Mountain Haven

We arrived in Dalat in the evening. The air was crisp, cool and fresh. A beautiful lake shimmered in the dimming light as the day turned to dusk. The Guesthouse Markus and I found was not only reasonably priced, but luxurious for a guesthouse. What a nice change! Dinner was delicious and cheap… Lonely Planet hit the mark right on with that local recommendation! On the bus to Dalat Markus and I met a Dutch guy who was traveling with another Dutch guy and some Israelis.

(Okay I’m writing the bleeping blog at a café while I wait for my bus to Hanoi… a Vietnamese guy who doesn’t speak English keeps blabbing to me in Vietnamese even though I don’t understand. Now, he’s thumbing through my guidebook uninvited and one of the three things he’s tried to get me to say in Vietnamese is ‘toilet’. Is this a person curious in a traveler or curious about having his very own clown or puppet? I have a hunch it’s the latter.)

After dinner, we ran into one Dutch guy, Pieter, who decided to kick it more with Markus and I. We made plans to rent bikes the next day and bike to some local sites I had it in my head that we could get as far as a waterfall 55 km away and back – the first part, down the mountain, would be easy; the second part, up the mountain, well, we could do it! Hehehehe…

The next day we got up early, ate breakfast and then searched high and low for mountain bikes. We had seen others on them, so we knew they could be rented, we just didn’t know where. Finally, we found a place. But the bikes looked shady. Then, we finally found another place and rented the bikes. Not more than five minutes into our jaunt though my bike was slipping gears incessantly, causing me to jam my knee several times. That wasn’t going to work. We went back, turned in the bikes and got our money back. At that point, I just wanted to rent some motobikes, but Pieter was bent on a mountain bike. So, we finally found a third place. The bikes seemed okay. We took them on a test run. But, I did tell Pieter that once we got down the mountain, we were sure to have problems. But hey, I was up for it. It was 12:30 by then. I just wanted to get going.

The trip to the first waterfall, just 15 km away was fun. Once we got outside of Dalat in the valley, it was downhill, or down mountain I should say. You didn’t have to pedal, just coast. At times, I was streaming past the motobikes! It was a rush! At the first waterfall, of course we were charged to park our bikes. What? Pay to park our bikes? What ever happened to free bike racks? Bahhh! So, after paying to park our bikes, we pay to get in to see the waterfall, only to be left with the choice of paying to “roller coaster it down” to the waterfall or walk. The “roller coaster” was actually a one-seater hand brake cart thing that looked kind of fun. So, we sprung for the $3.75 ride down, but decided to walk back up. It was actually pretty fun! You could whiz pretty fast through the trees if you didn’t ever hit the break! It was worth $3.75 for the first-ever run. I wouldn’t pay for it again though. The waterfall was nice. Nothing I hadn’t seen on my trek through the Thai jungle though (which by the way cost me $7 a day including the guide, trekking, food and lodging). After the waterfall it was back to down mountain biking. Hehehehe. Another natural rush! It was about a half hour before we reached the next waterfall near the foot of the mountain. We opted not to go in though. We had heard that this one wasn’t anything special and that they kept caged animals that they abused on display. We asked a Westerner exiting the waterfall as we arrived and he confirmed this rumor. So… onward to the waterfall further away… just about another 35 km! Markus wasn’t to keen on going. But, I just took off. I was having too much fun. Pieter was up for it so he followed, which meant Markus didn’t really have a choice and he followed. We were biking through a loooong flatish valley when my pedal just fell off. I couldn’t help but let slip one “I told ya so” to Pieter. But, we laughed it off. He pedaled back to a mechanic shack he saw to get another screw because we couldn’t find the original. When he got back though, it wasn’t the right one. So I took his bike, he took mine and one-pedaled and we all went back to the mechanic shack. We had lunch at the shack café next door. Some of the best Pho’ (traditional Vietnamese soup) and Vietnamese tea I’ve had. It was a fun little break for all of us. These locals were really nice. Charged us real local prices. We paid them more, of course. It seemed like a steal after all those inflated prices and since they didn’t want to charge me even double I wanted to give them at least double. See, I’m not stingy! With a freshly bolted pedal and a lunch in our bellies, we were again on our way. Twenty minutes later, Pieter’s tire went flat. Time to stop again. Another mechanic fixed the tire, and we felt good about spreading out our business. ; ) We took a coffee at the next door shack café this time. And off again! But, Pieter’s petal kept loosening and we had to stop every 15 minutes so he could retighten it. We finally had made it about the right distance, hours after we should have… but, still no sign of a waterfall. We asked locals, they pointed, we shrugged and followed their fingers. We ended up biking through a hidden coffee plantation, over a rickety bridge and through lots of local villages… but no waterfall. (Okay, I’m writing on the bus now. I have to have the laptop hang out in the aisle because the guy in front of me has his seat so far back. I move it when we stop to let others on. Yet, one of the bus “officials” says “hello” then motions for me to close my laptop. You can read everything on my face. I didn’t respond. But, I’m sure the look on my face said “Bring it on, buddy.” Then another guy slapped the first guy in the head and they all laughed and turned around. Hmmm… maybe I’ll give the “Bring it on, buddy” look more often. Seems to work.) Finally, it was about 5 in the evening and we decided to give up and turn back. We quickly realized though, that there was no way we were going to make it back through the loooong valley and up the huge mountain before midnight if we kept having to stop for Pieter to tighten the pedal on his bike. So… we hitchhiked. A piece of cardboard with Dalat penned on it did the trick in no time. A local woman and some local kids watched the whole spectacle. The woman was helpful and told us what we should pay 10,000 dong each. Even with her bargaining on our behalf we weren’t able to get a ride for less than 50,000 dong each. Five times what we should pay… because we’re Westerners.Bahhh! Whatev… we were having too much fun! On the bus with our bikes, we realized Pieter’s loose pedal problem was a huge blessing in disguise. If we had attempted biking up that curving mountain road in the dark without reflectors we would have surely been killed… by the bus we were on! We forgot about the crazy killer buses that race down two-lane streets through the middle, honking incessantly at motobikes to get out of the way or die, constantly overtaking other vehicles on blind curves. I’ve been on my fair share of crazy, killer buses by now. But, I even shrieked at one point on this one, as I was sure we (we meaning the 25 people packed into a place that sat 8) were going to plow right into the back of a truck as we braked and swerved back over to avoid a moto coming in the other direction in its own lane. I’ve never felt more relieved to have my own two feet planted on solid ground as when I got off that bus. Geez. All in all, the day was one fantastic adventure and we all a bit strung up on the whole experience for a bit. There was more to explore… but, we had tempted fate enough for the week at least, so the next day we planned to hire a guide and rent motobikes.

Well, I take the whole tempting fate thing back… for me at least. Our guide the next day was great. He took us to flower nurseries, silk farms (did you know you can harvest an 800 m to 1 km strand of silk from one cocoon?), coffee plantations (with various species - short: mocha, big: robusta, very tall: arrabica and tall: katima), stunning waterfalls, pagodas, temples and fed us the best food I’ve had yet in Vietnam. Of course, to get some good shots (which really, I don’t know how good they turned out) I had to put myself in some slightly precarious positions… but, I repeat, slightly. Nothing too dangerous! Really!

Our guide was so good, we decided to hire him to take guide us three through the central highlands to Hoi An (bypassing the coastal resort city of Nha Trang) for a five day trek. He would drive one motorcycle and one of us would ride on the back with him and Markus would drive a motobike and the other would ride on the back with him. It’s not common for Westerners to commandeer one of the bikes on such a long trek with an “Easy Rider” guide (that’s what these guys who do these guided tours are called). But, Markus had proved his moto skills on our day trip, so he got the approval to drive. That saved us money, because that meant less guides were needed. The trek was fantastic. I was on a natural high for an entire day afterwards… literally jumping around with energy and excitement not knowing what to do with myself. Again… getting ahead.

