stopped to kayak around a small group of islands but were told not to swim. We had planned to ignore our guides but seeing the water closer made us rethink that. Finally we left for where we'd anchor for the night and as it was getting dark, when the guide said we could swim and even jump off the roof of the boat (about 15-20 feet) we excitedly did, imagining the water to be much cleaner here than where we'd been earlier. This was not the case as I was to learn the next morning. That night, Hilary and I met a couple of Germans, one married and with his Indian wife, and a Brit that we spent most of the evening with playing cards on the top deck. They were good people and it was nice to be in an environment conducive to easily meeting people. We've suffered from a lack due to the absence of nightlife and our stays in hostels that are without communal areas. (If we ever open a hostel, the first order of business will be to provide a communal dinner so as to allow people to meet easily.) They were headed back in the next day while we were going to spend a night on Cat Ba Island. Their trek was the opposite of ours so we bid them a good journey. The night was pretty rough as the fan only worked intermittently and our room was stuffy enough to cause Hilary to become slightly claustrophobic. The next day we ate breakfast and docked. Cat Ba was much larger than I expected and it took a while to get to Cat Ba National Park where we were spending the morning hiking. As it turned out, I believe that we didn't actually go to the national park, instead being taken to another trail in a local village while our guides pocketed our entrance fee (it should be mentioned that we paid a flat rate for the entire trip, food, lodging and entrance fees included, so they didn't take money directly from us). We don't mind this sort of scam really and the hike was great, though much more challenging than we were led to believe. It was a climb starting on a paved path and deteriorating to scrambling over rocks. The view was spectacular and we enjoyed the challenge, though I had to wring my shirt out several times. I believe I lost maybe two liters of water weight. After the hike we were taken to our hotel in town and given the option to go to monkey island after lunch. We declined and instead rented a motobike and did our own tour of the island, checking out the nearest beach and the countryside.

The next day we got up early and began the trip back to Hanoi. We got to pass through a different mass of islands than on the previous day and again marveled at their majestic rise into the sky. They are just like in the pictures. Simply breathtaking. Another 3 hour bus ride got us from the dock to Hanoi and we decided to push on to our next stop, Sapa. We had just enough time to get passport pictures for our Laos visas, eat dinner and arrange tickets for the sleeper train. The train was nice enough, better than the bus anyway, and we arrived only this morning somewhat rested. The train doesn't actually take you to Sapa. It takes you to Lao Cai where you catch a bus or minivan up through the mountains to Sapa. The town is amazing. It is placed near the end of a valley up on a mountain wall. It is populated by an extremely diverse group of indigenous people including H'mong, D'Zao, Xia and some others I cannot remember, not to mention the Vietnamese. We immediately fell in love with the town and after befriending a younger H'mong girl named Chang who was trying to sell us some bags, we decided that we should forgo some of our Laos time and hang out here longer as we had wanted to do originally. That night we met a very friendly elderly Vietnamese man who owns a small restaraunt here and challenges all visitors to chess and some of his homemade plum wine. He beat me soundly four times running (but I got him once last night).

We had plans with Chang to visit her village the next day, but when it came time to meet, there was confusion on where and we could not find her, so instead we went to Cat Cat village, about 3kms outside of town. The village its self wasn't so spectacular being much more spread out than what you might expect of a place called a village, and also being heavily influenced by tourism. It is the primary village toured in this area. The trail through the village wound down to the river where we found what looked like a small Swiss grotto to us facing a beautiful waterfall. From there we hiked on along the rivers edge until we found another path, this one mud versus the cement we had been tredding. We turned and followed it up the hillside and came upon a H'mong funeral. Needless to say, we were the only Europeans there, but they were welcoming and let us watch for a while. Once we felt we'd stayed long enough, but not too long, we left and hiked our way back to town where we ran into Chang and discovered the confusion from that morning. We thought maybe something came up or she'd blown us off. We made plans for the future, and that's where it stands now.
Wish us luck. Miss you all.

Battambang to Phnom Penh to Kampot to Rach Gia to Ho Chi Minh to Here (Dalat)

Since arriving in Battambang and writing the last post on this blog, it’s been at least a week, probably more, and in that time we have traveled through as many as 5 other cities so you must forgive us for the length of this one. I do not wish to waylay you any longer with an extended apology so I’ll just remind you that this is kept in perpetuity and thus can be read at your leisure, which is to say, there’s no need to muscle through the whole thing.

