My Trip Comes to a Close: Thoughts on Sarees, the Caste System, and Things Crawling Up Your Leg.

Posted on October 5, 2012 by antitouristtraveler under Uncategorized

I know none of you want to hear a long-winded summary of how amazing, trying, tribulatifyingtasticnessish, and rewarding my trip was. So I’ll make this a fairly short-winded rundown about my adventure-seeking superiority. Duh.

Yes, really, I did have quite the trip. I had some nasty illnesses and have learned to never again smooch so much with water buffalo. Of the 6 countries I was in–India, Nepal, Singapore, Malaysia, Laos, and Thailand–I also can’t stop thinking about 3 countries in particular: Thailand, Nepal, and India.

India isn’t a terrible country at all; had I been traveling through it and not lived in it, I probably would have liked it a lot more. They just have so many problems there, and as one friend pointed out, they DO have the technology and resources; they’re just unable to spread those resources correctly and have even more corruption than we do here. They’re a country out of control: They believe that their massive population equals massive power. They’re beginning to understand and accept more in terms of marrying outside one’s religion, living with those outside one’s caste, even picking who one can “court.” To me–and this is only my opinion–I almost feel that those in love with India are actually in love with what’s on the surface: Unique and cheap food, beautiful colors, history, kindness, and tradition. I loved that part too. But unlike loving those same things in Thailand—a third-world country that’s happy with that status and has just millions, not billions, of people— India believes it is pushing into the modern world successfully. It’s not. Nothing real can change when the large majority of this billion-plus-member country refuses to even let someone of a lower caste co ok for them. Or how they separate their buses into the female and male sections because men can’t keep their hands to themselves. Or how women aren’t allowed to show skin because of how men may act. And it’s not just me complaining; these issues have real and measurable consequences when that rule means you can’t really exercise, farm, or do things “normal” men do (not that they exercise either). Come now, do you even remember seeing anyone from India in the Olympics? When the population is more than one-sixth of the world? The people were, as I mentioned, some of the most delightful and helpful people ever, and I would quickly rush to try to repay them with the kindness they showed me. But I also know that with a suffering economy, pollution running rampant, and a society that’s never been taught how to deal with strangers, there’s no way they can move forward. It breaks my heart to see such intelligence, corruption, and poverty (not that I even saw near the worst of it) juxtaposed in such a way, and simultaneously makes me feel so afraid and disdainful of what this country is doing to their own people—and to the world. When will it stop?

In other news, I still think about Thailand, Nepal, and India every day. Thailand still has horrible food but incredible scenery and situations as always. Nepal had great food AND incredible scenery. And India was great when I was visiting its people and enjoying the surface instead of working and understanding its many pitfalls. How very hypocritical of me, right?

It shocks me at how easy it is to travel in seemingly foreign and faraway places. To those who have never ventured beyond (your local big city), Paris and Cancun, Bangkok or Kuala Lumpur probably sound scary and full of the unexpected. Well, they are, but too many never get that far. There are always hoards of young adults—many wearing “PUB CRAWL 2012 PHUKET – AN EXPERIENCE I ALREADY FORGOT” wife beaters—who hop from city to city, often in groups, visiting monuments, drinking on the cheap, hooking up with other foreigners, and looking exhausted and hungover at border crossings. Is this travel? Sure it is, though it’s not travel I’m a fan of. It shocks me how I can actually be working with someone in a foreign country who is so ignorant to what’s going on right outside our windows, or how you can live for years in an unfamiliar city and still elect to go to the local Starbucks every day. Is travel about comfort? I guess for most it is. For me, I seem to brag most about the uncomfortable situations. I will never forget how crazy it was to be yelled at for having the wrong bit of stomach flab show in my saree, feel scared and lost while sick and seemingly alone in the mountains, get assistance while literally stuck in the mud during rice planting, and be judged by Indian neighbors for wearing shorts in my own home. How could YOU not want to experience THAT?! Those experiences are what I’m most curious about, at least, and I think it’s a lot closer to real adventure than tour guides. Why travel halfway around the world to do the same old when you can have be standing on a rubber tree farm, weilding a dangerous tool of sorts, unsure of what’s about to come next because something is biting your leg and no one around you speaks English?