So yeah, fantastic. I could go into immense detail here or gloss over. I figure I’ll spare you guys and gloss over. More villages, more coffee plantations, tea plantations, rubber tree plantations, black pepper plant plantations, jackfruit trees, banana trees, curry plants bearing curry fruit (as the guide called it. Officially, I don’t know, but the "fruit" contains the seed they use to color their red curry), broom flower (again as the guide called it... they use the long bristles of this plant to make their brooms), durian (stinky fruit) plants, avocado plants, papaya trees, sugarcane grass (you could order a glass of fresh sugarcane juice at local stands along the road), and red chili plants all canvassing what couldn’t be more picture-perfect mountain landscapes with bright blue skies and puffy white clouds. We stopped in villages. Our guide explained everything from how the villagers farmed each crop to why their ceremonial shacks, or long houses, were shaped how they were (facing East to West in order to harvest the maximum amount of energy from the sun), to why their utensils were shaped how they were and how they were used. We stopped at an alligator farm (was it alligator or crocodile? I can never keep the two straight), and saw monkeys (in cages unfortunately. But also luckily, because these monkeys were waaay more aggressive than the one that just strolled on by me at Angkor Wat.) Our guide pointed out the area devastated by Agent Orange, which is now growing lush again. He pointed out the mountain where no one dares to tread because it’s still covered in mines. He pointed out the infamous Ho Chi Minh Trail. He took us to waterfalls five times as big as the spectacular ones we had already seen. He took us to pools naturally formed by waterfalls and rivers merging, where leaves were so giant they were five, six, seven times the size of a human head. At one waterfall we met some wealthy locals (I say wealthy because they were bling blinging more than I have ever blinged blinged in my life) who were feasting one some kind of fowl they had barbequed, with homemade seasoning and local beer. They shared their waterfall picnic with us (hope that’s not why I’m sick! No messages of bird flu from Markus and Pieter yet… so I should be in the clear.) We traveled through cultivated and terraced hills and raw and wild jungle and even regal pine forests… we really had it all. I have to mention the downside to this though. Vietnam is losing more acres of pristine, wild jungle every month... probably everyday. Locals are burning more and more jungle and pine forests in order to clear more land for coffee.

Oh I can’t forget my first taste of local rice wine (which doesn’t give you hangovers) and the amazing food throughout the journey. Our guide had done his research and certainly knew where to eat. Fish, beef, raw pork, eel, rabbit, frog, fresh spring rolls you roll yourself… we tried just about everything.

You couldn’t have asked for better weather during the first three-days of our trek. The last two were wet and drizzly. At times the rain pelted and felt like little needles, especially when I tried to open my eyes to see where we were going. The last day I resorted to watching a blue-colored, blurry world pass by through my plastic poncho. These days of rain are probably why I’m sick. I got soaked and stayed soaked for two days straight and it was rather cool. Not freezing or anything, but cold and wet. Not to mention I was wearing just flip flops. Not much could be done though. We had to keep on keeping on. And, at the time, I was rather enjoying it. It really seemed like an adventure when we had to battle the rain. Plus, I liked skimming my feet over the puddles as we rode on the motobike. So yeah, that’s probably why I’m sick. Oh well. Afternoon of day five, we reached Hoi An. In all, 7 days straight on some sort of bike... One day of mountain biking, 6 days of motobiking. Whew! What an unforgettable week! Honestly, I felt ready to leave Vietnam then. What could I do to top that?? What could I do to experience more of the real Vietnam than that?

A Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Western Sahara

…just kidding. But, with some of these pictures I might just be able to fool you. I’ve never seen sand dunes before! But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself… again.

Massimo and I bussed it to Mui Ne, a beach resort along the southern coast of Vietnam. Along the way, Massimo started chatting with a laid back and amusing German guy, Markus. By the end of the ride our little party of two became a party of three. But, that worked out perfectly, because Massimo was planning on rushing through Mui Ne. I, on the other hand, was considering staying longer to take wind surfing lessons, so now, I would have a new travel buddy when Massimo took off. In the search for a guesthouse, we also met two Kiwis. Our little group had now just grown to five. Massimo, Markus and I shared a room for the night to save on the cash. The Kiwis, Mahara and Bart, got a room right next door. We then all wound up booking a jeep together for exploring the red and white sand dunes the next day. Wait? Red and White sand dunes?? How cool!!! I’ll be honest. I hadn’t read up too much on Mui Ne before I arrived and I didn’t realize there were cool sand dunes to check out until we got there. I was pumped! Like I said above, I’ve never really seen sand dunes before. That night we all kicked it at the Pogo Bar. There was a German DJ who was really friendly and helpful. The drinks were a bit expensive, but it had free Wifi and great atmosphere… so that was good for us.

The next day it was early to rise and early to eat for an early start of adventure. Our jeep arrived at 7 on the dot… we wrapped up breakfast by 7:30 and headed for the dunes. Wow… how to describe? I don’t know if I can. Looking out across these massive hills of sand that are constantly shifting with the wind, it looks like your looking at heaps of flowing silk, wavering in smooth ribbons. The peak of the next dune looks so close… ha! You could rent these little plastic sleds from the locals to go sledding. We had been told by the German DJ that you should be able to rent them for 5,000 dong, unlimited slides. They try to tell you it’s 50,000 dong per slide. Okay, that’s a record. The little mongrels were going for ten times the price! When we kept refusing and then ignored them, they finally handed us the sleds for 10,000 dong a piece, unlimited slides. Double what we should have paid, but hey we were talking about 60 cents versus 30 cents here. But again, my point proven, you’re always paying at the min, double than what you should… just for being a Westerner. I’m starting to get a small taste of what being discriminated against would feel like. Oh, just so you don’t think I’m a scrooge here. Most locals (who don’t deal with tourists) work all day for $2… and live off that. So, 30 cents is a lot of money here. Anyway, I took a plunge on the slide… and got nowhere fast. Total rip-off. But, a 60-cent rip-off nonetheless. We ditched the sleds and took to diving off the dunes instead. Well, I was the only one ballsy enough to dive. Everyone else jumped feet first. It was so fun! We amused ourselves for about 45 minutes just doing karate kicks and dives off the sand dunes into… well, more sand. Of course, when you landed the dive you had to finish with a roll. It took me a few “dives” before I was really able to just thrust myself out there. Whaahahaha… it was so fun! Massimo had wandered off while the rest of us were diving and karate kicking. When I finally stopped throwing myself over the edge and looked up… Massimo looked sooo far away. Cool! I wanted to go deeper into the dunes! Markus and I took off. The Kiwis stayed and kept playing the jumping game. As Markus and I set off deeper into the dunes… a storm started brewing. The sky was darkening, clouds were building, winds were blowing, sand was swirling. Nothing too major. The storm was a little ways off… but it was still rustling the dunes a bit. The sand started forming into these currents that skimmed just above the dunes... until they finally spun off of the edge. Mesmerizing… Whoa… That’s all I have to say. Whoa. Can’t wait to trek through the Western Sahara Loic-style!!