First a little about Battambang, as we’re certain we did not say much about it in the last post (we haven’t read it since we wrote it). It is a reasonably sized town and we did very little. On our only full day there Hilary came down with a brief stomach virus and so I went on a tour of the local sights alone, well, not entirely alone as I hired a motorbike driver to take me. The tour was supposed to take three separate stops, one at the base of a hill at whose top were a few “Killing Caves” where the Khmer Rouge murdered several people and a Buddhist shrine with several Buddhas, a second at a temple or wat or whatever, and a third stop at an old railway on which you could ride through picturesque scenery. It was hot that day my friends and I stupidly refused to buy any water from the many vendors that I passed on my steep ascent. By the time I reached the time I was sweating profusely and glad to visit the shade of a couple of shrine-caves in which sat contemplative Buddha – no murders were committed in these for the simple reason that they were too shallow. After properly cooling myself, I headed for the peak and along the way befriended a volunteer school teacher who promptly took over as my guide. I was of course a little leery, but generally prefer a small payment to a local over a nasty scene, so I accepted that what may seem like a friendly tour may actually be an unexpected expense. I am a bit of a sucker, it’s true. My new tour guide, whose name I have since forgotten because I didn’t do the trick where you repeat it to your self 5 times, took me to the top where he pointed out 2 new temples in the midst of construction, a very deep cave which he claimed had a whole that lead to a stash of gold at the bottom of the mountain, which was why the government had come and sealed it shut, and finally a few mammoth guns left from the siege with the Khmer Rouge. These were giant guns that I imagined could fire shot all the way to Phnom Penh. He asked that perhaps if were to strap himself to a shell and fire, launching himself to the US, could I maybe help him get set up once he arrived. I agreed, though I believe the prospects are dubious at best.

From the top, he led me down to the “Killing Caves”. I was not entirely prepared for the stories he told me. It was very sobering, you see the “Killing Caves” have two separate openings, one which is easily walked down and another that plunges straight down to the bottom. Clearly we took the walkable one. At the bottom, looking up through the whole, he began to tell me the story of what had happened. The Khmer Rouge had come and attacked the nearby village because the villagers did not want to join them. The KR then took the people to the top of the hill and forced them to kneel at the rim of the cave where they were hit in the head or neck with a hammer, a hatchet or any number of instruments at hand. The victims would then fall down the abyss and if they hadn’t died from the head trauma, the fall generally killed them. The few that survived and attempted to climb out the other side were met by another executioner who finished the job. Even now as I write this it is horrifying. I find myself at a loss for words or explanation.

My guide then explained that the glass plaited stands around the base of the cave had to be placed there and filled with the bones that remained because previously tourists had left with souvenirs.

We left the caves and walked back to the road where I would go down and he would head back up. The only thing he asked for was that the next time I come through Battambang, I stop in and have a meal with him. I promised I would and walked back to find my motorbike driver.

(I’d like do make a brief note here explaining that the visit to the “Killing Caves” was very moving and I struggled with whether or not to include the account of the events as I didn’t want to trivialize them by putting them in such close proximity to potentially humorous accounts of our travel. In the end, I thought it was more important to include it.)

I found the village eatery where I had left my driver, but couldn’t at first see him. I wasn’t all to worried as his departure would’ve saved me $8, which may not sound like much but goes quite a ways in Southeast Asia. He did however turn up as soon as I approached. It was than that I decided that if I wasn’t going to go on to the remaining two sites because I was utterly beat, and that if I wasn’t going to go on, but still pay the $8, which I surely would be expected to do, I should at least get a motorbike driving tutorial. So I asked if I could drive. My driver, another person whose name I have forgotten because I did not do the trick, seemed a little nervous, especially after I said I’d never driven a motorbike before, but he acquiesced. I did not have to push him, if some of you are thinking that. He agreed, just a little apprehensively. I figured I would drive down from the village to the main road, you know, just get a little feel for driving. The driver had other things in mind. Once he hopped on back and gave me the basics, I was to drive all the way back with only his slight guidance. He didn’t say this of course, it simply was the way it went. He told me when to change gears and where to turn, and some times if I was taking us along a path he must’ve felt was particularly dangerous, he would push on my back so as to force my arms to turn us in the direction he desired. I usually accepted. As it turned out, driving was easy enough. When I got home, Hilary’s stomach problems had passed and I was immensely dehydrated, which proved to be the start of my stomach problems.

The next morning we pushed to Phnom Penh but not without some confusion first. We booked our ticket through the hotel we were staying at. After booking the manager said to get some breakfast and come back at 8:50 to catch the bus. It was 8:05 then. I even double checked, making sure he did not mean 8:15. He assured us he didn’t, so we went to the Sunrise Café for smoothies and toast. When we returned, the motorbike drivers were vary concerned. They insisted that the bus had left at 8:30, so they rushed us over to the station where we were informed that there would be another bus at 9:30. Damn the language barrier. We still managed to get to Phnom Penh.

