Fourth of July

Friday, Nov. 14 -- It must be karma that we arrived on the second day of the annual water festival, commemorating the Khmer (Cambodian) victory over the invading Vietnamese sometime in the distant past. After leaving a brand new, sparkling and nearly empty Saigon airport on a brand new, sparkling and nearly empty plane, we arrived in Siem Reap and went directly to the boat races that highlight the festival. They took place on the Siem Reap River, where the atmosphere was like our Fourth of July. Thousands and thousands of people, mostly families and young people, picnicking and enjoying the festivities. There were no rowdy gangs of teens, no drunken crowds behaving badly, just happy folks. In the evening, they light candles and incense on little floats, about the size of a dinner plate, make a wish and send them down the river. I bought one and made a wish; we'll see if it comes true. Seven of us crowded into a tuk-tuk, the principal means of travel, to get back to the hotel, Tara Angkor (very lovely, very western, a little expensive).

I somehow thought Cambodia would be a lot like Vietnam. Although the terrain is similar, the people are quite different. They're bigger, have rounder eyes and much darker skin. There are only 14 million Cambodians; their very own Hitler, Pol Pot, murdered 2 million in the late 1970s, including most of the intelligentsia. Those left have had to educate themselves essentially without benefit of teachers. Half the country is under 18. Eighty-five percent live on less than $1 a day; 85 percent are without electricity (they use car batteries that they charge all day at a recharger place for 25 cents); 67 percent start elementary school but less than half finish. We attended a cello concert last night at a hospital founded by Dr. Beit Richner, a Swiss doctor who operates five hospitals that have treated more than 8 million children over the past 15 years. In his pitch for blood (for transfusions) and money, he said most of those children would have died without the medical help dispensed at the hospitals. Richner is an Albert Schweitzer-type doctor, who's devoted his life to helping the desperately poor and sick who would otherwise receive no help.

The history gets a little confusing. As I mentioned above, the water festival commemorates a victory over the Vietnamese. Siem Reap means Thai (Siem) defeated (Reap). This tells you the country has been often invaded and conquered. They've had peace only for about 10 years.

Veterans Day

Tuesday, Nov. 11 -- How appropriate that we're in Saigon (or Ho Chi Minh City, depending on your politics) on Veterans Day: most of the visit to this part of the country has been devoted to war. We started at the Cu Chi tunnels, an enormous labyrinthine underground world where the Viet Cong disappeared during the day and emerged at night to kill GIs and anyone else they suspected as traitors. The tunnels, which go on for miles, have been enlarged by about 60 percent to accommodate the large bodies of foreigners, but they leave you feeling claustrophobic. When the guerillas used them, they were about as wide as the shoulders of 10-year-old and maybe three feet high. We either bent way over, walked on the balls of our feet or crawled on hands and knees to get through. The tunnel complex, which was three stories high, also housed meeting rooms, kitchens and hospitals and were about seven km from the U.S. command down the road. The many varieties of torture mechanisms the guerillas used to maim American soldiers are on display — revolving things with metal spikes to stab, spikes attached to hut doors that would kill anyone who entered, trap doors in the ground covered with bamboo. Those who fell through were impaled on long, very sharp bamboo spikes. All this stuff was designed to maim and disfigure people, but not to kill. American soldiers, called tunnel rats, had little success for a very long time in destroying the tunnels. First they had to find them. Then they used gas, water or bombs to do the trick, but not very effectively. Sometimes, they went in themselves, often with dogs, but I would think it would have been almost impossible to kill the enemy. And if they did, how would they get around the dead body in that tiny space? Eventually, however, the U.S. was able to wreck the tunnels, I believe with bombs. The whole area is kind of like Gettysburg, in that it's a war memorial, but without the dignity that should be accorded the dead. People climbed on tanks, there's a shooting gallery with live rounds of ammunition, and of course the ubiquitous souvenir shops. Lots of references to the American devils, who acted like "bunches of crazy chickens," compared to Vietnam's brave patriots. I probably would have felt the same if I were being carpetbombed. On the other hand, the guerillas had very creative ways of killing our guys as well as the South Vietnamese. Our guide's grandfather was a local who joined the guerillas. He was, however, murdered in a tunnel by a neighbor/compatriot who believed he was going to give them up to the South Vietnamese authorities. Grandpa was 37 and left behind seven children.