After the white dunes, our guided jeep took us to the red dunes. The red dunes are cool, but less impressive. Not as big. More weeds. Still cool though. The last part of the morning adventure was a hike through Fairy Stream. More like Fairy Gorge of Natural Drizzly Sandcastles! Really. It was the gorge formed through sand by water. The walls of the gorge is sand that’s been shaped by water run-off. Totally drizzly sandcastle style! The sandy walls are rather hard and packed for sand… but still soft enough to send chunks crumbling as Mahara and I found out when we climbed it. We were the catalysts for a few miniature sand waterfalls. Cool… minature sand waterfalls… another first! The water through the gorge was shallow since it was the dry season, thus very easy to trudge through. The red sand mixed with the water, turning it a frothy ruddy red color. There were deposits of darker, coal-colored sand that would form cool swirls with the yellow and red sand. It looked like the same pattern of swirls you would find on marble tiles. I liked the name of this gorge or stream or whatever you wanted to call it. Fairy obviously makes you think of fairytale and these surroundings definitely seemed like something out of a Pan’s Labyrinth-style, The Little Princess-style or Finding Neverland-style fairytale (all great movies you should see if you haven’t seen them). The place is strangely compelling and intriguing with an almost absurdly exaggerated quality about it. Does that even make sense? If you saw the Pan’s Labyrinth or The Little Princess or Finding Neverland and think of the way the fairytale scenes were way illustrated in those movies, you would understand what I’m trying to say here. Either way… magical. Without a doubt. You know, it’s really invigorating when you discover that the imaginary realms of fairytales really do exist in some places… smile… yes, still very much a little girl sometimes. Unfortunately, there were kids that tagged along bursting your fairytale bubble every once in a while, acting as your surprise guide telling you where to go. Bahhh! They lead you to an overlook… which, gasp… you could easily find on your own… and a small waterfall… which gasp… is another easy find… and a ruin to a nice little surprise when they tell you about it ahead of time… thank you very much! Then, on the walk back they want money of course. Did you hire them? No. Did they really provide any service? No. Are you past the poor little kid act when all these kids have perfect teeth, nicer clothes than you and chocolate stains on their shirts? Yes. (Okay. So most still don’t live in houses so-to-speak with heating, a/c, proper windows with carpeting and tile and hallways and bedrooms and foyers and all that… but, in perfect honesty, I don’t think they want to… and why should they? They live on a tropical, palm-fringed coast with mysterious sand dunes and magical fairy streams. What’s the point of closing yourself in when all you need is a shack, a hammock a fire to cook fresh fish and some tourists to suckle milk money from?). A five-thousand dong coin was all I was willing to give up to the little money-hound when he held out his hand. He looked at me with a sympathy-beggar face (which my even my lil bro had perfected at 3 months) and whined, “No. One-dollar (that’s 16,000 dong).” Ha! When beggars get to be choosers… they’re not beggars!!! I snorted a scrooge-like laugh and walked off without giving him anything. He followed whining “Okay, five-thousand okay.” I turned and gave him nothing. Then I wrestled with whether I should feel guilty or not. The kid was not poor. But, I still felt like a scrooge. And, many couchsurfing hosts can attest… I’m not a scrooge! I definitely felt confused about how I should feel. Bahhh!

Again… I found the real, live realm of the fairytale world… only for that discovery to be popped… and by a kid nonetheless! I just wanted to scream at them to go dive off some sand dunes or chase crabs with a flashlight and leave me alone! There are children that need to be fed in this world… but… these little buggers are not them. The more I spend time in SE Asia, the more I wonder… how rich and how poor are people really? How rich are those with all those freaking material anchors that keep them slaved in offices all day and who feed off of fish that’s been shipped in frozen containers for days at fine dining restaurants. How poor are those whose bathrooms and kitchens aren’t what you’d call the most sanitary, but who eat the freshest fish from the sea, the freshest juice from coconut trees, just outside their shack… and who hound tourists for milk money in fairylands all day? What’s worse? A society that is built upon getting rich, but where, in most cases, you can still count on the average person giving you a fair price and a helping hand, as… gasp… a free favor? Or a society where wealth is still at war with “poverty” and it feels like everyone is out to cheat you, smiling all the while? A guide I had later in my travels, revealed something very interesting to me. He said all the “poor” villagers in Vietnam don’t want to work. Work as in the Western way of working. They want to stay in their villages, grow their own food, eat their own food and make their own supplies from the materials the amazingly exotic jungle just outside their shack provides. They embrace some modern convenience like western clothes (which all come from Asia for pennies anyways) and Satellite TV (so funny to see Satellite dishes on top of shacks – trust me, it’s common.) Life is simple, and they like it. They don’t want to change it. That all falls in line with the answer I get every time I ask whether villagers who see the tourists plodding in and out of the their villages ever wonder… what life is like outside their village? or, where do these Westerners come from? or, why do they come here? But, many have assured me… ‘No. They don’t care.’ Tourists are just a way for them to keep living the way they do and make some easy money while they’re at it so they can buy their satellite dishes and tack them on top of their shacks. Weeeeelllll, thousands were spent on my education so I could get a degree, so that I could get a good job, so I could work long and hard (for a while in a box!), just so I could save enough money to then travel halfway around the world, to see your little village of shacks in paradise! So please! Don’t mind me little villager, or city bumpkin for that matter, when I refuse to fork over my “wealth” of money just because you stuck out your hand!!! These villagers have satellite TV. The house where I grew up never had satellite TV. My little brother and sister still don’t have satellite TV. Hmmmm…

Okay, I’m done with the rant. There really are some poor, desperate people here. They are rarely ever the ones begging you for money though.

So, our morning of fun on the sand dunes and in Fairy Gorge (I like Gorge better than Stream) was over by noon. Massimo was back in time to catch his bus to Nha Trang (another beach resort city further up the coast, this one famous for good diving.) I might catch him a bit later in Laos. The rest of us were sticking around a bit longer. Again, I was contemplating wind surfing lessons. But, shortly thereafter, I decided I didn’t want to fork over $250 and maybe have to stay up to 5 days longer. I just didn’t have that kind of time or money. I couldn’t give up one dollar for crying out loud. Remember? Markus, Mahara, Bart and I had a fun afternoon finding a place to enjoy lunch, goofing off in the ocean (where I got stung by some unidentified creature that left welts wrapped around my ankle for a day), splurging on dinner ($7 for pizza!) and splurging on after dinner cocktails. Of course, some dancing ensured. The boys were fun and funny to dance with… hehehehe. We all had our own goofy moves we designated before we hit the dance floor and when we yelled out “MOVES!” we had to bust them out like crazy fools. Hahahhaha… it was so fun! Speaking of… I need to get those pics from the Kiwis…

The next day we all moved on. The Kiwis went to Nha Trang… I might catch them as well a bit later in Laos. Markus and I went to Dalat. Nha Trang was another beach resort city. Dalat was a mountain town in the central highlands that seemed to draw less Western tourists.

Breezing Through Saigon

So, back in Rach Gia, we hiked back to the guesthouse where I stayed before. The woman there had treated me well, so I was more than happy to give her more business and book our bus tickets to Saigon through her. She gave us a fair price and within a half hour we were on the bus, headed for Ho Chi Minh City. Massimo and I arrived in the evening at the bus station. Again moto drivers hounded us to take us were we needed to go. But, a Polish guy doing research for a tour he was organizing informed us we could take a city busy for 3,000 dong (or 18.75 cents) versus the 30,000 dong ( or $1.88) the moto drivers wanted to charge us. We were grateful for his insight and, obviously, we took the bus to the backpacker district. Once again, we found ourselves amidst a busy muddle of Westerners being hounded by Asians selling their whares. Massimo and I sought a guesthouse and found one for $7 a night. We had dinner and hit the hay. The next morning, a quick breakfast, then we set off the War Remnants Museum. Of course, the Museum is rather slanted… against the American supported South. The North did win after all. But, you can’t help feeling appalled at what the American government did. The torturing and the devastating shower of Agent Orange. There is a picture of an American soldier proudly holding up the mangled remains of a North Vietnamese soldier. There are pictures of children, who were born after the war, that are grossly disfigured from Agent Orange. There’s no question. The American government and some American soldiers made some appalling decisions during the Vietnam War. But, the museum failed to show the ugliness of the Viet Cong guerrillas. Instead, the museum highlights them as clever heroes who won with little means. Well, I’m reading a book that testifies to the ugliness of both sides. When Heaven and Earth Changed Places illustrates a war where both sides were made of soldiers and monsters, where both sides were menacing and cruel. It seems the American-backed South was the worse of two evils… but it seems the only reason is because that was the side with more means. Had the Viet Cong possessed the weapons and chemical warfare capability the Americans did… well, it wouldn’t be surprising if it too would have dropped Agent Orange.