I guess that’s enough from me this time around, but I’m always, always happy to share stories. Best of all? I have an amazing adventure coming up…well, in 2 days. You’ll hear about it soon! Until then, over and out. It’s been real, crazy, and absolutely unforgettable.

Coop

[Here are some of my favorite new photos from throughout my trip. Enjoy!]

1. (Top) My friend’s sister, a nomade living in Nepal’s Himalayas

2. (Above) The wind catches a woman’s saree

3. Crazy, awesome, magnificent bugs in Thailand

4. A student’s family in India, or the guessing game of Who Is Out Of Place In This Photo?

5. Teaching in Thailand, or the most set-up looking photo ever (it wasn’t)

6. Looking out in southern India

7. Showing neighbors my photos in Thailand (my friend translated for them)

8. And then there was that time one of the greasy locals grabbed me, put his arm around me (I was laughing uncomfortably), and proceeded to…BITE ME?! Stay away from this guy.

9. I can dress up. Sort of. Me and my first roommate, Claire, on conference day

10. Being blessed by the locals

11. Learning to play the sitar

12. My usual posse of men. Kidding, kidding, they’re my students. Oh come on, stop being nasty!

13. Women of the woods

PHOTOS – Southeast Asia Part 7

Posted on February 3, 2010 by antitouristtraveler under Uncategorized

Taken in Can Tho, Cu Chi, and Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam

Photo captions below, by number:

(1) If you know what any of these mean, I’ll give you a prize.

(2) Breakfast. The first of many, many boat pictures. It’s about 5:30AM at this point.

(3) Get used to the hotpants. You’re going to see a lot of them.

(4) A typical boater.

(5) Life living on a boat.

(6) Woman vs. boat. I think she’s going to lose. And it’s going to hurt.

(7) Sunrise.

(8) In the middle of a floating market with no tourists around. Glorious.

(9) A young fruit seller.

(10) It almost looks like they posed.

(11) My boater gave me a snake. Not to keep.

(12) A guy just relaxing in his boat. I used sepia because I was bored.

(13) How to get to school.

(14)

(15) Yum. Also, costs less than your coffee.

(16)

(17) I’m a millionaire!

(18) 1,000,000 Vietnamese Dong is not much money.

(19) One of the Cu Chi tunnels. See the foot to the left for a size reference. Three different grown men were able to fit into it. I was not.

(20) A drink from the streets of Ho Chi Minh.

(21) My boater made this out of a palm frond.

My Southeast Asia Trip Part 9 (But I’ve still got one more a’comin’. Note, not trip)! .

Posted on December 11, 2009 by antitouristtraveler under Uncategorized

Hi everyone!

I was planning on sending an update while still in Vietnam, but alas, I didn’t have time to type anything before my flight left. I flew from Vietnam to Taiwan to Alaska to New York. It was a long and strange flight path to be sure, but just smelling that Palin-Alaskan air renewed my spirit and made me want to go shoot a moose and/or have an illicit baby, so believe it or not, I’m HOME! I spent one night in the city, then came up to where my folks live in good ol’ Pleasant Valley. I ate a lot. I started telling stories, then realized that I had written a good many letters home that I could share instead. Some got forwarded here anyway, so I have quite a few to share. I thought I’d get them out and show them to you just so you get a peek into some of my more personal rantings.

Oh, and here’s one more thing I’ve got to share, because I think it’s fascinating. Did you know that Christmas is huge in Vietnam? I mean huge. There are decorations nearly everywhere, holiday pajamas being worn, and salesgirls wearing filtration masks and dressed in prosticute little santa-ess dresses that barely reach the mid-thigh. It’s a naughty version of Christmas that just seems wrong. You know what’s even more wrong? The Vietnamese singing Christmas carols. You can order up your special holiday music performed just for you in one of two incredible ways: Sung in Vietnamese and syllabically misaligned, or, even better, sung in English like this:

Jin-gle bews, Jing-gle bews,
Jin-gle aw da way,
Oh whas Ph??? is is to rie
In a one hohse o-pen say, HEY!

It’s a terrible experience. Reading my note can’t be much worse. Enjoy!