We went from Cu Chi to the Museum of War Remembrance, where more tanks, choppers and shot down planes are on display. Other than the infamous tiger cages, where up to 14 prisoners shared a tiny cell, and I mean tiny, in stiflingly hot conditions, the museum mostly features dozens of photos of war victims, some of them far more grisly than anything we ever see in the paper. More references to imperialist pigs, killer GIs, disemboweled babies, etc.

Fortunately, we got some relief from the gore by taking a cyclo tour through the city. Traffic that puts NYC to shame. Saigon is huge — 8 million residents — and far more cosmopolitan than Hanoi although not a particularly pretty city. I believe a lot of the architecture is pretty new, and featureless. However, there's less poverty, nicer homes and shops, and lots of upscale stores like Gucci, Armani, Prada. The gang had a drink at the Rex Hotel, frequented by journalists during the war, and we went our separate ways for another terrific dinner.

We also had stopped early in the day at a rubber tree plantation. Very interesting. They make spiral cuts in the bark until they reach a milky substance that drips into a bowl attached to each tree. The milk is converted into rubber in a factory. They have to make a tiny slice on each tree every day to keep the milk flowing. All these trees were leveled during the war, but now there are acre upon acre of them.

Unfortunately, one day is all we have here, and our stay in Vietnam is finished. It's a truly beautiful country, the people are lovely, and I've really loved every moment. I feel so lucky to be experiencing a different part of the world, and enjoying it.

Leaving shortly for Siem Reap in Cambodia, near Angkor Wat. We're moving from dong to riel, and the conversion is must easier -- $1 = 4,000 riel.

Do you believe in cyclones?

Monday, Nov. 10 -- A full-blown, life-threatening cyclone has hit Hanoi, killing 40 and bringing out the military to serve as rescuers. It's now moved offshore, over the China Sea, and the locals assure us the weather is highly unusual, assuaging my guilt over choosing the wrong time of year to visit. We had a good soaking yesterday in Hoi An, but the timing was fortuitous since we were headed to our cooking class. We started off in the market, where everything imaginable is for sale. You want soy sauce, fish sauce, oyster sauce, fruits, vegetables, fish from either the sea or the Thu Bon River, every kind of meat, snails, spices? This is the place to visit. The concept of refrigeration is non-existent, which makes the meat and seafood a little fishy, as it were, but I guess they eat it quickly. Although the market was covered, much of the covering was made up of tarps and I was asked a couple of times to use my umbrella to empty them, as we did when it rained in Yosemite this year. That was about the only thing the umbrellas were good for; we were all soaked.

Cooking school at the Blue Dragon Cafe was great fun. We made spring rolls, stuffed fish — turbot in this case — and barbequed beef, chicken, pork or tofu. I have all the recipes if anyone's interested, but they all involved lots of mincing, chopping, garlic, chilis, lemongrass, scallions and tons of oil. We got to cook and eat our efforts and everything was delish. All profits from the class go to educating street children. We also sampled cao lau, the local specialty, and rice pancakes at Mr. Rin, a street cafe. Unbelievably tasty. We're drinking a lot of mango shakes and beer to try to beat the heat.

Hoi An is an old French city that has been fairly well preserved and currently exists for the benefit of tourists. You can't move without someone yelling, "Madame" and thrusting some kind of goods at you. The vendors are extremely aggressive and your politesse vanishes as the day wears on. They often don't take no for an answer. The afternoon was spent with return visits to the tailor (there are 320 in town) and each order requires three fittings. Measurements are sent off to local factories by motorbike (what else?) and the orders are quickly filled. The owner of the place several visitors patronized works from 8 am - 10 pm daily. Beyond the tailors, the shops here specialize in silk (scarves and purses), lanterns, lacquerware, art and jewelry.

Our walking tour today began at the Tran Family chapel, a private home open to the public. As we went in, the guide gave us a little bowl of candied coconut and told us about the place her ancestors lived. It was built 300 years ago, is a mix of Chinese, Japanese and Vietnamese architecture and has an altar in the entry. There's a four-inch threshold you step over to enter that room, and as you step you have to look down, forcing you to bow your head before the altar. It contains maybe 30 tall narrow boxes, each honoring an ancestor. The boxes for husbands and wives are identical, those for a single woman are marked by a rose or lotus carving, and those for a single man are marked by a Chinese symbol. Each holds biographical information and an object, like an earring, that reflects the ancestor. Antique coins dug up on the property represent the yin and yang. If you have a question or a wish, you throw two coins in a bowl, like dice. If one of each comes up, you get your wish or the answer to your question is yes. (Karen won on the third try). If identical sides come up, you lose. I lost on the third try (you only get three) and was told to come back in three months. I wish.