Here are just some of the testimony/propaganda/truths/half-truths displayed at the museum, all of which were accompanied by photographs. Very slanted against Americans. The Vietnamese haven't forgotten... (interesting to note, there were a lot of Asian tourists taking notes... I'm just saying.)

"In March 1965 the US government sent its troops to Vietnam. Each US soldier coming here received a booklet called 'a new War style' stating 'We come here to help the people and conquer the South Vietnam. We come here to save the whole South East Asia from communist aggression and oppression. By that action, we can boost the security for the United States.' But what the US soldiers had donen were arresting and killing normal people, including children, women, older people; destroying houses, schools, hospitals, spraying defoliants to devastate forests and crops... Among the 6 million turns of US soldiers being sent to Vietnam, more than 58,000 were killed and over 300,000 wounded."

"Tiger Cages: Special cells for the detention of political prisoners considered "stubborn" by the Saigon authorities. Each cell measures 2.7 m x 1.5 m x 3m. During the hot season about 5 to 14 prisoners were kept in one cell. In winter time there was only one or two of them kept in it with their feet shackled to a long iron bar."

"Two photographs published yesterday by the Chicago Sun-Times which are alleged to show a war prisoner being pushed alive from a United States Army helicopter in VietNam and falling to his death. The Sun-Times reported that the captions accompanying the pictures 'indicate the man was pushed to his death because he refused to talk during an interrogation.'"

"American soldiers tied up persons to their tank and dragged them on roads to death."

"At about 8-9PM on February 25, 1969 a special naval team called SEAL (a unit of the well-trained special force of the US Army) consisting of 7 soldiers led by First Lieutenant Bob Kerrey infiltrated into Thanh Phong village, Thanh Phu district, Ben Tre Province. They entered a cottage and cut the throats of Mr. Bui Van Vat, 66 years old and Mrs. Luu Thi Canh, 62 years old; then dragged their 3 grandchildren hiding in a nearby sewer out, stabbed them to death, then opened one child's abdomen. Thereafter, they moved into the cave shelter of Mrs. Vo Thi Tro's family and took all 16 members on the shelter cover, then shot dead 14 people (including 3 pregnant women) and opened a girl's abdomen. The only victim survived was Bui Thi Luom, 12 years old, wounded at the legs. Not until April 2001, did former US senator Bob Kerrey confess his crime before the international public opinion." (A book I'm reading about a woman's first-hand account of the war in Vietnam reveals villages were often spies for the Viet Cong and a real threat for the South/Americans... but nonetheless, these acts are revolting and disturbing.)

"When these two boys were shot at, the older one fell on the little one, as if to protect him. Then the guys finished them."

"'This man and two little boys popped up from nowhere,' says Haeberle. 'The GIs I was with opened up, then moved in close to finish them.'"

"Letting snakes out into the prisoner's trousers. This method of torture was especially inflicted on women prisoners." (The book I mentioned confirms this. But it was South Vietnamese soldiers, not American soldiers fighting for the South who committed this kind of torture in the book. I'm sure both were responsible.)

"Bringing water into the stomach of the prisoner through his nose with the help of a rubber pipe. The prisoner was tightly fastened with his head kept lower than his feet. He had been gagged. The cruelest torturers soaked soapy or limed water and ran it into the prisoner's nose. In a matter of minutes his belly inflated strangely. The torturers kicked him or trampled him brutally on his belly. The liquid mixed with blood spurt out from the prisoner's nose and mouth, which had been gagged even."

"Dripping water from a faucet on a spot of the head where hair was shaved off. The prisoner was kept bound tightly. Enduring such torture for hours, the tortured person felt the weight of each drop of water as heavy a blow hitting his brain."

"American sprayed 72 million litres of toxic chemicals in Vietnam. 60 percent of Mangrove forests were destroyed by defoliants."

"The Vietnam War has ended. But the war of Agent Orange victim is still going on."

"Never in human history have people witnessed one country's making war to the living environment of another. Yet, the United States has engaged in this ecological experiment that no one has dared or will dare carry out." (Contextual statement of Senator Nelson at a Senate hearing, Aug. 1970)


That night it was Indian food for dinner… yum!... and dancing at Go 2 club that night… fun!. Then, finally, sleep.

The next day Massimo and I took a day tour to a religious temple that combines Buddhism and Catholicism. The temple was... kitschy. It looked like a little kid playground more than a religious temple. In the afternoon, the tour took us to the Cu Chi Tunnels. These are the tunnels the Viet Cong soldiers used to remain elusive during the war and avoid the blanket bombing by American aircraft. We also saw plenty of demonstrations of various booby traps. Soooo... booby traps aren't just for Indiana Jones movies. The Viet Cong guerrillas were clever and crafty. There is no question about that. Massimo and I tried tapioca root, a staple of the Viet Cong soldiers during the war. It tastes like slightly sweetened potato. An interesting day...

Next stop: Mui Ne.

Sweet and Sour Phu Quoc

In Rach Gia (not to be confused with the pic of Phu Quoc to the left)I was introduced to my first taste of delicious Pho’. Pho’ is the popular soup in Vietnam that is little more than some rice noodles, bits of beef and greens, water and oil… but, they must spice it right with something because 9 times out of 10 it’s delicious. The woman at my guesthouse in Vietnam was exceptionally helpful and pleasant, telling me what is the proper amount to pay for a moto around town (versus the ridiculously inflated prices tourist hounds try to get away with) and where to find internet access. I was on my own, but I was expecting a friend soon and the guesthouse staff was friendly, so I felt relatively good. On my late night walk home though from the inet café to my guesthouse though, I got lost. I asked several people how to get to the street listed on the business card I had and they all pointed vaguely in various directions. Okay…. Finally some women seemed to know where I needed to go. They insisted on taking me on their moto… gesturing that it was dangerous to be walking around that late by myself. I paid them about the equivalent of 63 cents for a moto ride and I arrived safely at my guesthouse. I slept easy knowing Massimo would be coming the next day and I would again have a travel partner.

The next morning I was late getting to the bus station to meet Massimo. But, that didn’t matter. Apparently, his bus arrived 3 hours ahead of time (at 4 am instead of 7 am). So he had been waiting since the wee hours of the morning. I felt so bad! He even got kicked out of a café when he started dozing off… how rude! (I’ve come to find the Vietnamese – on the tourist trail anyways – are often rude.) Some moto drivers said they remembered him arriving and helped me look for Massimo. When he returned to the bus station they brought him to my guesthouse… what an ordeal! (I’ve since come to find that most things are a big ordeal in Vietnam). So, Massimo had a nice doze in my room while I went out for breakfast and to use the internet. When I came back it was time rouse Massimo and head to the dock so we could board our boat that would be heading to Phu Quoc Island. Or so I thought… The way I understood it, we supposed to be on board by noon. Turns out, we didn’t depart until 1:30 pm.