Dear French people,
It’s not that you’re trying to be rude. It’s just that you’re in your own little world of superiority. You don’t even notice other people, and it’s almost as if you walk through us than past us. Normally when meeting people I can have a normal conversation and decide if you’re interesting or not. With you, it’s like you’re in a members-only la-la land. You definitely rub people the wrong way. You’re weird.

Dear Cambodia,
You are a place where futures are today and careers are hammock lounging. Even the monks seem to be lazy, doing their morning alms at 9, 10, or even 11 in the morning. When I see markets in any country, my heart starts beating faster as I always want to jump in and see what I can find. Here, in your country, I have no desire to. Everything is the same. You don’t even try to look different, setting up every stall alike. I know what you’re selling from 50 feet away and because there are only about 10 dishes to choose from in the entire country, I’ve had whatever you’re hawking many times before, which still doesn’t make it tasty. Other than your complete lack of enthusiasm for life, you also alienate everyone with your constant request for money and your most obnoxious taxi/tuk-tuk/moto drivers. Never before have I not wanted to get out and explore a city so much as in your capital city, Phnom Penh. Not only was there almost nothing to see, but the constant harassment one faced by simply walking outside was enough to make me want to stay inside. The fact that you people wage light physical assaults on your own kind in order to sell a $1 soda makes me feel a little bit better, but still makes me sad. As does the fact that there are always about eight of you all hired to do a one-person job. Look, I know you went through terrible times. I cannot even begin to imagine what the older generation of your country went through and lives with to this day. But at some point you have to have a reason for living, a purpose, something your country is known for other than a huge ruin that’s been there for centuries. Your current generation has to do something you can be proud of, or make use of, or something, don’t you think? While I understand how your horrific background has resulted in your complacency today, your in-your-face hunger for money simply alienates me, you’re full of no innovation, and you offer little that surrounding countries don’t do better. I’m sorry to say this, but I have no desire to visit you again.

Dear Vietnam,
Compared to Cambodia, you are a futuristic country. You have such modern marvels as:

Jobs
Things to do
Careers
Toilets and showers that aren’t merged closer than Siamese twins
Activities involving things other than sitting in a hammock
Styles other than pajamas
Places to go
Technology
Lives
Variety
Soap
The habit of brushing one’s teeth
Visitors other than the French
A few more things

But for you and Cambodia both, every single place is looked at not as a place of beauty, or a place to respect or be proud of, but as another money opportunity. I suppose that once again I can’t blame you too much for wanting money, but that doesn’t mean I can’t complain. You aggressively try to get tourist dollars at any and all points along a trip. At the beginning of a boat trip. On the boat. In the middle of the boat trip, when I’m stuck in a floating tourist trap. Before I get on the bus, just in case I changed my mind in the last 14.1 seconds and do want to purchase that giant tablecloth. Oh, we need a bathroom break? We’ll get out at this rest stop for 20 minutes, and that’s not to relieve anyone of the oddly settled meal we may have had the other night, but to get us to roam a handicrafts store and purchase something out of boredom, which I refuse.
On your good side, you have several things going for you. First, I’m always shocked that you can smile and welcome us Americans. Perhaps it’s because you won the war, but the fact that you don’t hate me and are able to treat me like everyone else is really shocking. I keep expecting an attitude change once your people learn that I’m from the previous enemy country, but apparently you have forgiven.
You have absolutely stunning views all over. My train trip gave me a look into the side that tourists don’t see too often, that is, your raw, wild countryside. It definitely makes me want to go back, but next time, take it easy on trying to get my money, will you?

Dear Kenny G,
I still don’t know why you exist.

