Maybe I Should Move Here...

Our next day in Siem Reap started out like the first, with a temple. Bang Mealea was farther away, but the scenery kept our attention for the two-hour tuk tuk ride, (Chamnan was our driver again!). Fields of grass and rice paddies interspersed with tropical trees and several types of cows grazed near the road. Women cooked what looked like bamboo leaves in giant pots and children waved excitedly as we passed. There were plenty of dogs and cats playing in the dirt with chickens, and even a few pigs and water buffalo. The “gas stations” especially fascinated us. People sit on the side of the road with a table of 2 liter Pepsi bottles filled with gasoline, and tuk tuk and motorbike drivers pull up, pour a bottle in under the seat and are off again in seconds.

Bang Mealea is like the temples at Angkor Wat, but hasn’t been restored, so it’s overgrown with roots and large parts of the stone have collapsed. To get through it you crawl over heaps of rocks, through windows and across ledges. The fallen stone is overgrown with moss, so it was a little slippery, but I thought this was the most interesting temple, and definitely the most fun to climb around!

Leaving the temple, Chamnan asked if we wanted to stop at the landmine museum. “Some tourists think ‘oh, it’s very interesting’ and they like it, but sometimes they say’ oh, no it is so sad’ and they do not want to go,” he told us. Of course we wanted to stop! The museum was founded by Aki Ra, a former child soldier for the Khmer Rouge who now works as a deminer.  His parents were killed by the Khmer Rouge, and he was taken into their army when he was 10-years-old.  A few years later he was captured by the Vietnamese army and fought for them. Later, because he had laid many landmines himself and knew quite a bit about them, he was hired by the United Nations to help clear them. He soon began deactivating landmines himself, and brought home children injured children in the areas he cleared. Aki Ra and his wife opened the Cambodian Landmine Museum and the accompanying orphanage, (currently home to 29), to raise awareness of the aftermath of war, still an issue still affecting Cambodians every day. (Aki Ra and his work were also featured on CNN Heroes 2010). The museum is small, holding deactivated bombs and black and white photos, but gives a lot of information. On a map of Cambodia, little red dots marking landmines fill up almost the entire country. This goes back to my previous post on Phnom Penh, detailing US involvement in dropping 2.7 million tons of bombs on Cambodia. The United States is also one of few countries that have not signed the Land Mine Treaty banning their use, (along with others like Iran, North Korea, China, Libya and Somalia). The US argument for not signing yet is that landmines are a valuable part of our strategy in security against North Korea. Though the museum is small and basic, Aki Ra and his work made an indelible impression on me.  I strongly suggest Cambodia for any travelers if you want an educational, beautiful and fun vacation. Or if you can’t make the trip you can donate to the orphanage here: http://www.cambodianselfhelpdemining.org/

After buying bracelets made by children at the orphanage, we left for the nearby silk farm, where we learned step-by-step how silk is made and how it helps preserve Cambodia's tradition. 

Grabbing ice cream after our tour, we bought one for Chamnan and took the opportunity to ask him questions we had been speculating about. How old was he? 30. Did he have kids and could we see pictures? Yes, twin girls and a boy, and yes. Does everyone learn English in school? Yes, from a very young age it is required. Do Cambodians in general like their government? Yes, the majoritylike the king and the prime minister, (more now than they used to because he’s being stronger on border conflicts with Thailand). Do Cambodians like the US? Yes, everyone wants to move there. Why/how do they possibly like the US after what we just saw in the genocide and landmine museums? At this, Chamnan just smiled and said, “It is in the past. We don’t need to think about that. Cambodian people are forgiving. We are happy and thankful for what we have now and we do not think about what has been done to us in the past. We move on.” Brianna and I must have looked skeptical. After all, it’s a pretty hard thing to forget when people are still getting injured and killed in the aftermath. “Maybe in the war the United States was not good to Cambodia, but that was a long time ago,” Chamnan said, seeing our expressions. We were impressed. It really wasn’t that long ago at all. We climbed back into the tuk tuk thinking that people at home should embody this attitude. Everyone we spoke with in Cambodia was so incredibly kind and helpful. In general it is the nicest, friendliest country we’ve been to. The population is young, because of the genocide, and the economy is growing and the country becoming more modern, (something that probably would have happened much faster and earlier had the Khmer Rouge not been in power). There is so much to do and see, the land is beautiful, the cities are advanced, the food is fantastic, the history exciting and complex, the people are lovely and the culture is unique and fascinating. I can see why the Canadian couple at our hostel uprooted themselves.. When we left, I still had so many questions and so many ideas for articles we could write if we had time to arrange interviews! One week split between two cities, and a day on a bus, was not enough… I can’t wait to come back and spend more time, hopefully soon!

Siem Reap, Cambodia

Our bus to Siem Reap was small, especially with our backpacks squished beside us, and gave us a tour of rural Cambodia, which was more of what we were originally expecting. Shacks lined the road, with thatched roofs and some held up by sticks. Children, sometimes naked, ran around outside with cows and chickens and women worked in gardens or hanging laundry. The houses looked very small, and when we could see inside they seemed to be one or two rooms, with curtains instead of doors.  The dirt road to Siem Reap was bumpy! At one point I went flying up off the seat, and almost to the ground. Men rode past piled 15 high on tractors or truck wagons, and we were stuck behind a herd of cattle for about an hour. Recent floods didn’t help the situation, and when we arrived in Siem Reap we found the flooding was even worse.  A tuk tuk driver from our hostel named Chamnan had come to pick us up though, and he soon became our new favorite person. He was quiet and kind, and not pushy like every other tuk tuk driver we’ve met. We drove through potholes and flooded streets, arriving at our hostel where we had no choice but to roll up our pants and step in the water to get inside.  We immediately liked the woman running the hostel. From Canada, she and her husband traveled on and off for seven years before deciding to buy a guesthouse, sell everything they owned and move to Cambodia. She was so helpful and organized! And for $5 per night the guesthouse was one of our favorites so far. After telling us exactly which places had the best of which local dishes, explaining what the street food was and pointing out the only fee free ATM in town, she bid us goodbye and we waded off to find dinner. The streets were crowded with people making their way along, tripping and slipping and playing in the water, or trying their best not to get wet, (impossible). By the time we reached an intersection the water was up to our knees! Despite major floods, the city was teeming with activity. We stopped at the Khmer House Restaurant and had our first real Cambodian meal–yam bake with chicken, vegetables, various spices and cheese. So delicious!