We also visited the Quan Cong temple, honoring a legendary Chinese warrior. He, his mandarins and two horses are depicted in elaborately decorated papier mache. We also visited one of many assembly halls, again containing several altars, all elaborately decorated with red lacquer and gold leaf.

We all kicked in a few bucks for a local orphanage that our guide Sonja likes. She gives the money to a local who gets better prices and buys rice, noodles, milk and other staples. Apparently, our group popped for quite a bit and we were able to provide lots and lots of stuff for the orphans. Our tour company leans towards the philanthropic and environmental. They don't ask you or expect you to do anything, but we were all happy to contribute. The poverty here is extreme, and it felt like so little.

We return to Da Nang shortly for a flight to Saigon. I think we're there two nights.

My apologies for the length of these entries. The blog has turned into a kind of diary for Karen and me to remember the trip. . . Also, Patrick, our resident tech expert, seems to think I might be able to upload some pix. As soon as he and are at a computer together, we'll try.

Hot, humid . . . and raining

Saturday, Nov. 8 -- The heat and particularly the humidity have finally hit. And it's still raining intermittently, which has forced some changes of plan. After that all-night train ride in little cabins sort of like cells in San Quentin, we arrived yesterday in Hue, probably most famous for its almost complete destruction during the Vietnam War. To be exact, the U.S. engaged in 52,845 flights, each plane loaded with multiple bombs, it defoliated 20,000 square hectares (nearly 50,000 square acres) of rice fields and killed 11,350 domestic beasts. Unsure how many people were killed. The entire area was virtually wiped off the earth. Now, however, it's staging a comeback with a fairly large effort to refoliate and green the place. All the growth, and it is extensive due to the tropical climate, has occurred within the last 30 years. The landscape remains covered in places with white sand that the locals believe is full of chemicals from the bombs.

After checking in to the Green Hotel which is, guess what? kelly green, we took a 45-minute cruise on a boat the looks like a dragon down the inaptly named Perfume River. Actually, the name once was appropriate as ginger plants grew wild on both sides, but they're long gone and the river doesn't smell so hot. We visited the Thien Mu Pagoda, founded in 1601, and the tomb of Minh Mang, where an emperor of that name is buried. I think. I'll summarize simply by saying the day was all about emperors, their concubines, eunuchs, dragons, serpents and unicorns. Lots of red lacquer and gold leaf, young monks banging gongs, enormous statues of elephants and other beasts and requirements that visitors remove their shoes in the holiest sites. The ruins are being rebuilt by the Vietnamese government and American Express as World Heritage sites.

Today we visited the Citadel, the enormous imperial city of the Nguyen emperors. More of same.

We boarded our trusty bus for the three-hour ride to Hoi An, but our planned stop at the top of Marble Mountain was aborted by fog thicker than that on the GG Bridge and the planned visit to China Beach was considerably shortened due to high winds. It's quite a beautiful beach, however, stretching for miles of white sand along the China Sea. Instead we visited a Hindu museum and Cao Dai Temple, which has an eye about 12 feet high and wide behind the altar. Big brother is really watching in that place.

Our guide Sonja is a font of knowledge about everything southeast Asian, whether culture, art, religion (there are multiple Dalai Lamas, it turns out), food, history, textiles. Because there are so many water buffaloes along the road, several of them with children standing on their backs waving to us, we learned a lot about them. They're used to plow the fields and rice paddies, but are extremely docile and loved as pets. In fact, people compliment one another by saying, "She is my best buffalo."

We've now checked in to the Hoi An Hotel and went directly to the tailor for tuxes, suits, jackets, shirts etc. Everything will be ready tomorrow, after cooking class.

Sensory Overload

Thursday, Nov. 6 -- A three-hour bus ride took us from the chaos of Hanoi on a road of sensory overload. I have five pages of notes, so unless you're really bored with a lot of time on your hands, you may want to skip or delete this. On the other hand, the place we reached at the end of the road is likely one of the most beautiful in the world. If you don't want to read, go to Google images of Halong Bay.