We arrived on Phu Quoc late in the afternoon… and of course, we were flooded with offers for private taxis, minibuses and motos to the most popular beach on the island – Long Beach. Massimo and I opted for a moto taxi for just under $2 each. The moto drivers helped us find a nice, cheap, but clean bungalow to share at the very end of Long Beach. I would say it was beachfront, you could look out and see the ocean from our bungalow, but there was about 50 yards of sand that was piled up in most places for construction and an unfinished wooden dock bridge. So, to get to the beach, we had to walk along this skinny concrete wall of sorts that wound around the construction site and through some tropical, swampy marshes. Then we reached a dirt gravel road. Just a few yards to the end of the road and we were on the white sand beach with postcard-perfect palm trees giving way to a dark tropical blue ocean. There was a fancy resort just behind this part of the beach with a pond full of big, bright green lily pads sprouting brilliant pink blossoms. Breathtaking and gorgeous. A woman in a neighboring bungalow had clued us in to some cheap, but delicious places to eat, so we wandered down the beach in search of one of these places for dinner. While we were wandering we came across some really kitschy and tacky sculpture things just kind of haphazardly strewn on the beach in front of one resort… pacchiano… as Massimo would say. But, then, around another bend, we discovered a random collection of boulders just as haphazardly strewn about the beach and the shallow waters. These were rugged and beautiful… not kitschy or tacky. We found one of the recommended places for dinner right along the beach and marveled at how lucky/blessed we were to be in such a beautiful place.

The next morning we slept in late, had a late breakfast where we discovered the strong, slightly bitter, but addictive Vietnamese coffee, walked the beach, hopped online for a bit, explored further down the beach and into town… and eventually booked a snorkeling trip for the next day. We realized Phu Quoc is less of a backpacker destination and more of a wealthy Europeaner destination. Things were geared more toward the high end. Internet access on the beach was outrageously expensive. In town, you could get internet for free at an ice cream shop. Not a bad deal if you ask me. Buy ice cream, get ice cream and internet. Yeah! Even though the place seemed a bit “La Ti Da” it wasn’t too hard finding the cheaper alternatives. It was hard finding an working ATM though. Of course, the big resort waaaaaay at the other end of the looooong Long Beach had a working one. On the walk back to our bungalow in the evening, I was such the little child. I kept chasing the crabs with my flashlight, sending them in a skittering frenzy, yelping and giggling every time they skittered near, even on, my feet. I couldn’t stop giggling. I loved the little crab game!

(That little froggy hung out in our bungalow - is he a frog or actually some other amphibian?- once he even surprised me when he was underneath the toilet seat!) The next day we had to get up early for our snorkeling adventure. We grabbed a quick breakfast then headed to the beachside booking hut. They took us to a minibus from there, which drove us to the docks at the southern tip of the Island. Then we boarded our boat for our snorkeling adventure! This was a first for me! I have snorkeled at Discovery Cove (an offshoot of Sea World in Orlando, FL)… but, I had never snorkeled in the ocean. I was excited! The guides on our boat were neither rude or friendly… just there to do a job and go home it seemed. Massimo has been snorkeling in the Maldives and said the snorkeling off Phu Quoc couldn’t compare to the Maldives but it was good enough. For me, a first-timer… it was magical! It is such an entirely different world underwater! So many colors. Pinks, purples, greens, mauves, yellows, oranges, lava reds! So much coral, so many fish! All kinds of different shapes and patterns… everything moving with a gentle sway… a subtle echo of the stronger waves rolling above the surface. I loved holding my breath so I could plunge down and twist and glide between the gullies of coral-covered rocks underwater, so that the coral seemed to loom above me from all angles. The fish always stayed just out of reach… every part of their body sensing your movements. If you “waved” at the coral… disturbing the water closest to it… it would quickly retreat into its… well, I don’t know what you call it… shell tube thing? We dove at three spots off three of the smaller islands that trail off the tip of Phu Quoc Island. We also had lunch on the boat, which included some delicious fish and not so delicious Dalat wine. Dalat is a city in the mountainous central highlands of Vietnam. The city is beautiful… the wine is terrible. More on the city later.

Our guides rounded out our snorkeling trip with a visit to one of the smaller beaches on Phu Quoc with darker sand and rougher waters. I took a nice long swim into those dark waters. That evening I trailed behind Massimo on the walk home down the beach. I sat on a lounge chair for a while just taking in the mysterious ocean that stretched before me in the darkness. I watched the stars slowly emerge from their hiding places. I recognized the stars this time. Same ones as in the Cambodian sky. Huh… go figure (hope you caught the sarcasm there – I’m not that dumb. But then again, when I think of how the early travelers navigated by the stars, it makes me feel really dumb.)

I don’t think I’ll ever tire of the sound of waves breaking on the shore and the feel of digging your toes into cool sand. When I finally started making my way slowly back I paused at the bend with the boulders. The sound of the waves lapping up, and sometimes crashing, against them was different than the sound of waves breaking on shore. I just closed my eyes and listened. Then I opened and watched. The boulders looked like sleek, black marble in the moonlight. The water looked like melted silver mixed with melted onyx. Finally, I tore myself away and continued on toward the bungalow. As I approached the narrow concrete walkway, I could hear the chorus: bullfrogs, crickets, cicadas and all sorts of other amphibians and insects breaking out in concert. It was so loud. You couldn’t even hear yourself breathing. It was incredible. Again, I just stopped… and listened. Now, that is natural surround sound. I can’t describe how incredible it was… and surprising. Massimo and I had walked through that swampy marsh at least four or five times before… and not once had there been such a chorus. When I got back to the bungalow I asked Massimo if he had heard the concerto. He had and he was as delighted as I was. The day was a true treasure.

Massimo and I planned to leave the island the next day. We tried to hire moto drivers to take us to the boats… but they wanted to charge us insanely inflated prices because they knew we wanted to rush to make it to the boat on time. We’re not really talking that much money… a little less than $10 each. But, we knew we came for less than $2 each, so they were wanting to charge us 5 times the already touristy price. We were in a rush, but we were appalled by their greediness, so we opted to set off walking in search of other moto drivers. It took us a while before we flagged down a local woman who then flagged down another young man who took us both on his moto (so yes, that means three people balancing on one moto… not uncommon… especially in Cambodia, though Vietnam has laws against it.) Neither of them understood “boats” though, so I looked in the trusty Lonely Planet for the name of the town of the port… and pointed it out to our moto driver. He nodded that he understood and we settled for paying him a little more than $3 for both of us on his one bike. Well into the ride, I began wondering if we were going to the right place. The trip seemed quite a bit longer than last time. Then, just outside of our destination a friend of our driver met up to take one of us on his bike. He spoke English well enough and asked why we were headed to the south. We explained that we were hoping to catch a boat back to the mainland, but that we realized we were now too late. He informed us, that not only were we late, but we were miles away from where we should be… apparently, the port where the boats arrived had changed a few years ago. It wouldn’t be the first time the “trusty” Lonely Planet would steer me wrong. We had no option left but to grab a guesthouse in the wrong part of the island for the night (with no beautiful postcard-perfect beaches mind you) and try again the next day. The guesthouse the moto driver took us to gave us an overpriced, shady room. But whatev, it was one night. He also told us that the all the boats leaving the next day were full… but, if we paid him extra, he could use his “connections” and get us tickets. Geez, these people never cease to try to scam! We said “yeah sure fine”… but as soon as he left we went in search of a travel agency to find our own boat ticket. The first one we went to also said the boats were full, but the second one had open seats for the right price. We finally had our tickets! Now if we could just get to the boat…