Outside, we decided to try famous fish massages. You put your feet in a tank of fish and they swarm you, nibbling the dead skin off for about 15 minutes until you emerge as though you’ve been scrubbing with a pumice stone.  It took us a minute to make the plunge, and once we did I almost had to pull my feet out. It was so ticklish! But eventually I got used to it and stopped looking down, (seeing fish eating your skin is a little disturbing). After stopping at a market for pants that we would never wear in the US (we look like Aladdin, but we’re running out of clothing to cover our knees, necessary in temples, which we go to almost every day), we sloshed our way home, stopping at a street vendor for banana pancakes on the way. Banana pancakes in Cambodia are crepes filled with bananas, chocolate, sweetened condensed milk and a lot of oil, and made to order at a street cart. They are amazing! It’s a good thing they’re not so easily accessible in the US or I would weigh 300 pounds. A little boy about five years old came up to us begging for food while we were on our way to the pancake cart. Normally, we ignore beggars, but it’s harder to ignore an underweight, adorable little boy, so we bought him a pancake. (He wasn’t so adorable the next day when we happened to see him again and he begged for food then gave us the finger when we didn’t give him any).

The next day we woke up early to visit Angkor Wat, the world’s largest temple, and the complex of temples surrounding it.  Chamnan was waiting for us and the woman running the guesthouse packed us fruit, yogurt and muesli to go, (see why we liked her?).  We went first to Banteay Srei, about an hour and a half drive by tuk tuk and one of our favorite temples because it’s the only one built from red sandstone, giving it a beautiful pink tint in the early morning light. The temples at Angkor are Hindu, (though the main temple, Angkor Wat has been converted to a Buddhist temple), and Banteay Srei is covered with elaborate carvings dedicated to the Hindu god Shiva. Next we made our way through the main circuit of temples, stopping for pictures and trying not to get harassed by women selling scarves. Each temple is unique and stunning in its own way. The Bayon, for example, has 54 towers with large faces carved on each side, and Ta Phrom was uncovered from the jungle and there are roots and trees grown into the wood and stone. (This one was fun to climb around, and my favorite!). We stopped for lunch at family run snack shop on the outskirts of the temples for stir-fry and noodles. Cambodian food is definitely my favorite of anywhere we’ve been so far! Lastly, we arrived at Angkor Wat, the largest temple and the only one still in use today. The temple is beautiful, and impressive for its size and ornate carvings, but was my least favorite because it has been restored to the point where some areas look new, and there were so many people! The entire Angkor Complex is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, stretching for 1200 square miles. We were happy to have Chamnan drive us around in his tuk tuk!

After a much needed shower, (Cambodia is very hot, and extremely humid), we went off in search of fish amok, the most famous Cambodian dish. We got a little lost looking for a market on our way, and then it started raining. The flooding was even worse today, and kids splashed and played in the area that used to be a roundabout. Throwing balls and floating along on intertubes, it reminded me of a snow day in Wisconsin. We happen to be traveling through all of Asia during the rainy season, (the only good point is prices are cheaper!), and this time we were without our handy dandy bright green ponchos. Ducking under awnings and pushing through the flooded streets as fast as we could, we finally found the market and browsed through bags, dresses and jewelry, waiting for the rain to let up. When it became clear it wasn’t stopping, we ran across the street toward the restaurant that supposedly had the best fish amok, but couldn’t find it anywhere. We asked several people, but it wasn’t until much farther down the street that someone could point us in the right direction. By now it was pouring. The restaurant we were looking for, Sugar Palm, was hidden far down a side street. When we finally showed up, dripping wet and holding bags over our heads, we were pleasantly surprised to climb a small stairway and find the charming restaurant in an old style wood beam house, with cozy lighting and an open air balcony looking out onto the rainy street below. Fish amok is fish steamed with coconut milk in banana leaves until it’s almost like a soufflé. After that, a wonderful chicken curry and spring rolls, we were happy we braved the storm! But not happy enough to walk back, especially since word had spread that the crocodile farm right near our hostel was even more flooded and they feared the crocodiles would escape. Chamnan told us this happens every year, and they eventually they catch the crocodiles…he also told us they’re huge. The thought of one lurking in the street/lake by our feet, hidden in the dark, was enough for us to find a tuk tuk back. (We made him stop at a banana pancake stand on the way!) 

But there is more to Phnom Penh!

While home to memorials of genocide, Cambodia’s capital city has a lighter side to offer too. The downtown area is spread out, with grand boulevards leading to impressive statues and colorful temples. We spent the rest of our days there wandering the streets, visiting the Wat Phnom  temple and trying a Cambodian favorite…blind massages. Massages all over Asia are ridiculously cheap, (around $5-10 for an hour compared to $80 or so at home), and all unique. The blind massages felt nice, but when we opened our eyes it was a little odd to see the masseuse not even looking at you, or feeling their way around the beds. Phnom Penh used to be called the “Pearl of Asia” and was considered the most beautiful French city in Indochina, and it's easy to see why. Each country we visit seems to be better than the last!  

History, Genocide, Realization

Walking through the Killing Fields at Choeng Ek, past mass graves and cases of skulls, a chill that won’t shake runs through my living bones.  The Khmer Rouge regime used mass graves to bury the millions murdered during its rule from 1975 to 1979. Taking power after the Cambodian Civil War, the Khmer Rouge executed anyone who disagreed with its policies, and everyone with ties to the former government. They also tortured and killed intellectuals and those in high professions, in order to squash questioning or revolution. Ethnic minorities including Thai, Vietnamese, Cham, (the muslim minority), Christians, and Buddhist monks were another target. With executions, starvation, torture and disease, the genocide killed between 1.7 and 2.5 million people, according to the Genocide Studies Program at Yale University. That’s about one quarter of the entire population, (7-8 million at the time), and puts Pol Pot, the leader of the Khmer Rouge, right up there with Hitler. Makeshift signs describe each area of the memorial. First victims would be brought in truckloads from the prison and told they were going to a new home. Here, the Khmer Rouge soldiers would beat child victims with shovels and pickaxes. Adults were also beaten or beheaded, and some were buried alive. A tree with a speaker, helped hide the victims’ screams from workers in nearby fields. It’s hard to imagine such horror taking place without anyone knowing, especially because there were 20,000 gravesites across the country. It is common to see bones floating to the top of the soil after heavy rains, and in the memorial there are collections of clothing and skulls that have resurfaced over time.