Dear Tourist,
Sure you want to travel, to explore the world. That’s fine and all, but I bet you could get a lot more done if you didn’t spend a good chunk of your time bragging about where you’ve been and how many countries you’ve crossed off your list. Hint: You haven’t seen a country just because you’ve visited or even lived in the largest city for a while. In what way is that representative of a country, its land, its people? Oh, so you know exactly what the U.S. is like because you’ve visited NYC, eh? Goodness, try really seeing a country for what it really is.
If you enjoy taking the common tours and seeing the sites, that’s fine and dandy. I’m not saying I’m better than you, or that you’re a bad person. Just don’t pretend or tell others that you’re breaking new ground and seeing “undiscovered” places. You’re never gonna find ’em, and you know why? Because you, like everyone else, are using your Lonely Planet guide. “Oh, Lonely Planet is the best out there, and I really trust it.” That’s all well and good, but not only does Lonely Planet accept bribes for higher placement in its tour books (as I’m sure all of the guidebook companies do), but everyone, and I mean that almost literally, has them. Out of the hundreds and hundreds of people I’ve seen with guidebooks, only three, that’s right, three, have had a non-Lonely Planet guide. These three were all French, because the French are so superior that they also have their own guidebook. Essentially, what this means is that all of you travelers are reading the exact same thing. This means you’re all reading the same “secrets,” all going to the same “rarely visited” places, etc. And you think you’re exploring? The real adventurers I met were the couple who biked from England to Vietnam. The young woman who snuck into Tibet several times. The guy working several years in countries from Estonia to Fiji. If you want to do the normal stuff, that’s fine. Just don’t go telling me that you’re forging new territory, because you’re not at all. “Oh, we’re going our own way and doing the tour ourselves!” you say proudly, knowing you’re truly an explorer. You’re not, really. Sure, you’re taking the more challenging, exciting, and risky route, but you’re still all going to the exact same place in the end, doing the same thing, and haggling for prices with the same tourist-familiar guides. You know what village life is like because you slept over for a night. You witnessed a “real” tribal dance. You did this and that. Sorry, but even the government admits that these things are all set up to get tourist dollars, and that these ceremonies are rarely performed for real.
I’m not saying you’re not having fun, or not seeing things, or that you’re a bad person, or need to change your ways. I’m just saying, dude, don’t make it seem like you’ve actually explored, or gone off the beaten path, or met the real people of the country. Because, as it turns out, you haven’t been a trendsetter, but rather a follower like nearly everyone else.

Dear Cats,
You think your life is so tough, don’t you? Sometimes when you’re sleeping for your 25th hour of the day, one of your masters makes you get up and move to another couch. Or worse yet, you only get half of the tuna drippings. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. Well you know what? Try thinking of those less fortunate than you. The cats in Thailand and Malaysia get their tails chopped off for good luck. Sometimes they get them knotted and then chopped, leaving one heck of a demented-looking stub. Few cats escape without such treatment. So consider that next time you whine about not having your premium Kibbles ‘n’ Bits served to you in a crystal goblet.

Dear Mom,
Seriously, you really thought I’d lose weight?

Dear Karaoke,
It’s amazing what you say about a country. Somehow, through your corny music, you manage to represent the very being of every place I visited.
For you, Thailand, it’s mostly just happy music, though 99% of the time it’s about searching for love. Your country is infatuated with this constant search for love, but your tradition says you’re not allowed to show any of this love in public, so you don’t even kiss your hubby goodbye in the morning. Still, in the land of smiles, it’s the anyone-can-sing-as-long-as-he/she-wants, happy-go-lucky approach. Just like the country, in Thailand you represent happiness, a search for love, and a low-stress way of life.
For Malaysia, oh right, Islamic women aren’t really supposed to sing, so what few karaoke places there are remain dominated by male singers. One karaoke incident there recently featured two men who were arrested for the murder of Abdul Sani Doli, a man who apparently sang too long and got penalized for hogging the microphone. Messed up. I haven’t heard your music, but despite the natural beauty of your country, your corrupt government and the slightly peculiar ways of your people unfortunately describe you to a T.
When you play in Cambodia, you’re rather pathetic, and the fact that no one actually sings to you is quite sadly bizarre. Your music videos are a stretch, to be polite. Pretty much every video features the same stage full of people (often looking uninterested) and doing the same slow dance. They don’t even look happy when the low-def. camera is featuring them! I know the Khmer people went through a horrific event, but after 30 years, can’t someone try something unique? In this country, you really show yourself as the dull, uncreative, stuck-in-the-medieval-times country you are.
When in Vietnam, you are screechy and obnoxious, but varied. You show your soft side and your tough side. Not just a tad in-your-face, the Vietnamese version of you plays fairly nonstop. I’m not sure if it’s more or less palatable than the Cambodian version, but given that the Vietnamese language is pitch-based, I’m going to hand the annoying prize to Vietnam. At one point I really thought I was going to join the deaf community with your fingernails-on-chalkboard squawking. Your music in Vietnam is just like the country. Diverse, tough, victorious, yearning, and more.
All in all, I’m not a fan of your musi. But the ability for a country to display its personality through your medium is quite fascinating.