In the meantime, we wandered around the dirty port town in search of dinner. Two girls came rushing toward us asking us, no telling us rather, that we wanted to eat. We actually did… so we let them lead us to some random tables and chairs and seat us. They then promptly supplied us with a menu. The odd thing was… there were no prices listed (hello, that should have been a red flag). Naturally, we chose something we were interested in and asked for the prices. They quoted 15,000 dong (about $1, the standard and reasonable price for Vietnam) so we said, “Yeah, that sounds right. Okay. Sure.” So, the next weird thing: we order and they walk off out of site to get our food. It took them a while… in the meantime, their friend chatted us up all friendly… and finally they returned with our food. It looked good. It tasted good. All was good… until they demanded 50,000 dong (about $4.50). Okay, $4.50 is not a lot… but it’s still 4 ½ times the standard price, which they quoted. They claimed we misunderstood them. At this point I was getting rather angry. Every freaking person wanted to swindle us. I don’t care if we’re Westerners and we have more money (which, hello, backpackers like us DON’T have a lot of money. It’s why we travel in SE Asia… cause it’s cheap and we can only afford cheap!) . I don’t care if it’s 4 freaking dollars. When people are constantly trying to fool you, trick you, rob you… it puts a real sour taste in your mouth. And when everyone does it… it adds up fast. Right in front of us too, the girls paid for the food and pocketed their kickback. To be honest, I was beginning to like Asian culture less and less. The people seemed untrustworthy and their method of business turned you into a stingy scrooge even when you aren’t one by nature… but in any case… Welcome to Vietnam. Phu Quoc Island has its magic, but the locals we dealt with seemed to have a way of making us forget that at times. As it turns out, most of Vietnam is that way…. very bitter sweet.

The next morning Massimo and I made it to our boat…

When a Mountaintop Might as Well Have Been the Moon

Article published on Google News about the first person to ever reach the Summit of Mt. Everest. Just thought it was interesting since I'm slowly making my way to that particular moutain.

EDMUND HILLARY, short of breath in the freezing wind, took “a few more whacks of the ice ax” and surmounted the top of the world, Mount Everest, as high as anyone can aspire and still be rooted on terra firma. At the time, May 29, 1953, it was a magnificent achievement of human daring and endurance culminating an era of crossing oceans, penetrating continental interiors and reaching the ends of the earth.

Keren Su/Corbis
Dreams Edmund Hillary and Tensing Norgay stood atop Mount Everest in 1953, 16 years before men walked on the Moon. Hillary died last week.


In retrospect, when Hillary, who died last week at 88, and Tenzing Norgay, a Sherpa guide, stood on the summit of Everest, it seems as if they were making the last “giant leap for mankind” of pre-space age generations.

The world’s tallest peak, which had defeated all previous climbers, killing several, had seemed not much less forbidding and unattainable than the Moon. But who was seriously thinking then about flying to the Moon? That was the stuff of science fiction, and the drawing-board dreams of rocket scientists who were hard pressed to come up with intercontinental missiles. Sputnik, the first man-made Earth satellite, was four years away. Yuri Gagarin and John Glenn were still flying airplanes. Youngsters in those days feasted more often at the tables of Lewis and Clark, Stanley and Livingstone, Amundsen, Peary, Byrd and Lindbergh.

It is tempting to think of the conquest of Everest by Hillary and Norgay as the moment we reached the crest of a divide in exploration. In the spirit of the lone pilot and hardy band of yore, this was an undertaking by two heroic individuals. But the successful Everest climb, with its team of a dozen climbers, 35 Sherpa guides and 350 porters, anticipated Mission Control at Houston and the mobilization of aerospace contractors on this side of the divide.

Echoes of Hillary can be heard in the astronauts who followed. They are kindred spirits speaking the same language of awe. Hillary, describing the view from the summit: “The whole world around us lay spread out like a giant relief map.” Glenn, as he approached the end of his orbital flight in 1962: “I can see the whole state of Florida just laid out like on a map.”

There is also a shared fluency in the matter-of-fact tongue of those who accept the risks of their calling. Hillary, encountering a widening split in the ice underfoot: “It was a nasty shock. I could look down 10,000 feet between my legs.” An Apollo 13 astronaut after an explosion in the rear of their spacecraft: “Houston, we’ve got a problem.”

A difference comes to mind, and it is troubling when seen from both sides of the divide. Sir Edmund lamented the hordes scaling Everest; once 118 people were reported to make the climb in a single day. Space enthusiasts have an opposite complaint: no one has landed or walked on the Moon since 1972. But spaceflight in the shuttle, though risky, has become almost commonplace, enough for senators and other non-astronauts to take an occasional ride.

At least once the two who epitomized exploration before and after Sputnik held a summit meeting of sorts. In 1985, Sir Edmund and Neil A. Armstrong, the man of the “giant leap for mankind,” flew a twin-engine plane over the Arctic and touched down at the North Pole. Oh, to have listened in to the man on the Moon with the man atop Everest, together in a cockpit, again looking out on a stunning but forbidding landscape.

Phu Quoc Island...

...is a sort of paradise really. Lush, postcard perfect beaches lined with palms. Great seafood and ridiculously cheap prices. Awesome snorkeling!! I will elaborate, but just wanted to say the exotic island was great (but almost trapped us). I'm learning that Asian's are out to scam you big time everywhere in SE Asia. But, now I'm in Ho Chi Minh City with Massimo. Literally, at this moment. Just arrived today. So yeah!!! We're all caught up!! Will add pics to previous posts as soon as I can!!

On the Road to ‘Nam… Alone

I headed back to Sihanoukville because my previous one-week jaunt there made it a familiar place with familiar faces. It’s more lively with more backpackers so I also thought I might have a better chance of finding some people to travel with there. Lo and behold, I found an Italian. Oh great. Italians are trouble. Of course, since I’m an Italiana at heart, Massimo and I hit it off well. We discovered we both had ideas about heading to Vietnam soon. So, we decided to try and explore ‘nam together. But first, Massimo had to go to Phnom Penh to pick up his visa. I’d already been, so I stuck around Sihanoukville to get going on my blogging and to get some work done online. We were shooting for meeting up in Ho Chi Minh City, aka Saigon, in two days. Well, it’s been two days and I haven’t made it to Ho Chi Minh. I have made it to Vietnam though. I had bought a bus ticket from Sihanoukville, Cambodia to Saigon. The only bus left early in the a.m. I don’t have an alarm clock or anything with me, so I always have to rely on others to get me up if I need to be up early. I asked the crew at the beachside guesthouse I was staying at to give me a wake up knock. They promised they would and they have done it before, so I had no reason to doubt. But, no knock ever came… and I woke up an hour late. That means I was out the $17 because you get no refunds for tickets. The guesthouse crew told me ‘too bad’ and said I’d have to go the next day. Up until that point I had really gotten to know the crew at that guesthouse and had spent plenty of time and money there, with lodging and food for the past week and I had edited some of their website pro bono, so I was a little irked by their ‘we forgot, too bad attitude.’ I wanted to get to ‘nam though so I decided to tag along on a bus back to Kampot (it’s closer to the border) with another traveler at the guesthouse. We were supposed to leave at 9 am, but the guesthouse crew screwed up again and waited til 10 mins before the bus left to try and book our ticket (even though we asked them to book at 8 am). Unsurprisingly, the bus was full at 10 mins til departure. There were no more buses to Kampot for the day, so our only option left was to take a taxi. Okay, book us a taxi then. Well, they generally leave every hour, but all the taxis were being used at 10, so we had to wait til 11. Eleven rolled around… no taxi. We asked what was up… and got a response of “Oh I call the taxi for you now.” What?! But then I was really irked. It was weird. The guesthouse was really really accommodating at first and now they were being total crap. The other traveler, a swiss guy, and I decided to just grab a moto to the taxi station and book the taxi ourselves. Finally, we were en route to Kampot. Yeah! Things went more smoothly there. That is, after a stray nail on a chair ripped a huge hole in the seat of my pants. Good thing I was wearing long top that covered it!