The Toul Sleng Genocide Museum, formerly Security Prison 21, is equally haunting. The building was originally a high school, but the Khmer Rouge turned it into a torture and interrogation center. Those thought to be against the government, or minorities, were taken to the prison and tortured until they gave up family members or friends, who were then also arrested. Often, children were tortured in front of parents until they confessed loyalty to the old regime. Eventually, Pol Pot turned against his own party and became a manic killing machine, taking his paranoia of being overthrown out on his highest officials and arresting them for espionage. Prisoner estimates range from 17,000 to 20,000.  We looked into cells barely big enough to stand in, and examined torture mechanisms left since 1979. Prisoners were chained to the bed and beaten with shovels or whipped with metal rods full of spikes. They had their fingernails ripped out, and were hung upside down in a bucket of water with their hands tied to the bottom. There were many other techniques, including waterboarding and electric fire, and prisoners routinely confessed their loyalty to the opposing party, or if innocent, made up stories and confessions to stop torture.

There was a list of rules for prisoners, and all who disobeyed were severely punished, including infants. The rules were as follows:

1. You must answer accordingly to my questions. Do not turn them away.

2. Don’t try to hide the facts by making pretexts this and that, you are strictly prohibited to contest me.

3. Don’t be a fool for you are a chap who dare to thwart the revolution.

4. You must immediately answer my questions without wasting time to reflect.

5. Don’t tell me either about your immoralities or the essence of the revolution.

6. While getting lashes or electrification you must not cry at all.

7. Do nothing, sit still and wait for my orders. If there is no order, keep quiet. When I ask you to do something you must do it right away without protesting.

8. Don’t make pretext about Kampuchea Krom in order to hide your secret or traitor.

9. If you don’t follow all the above rules, you shall get many lashes of electric wire.

10. If you disobey any point of my regulations you shall get either ten lashes or five shocks of electric discharge.

After days or months at the camp, prisoners would be taken to the killing fields. Of all the victims, there were only seven survivors, two of whom are alive today.

Like any power hungry, paranoid maniac, (Hitler, Muammar Gaddafi), Pol Pot’s inner workings are hard to fathom. What’s harder to understand is why the United States supported his regime. The United States dropped 2.7 million tons of bombs on Cambodia between 1965 and 1973. During the Clinton administration, in an attempt to find and deactivate land mines, new information was released showing the bombings to be much more extensive than previously thought. "To put the revised total 2, 756, 941 tons into perspective, the allies dropped just over 2 million tons of bombs during all of World War II, including the bombs that struck Hiroshima and Nagasaki: 15,000 and 20,000 tons, respectively. Cambodia may well be the most heavily bombed country in history," write Ben Kiernan and Taylor Owen, ("Bombs Over Cambodia" The Walrus (Canada), Oct. 2006, pp. 62-69).  This helped the Khmer Rouge grow in power, because those who lost family joined their revolution. (Keep in mind 2.7 million only counts bombs dropped by the United States. There were millions more and the Cambodian Mine Action Center estimates 4-6 million still remain active in Cambodia, causing immediate harm to farmers and others in rural areas). The United States sided with Pol Pot’s government to overthrow the Vietnamese in Cambodia, as we had just lost the Vietnam War. Once Vietnam invaded Cambodia, the US assisted Khmer Rouge guerrillas on the border of Thailand. China was another big supporter. After years of border conflicts, Cambodia and Vietnam had no real relations, and in December 1978 Pol Pot invaded Vietnam, fearing they would attack Cambodia first. However, Cambodian forces were expelled from Vietnam, and Vietnamese armed forces then captured Phnom Penh in Cambodia in 1979.  By this time, members of the Khmer Rouge were defecting and assisting the Vietnamese. The Khmer Rouge was basically finished, and a new government formed, called the People’s Republic of Kampuchea. The Khmer Rouge, trying to maintain some legitimacy, fled west to the Thai border where they controlled small areas for ten more years, surviving only on aid from China and timber smuggling. Though no longer the ruling body in Cambodia, the Khmer Rouge it was still recognized as the legitimate government by The United States and other western countries.  Vietnamese troops discovered the security prisons and killing fields, yet despite realization and horror across the world, the Khmer Rouge, (later under the title Democratic Kampuchea), retained a seat in the UN until 1993. Though Vietnam and Cambodia were victorious, the United States, along with China and the ASEAN countries, sponsored Pol Pot’s government in exile. Throughout the 1980s, millions of landmines were planted along the western part of the country. The Khmer Rouge was the strongest rebel group in Cambodia, and the U.S. provided extensive military aid. In 1989,once the new government was stable, Vietnam left Cambodia. The new government, (though still not recognized by western countries), and the Khmer rouge continued to fight until 1996, when about 4000 Khmer Rouge soldiers defected. After factional fighting, Pol Pot was finally imprisoned by his own party.  In 1998, the remaining members of the Khmer Rouge apologized for the genocide and in 1999 they surrendered.

The confusing part is that today the United States funds groups to save children from landmines, provides clean water to families and there are a hundred other US funded humanitarian efforts throughout the country. But, we were/are a big part of the reason children are still killed in land mine accidents. With a quarter of the population killed during the genocide, focusing on the best and brightest, we are part of the reason the country is lagging economically today. They’re behind because they had to start over only 20 years ago. 1980 is very recent. The Untied States is built on freedom and bringing democracy to the rest of the world, yet we support oppressive regimes that are anything but democratic. The US hated communism and waged a war in Vietnam over it, then sided with China, the biggest communist country in the world, in supporting the Khmer Rouge. We condemned Hitler, yet supported Pol Pot because we didn’t like Vietnam at the time. In the 1980s we supported the Taliban in order to drive the Soviet Union out of Afghanistan. More recently, we helped overthrow a tyrannical regime in Libya, (as we should have), yet barely batted an eyelash when protests broke out in Bahrain, a strong Gulf ally. I understand that international politics are complicated and cannot always be honorable. However, it seems we would be better liked across the world, and have more money ourselves if we supported governments that support their people, and didn’t spend billions on bombs and attacks only to spend billions more years later rebuilding the same areas and communities we helped destroy.  

Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Border crossings across the world are always interesting, though in our experiences fairly uneventful, and Cambodia was no different. Before leaving Vietnam we lugged our backpacks around Ho Chi Minh City for a good two hours, (we really need to throw stuff out, but what?). The bus station our taxi took us to was the wrong one, so we walked to the correct station, walked to get lunch while we waited for them to reopen after the mid-day break, walked back and then walked for what felt like miles to go back past the original station we started at to the pick up spot for the correct bus. Sound confusing? It was. Dripping and aching we set down our packs and made friends with some Cambodians in Vietnam for business, then piled into the bus and got comfortable for six hours of blaring music videos and semi-reckless driving. At the border we were dropped off at the Vietnam departure station and quickly had our fingerprints verified. Then we got back on the bus, drove 100 yards to cross the border and got out again at Cambodian arrivals. After verifying our e-visas we were back on the bus and on our way to Phnom Penh, Cambodia’s capital. At a river crossing, two small boys missing limbs crawled on the bus and started speaking Khmer, their big eyes sad and empty. As they sat on the floor of the bus, one without arms holding a sack for money, the bus became quiet, sad and uncomfortable. (There are an estimated 40,000 amputees in Cambodia because of landmines, the highest number of any country in the world). Ignoring homeless or disabled beggars is hard enough as it is without them being small children. 

Shortly after, our bus pulled up to rows of tuk tuk drivers waiting to whisk us to our hostel. Luckily, we had one arranged through our guesthouse so we didn’t have to haggle for a fair price or deal with explaining an address. A tuk tuk is a motorbike with a carriage attached to the back wheel.  While they are used in many developing cities around Asia, India and Africa, it is the most common form of transportation for both visitors and locals in Cambodia. They’re fun to drive around in too. You get the breeze and thrill of scenery flying by, without the fear or danger of the motorbikes. Zipping through Phnom Penh our first night we were surprised at the ornate buildings, vibrant lights and modernity of the city. We expected Cambodia to be the most rural, least modern place we would visit in Asia, but driving by the US Embassy, (the flag at half mast the only sign this half of the world that it was the tenth anniversary of September 11th), we could have been in any American city. We were even more surprised to go to an ATM five minutes later and receive US dollars, the currency most used in Cambodia, and even more shocked to find almost everyone speaks perfect English. From taxi drivers to street vendors to government workers, everyone learns English in school. Looked like this was going to be an easy week for us! 

Photos from Vietnam!

Vietnam, (Hanoi, Halong Bay, Ho Chi Minh City)

Random Notes on Vietnam

Crossing the street here goes against all instinct. Look both ways, see throngs of vehicles coming at you, and walk into them. If you wait for a break in traffic you’ll wait all day, so you put aside everything that feels natural, cross your fingers and step off the curb. Motorbikes swerve around you and in front of you but don't slow down. Buses honk, and in that case you stop in the middle of the road and wait while cars merge around you. Turning vehicles absolutely do not yield to pedestrians, and it’s up to you to pause mid-step for motorbikes, not the other way around. It still doesn’t make sense to me and I’m amazed more people don’t get hit, but I’m getting better at striding into traffic without hesitation. And the traffic is intense. Six million motorbikes for a city of 10 million means the streets are flooded with them. Honda and Suzuki are making a killing here. Sidewalks exist, but are used for parking and makeshift restaurants, so we end up walking single file in the road, inching past fruit carts and balloon salesmen. We’re also in the small percentage of women that don’t wear a mouth covering, like the face masks doctors wear, but decorated with animals and patterns. We were perplexed by this for days. Are they blocking the sun? But then we saw them at night. Is it because of the recent bird flu outbreak? We were about to buy our own  if that was the case. Men wear them too, and it turns out they’re because of air pollution. This is smart, but it’s interesting to us because the air here really doesn’t seem that polluted and in general Vietnam seems cleaner than many other countries.

Lastly, the people are extremely friendly and helpful. More than anywhere else I’ve ever visited, (except maybe Jordan). I can’t wait to come back someday and spend more time touring other cities! 

Hanoi, Vietnam

We were bracing ourselves to be disappointed after leaving Saigon, but found Hanoi, Vietnam's capital city, to be very similar, (even though we'd heard reports otherwise). Our hostel in the Old Quarter was our favorite so far. The staff is SO friendly, and the rooms rival any hotel we've stayed in. Our first day we slept until 11am, (in our defense our flight didn't get in until 2am and we were behind on sleep), and the front desk called to tell us breakfast was ending so we should hurry down and they would extend it because it was our first day. We're obsessed with the breakfast here, mainly because it's the only time we've had fried eggs, toast, cheese and jelly prepared exactly how we make it at home. After breakfast, we were in our room reading the news and slowly getting ready when one of the hostel employees knocked. "Fruit of the day!" she said, handing us a plate of what we discovered was longan fruit. (The night we arrived we had pears). Any place that drops off food daily is great with us.