For us, Phnom Penh was only remarkable for three reason. First, Eileen’s friends and hopefully now our friends Cullen and Vanessa, second, S21, and third, the Vietnamese Embassy. Our friend Eileen whom we know from the Peace Corps was kind enough to send along word to two of her former Thai volunteers, Cullen and Vanessa, that we were coming to PP and might need a place to stay. They were kind enough to accept us. The Peace Corps network is awesome! Cullen and Vanessa really made us feel at home and had great advice about the city. We had gotten some scare tactics from a Canadian ex-pharmaceutical rep about our lack of malarial remedy or protection, so Cullen pointed us in the direction of a respectable pharmacy. Evidently you’ve got to be pretty careful with these things here as often you get knockoff stuff that is something else entirely and can leave you in a pretty sticky jam. Who wants to be three days away from the nearest airport and coming down with Malaria? Certainly not us. (The only suitable hospitals in this region are in Bangkok we’ve been told several times over.) Our first full day in PP was spent acquiring emergency Malaria meds and visiting the Vietnamese Embassy and S21.

The Malaria meds were easily acquired while the Vietnamese Visas proved a little more strange and difficult. When we first arrived at the Embassy, we found a gate and guard. Assuming that it was an Embassy like all the others we’d been to, we thought that we’d have to check in with the guard before entering, so we thought nothing of it when he asked for our passports. However, when he told us to go ahead and leave them with him and return the next day around 5, we became skeptical and demanded our passports back. He gave them back with no trouble and as we walked away, he pointed down the street to a sign that said the visa office was 50 meters down. Odd. The visa office was also a strange scene. Inside we picked filled out the appropriate forms and went to turn them in. Again we were asked to leave our passports over night. Leaving my passport with anyone makes me uncomfortable and I did my best to explain that we’d rather not. Evidently this was not welcome and we were handed our papers and the officials left the room. Not sure what to do, we stood for a moment talking it out when a woman appeared, took the paperwork back, photocopied our passports and said we were to pay $35 each and return the next day. We did and the visas were gained in a matter of minutes, which leads me to this: why the hell did they need to keep them over night if they could just as easily do the whole thing in such a short time? Who knows? Government beaurocracy I guess.

We visited S21, as I said and it was more gruesome than the “Killing Caves,” but there is plenty of information out there about it and if you wish, I’m sure you can find it easily using google.com. The things I found most shocking were these: Pol Pot died without ever facing persecution and England and the US backed the Khmer Rouge’s inclusion in the UN despite the obvious genocide going on in Cambodia. We urge you to look into the atrocities committed by the Khmer Rouge.

Anyhow, that was all that was really worth mentioning as it pertains to us. I could go on about the things that we learned from Cullen about Cambodia as he is privy to a lot of info via his position with USAID, but this post is already reaching a ridiculous length, so here are the particulars. You’ve got to be careful of both pork and oil as much of the pork comes from Vietnam and is the kind that has foot-and-mouth and can’t be sold there and much of the oil also comes from Vietnam, is already used and only cleaned up by mixing in bleach to give it a clear appearance. Also, money can get you just about anything and the head of police wields much more power than just about anyone. There was a great deal more, but as I said, this is getting long and I’ve yet to get to even Vietnam, where I am writing this from.

From PP we headed west to Kampot near which is Bokor National Park. Bokor was our primary reason for visiting, but we were also interested in a slower pace which Kampot offers in spades. We bus-ed in and found the town to be suitably quaint, though our lodgings were about as creeping as they come with high, filthy ceilings and rickety doors and walls. We changed the very next day into a much nicer place that was markedly cleaner and safer, and didn’t feel like someone had been killed there. After checking in, we did a round of the town and decided to rent a motorbike to drive over to Kep, a small fishing village on the sea about 25km away. It took Hilary a moment to get used to riding but I took it slowly and she got comfortable enough for us to head out into the countryside. Driving down the dirt road, surrounded by quilted fields of rice paddies broken up by tall palms and framed by mist-hooded mountains, we really got to see the country as we imagined. Sadly, the rain that had started that morning as a slight mist gradually grew stronger and stronger until it stung as it struck as and we were both absolutely soaked. Doing 50km on a small motorbike with no coverage probably didn’t help. Just 5km short of our destination, we were forced to turn back. I dropped Hilary off at the hostel and took a quick spin around town to flex the bike. Racing down I side street at upwards of 65km, I found myself abruptly confronted by a speed bump. I had two choices: slam on the breaks and get skinned up pretty good (I was stupidly wearing shorts) or pull up on the handlebars and ride it out, which is what I did and always do. I landed a mini-air safely and headed back to turn the bike in before I got myself in further trouble. I had been required to leave behind my passport as collateral for the bike and did not wish to see it forfeited.