From Kampot I was able to snag a last-minute, one-hour ride to the border on the back of a moto for $10. At the border, I snagged another moto ride to get to the nearest city in ‘Nam, Ha Tien. That turned out to be really cool because we stopped at a pagoda that was built into a huge rock. It had great views of the border where ‘Nam meets Cambodia. It also had some bats. Nice little surprise. The moto driver also took me to the nearby beach for a quick look on the ‘Nam side. Right away, there’s a noticeable difference in ‘nam from Cambodia. It’s tremendously more developed. More paved roads (though they’re still bumpy) and more concrete houses versus shacks. There are still numerous shacks though. To the average Western ‘Nam would still be significantly underdeveloped, but after being in Cambodia for the past two weeks it seems like such a modern world.

I was still a ways off from Ho Chi Minh and it became evident I wouldn’t make it there by the end of the day so I started reassessing my plans. Ha Tien is on the southern coast of ‘Nam and there’s this island off the southern coast that’s supposed to be a star attraction of ‘nam, so I figure I should hit it while I’m so close. So, that became my new destination. But, not so fast. Even though Ha Tien is the closest city in ‘Nam to the island, it doesn’t have a ferry to it. I have to go further down the coast to a bigger port city to catch the ferry. Only, the moto driver said there were no more buses for Rach Gia for the day and I’d have to wait til morning to go. The moto driver didn’t seem to pressed for time and he hung around once I found a place to stay, so he took me to an inet café. I since learned he was planning on staying with me in my room so he could take me to the bus station early in the morning. Oh great. How am I going to get out of this one. I kind of needed him because he spoke at least a little bit of English versus the non-existent English with all the people in Ha Tien. Ha Tien isn’t big on the tourist trail. What’s a girl to do? Go change some money. The moto driver took me to an ATM. Luckily the atm happened to be at a bank and though the bank was closed, some workers were still there. Better yet, one spoke English very well. I asked him if there really were no more buses to Rach Gia that day (well, evening by then). He said ‘No. Not really. There is a bus at 8 pm.’ Great! That puts me closer to the island and further from the moto driver!! I told the moto driver to take me to the bus station and he did. I got a ticket for the night bus and by 8:15 I was en route… on the bus… the bus with a death wish! The mini travel bus only had two other passengers and I guess that was reason enough for it to race down the paved, but narrow, bumpy and pot-holed road at deadly speeds. The driver was manic! I survived the death bus though… and made it safely into Rach Gia where my trusty Lonely Planet actually correctly directed me to a nice, cheap guesthouse… for once!

Tomorrow I’m waking up early to meet Massimo at the bus station. I emailed him about my change of plans and it didn’t take much for him to decide to follow suit and change his. He had just made it to Ho Chi Minh, but he barely whined before taking off to get a night bus to Rach Gia so he could join me on my exotic island excursion.

A Skip and a Hop to Kampot

After a week of days melting away on the beach in Sihanoukville the Aussies and I decided it was time to stretch our feet again and get out and do something. So, we scheduled a little excursion to the quaint and charming rivertown of Kampot. We left early in the am so we could arrive before noon. It’s just a two-hour taxi drive away. The taxi cost the three of us about $7 each. When we got to Kampot, we picked a guesthouse, threw our bags in our room… and set out to explore. We hired a tuk-tuk that was supposed to take us to a couple caves, pepper plantations, the nearby beach getaway of Kep and some river rapids. We made it to the first cave and that was really cool. The tuk-tuk driver just dropped us off at this trail. And out of nowhere a band of kids came out, ready to lead us to the cave. These kids didn’t start in on the high-pressure sales pitches, luckily. The tiniest girl just struck up a conversation with me and slid her hand in mine as we all hiked toward the cave. They speak English so well. It’s rather baffling. The kids gave us the most official tour we could hope for… pointing out “bigfoot’s footprint” and the “fossilized elephant head.” There were several impressive stalactites and an ancient, brick Hindu temple inside the cave. The little girl was so cute. As we were clambering through the cave, I had one hand tied up with my camera, and the littlest girl took care of me. She climbed ahead, pointing to where I should step and took my camera from me to free both my hands up. Normally, I would get all haughty from such dainty treatment. But she was this innocent little darling who was just too cute!

After the caves, the tuk-tuk driver took us to Kep, a small, oceanside town. Kep is quaint and a bit sleepy. Nice nonetheless. Unfortunately, our tuk-tuk driver disappeared for more than an hour and we were stuck waiting around. That’s not how it’s supposed to work. I mean, we are paying the guy. The wait botched the rest of the little excursion. There wasn’t enough time left to tackle the other sites, so we just headed back. I immediately proceeded to crash out, while the boys went out for dinner. I wound up sleeping straight through until the morning.

The next day we woke up early again ready for the Bokor National Park excursion. But, just about 20 minutes before we were leaving, Jack realized that he and Colin were supposed to be in Phnom Penh for their flight back to Australia the next day. Oops! He had his dates wrong and thought they had a couple more days in Cambodia. So… the boys had to bail on the Bokor National Park trip and book it to Phnom Penh. I stayed around for the trip and piled onto the back of a pick up with 10 other travelers and our guide. It was a long haul up, dodging leaves and branches on the way. But the air was so fresh! That’s one thing about Cambodia. There are weird smells… everywhere. I had started to believe you couldn’t get away from it. Even if you are outside the cities, you still get pungent weird smells. They aren’t good smells. They’re not unbearable either though. They’re just always there.

But yeah, fresh air finally! After half a day of winding up and around mountains canvassed in wild, Cambodian jungle we crested the top… to discover the very hotel used in The Shining. You know, the movie where Jack Nicholson goes all crazy and scary. Oh wait. That doesn’t help. He’s always crazy and scary. It’s the one where he takes his family to this secluded hotel up in the mountains to maintain it during the off-season. The solitude of the hotel and it’s haunted history eventually end up driving Jacky boy off the deep end and he starts trying to murder his family. I crept through the hotel in broad daylight and there were other travelers wandering around somewhere… but, the place was still kinda creepy. It was really windy up on top of the mountain and the wind would gush through, making eerie noises. I wouldn’t want to be up their at night. The hotel has a tremendous view of the valley of the mountains, which lead straight to the beach. You can make out islands in the horizon. There’s talk of a Japanese company refurbishing the hotel. Yet, another instance of foreign countries swooping in and capitalizing on Cambodia’s treasures and leaving none of the profit for the locals.

The trip wasn’t over after getting back down the mountain. We got to hike a little bit and then we got to take a boat back down the river to Kampot during sunset. Too bad it was really a less than spectacular sunset. Too many hazy clouds. I can’t say I would have noticed too much though. There were too other English guys, Rob and Adam, on the whole trip and I started really chatting with them on the boat ride. They turned out to be rather hilariously clever. Their slick one-liners had me laughing quite a bit. When the boat ride was over, I hadn’t had enough of their witty teasing, so I joined them for dinner at a restaurant on the river. Food was okay. Dinner was fantastically funny. We rounded out the night with some drinks at a local bar. I really enjoyed these guys. Too bad they are just on a brief holiday. It would have been really fun to travel with them. I spent that night in Kampot again and early the next morning I took a taxi back to Sihanoukville. That was an experience. I paid $2.75 to share a taxi with 8 other locals. Yeah, that’s right 9 of us were crammed into a your average, medium-sized sedan. Good thing the trip was only 2 hours.

Beach Bummin

The days just seem to melt away in Sihanoukville. I can’t say I did too much while there. I mostly just chilled on the beach, read books, took a several dips in the ocean for long swims, catch up on work, struggle to find a quiet place to record some work, gobble pancakes with banana and chocolate, suck down banana coconut shakes, play futbol with the locals, motorbike it with the Aussies to the local waterfall (which was littered with trash like mostly everything in Cambodia), read some more, and worked some more. Oh yeah. The first night we actually slept in strung up hammocks because the place we wanted to stay was full. That’s when I got literally eaten alive by mosquitoes. My entire body was covered. Even my eyelids had bites. No signs of malaria yet… keep your fingers crossed!!! The bathrooms at this joint were public and they were the same as the shower. An all in one sort of thing. Considering, the place kept it fairly cleanish…er. But, usually our group just opted for a nice salt water bath in the ocean. Colin (one of the Aussies) tried fire dancing with the locals.