We spent our first afternoon strolling around Hoan Kiem Lake, a peaceful area made more interesting by the Ngoc Son Temple. The colorful temple is dedicated to Tran Hung Dao, a Vietnamese hero who defeated a force of 300,000 Mongol invaders. It is incredibly hot and humid here, with heat indexes in the low 100s, so we went in search of the famous Water Puppet Show.  Promising Brianna that puppets can be fun, and selling her on the air conditioned theater, we bought tickets and were rushed into the already beginning performance.  The puppet show was fascinating, fun and strange...something my mom would have gone crazy for. A small group of performers sing Vietnamese folk tales and play instruments, while wooden puppets act them out in a pool of water. The puppets are amazing–brightly painted animals, men and women–and the puppeteers are great at what they do. I couldn't figure out how they were making the puppets dance, jump through hoops of fire and fight from behind a screen far from the water. The puppets were on some kind of cord/stick, but it seemed hard!  Leaving with me happy and Brianna looking disturbed, we saw that it was downpouring. Masses of people swarmed under the awning of the cafe attached to the theater, so we grabbed a seat while we could and got coffee.
When it became obvious the rain wasn't letting up anytime soon, we ventured out to a cab and went to the nearest movie theater.  Fellow Americans: We are getting ripped off! I don't know if I can ever go to a movie again in the US without feeling pain when I take out my wallet. Tickets for Just Friends were $3, and popcorn AND soda was $3.50.  That's like 1/4 of the cost of a nighttime movie experience in Madison.  (Also, we were happier than we should have been that the movie was in English).
In search of dinner, we stopped at a restaurant near our hostel and made a huge mistake...we ordered off the "western" portion of the menu. Caprese salad was a bowl of mushy tomatoes with some cheese on top and a thick balsamic-like dressing. When we didn't eat it, our waiter questioned us incessantly. "Was it not good?" "Why still left?" We stammered an excuse, but he didn't stop. Finally he turned the conversation to traveling and how much he hates and wants to leave Vietnam, which was interesting. He was about our age and so far the only person we've met who doesn't like it here. When he started asking for Canadian coins, (Brianna and I are Canadian, by the way), even we couldn't make up any more excuses and we hurriedly paid the bill and left.
Friday we took a day trip with a small tour bus to Halong Bay, or "Descending Dragon Bay." A UNESCO World Heritage Site, the bay is famous for it's limestone caves and islands. We took a bus for four hours to reach it, then a boat. The bay is gorgeous, and we sailed by many monolithic islands and several fishing villages. "See those kids? That's the school," our guide said pointing to a small hut floating in the bay, anchored somehow and tied to surrounding houses. This was so interesting! About 1600 people live in Halong Bay on floating villages, surviving on marine agriculture and fishing.  What a different life than ours, we thought. How do they meet new people? Don't they get bored without being able to walk around a city or do new things? What about when it storms?!
We had a fantastic seafood feast on the boat, then jumped into a kayak ready to explore caves and inlets. Once away from the boat Brianna mentioned she had never kayaked before...and I'm no expert...perfect. We did pretty well for ourselves though and covered a substantial amount of water in the half hour allotted us, then our group took a trip through "Heaven Cave," named for the crack at the top opening up to the sky. There are huge stalactites and stalagmites throughout the cave, each looking like different mythical creatures, at least in our guide's mind. Back at our hostel later that night we were determined to not repeat our dinner from the night before. The man at the front desk recommended a nice authentic restaurant where we ordered fried fish, spring rolls and a corn dish. Our server handed us rice paper, and seeing our confused looks demonstrated. You take the greens, carrots and dill served with the fish and place in in the paper, then add a piece of fish, roll it up and dip it in the sauce. The fish was fresh and delicious, but the vegetables and everything else had a hint of wasabi on them, which isn't my favorite.
Today, our last day in Hanoi, we went on a long walk through the city to find lunch, commenting on how much we like Vietnam and hope we like everywhere else just as much. After lunch we thought it was necessary we try mooncake, a huge hit here. Kinh doh, the biggest brand, is everywhere here and we wanted to know what all the crowds were about. Well, we still don't get it, because after two bites we threw ours out. A center ball of lotus seed paste, (also containing yolk from salted duck eggs), symbolizes the full moon, tastes like acidic powder, and is surrounded by a bad fruit cake. I normally love pastries of any kind, so this was shocking.
Entering an art gallery to recover, we found some nice paintings for only $6...and then our shopping spree began. Silk scarves and wallets, new tank tops, shorts, even underwear...but can you really call it a shopping spree when you're at an outdoor night market and nothing is more than $5? The night market is crazy, like a giant carnival. Men walk through the masses with cotton candy and huge balls of balloons, women dress up and wear various animal ears and masks, and children ride above it all on their parents shoulders in amazement.

The excitement was contagious, and soon Brianna and I were trying on our own masks and pushing through the crowds. I can't believe this happens every night! It seems like at some point it would get less crowded or people would get bored of getting stepped on and shouting every weekend...but I guess we never get bored of yelling and dancing at the same bars every weekend in Madison. (Or we do get bored, so we leave to travel for months).
Breathless after fighting our way to a side street, a mini photo shoot with giggling teenagers, (I really might need to dye my hair), and eyes burning from so many bright colors, we made our way back to our hostel for our flight back to Saigon the next day.

Beauty, Coffee, War. Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

Sitting in the airport in Ho Chi Minh City, preparing to take off for Hanoi, this is the first time I’ve wished we could stay somewhere a little longer. Vietnam is so far my favorite destination and there’s something about Saigon I really like. It’s busy and not very clean, but the people are friendly, the buildings bright and quirky and there’s a nice blend of modern and cultural. It’s very charming. Like…Old French meets the 60s meets Vietnamese tradition meets New York City. The French bakeries and ridiculously cheap prices don’t hurt either.

We arrived late Monday night and immediately got ripped off by a cab driver who refused to give us correct change, even when confronted by an employee at our hostel. The family that owns the hostel we stayed in felt horrible, and gave us a lesson on money…things are priced in thousands, just like in Indonesia, so all of the zeros can get overwhelming, she told us. That wasn’t the problem, but it was a nice gesture.

Tuesday, Brianna was feeling sick, (finally we’re both better!), so we slept in and eventually made our way to the Notre Dame Cathedral and sat in a nearby park. Many businesses close for a few hours during lunch, so there were students and others chatting and sipping drinks all around us. For a city of 10 million, (and six million motorbikes!), Saigon seems very relaxed. We meandered down what our hostel owner called “richest street,” looking in on designer stores and watching the street vendors around us. At the end of the street we came to the Saigon River, which we overlooked from the roof of the gorgeous, historical Majestic Hotel. 

We ordered drinks on the roof and I found my new obsession. Vietnamese coffee is strong, flavorful and almost thick, like espresso. In other words, it’s amazing. Imagine the strongest coffee you’ve ever had times five, and with a unique nutty flavor. Brianna took a miniature sip and went back to her smoothie with a pinched face and gagging noise, deeming me crazy for liking such a thing. The best part is it’s served with it’s own personal brewing system. They place a little silver pot of grounds and hot water over a silver plate with small holes in it, and put that on top of your cup. Then you wait for it to brew. “Only in Vietnam we have this,” our waiter said proudly. I want to buy one but my backpack is already bursting.