Dear Dead People,
Sometimes you’re open to new suggestions, and sometimes you’re not. I mean, when you’re alive. Well, I just want to help educate the public, and inform you that you now have two choices for burial. The Southeast Asian special is a more typical burial style, involving less luxury but more freedom of choice. Of course, you’re dead, so you ain’t got no choice, but hear me out. You can have your typical Southeast Asian burial where you’re wrapped in a simple cloth, placed maybe a foot underground, and given a huge stone coffin box to mark your spot. And you’re placed on a hill. If you’re in Vietnam when your time comes, hopefully you don’t mind sitting amidst the rice, because that’s where you’ll be. Cost of option one: your life.
But for a special offer of only 27 payments of $39.99 (plus shipping, handling, and your life), you can get bathed, dressed, and placed in a shelf-stable wooden coffin. And buried below the ground, not on a hill, because unlike the simple burial, please do realize that with any Poltergeist-like flood, ol’ granny cakes could come a’rollin’ through the front door wearing little clothing. And that’s just not cool.

Dear Temporary Mom in Malaysia,
You were so kind and generous in sharing your home, your family, your food. You taught me so much and helped me learn about your country and your people while I lived with you. But then you turned a tad crazy, playing the blame game, going on many a rant, and insisting you didn’t know hugely important bits of info related to, oh, life and/or my safety. I admire you tremendously, but yeah, you’re sort of crazy, and the fascination with mopping will always confuse me. It’s a somewhat useless, vicious cycle. You and all of Southeast Asia have this no-shoes rule, which is commonly known. But then you do the whole mopping thing, which causes me to slip and fall, and really doesn’t serve a purpose. You see, mopping removes hardened dirt and sticky stuff. Hardened dirt and sticky stuff occur when stuff gets dirty while wet. This doesn’t occur in normal conditions. But when you mop, it leaves the floor wet, and then the dirt accumulates from bare feet – no matter how clean – walking on a wet surface. You therefore have to keep mopping and mopping since you don’t ever let the floor dry before re-nastying it up. Also P.S., mopping doesn’t actually CLEAN. It redistributes things like dirt particles, crumbs, and hairs. Sweeping was invented for a reason. But thanks for making it completely nasty every time I walked in your house and especially your bathroom.

Dear Village in Thailand,
I complained about you left and right. Your food was terrible and I didn’t feel as useful as I could have been. Except for those things, though, you were exactly what I wanted. During my first week there, I went for a walk, turned a corner, and gasped at your beauty. Never before have I nearly hyperventilated at a view, but I did just that. Living there was stress-free. No computers, no hassles, no unnecessary anything. You knew these things existed but kept life simple and pure. We practically lived off the land, but with a few modern conveniences, such as electricity. Your people were very kind. Your teachers, very dedicated. The food outside your village, delicious. The rest of Thailand, absolutely beautiful. I may have complained while I was there, but you are what I thought about during the rest of my trip, and you’re what I wanted to go back to. I felt so safe, calm, and comfortable in this place so completely opposite my world. You are the most gorgeous place I have ever visited, and I will never forget you.

Dear Thailand Music Videos,
Just thought I’d drop you a line telling you that I really, really love your music videos. The fact that the people lip syncing and performing the songs are not the actual singers is a terrific idea, because who wouldn’t want to see Kid Rock act out a Nickelback song?

Well that’s all for now. You thought you’d escape with this being my last note, but no, I’ve got a summary coming next week. It just wouldn’t be proper to leave without reaching my full annoying potential, so you’ll be getting one more note from me.

And to answer your question, pizza was the first thing I meant to eat when I landed, but my brother brought me a brownie which was so good that I teared up. I’m not even kidding.

It’s really time to go now. There are people to talk to, lounging around to do, and, oh, a life plan to figure out at some point. But not now. Time to go and fill my hungry stomach with pure, fatty goodness.

For the second to last time,
Coop

My Southeast Asia Trip Part 8 (and there’s just a week to go)!

