Traveling without a User’s Manual

Despite having several useful guidebooks, ebooks, online resources, and gps maps on our phones, we have still managed to find ourselves lost in awkward situations without the right words to express the absurdity of our snafus. (I think "snafu" should be spelled "snafoo".)

Scene One:

It’s 0500 and we have decided to take the motorbike in Hoi An, Vietnam for a ride to the lighthouse to watch the sun come up and see the fisherfolk do their thing. We tiptoe out of our guesthouse and come to a locked gate at the entrance. How do we get the bike out of the gate? We consider climbing the gate but that won’t solve the bike dilemma. We look around for a doorbell to ask the family to open the gate. Phil finds something next to the main door. “Do you think this is the doorbell? It kind of looks like a fire alarm,” he says. “I don’t know. Can you read what it says on the button?” I reply. “No,” he says. “Well I guess you can give it a try if you think it is the doorbell,” I say. Seconds later a very loud, obnoxious ringing from the red fire alarm above the button begins and we can’t find an off switch. We wake the family. We wake the other guests. We wake the neighborhood. Did I mention it is 5am? The family gains entry into the reception area and locates the off switch. We are let out of the gate and shown where the real doorbell is located, next to the gate. We get on our motorbike, chagrined, and drive off into the sunrise.

Scene Two:

We arrive in Vientiane, Laos with the plan to meet our friends at a restaurant that is very popular in town. We forget to look up the address online. There is no WIFI in the airport. (I can’t really believe we now expect to get free WIFI at airports. How spoiled are we?) We look around for a tourist map/guide and find one in Japanese; this is unhelpful. We ask the taxi stand people if they know “Sticky Fingers” restaurant. Multiple shakes of the head “no”, but after a bit more discussion someone says “yes”. We get in the taxi and drive in to town. We drive around. We drive around some more. We start to worry that the driver does not actually know where we want to go. And then the driver stops at a hotel and looks at us expectantly. We say, “No, we want to go to the restaurant Sticky Fingers.” He proceeds to drive around aimlessly a bit more while we restate the name in different inflections, faster, slower, different accents. Phil tries to act out sticky fingers. I try writing in English the name. None of our efforts seems to help the poor Lao-speaking driver. Then I gesture eating and our driver has an “aha” moment and takes us to a restaurant…not Sticky Fingers. Needless to say, I end up on the driver’s cell phone speaking to someone who speaks some English and we agree to go back to a hotel we passed earlier in the ride. At the hotel, they are kind enough to give us a map and direct us to the restaurant, which is two blocks away. Being the brilliant people that we are, as soon as we leave the hotel, we start walking in the opposite direction of the restaurant. An hour and two beers later, we join our friends at the restaurant.

Scene Three:

We drive to Kuangxi outside Luang Prabang, Laos to visit a waterfall. We have read in Lonely Planet that you can ascend to the top of the falls on the left or right, the right being more perilous. So, of course, we choose the right side, the side less travelled. Half way up the waterfall we encounter a fork in the road. The path to the right appears larger and more defined although in the opposite direction of the waterfall. Again, we go right. The vistas are beautiful, the heat is scorching, and the sound of the waterfall is receding as we continue our climb. Every few meters one of us questions our decision but the scenery is lovely, the hike is good and so we keep trekking. At last, we come upon a beautifully tended terraced garden, a couple thatch-roofed dwellings and a breathtaking view…and no waterfall.

It seems we have simply stumbled into someone’s home. I am ready to turn around but Phil continues up and greets the family. They sell us a bag of chips and we sit and enjoy the grand view. And then the family gestures us up the hill and says, “Waterfall up 5 minutes.” As we are leaving, Phil walks his face in to a barb-wired fence (He is up to date on his tetanus.) and we agree that we are definitely not on the normal path. Further along, we come upon a man machete-ing tree branches. We greet him and keep walking and we are again concerned that we have moved on to the neighbor’s property. And yet, we continue to walk until we are blessed by the sound of the waterfall. 

Sometimes getting “laost” (Thanks Aadip.) is a good thing.

Sabaidee (greetings) from Laidback Laos

All we kept hearing prior to visiting Laos was how laidback it was - the people, the cities, the mood.  And the rumors appear to be true. We spent a week in Vientiane, the country’s capitol, with some amazing friends (kawp jai deh, Karen and Miles!) who showed us the easiness of Lao living. 