Refreshed, we walked across the city to the Reunification Palace, home of the President of South Vietnam during the Vietnam War. The war ended when the North Vietnamese Army drove a tank through the front gate of the palace, and a replica of the tank sits in front. We toured the palace, which was also used as a work place for the president and South Vietnamese Army. The basement is painted an eerie seafoam green and the hallways were windy and narrow, leading to control rooms in the basement that are supposedly untouched since the war. It was interesting, and kind of crazy to imagine people actually using the radios and other devices. The rest of the palace was a lot prettier, if not a little strange. The living room is decorated in 1960s art deco style, while the dining rooms look much more classic and what you would expect from a palace…then there’s a movie theater and pool table.

Next door is the War Remnants Museum, which left us feeling terrible and guilty. Inside, we read stories and saw pictures of victims of Agent Orange. The disabilities are heart wrenching, especially because the effects carry on for generations. Women today are still advised not to have children for fear they’ll be born with a birth defect due to the chemicals. After reading a letter from one such woman our age, recently written to President Obama, we were amazed everyone here is so friendly toward us.  Throughout our lives we’ve learned a lot about the Vietnam War and the protests against it in the United States, but nothing we learned prepared us for the anecdotes in the museum, or for seeing people everywhere on the street here with missing limbs and other disabilities. Feeling not so proud to be American, we walked in silence and horrified thought.

Eventually, we found a place for dinner and started to resume our usual banter, now turned toward our adorable waiter who looked about 14-years-old and terrified to be serving us. I don’t remember the name of the restaurant, but we had the most delicious creamy pumpkin soup. Probably the best thing we’ve had so far, (although the pastries at the French bakery by our hostel were a close second).

On day #2 in Ho Chi Minh City we woke up early for a cheap bus tour we found to the Cu Chi Tunnels, about an hour outside the city. The tunnels were used by the Viet Cong  during the Vietnam War, and their guerilla tactics and intricate network extending for miles is what ultimately caused American forces to withdraw and the war to end. Weaving through a large part of the country, the tunnels are definitely impressive. The Viet Cong lived in them, which must have been difficult, staying underground for as long as possible and only venturing out for supplies. The three levels of the tunnels range from three meters to 12 meters deep, each more narrow than the last. Wiggling our way through them I couldn’t imagine staying in one for any extended amount of time. They are so narrow and dark! By the second level you’re crawling because there’s no room, (and this is after they’ve enlarged them for Western tourists…seriously). Definitely not for claustrophobic visitors. We also saw different types of traps used for catching American and North Vietnamese Soldiers.  They were creative in a very disturbing way…metal spikes spinning and trapping your body as you fall through a hole, trap doors ending on floors of more spikes…basically every trap was a different wood/metal spike/falling contraption. Our guide, who thought he was hilarious as all tour guides do, kept trying to get us to try them. “Ladies first!”

After the tunnels we explored Ben Tanh market where we found cheap sunglasses and wallets, then we rewarded our stomachs for finally not being sick with an Italian feast.

Bored waiting for our delayed flight to Hanoi, Brianna and I decided to get our hair washed, (famous in Vietnam), and surprised ourselves by getting haircuts at the last minute too. This was an extremely adventurous move. If you know us, we love our hair. Brianna’s lush, dark waves, and my long, very blond tresses are our prized possessions. My hair is very finicky, and therefore I am very picky when it comes to getting it cut or styled, and I am terrified of hair dye. Yet, somehow, there we were in a tiny salon off a side street, sitting in spinning chairs with capes secured around our necks. There was no turning back. “I just want the ends trimmed,” I tried to explain. “I have a lot of layers, and I like them, and don’t want them short…just a tiny bit.” Then she started cutting, and shearing, and thinning. She seemed to know what she was doing, moving more quickly than any other hairstylist I’ve ever had and ruthlessly cut off inches and razored away thicker spots. She did a good job. She really did. The layers are nice and even and my bangs look good. But it is so thin! Vietnamese women do not have thick hair, so I don’t know if she was trying to make it like that so the layers would fall like theirs, or what she was thinking, but my hairband goes around my ponytail three times instead of two now, and it’s like five inches shorter. Good thing it has a few months to grow before I get back and can have my regular stylist do something to it. They washed my hair after cutting it, and it was easy to see why it’s famous here. They shampoo your hair three times, and give an amazing head, neck and ear massage. The women working at the salon were funny, and so sweet. Only two spoke English, so they kept translating for the others. “How do you color your hair?” the girl washing mine asked. When I said I didn’t she got excited and called over another. “We were all wondering!” she said. Later, they kept telling us how beautiful our hair and skin was, which was really nice of them, especially because we think on this trip we’ve looked pretty grimy and like, well, we’ve been living out of a backpack. “We all keep talking about it!” they said. It’s strange not knowing the language and realizing an hour later people have been talking about us the entire time while we were unknowingly giving each other horrified/amused looks as our new styles took shape. Brianna got her hair washed first, and seeing my layers when she was done she made it even more clear she wanted only a trim. “Not like hers!” were her exact words. After pictures with the girls at the salon we were off for ice cream and finally our flight to Hanoi. 

Photos from Indonesia

Indonesia

Adventures in Bali

Arriving in Bali Wednesday night, we found that our hostel was farther away than it looked on the map. “About 2, maybe three hours from here, big price,” we were told by every airport taxi. Or…maybe they were just trying to rip us off.  So we abandoned the airport taxis in search of regular ones. Only, the airport was bigger than it looked…and not near anything except highways. Seeing a hotel connected to the airport, we thought maybe they could call us a normal cab, but it didn’t look open. So, logically, we stormed into the police station next door, flung our backpacks on chairs and expressed the extreme urgency of our dilemma. Amused, they sat us down and introduced themselves. They must have been bored, or just thought we were really entertaining, because instead of calling a taxi they chatted for an hour, and more officers kept showing up. Soon there was food and Love Bug on TV and apparently we were having a party. The food was actually some of the best we’d had in Indonesia so far. It was rice, chicken and a spicy sauce wrapped in leaves, and you eat it with your hands. One of the officers came into the station, saw us eating and exclaimed, “I have never seen this before! I have to take a photo!” Just because we look very American doesn’t mean we can’t adapt. J He then became obsessed with Brianna’s eyebrows and kept trying to convince her to take up Balinese dancing. It was time to leave. We ended up driving with one of their friends…who drives an airport taxi…meaning we made no progress and still had to pay more than we should have. At least we got free dinner.