I noticed that no matter where you go… you really can’t escape the odors of Cambodia. There are several distinct ones and they’re not pleasant. Usually it’s either rotting trash, burning trash or the smell of pee and feces all mixing in with the smell of food cooking. Yummm… Actually, right on the beach it wasn’t too bad. Everywhere else though…

There was a big private island party for New Year’s. We took a slow fisherman’s boat out to the island… about an hour boat ride. I watched the bright coastline, glittering with lights and an endless stream of small to medium sized fireworks fade away to nothing in the darkness. I watched the stars emerge from the darkness. I recognized that the sky here is just as foreign as the land and its people. I don’t know these stars. I watched the islands slowly take shape and emerge from the dark waters that stretched before me. Then, it was back to bright lights and excitement… as Western foreigners rang in the New Year in Cambodia on the private island.

Shortly after, Russell had to leave us. He’s now back in Thailand soaking up the sun on those world-class beaches with his girlfriend who is visiting for a month. We might try to meet up again when he’s back on the backpacking trail.

Lakeside in Phnom Penh

There’s more to do in Siem Reap. But, we were on a mission to get to the beach sooner than later, so on Christmas day we made an early go of it and took off for Phnom Penh. You can go by bus for about $8 or by boat for $25. Rumors of floating forests and floating villages enticed us to take the boat trip. It was well worth it. The rumors were every bit of true and that meant the entire trip was just stunning. You could sit up on the bow of the boat, which was cruising at a speed of 50 mph… at least. Probably their wooden boats were stunning. Russell and I managed to make friends with a crew of other travelers too. A Spanish guy, two Australians, and a Greek guy. When we arrived 6 hours later in Phnom Penh, Russell and I kind of corralled our group and took charge because we knew of a specific guesthouse on Lakeside. That was a big task because everywhere you go in Cambodia (well, SE Asia for that matter) taxi drivers and moto drivers throng you demanding that you use their transportation to get wherever it is you wa more. The views of the Tonlé Sop lake and the river and the people who lived in stilted shacks or simply just lived onnt to go. Except, they often try to tell you where to go so they can get a commission. They can really be a pain in the you know what. Always trying to rip you off. Always insisting to take them even when you've said no a thousand times over. Anyways, a guy that was on the bus with us from the Cambodian border to Siem Reap had been in the country 4 times prior and he had some good places scoped out. So we were following Dave’s advice. In fact, we were meeting him at the joint he recommended. He had opted to take the bus to Phnom Penh.

We arrived at the lakeside guesthouse and we were greeted by Dave and a lush lake view from a huge wooden and shaded deck area with hammocks and a pool table and a big screen tv for watching movies. It was Happy #11. Stay there if you ever make it to Phnom Penh. It was just chill and perfect. When we got there Dave informed us of plans for a Christmas dinner with some other foreigners who had more or less planted themselves in Phnom Penh. Sweet! Dinner turned out to be delicious! About 15 of us travelers together, at an all you-can-eat feast of chicken, beef, pork, veggies, prawns and beer. We paid just $6 each. The best part was you cooked your food on these small table grills. They provided the duck fat, the food, the spices and the seasonings. You just threw it all on the small grill and cooked it how you wanted it. It was fun battling for your piece. You would throw a nice slab on, spice it up really well, get it frying in that juicy duck fat… and then snatch! Someone would come in with their chopsticks and whisk away that culinary masterpiece. What a crazy, random and unforgettable Christmas dinner!

Russell, the Aussies (the Aussies decided to join up with us and we were officially a fousome now) and I just took the next day to just chill out. We had made plans with Dave and another guy Martin and a bunch of others to go go-carting in the afternoon, so we just lazed around until then. We watched the Killing Fields, which was perfect because it was all about the mass genocide in Cambodia that occurred just 30 years ago. Great movie that enabled us to get a handle on the recent horrible history of this country. Not to mention we were in the heart of where much of the torturing went on. The Khmer Rouge was a rebel group that gained power and then attacked anyone of middle and upper class forcing them to leave their homes in the city and suddenly become the countries poorest and most oppressed. Anyone politically affiliated with the government that had been toppled would be a target, most of them were tortured and killed. Their families too. I could go on and on about this horrible history… but instead, I’ll just tell you to read “First They Killed My Father.” It’s short. But, it’s incredibly moving and paints the picture of what went on in this country all too clearly. Seriously, if you want to know exactly what I’m witnessing here, I’m witnessing a country that is slowly emerging from its horrible and all too recent past. But it is emerging with smiles and little devil children that make you buy their trinkets. Anyways, read the book.

After the movie we took off for the go-carts. Tons of fun. We all got nice, big bruises on our hips from screeching around turns at full speed. Man it was fun! I want to get into it more… get better at racing!!!

After the go-carting, Russell and the Aussies wanted to take advantage of the fact that you can shoot AK-47s and toss a few grenades at a military base outside of Phnom Penh… that is, if you drop about a $150. I’m not going to lie, I was really, really enticed to bust out the guns too, but I just couldn’t. This country is run mostly by drug lords still and this cash just to get some quick bang would be going straight to the drug lords’ pockets. Russell even offered to pay for me… another “Christmas present,” but I couldn’t. It would still be money being spent for me that would ultimately end up in the pockets of people I don’t want to be supporting. It was so hard for me to fight the temptation though. I mean, I do want to be THE female version of Jason Bourne!!! Of course, I caved a little. If the boys were going regardless, then I was going to get some pics. I ended up posing in a few pics with the boys as well. Man, it would have been cool to let one of those grenades rip!! Morals!! Oh well, I saw it all up close and personal…

That night was just typical backpacker style. Drinks and laughs and finally sleep!

The next day it was time to face more of the grim realities of Cambodia’s recent history. Russell, the Aussies Jack and Colin, and I headed to S-21. S-21 is the main prison the Khumer Rouge used to torture its victims. The prison was actually a school, where rooms were turned into holding cells and torture chambers and hallways were crammed with wooden and brick partitions, which were all smaller than a broom closet… more holding cells. The most affecting thing about going to S-21 is the fact that you get to walk through pretty much all of it. You’re walking through the rooms where people were starved and tortured and executed. You’re walking on the tiles where people bled to death. In fact, you’re walking on their blood. There are blood splatters everywhere, still dark red and black stains on the tiles… and you’re walking on them. It’s jolting… and revolting.

Next it was off to the Killing Fields. This is where the Khumer Rouge took victims by the tens and hundreds to slaughter them. They didn’t want to waist ammo so the militants bashed them in the heads to kill them. You walk among the pits of former mass graves. You tread on bits of clothing peaking through the dirt; the remnants of these people who were slaughtered here. One mass grave was all infants and young children. Another was all women with no heads. You got your fair share of heads though. Or skulls rather. The Buddhist monks built a temple for the slaughtered victims of the Khumer Rouge. Inside the temple is a glass case of shelves where bones and skulls are just haphazardly piled upon each other. The glass casing is open in many areas and if you were disrespectful enough you could easily reach in and fondle the skulls and bones of these massacred people. Apparently, and I’m not positive if this is why but, the Buddhists believe the spirits need to be free to move on or something, so they can’t fully seal up the skulls and bones. They have to leave openings for the spirits to get out. It was all so… disturbing… and enraging.

That afternoon we left for less affecting and troubling scenery. We took off for Sihanoukville… aka the beach.