Posted on December 2, 2009 by antitouristtraveler under Uncategorized

Greetings all,

Well, I spent Thanksgiving alone and fairly sick in my single room in a guesthouse. At least I was in a nice guesthouse. Actually, my single room was probably the biggest available in Ho Chi Minh City, complete with a bed, dresser, table, footrest, 2 chairs, bench, wood loveseat, and corner kiosk. Yes, I was confused with the kiosk at first as well, but in my delusional, feverish state, I made good use of it by first selling tickets to Miss Ho Chi Minh City and then playing poker with my closest imaginary doll friends. I lost a lot of money playing poker, but it wasn’t until the fever broke that I realized that the dolls had all been in my head.

But that’s okay, because the day after Thanksgiving everything improved. I met up with a new travel buddy and we went to the Vietnamese underground war tunnels, otherwise known as the Cu Chi Tunnels. The tunnels are quite famous with visitors who marvel at the tiny openings that the Vietnamese were able to not only fit into, but live in. It is with great sadness that I tell you that after several men on our tour made it in and out of the tunnel opening with ease, I was the only female to attempt it, and I didn’t make it in. Not because I’m claustrophobic, or because I didn’t try hard enough, or because I couldn’t fit. Oh wait, yes, it was because I couldn’t fit. I got my legs through but once my ginormous hips hit, the group of Singaporians we were walking with started tittering. I got up from sitting on the ground and we all went to the next hole in the ground, which was different and quite large, having been widened specifically for Westerners. “Here, maybe you can fit into this one!” they exclaimed, pointing in encouragement to a hole large enough to fit a baby elephant. They meant well.

You’ll notice that what is written and what the actual story is…well, they’re completely different things. Above, for instance, you may have read that I went to the tunnels. The next few sentences gave you the real story, though. Do you often wonder how much of what you first read is true? What’s really behind the headlines? What are the people in the situation really thinking? I don’t want to lead you on or mislead you with what’s happened here, so now I bring you the real thoughts behind the headlines. It’s a li’l bit of Lost in Translation for you, but hopefully it’s better than the movie. Then again, I hated the movie but sat through it three times, so maybe, by extension, you’ll read this note even though you don’t want to.

What you read: I ordered a delicious pineapple milkshake off a cart on the street.
What’s really going on in my mind: I feel like drinking something refreshing and fruity. Ah, a street stall selling shakes! My favorite, and I think I’ll get a pineapple one. Okay, there she goes cutting a fresh pineapple right in front of me. There’s no prepped fruit here, only the fresh stuff cut right in front of your eyes. Okay, she’s peeling it now in the brilliant way all of Southeast Asia peels pineapples, which saves a good portion of the fruit and looks cool too. Okay, now she’s ruined all milkshake credibility she had by touching money, rifling through several drawers, and exchanging something with her friend, who’s just pulled up. That’s wonderful, really. Great, now moneyhands is back at my pineapple, cutting it up. Okay, well at least I get a nice, refreshing, healthy dri…no, nevermind, there goes one, two, oh wow, three tablespoons of sweetened condensed milk. Goodbutbadforyou Morning Vietnam.

What you read: Every guy is so friendly here, always curious and asking me questions!
What’s really going on in my mind: It’s simple: They’re either trying to get you to take a moto ride, or they’re asking if you’re single or not. Green card, anyone?

What you read: After a long day working with the youngsters, the boys asked me to join them for dinner and had the eldest boy serve me.
What’s really going on in his mind: She was so nice to come, and we’re so young that we’re not corrupt yet, nor are we asking for her hand in marriage yet. Now that she’s helped us out, let’s share our dinner with her. No, of course I don’t note the dead ants that look like spices in the meal we just gave her. No, I don’t notice any giant cockroach crawling on the wall. What do you mean it just fell off the wall due to its massive weight and size. Even if it was real, I don’t see how it would be the biggest cockroach she’s ever seen in her life, and she’s from New York City so she’s seen them all. So you’re saying it fell into the cabbage, that’s fine. If that really did just happen, well, at least it is not in her food. Not that she’ll ever know what was in it, because that’s another story I’ll deny.