Our hostel was at Soka Beach, and without any traffic only took an hour to get to. We were led to our bungalow at 1am and fell asleep immediately. In the morning we got breakfast at the restaurant there, then got ready for a day at the beach! The view was very pretty, with waves crashing over giant black rocks onto the black sand beache, but the beaches were covered with fish from the fishermen next to us, and no one seemed to be basking in the sun like we’d thought they would be.  In fact, there was no one on the beach at all. We wandered for a bit, and just when we thought we had found the perfect, secluded spot for sunning, we came across a DEAD BABY COW. Yes, there, contorted in a position we can only guess means it fell from the rice paddies above us, was a brown and white baby cow. It was very small, and its fur was nice and there were no bugs. This was a recent death, and we were very disturbed. How did it possibly get from the farm by the restaurant to the beach? It was a mystery we discussed for days. We were obviously too disturbed to try to tan next to it, so we found a rock instead. Then two wild dogs came up to us. We left and did laundry. This turned out to be a family hostel, where the families sat in their bungalows all day in hiding and came out at night in herds to the restaurant. Sun bathing felt inappropriate, but beaches and boardwalks were what we had in mind for Bali. At dinner that night, I had fried chicken that over the course of the next 24 hours made me very, very ill. (It might not have been the chicken, but it was definitely something I ate). A day later, due to the food, the lack of beach, the lack of young people, and the distance from anything fun, we checked out early and checked into a hotel in Kuta, the touristy area we were originally planning to avoid.

Kuta was much better. Flocks of Australians, Europeans, and many other tourists strolled through street markets in their swimming suits sipping fruity drinks. Perfect. Except I was still sick so I huddled in bed and tried to eat anything, but couldn’t for the next day and a half.

Sunday morning we woke up early to go to Bali’s Monkey Forest, which was really fun! Hundreds of monkeys live in the forest, and they scamper every which way, climb all over you and occasionally steal your belongings. Brianna had one jump on her back for a few minutes. We went to an art market after that, but I started to feel extremely sick again, so we went back to our hotel and I slept for hours while Brianna got some reading in by the pool. Eventually I woke up, so we got massages from the sweet little lady that worked by the pool, (a full body massage was only $8).

Finally, Monday morning I was feeling better so we feasted on egg sandwiches and donuts in celebration before leaving for Vietnam. Now we’re in Ho Chi Minh City/Saigon!

Yogyakarta/Jogyakarta/Yogya/Jogya...Stop 2 in Indonesia

The eight-hour train ride from Jakarta to Yogyakarta would not have been so bad if: 1. They would have turned the lights off, or at least down. 2. They would have had some sort of heating system or thicker blankets. 3. It was quiet. However, since it was none of those things it was my least favorite part of Indonesia, and possibly the trip so far. It started out fine. The seats have a lot of legroom and aren’t too uncomfortable, and we left on time. Around 10pm I thought they might at least dim the lights, (they do on airplanes and buses), but they didn’t. And they kept showing loud Indonesian music videos. I put on headphones and attempted to sleep. Midnight rolled around and the music was still loud, the lights were still very, very bright and now it was freezing. Someone kept leaving the doors between cars open, and the train was moving very fast, meaning cold air and even more noise, only this clanging and racing noise was worse than the music. I curled into a ball. I wrapped my feet in a blanket and put on my North Face. I huddled. I did not understand. Everyone on the entire train was trying to sleep. Not one person looked like they wanted to be awake. All eyes were closed, unless opened in what I can only assume was annoyance similar to mine. So WHY would the lights and music still be on? I tried my best, but probably slept about 50 minutes if you add up every time I drifted off, only to be awoken by my body shuddering from cold.

Finally arriving at 4am, we got off the train and wandered to find a hostel. This doesn’t sound safe, but we were given a street name and told there were a lot of backpackers in this area. Sure enough, within 15 minutes of walking we found Srorojaya St, packed with hostels and tour guides and restaurants and Europeans. The hostel we chose offered cheap tours to Borobudor, the Buddhist temple we had come to see, so we booked one for the next day and left to find our own way to Prambanan, a World Heritage Site and the largest Hindu temple in Indonesia. Constructed in the 9^th century, it was built in dedication to the Trimurti, which is Brahma, (the creator), Vishna, (the sustainer), and Shiva, (the destroyer). The Trimurti is a personification of god as those functions. The temples are tall, pointed structures built of stone. With the bright early morning sun and only a few other visitors, they were peaceful and beautiful.

Later, after a nap, we found a department store with plain white t-shirts, something we wish we brought because we could wear them every day. Then, we ate in a mall food court, which is a bit shameful, but they had Internet. Avocado chocolate drinks are popular in Indonesia, so I tried one, but of course being me it had coffee in it too. It was surprisingly very good. Next, we explored Marioboro St., the main street near our hostel full people selling jewelry, clothing and trinkets. It was so crowded! We inched through and tried not to get hit by horses pulling carriages of people, very common in Yogyakarta, or rickshaws.

Our tour to Borobudor Wednesday left at 5am, so we woke up early and headed downstairs where we were met with a German student and a French couple, (the couple turned out to be extremely annoying, as they sat in the back of the tour van and made loud, smacking kissing noises every five minutes for the hour and half ride there and back). Borobudor, also a World Heritage Site, is a large Buddhist monument comprised of six square platforms with three circular ones on top. The monument is a tribute to Lord Buddha, and pilgrims follow a path around each level, circling up to the top. To reach the top, you go through the world of desire, the world of forms, and the world of formlessness, the three levels of Buddhist cosmology.

After the temple we stopped at a café near our hostel for lunch and were met with a lovely woman from Bali who was working at the restaurant for her sister. She was a little older, and joked with us about all the boys she was sure we would meet in Bali, then gave us names of everything we should do while we were there as well as her phone number. “Maybe you just call me if you need anything. I will help you. I can talk to taxi and tell them what you want. Whatever you want to do, where you want to go, just call me.” We thanked her, then asked if they served ice cream. They didn’t, but next thing we knew she was running out and then back in with ice cream she bought across the street for us. People in Indonesia, at least in our experiences are genuinely nice and helpful. Whenever we asked for directions, or had any questions, we were always greeted with smiles and laughter. Fiqy’s family opened their home to us, and now this woman we had just met was going out of her way to find us ice cream. We tipped her well and headed to Bali!