As usual in Viet Nam (every word in Vietnamese is one syllable; ie Hanoi is Ha Noi), the ride was like something right out of Disneyland. As one of our group said just after we survived a truck headed our way, "You haven't lived til you've faced on oncoming semi in the wrong lane." But we made it without colliding with any other vehicles, whether two- or four-wheeled. The trip through the countryside and a series of small towns was a kaleidescope of contrasts. Early on, we saw woman after woman standing next to a parked bicycle selling baguettes. We wondered if they each have their own turf and if every loaf costs the same. Further on was a series of rice paddies, where farmers wearing conical hats stood waist-deep in water, working their crops. Dozens of water buffalo grazed along the road. This primitive scene often takes place in front of a modern plant of some kind, one for manufacturing garments, one for making glass, a Canon plant for electronics. Each has a covered parking out front protecting literally hundreds of motorbikes. Little fruit stands display coconuts, baby pineapples, and durian, a big prickly fruit that reportedly tastes vile. (I later learned it smells vile: "Smells like hell, tastes like heaven.") Bananas grow wild on trees and hibiscus dot the landscape as well.

The houses are weird. They're generally no more than 12 feet wide and either three or four stories high, gaily painted (yellow, blue, lavender, yellow) and elaborately decorated with balconies, wide windows and Oriental finials on the rooves. But on the ground floor, the entry is guarded by metal retractable gates, similar to what you find on buildings in NY City or in San Francisco's Mission District. In addition, they're finished only on the front; the other three sides are solid concrete, unpainted and undecorated.

Our destination was Ha Long Bay, described in my tour book as "majestic and mysterious, inspiring and imperious." I would call it magical. It's truly one of the most beautiful places on earth and has been called the eighth wonder of the world. It is protected both by the Vietnamese government and UNESCO. We were blessed with good weather (finally) as opposed to the usual fog this time of year, so we could see clearly the 1,969 limestone "karsts" that jut from the bay. These islands are covered with trees and hide thousands of caves. In addition, about 2,000 fishermen live in one of the 16 floating fishing villages on the bay. An elderly couple in their 90s live in one of the villages, and have never left Halong Bay. Ever. Imagine that. In addition, floating grocery stores troll the waters and approach the tourist junks, selling everything from water to potato chips. Karen sprang for a box of Oreos.

We boarded the Hu'ong Hai, our junk for two days, and it was surprisingly luxurious. The boat is quite large, with three levels and a pagoda-style rattan roof. The main cabin is lined in teak and it accommodated 16 people. Quite elegant -- white tablecloths, real silverware, wine glasses. The bedrooms, also lined in teak, were on the first level and were quite comfortable. We each had our own bathroom as well.

Our guide was Thach (pronouced Tai), but he told us to call him Peter. Thach means "rock" in Vietnamese. After a sumptuous lunch of crab, clams, prawns, potatoes, veggies, squid and other dishes, he took us to an island with three chambers of caves called Hang Dau Go (Cave of Wooden Stakes). We hiked up 90 steps to get there and each chamber was filled with stalagmites and stalactites (I think), some of them making forms on the walls that looked like bears or snakes or dragons. We then went to an island called Tito, named by Ho Chi Minh in honor of Marshall Tito of Yugoslavia, one of Ho's favorites. There, we waded or swam in the very warm water. It's all part of the Gulf of Tonkin, if you remember your Vietnam War history.

On returning to the junk, we relaxed with Asian pears and dragonfruit, a large and quite beautiful pink fruit (about the size of a big grapefruit), with petal-like scales. Inside a thick rind is a white fruit with tiny black seeds, like a kiwi. You peel off the outer skin to get to the fruit, which is kind of a cross between a pear and a kiwi. Not a lot of flavor, but it was very refreshing. Dinner was a 10-course feast and after dinner, Thach told us his life story which, to Americans, is almost unbelievable. At the age of 13, he left Vietnam looking for a better life, but his boat sank off the coast of China, where he was rescued and spent five years in a refugee camp. He taught himself English and ultimately returned to Vietnam with the help of a sponsor. He's worked in the tourist industry for about a dozen years, after graduating from university as an artist. He's 32, but says he's too old to marry because most Vietnamese men are married by the age of 27 or 28. He was a wonderful guy. About 5'4", maybe 120 pounds. Standard size for Vietnamese men.

Up by 7 for a western style breakfast and after taking a ride on a smaller boat to some more caves and islands, we returned to the junk for yet another meal. This is ridiculous! Back on the bus for the return trip to Hanoi. We leave for Hue at 11 tonight; 12-hour train ride in a sleeper car, so that should be an experience.

Sorry this is so long, but the two days were positively fabulous. If the trip ended today, it would have been worth it for Halong Bay alone.