One of our Vientiane roommates, Mr. Brown.

On the first night there, we were greeted with statements such as: “I haven’t brushed my hair in a year or used an alarm clock.” “I haven’t worn lace-up shoes in a year.” “I haven’t worn long pants in a year.” “Once you come here, you may never leave (Hotel California-esque?!?).” This last comment was actually made by several people hailing from different countries. There is also a wonderful massage culture here, which we took to heart. We managed to find time in our schedules to get a massage every couple days. Thankfully, they were nothing like our blind massage experience. It is not difficult to understand why there appears to be a robust expat community in Laos, given the low cost of living, the small town feel, and the slow-paced lifestyle offered.

Lazy afternoon in Vientiane

Everyday we were in Vientiane we had to remind ourselves that it was a country’s capitol and not just some small Laotian town (population approx. 210,000; Laos population approx. 6 million). It was slow-paced and quiet; most restaurants and shops seemed to close their doors around 9pm, even on the weekends. The streets were quiet both on the sidewalk and in the street, especially compared to those in Vietnam’s cities. The river walk was great in the evenings with all the Vientiane folks out and about with their families and friends. 

Sunset on the Mekong, Vientiane

Again, we visited an Arc d’Triomphe that was called by the sign a “concrete monstrosity”. From the top we could see the most traffic the city had to offer which couldn’t even compare to the bustling of Hanoi. We visited the National Museum that started with the dinosaurs and ended with the 80’s. There are many wats in the city which serve as general gathering places for picnics and celebrations in addition to their religious purpose.

The Arc in Vientiane

There are more cars on the road than motorbikes here in Laos. After being in Vietnam for a month, we aren’t sure where to walk or how to cross the street now. It appears the cars have the right of way, but since there isn’t much traffic we have remained relatively safe despite perhaps a few incorrect pedestrian assumptions. Because the roads are less hectic, we felt comfortable renting a motorcycle – Phil went for a bigger gun and got a 500cc engine – to traverse the northern route from Vientiane to Luang Prabang.

Our Laotian transport

So far so good. No butt blisters as of yet although I do require frequent stops to stretch my legs and un-numb my caboose. We have avoided running dogs, children playing, vehicles passing in multiple directions and cattle roaming. I have always idealized motorcycle touring since reading “Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance” as a kid and later watching “The motorcycle diaries”. So here we are in Laos creating our version, southeast Asian style, in a somewhat thoughtful and not too dangerous way – I think…

Cuties met while on the road

The food has been fantastic; Laotian people know how to spice their food. Yum! Green papaya salads, tom yum soup, Luang Prabang sausage with jeow/cheow aka “dipping sauce”, pad thai, laab/laap, fresh spring rolls, fatty crepe-like pancake street food things…

We’ve been in Vang Vien for the past few days now and have enjoyed tubing down the river (weird to be tubing in Laos), kayaking (we capsized within the first thirty minutes), and meandering through a cave with spiders the size of my hand (ok, their bodies were thumb-sized but their legs went for days and it wasn’t sexy).

From our hotel balcony, Vang Vien

We’re back on the road again tomorrow towards Luang Prabang.

Blind Massage: Awesome or God-Awful?

By far, one the best experiences I have had here in Ho Chi Minh City was a massage.  According to Phil, however, it was “god-awful”. 

Phil had already received a couple of massages from some of the other random “spas” around that were “decent”. I received a foot massage at one of them, and it was not spectacular, but at a cost of a few dollars I wasn’t going to complain.  In fact, it felt just like being at any California nail salon as they sat us in pedicure-style stations and proceeded to chat continuously in Vietnamese with occasional glances and subsequent giggles our direction. In an attempt to try something different and out of our comfort zone, we used a Lonely Planet recommended establishment that supposedly provided no-frills massages and was located just around the corner from our hostel at The Institute for the Blind. At less than $2.50 for 60 minutes, we had to try it. Have you ever received a massage from a blind person? I mean, it kind of sounds like the start of a joke, right?