Indonesia! First stop: Jakarta

When my alarm went off last Monday I sprang out of bed with joy, despite the fact that it was only 4am. We were leaving Hong Kong and heading to Indonesia! Beaches, good food, a place to stay for free…things could only improve from here.

We arrived and took a bus to meet Fiqy, a friend we met on CouchSurfing, (couchsurfing.org), who was hosting us in Jakarta. The traffic was crazy, with motorbikes speeding between makeshift lanes of cars, buses and rickshaws. Almost everyone in Indonesia has a motorbike, as they’re the cheapest and fastest transportation, and they stack children and parents together, with babies, sometimes two, squished in the middle. This seemed very scary and unsafe to us, but as fast as people drove, and as close as they came to each other, they all seemed to know what they were doing.

While we waited for Fiqy we were the center of attention, (this was not a touristy area). We were offered chairs, given strange looks, asked for money, and asked to pose for pictures with a shop owner. Luckily, Fiqy showed up soon in an actual car.

Fiqy lives with his family in a gorgeous house surrounded by flower gardens and palm trees, with high ceilings and big, open windows.  Our room was upstairs, where we shared a large mattress, and the cute little lizards relaxing in the corners only shocked us for a few minutes.

We immediately fell in love with Fiqy’s parents and his adorable, bashful 14-year-old sister.  His father used to work for the Indonesian government in the Ministry of Health, and now teaches at the university. His mother is a funny woman who delighted in showing us photos of all the foreign guests they’ve hosted, feeding us traditional Indonesian food and practicing her English.

We arrived in Jakarta during the last days of Ramadan, the Muslim holy month of fasting culminating in the holiday Eid ul-Fitr. Indonesia has the largest Muslim population in the world, so there were signs everywhere, almost the entire city was off work for the week and everyone was preparing for the celebration. Like most others, Fiqy’s family was fasting, so we broke fast with them at sunset with a delicious chilled fruit soup.

Staying with Fiqy and his family, we saw a side of Jakarta we probably wouldn’t have otherwise. He took us to the train station to buy our tickets to Yogyakarta, and we were glad to have him with us. Walking through dark, dirty streets on the way to the subway, poverty was very in your face. Stray cats dug through mounds of trash along the sidewalks and women sent their children up to us for money. (In busy streets children come up to your cab window and stare with their hand on the window. It is so sad I didn’t know what to do). The subway “station” was a little bench with creepy lighting that looked like it was in the middle of nowhere, and we looked glaringly out of place. If Fiqy wasn’t with us I don’t think we would have found it, and if we found it I think we would have run away. After getting to the train station and buying our tickets for the next night, we went to get Sete, an Indonesian specialty of chicken skewers in a peanut sauce, at a little street stand. Perching on plastic benches, Fiqy told us stories of growing up in Indonesia, how students attend school year-round, the beauty and diversity of the country’s many islands, (it’s the largest archipelago in the world), and how in general Indonesians love Obama. “Did you know his father was Indonesian? Did you know he went to primary school here?” Fiqy asked excitedly. Yes, and yes, and we’re glad you love him.

We met up with some of his friends at 7-11, which is apparently a hang out spot everywhere outside the US, but the 4am wake up call finally hit us so we went back to his house, where his mom warned us about mosquitos and sprayed our room with lemongrass spray.

A warning, we realized in the morning, was not enough to prepare us for the bites that covered our arms and ankles, and continued to grow as the day went on. Now I understand why my doctor was so concerned about malaria medication. “Indonesian mosquitos are worse than other mosquitos,” one of Fiqy’s friends told us later as we tried not to scratch. Thanks, we hadn’t noticed. We bought Soffel mosquito repellant the first chance we got. It’s supposed to work better than anything we have in the United States, and we didn’t get too many bites after that.

After a breakfast of bread with margarine and chocolate sprinkles, (strange, but good), we went to Jakarta’s traditional market. To get there, we took a bus/van/rickshaw…basically a beat up van with an open side that stops wherever you flag it down. You jump into the open area and try not to fall out if you hit a pothole or a motorbike cuts you off, but it’s only about 2000 Indonesian Rupiah. Translation: 20 cents. At the market, vegetable tables and fruit baskets sit alongside buckets of fish and dead, plucked chickens. Pushing through the narrow aisles, trying not to breath in the stench that came in waves, I wondered if I am spoiled, or just stuck up. Food sat very near the muddy floors, dogs and cats came in and out of stands and tiny bugs crawled over everything…’I would never shop here’ I thought. Yet, Indonesia is the fourth most populated country in the world, meaning millions of people shop and eat from places like this every day. Then we went down into the meat section, where various animals were chopped and hung…not liking meat in the first place, I stopped caring if I was spoiled or stuck up or both and I just had to leave.

Grocery stores, chilled eggs and milk, clean bathrooms, fair taxis and organization=Things we realized we took for granted in the US so far.

The rest of Tuesday was spent touring downtown Jakarta with Fiqy and his friend Enda, a talkative, friendly girl around our age.  With bright flowers, lots of newer buildings and the national monument rising in the center, the downtown area is very pretty. We toured Istiqlall Mosque, the largest mosque in Asia, where people were already gathering for Eid ul-Fitr the next day.  Our guide listed world leaders that have visited the mosque, including President Obama, and as we walked through the outdoor corridors, Enda told me again how much he is adored in Indonesia. “When he came here last year, everything was closed for miles,” she said. She and Fiqy told us on the day he visited, the streets were more crowded and the excitement higher than they had ever seen it. “He respects Muslim people,” Enda said. She told me they didn’t like Former President George Bush and therefore had a worse, and now she thinks skewed, vision of the United States. She, Fiqy and their friends think the Obama administration is helping the United States improve relations with the rest of the world as well as educating Americans about the importance of diversity in religion and culture. We talked about the debate over a mosque at Ground Zero, the upcoming tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks and how she and so many others have been discriminated against since 2001. Pulled out of conversation by our guide who insisted we take pictures in front of the drum outside the mosque, we posed for a few then headed back to Fiqy’s.

His mother had made us a feast of rice boiled for hours in small baskets made of leaves until solid, chicken, and beef in a spicy sauce. There was also another chilled soup, this time with cucumbers and oranges.

After hugs and pictures, we said our goodbyes and went to catch our overnight train to Yogyakarta.