The next day we booked a trip up to Bokor. As luck would have it, this was also the day of our 2nd anniversary. Bully for us. We had heard that the road up to the park was quite treacherous, or as our Lonely Planet guidebooks says, “it’s a scenically stunning and horrifically bumpy 25 km up to the plateau.” That was a tremendous understatement. That’s like saying a Long Island Iced Tea is slightly alcoholic or that the atomic bomb is moderately destructive. I’m all for “ the glass is half full” mindset, but if it’s empty, the damn thing is empty. Shit! The road was about as friendly to the spine as say a caning. I mean, at points I was pretty sure that there was no road at all and we were driving down the remains of a rock slide, but that probably would’ve been softer. This trip made the drive from Poipet to Sisophon seem like a ride on the tea cups and Disneyland. It was jarring and abrasive and violent and just about everything else you don’t want a road to be. Instead of jail terms, criminals should be sentenced to trips up and down this road.

Now, was the whole thing worth it? It’s hard to say. At the top there was more driving on equally detestable roads and some pretty interesting and beautiful sights. I’m not much for old, decaying buildings, so the old abandoned palace and casino, two of the main attractions, were of little interest to me beyond wondering what had transpired there and what the place must’ve looked like in its prime, full of people and alive. What was spectacular was the two-tiered waterfall gushing water that looked like a quartz strip in granite. The water was that orange-yellow of quartz and cascaded in a massive torrent over both tiers. It had been raining all morning. I managed to scurry down to near the base and marveled at the power and beauty of it. I took only a few pictures of the falls, but got a really nice one of an odd looking red mushroom we passed on the way. The ride down was of course equally despicable and destructive, but we did learn that there was a boarder crossing into Vietnam much closer to us than we’d expected. It had opened just a couple months ago and was a mere hour’s drive. We had anticipated going all the way back to PP, but as it turned out, we wouldn’t have to.

That night for our 2nd anniversary we took ourselves out to a nice dinner of crab and green Kampot pepper. Evidently “in the years before civil war took its toll, no self-respecting French restaurant in Paris would be without Kampot pepper on the table.” Thank you again Lonely Planet. The crab was spectacular, but I will save other blandishments for the food blog.

Amazingly, the border crossing at Ha Tien was indeed only an hour away and open to foreigners, so we had no problems crossing. We planned to take a overdue honeymoon on Phu Quoc island and so we road straight to Rach Gia where all the boats and ferries go from, however, when we arrived it was pretty stormy and we were informed that no boats had gone in almost 5 days and none would be going soon as a big storm was expected. We were disappointed but not too badly. That night we made friends with the owner of a Pho restaurant where we had our first genuine Vietnamese Pho. I have been a fan of this noodle soup ever since a friend of mine turned me on to it my senor year of college and the proprietor of the Pho restaurant I frequented in Eugene saw my face so much that she still remembered me when I returned from the Peace Corps. Our new Pho friends had a son that did all the talking for them as they spoke no English. Dong was his name and he took us to get the best and the cheapest smoothies we’ve yet to have. We got two and some ice cream for him all for less than a dollar. Amazing. We had breakfast with them the next morning and Dong arranged bus tickets for us to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). He was great and we felt somewhat sad leaving despite the fact we’d known him and his family less than a day.

The bus ride was a smooth and comfortable 6 hours and dropped us off at a bus station that was no where to be found on our Lonely Planet maps. No fear. We headed for the bus depot and asked which bus would take us to the Pham Ngu Lao area where according to the book we could find all manner of lodging, eating and shopping. The woman pointed us to bus 2 and sure enough, the bus took us there. We felt very worldly taking the local transport and finding our way around. The bus driver helped of course, stopping where we wanted to go and telling us we were there.

The Pham Ngu Lao area is a fly-by-night travelers dream. It is a cornucopia of shopping and eating all at cut-rate prices. The place was teeming with shops offering bootleg backpacks, clothes, DVDs, CDs, electronics and art. We stopped in several and marveled at the prices and wares. But what really amazed us were the painting shops. There must’ve been ten of them all offering hand-painted copies of nearly every masterpiece you can think of, and done with exquisite detail and care. To an untrained eye such as my own, the paintings could’ve been authentic. They had everything from Matisse and Van Gogh to a full five-panel Klimt. All were stunning and we wished we could take them with us. The skill with which they were executed was astonishing. We refrained from buying any, but did get a nice backpack, a couple CDs and a set of DVDs.

We ate at a restaurant that had just about every kind of food you could imagine on the menu. The menu its self was almost 75 pages, 4 of which were occupied by cocktails. The food was good, but not spectacular. But what do you expect for less than $7 total. We are party poopers, or at least our days of partying because we can are pretty much over, so, as usually, we were in early and headed out early the next day.

We took another long bus ride out of town as we have little interest in museums and landmarks. We prefer natural wonders. We are now in Dalat which is a small mountain town up in the hills. It is raining today same as yesterday, and it is cold, as in the mid to low 60s. We’ll try to keep everyone updated and write more often, but that’s no guarantee. Hope everyone reading this is enjoying their summer and doing well. We miss you all.


(Sorry for the lack of photographic accompaniment. It will come soon.)