After paying for our massages and receiving braille-encoded tickets, we are directed to the “gentlemen” and “ladies” areas. I am then pushed by a blind woman, who turns out to be my masseuse, down a hallway and into a room with three curtained areas, each containing a massage table and hard wooden chair. She directs me to one of the empty stalls and says, “Get undressed.” While she stands there waiting, I quickly disrobe, throw my clothes onto a stand, and hop onto the table, face planting into an old, tired looking patchwork pillow. How sanitary? I don’t want to know. My blind masseuse then tucks a worn, slightly greying towel into my underwear and proceeds to slap tiger balm oil onto my back with rapid-fire determination. Please don’t hit me in the head, I think. She doesn’t. She excuses herself for a moment after a quick, loud conversation through the curtains with a colleague and then returns pushing a 10,000 Vietnamese dong bill into my face. “Madam.” Shove.  “Madam.” I am being partially refunded because I was placed in a fan room instead of an AC room. “Thank you,” I mumble and then put the bill in my hand for lack of a better place and hold on to it for dear life while the massage-on-meth continues.

Fond memories come to mind of my visits to the Korean spas in Los Angeles, where the exfoliating scrub-downs by black lace underwear-clad Korean women (Why is this the uniform?) occur on plastic covered tables and have a similar “I am a piece of meat” vibe. Prior to this experience, I was mesmerized by the women and men in the street markets who expertly deboned and scraped fish meat into baggies and butchered their various meats into tenderized mounds. Now, I have empathy for those poor slabs of meat. I am thoroughly and without apologies being tenderized by a blind Vietnamese woman who seems to embrace the motto, “Take no prisoners”.  I want to laugh out loud, but I can’t because I am slowly suffocating with my face smooshed in the not-so-hygienic pillow.

As she moves on to pounding and kneading my legs, I worry that my tailbone and other more sensitive areas may end up tragically assaulted. Thankfully, she is somewhat gentle with her bottom-knocking and my cushion-less tush is spared. My massage ends with a prolonged craniofacial stimulation that, per Phil, was reminiscent of when his older brother used to give him a noogie (ie, not pleasant). I found it invigorating, but the quick, repetitive massage from the inner aspect of my eyes to my eyebrows did make me fear that I, too, may soon lose my sight. “Done,” she says and turns to leave. “Thank you and chuc mung nam muoi (happy new year),” I say to her receding backside. “Mm,” she nods in reply as she walks away. 

I'm melting...the Wizard of Oz theme continues.

I am the girl who walks into a gym and becomes flushed and sweaty just at the sight of the exercise equipment. You’ve probably seen me or someone like me at your gym - red-faced and panting with sweat dripping all over the equipment and sometimes innocently landing on a passerby. I don’t glisten or glow. I don’t perspire. I sweat ferociously and unapologetically. You get the point. So what was I thinking when I requested that we start our trip in southern Vietnam? I am currently in Ho Chi Minh City aka Saigon in southern Vietnam, and I am wilting! It is mid 20sC (mid 70sF) at its lowest and mid-high 30sC (mid-high 90sF) at its highest with a 60+% humidity.

Up for an adventure, I took the local bus to Chinatown (Cholon, district 5) this morning and proceeded to walk the streets somewhat mindfully, although it probably appeared aimless, in search of pagodas, historical landmarks and some good street banh bao. I managed to successfully find all three. 

Heaven

Hell

However, by the time I was finished, I had walked back three of the five kilometers to my hostel and had no idea how or where to catch the bus back. So I reluctantly committed to completing the task of returning to my Saigon home a pied as it was the shorter distance. Now I was told earlier in the week that Vietnamese don’t walk; they ride motorbikes. 

The parking lot of the local movie theater

However, those who are out on the street appear sweat-free, and unlike me, they are often wearing pants, stockings/socks, shirts and jackets, and masks as “protection” from the “dust”. How is this possible? While I am taking an outdoor shower in my own sweat, they are casually eating a steaming bowl of pho on the sidewalk with not a single reflecting point of budding perspiration on their brow.  

Needless to say, upon returning to my district 1 home, I decide to embrace my overheated state and order a bowl of Pho soup with added chili and hot sauce. After all, if I am to be a foreigner for the next year, I might as well start the process of becoming comfortable with being uncomfortable.

Hot, yummy street food goodness!