And on top of it all, Obama won!!!!! Hooray!!!!!!!!! He e-mailed me (and about 5 million other people) last night as he was leaving for Grant Park, so I e-mailed him back. I actually got a response. Boy, is that campaign organized. But it was the first e-mail that didn't ask for money...

Election Day

Tuesday, Nov. 4 -- Although it's election day at home, it's just a regular day, filled with chaos, in Hanoi. I think the best word to describe this city is dizzying. The environment -- noise, people, goods -- puts you into overload. It's very hard to absorb all the sights and sounds so you just kind of wander and hope to make a few observations.

Yesterday was marked mostly with a steady drizzle, but at least it wasn't a downpour. In hopes of finding something to do inside, we headed off to the Temple of Literature, a place of worship of Confucianism. Beautiful grounds with a couple of temples and several altars honoring Confucious and his acolytes. We spent most of the rest of the day wandering through the city before meeting up with the tour group in the evening. There are 13 in the group, several from Canada, three from NY, a married couple who are both surgeons from Fresno and a couple who live in Wales. Seems like a really good bunch. We got to know eath other over a terrific dinner that came in at $4.20.

Raining again this morning as we headed off in cyclos, little rickshaw-like bicycles, that took us to Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum. He's not there (in Russia getting his annual enbalming treatment) but it was pretty impressive. An enormous monument, beautiful government building and a couple of small houses where Ho lived, pretty modestly. We got the full propaganda from the guide. Karen and I moved on to the Museum of Ethnology. Turns out there are 54 ethnic groups in Vietnam -- who knew? And each one was featured in some way at this museum, whether their clothing, tools, houses, celebrations, etc. We started getting mixed up on about the fifth minority. Good thing there was no quiz at the end. Another nice dinner with the group and we're off to Halong Bay in the morning. It's apparently about a three-hour bus ride and we're really hoping it'll dry out.

Day 1 -- Hanoi

Sunday, Nov. 2 -- We made it! Karen's flight from SFO to LAX was cancelled (thank you, United), but she made her flight to Seoul anyway. My flight was uneventful, although boarding was akin to being on the roof of the American embassy in Saigon when the U.S. withdrew. The concept of single file or patient waiting was apparently a foreign one to my fellow travelers.

The ride in from the airport was fascinating. There are probably 100 motorbikes to each car, and they dart in and out of traffic with abandon. Horns blare constantly, and at least two passengers, sometimes three or four, ride those little things. The stuff strapped on the back ranges from big appliances (like a stove) to baskets of food. Also on the road were two brahma cows, drawn by women in traditional dress, and a water buffalo. There are plenty of bombed out buildings between the airport and Hanoi, as well as in the city itself. Not sure if they've never been repaired since the war or how they got that way. On the other hand, there's some new construction and signs of modernity.

In the last three days, Hanoi has received the most rainfall in the last 24 years, causing extensive flooding (Jane and Eileen, does this sound familiar?) We are talking torrential downpours most of the day. So between the weather and fatigue, we didn't have a terribly productive day. We visited the famous Hanoi Hilton, aka Hoi Lo Prison, a truly grim place. It's now a museum, with lots of exhibits detailing the lives of "our patriotic brothers" as well as how happy American POWs were when they got to live there. They got to play volleyball and celebrate Christmas! John McCain's flight suit is on display, as well as some photos of him and the other pilots who were shot down. The prison is quite old, built by the French to oppress the Vietnamese, according to local legend. Prisoners were forced to sit on cold cement, legs stretched in front of them with their ankles in iron shackles. This, of course, severely restricted any movements and left some longtime prisoners paralyzed or deformed.

We also walked along Hoan Kim Lake, a big body of water in the middle of the city. It's very beautiful, surrounded by trees. A red bridge crosses to a temple or pagoda (apparently there's a difference). It stopped raining long enough for us to walk across the bridge.

Our hotel, which is much nicer than I expected, is near the shopping district. I've never seen so many goods -- everything anyone could possibly want is available, and cheap. The streets are teeming with humanity, and the vendors are quite aggressive. Probably the most picturesque are women wearing a non la, the traditional conical hat, and au dai, the national dress. They are high-necked tunics of satin or silk, slit up the side and worn over wide pants. These women, most of them tiny, carry long poles with heavy baskets hanging from each end, loaded with pineapple, bananas and other goods. The food market features everything from exotic spices to live fish swimming in big buckets, to species of produce I've never seen before.

We're having a little trouble with the money -- 100,000 dong equals $6. Not the easiest calculation on earth.

Hoping for a dry day tomorrow.