What you read: My buddy and I motorbiked to a Cambodian cave and were led on a not-so-safe tour through it.
What’s really going on in my mind: I think the moto ride was safer than the cave. Here go these young boys in their flip-flops and their tiny flashlight, showing us through these amazing caverns. “Want to keep climbing, lady?” they ask. Well, sure. Oh, there’s a giant hole and some bad footing and I will fall down into that hole and die if I make a mistake, awesome. Lovely. Okay, I made it through, and now we’re onto another cave, and wow, this one is even more cavernous and amazing. And we’re walking over the Buddhist ruins, passing under the stone staircase that now leads nowhere due to a past partial cave collapse. Comforting. “You go further, lady, sir, you climb?” Sure, why not? So we’re led into a snaking walking tunnel and then come to an almost-sheer rock face that leads to light. The boy scampers up. “Just grab onto root. Tight.” Oh, I love putting my life into the hands of a tree root that’s not all that thick. But we make it up and into the open with just a few now-bloody scratches, and now it’s pouring. “Follow close, hole here,” says the boy, pointing out that if we don’t step on the rocky, vine-covered spires exactly as he does, you will fall through a hole and die. After climbing over this and that, we emerge at quite possibly the most beautiful view in all of Cambodia. Mountains in the distance, lush rice fields, gardens, homes, farmers, and animals here and there, and green palm trees dotting the misty horizon. It really was worth it, but of course I say that having not fallen down a massive hole and died.

What you read: Cambodians love their karaoke!
What’s really going on in their minds: It’s quite normal for everyone to love listening, and just listening, not singing, to karaoke. That’s what it’s for, anyway, the notion of karaoke, to listen, right? Here in Cambodia, it’s all the rage. At a bar, at a friend’s, at a party…oh, how we love to sit stoically and watch the television play the same 16 songs over and over again! We think it’s a great celebration of life to silently watch this phenomenon. What do you mean sing with it? That’s confusing and takes effort, something we’re not accustomed to. We would turn it louder to cover your useless suggestions and chatter, except it’s already at maximum volume, and would also involve getting up and pressing a button since remote controls weren’t invented here yet.

What you read: I got a great bargain on Indian food for my dinner the other night.
What’s really going on in my mind: Well, I’ve been sick for a few days and I’m finally feeling better, so I’m going with Indian tonight. Ooh, here’s a good deal! 2 dishes plus chappati, a soft drink (and the carbonation will help my stomach), and dessert. Not bad. I’ll order.
Oh, so the woman who suggested the deal is handing me a phone. Perfectly normal. So I just repeated my order on the phone to some dude, which I admit isn’t at all creepy since really, who needs to walk in back to the kitchen a few steps when you can just make a phone call? The man on the phone says he “respects my decision.” Hm. I don’t hear any kitchen sounds either, which is only creeping me out a bit.
Ah, just got my order, and apparently my bill is now higher. They’ve put me on the phone again. Takeaway is a different price, you see, but they didn’t bother to list it. Whatevs. Great. Oh, and a banana is dessert. Oh, and bottled water apparently is a soft drink. Interesting interpretation in this part of the world. It is also the worst Indian I’ve ever had, and I’ve really only had bad Indian food once in my life. Next time I’m asked to speak to the cook on the phone three times, I’ll eat at a different place.

What you see: I don’t think Cambodian food can get much worse.
What’s really going on in my mind: …but the drinks are AWESOME! They have so many creations that luckily (almost) outweigh the bad food. They’re probably all good because they start with a large dose of sweetened condensed milk, which, next to a block of 100% pure, unadulterated lard or a cube of fois gras, is the next worse thing for your system.* So they have street fruit shakes with spiky mangos, persimmons, cheyote, custard apples, and many other fruits I’ve never seen, different powders and milks, bubble teas, milk teas, tapioca teas (none of which have any tea in them, of course), syrup drinks, etc. Etc. All mixed in a cocktail shaker to make you feel special. Dang, they’re good. And a common meal supplement. I miss them terribly. Maybe three a day wasn’t good for me though.
*Not an FDA-approved statement

What you see: My private little boat captain makes all these funny gestures when he’s smiling and talking to me in a language I can’t really understand, so I just smile and nod.
What’s really going on in his mind: That was easy! I have a new wife now.

What you see: Southeast Asians are liberal with their rules.
What’s really going on in my mind: No traffic rules. No “no nose picking in public” rules. No “don’t put your feet on her seat” rules. No personal bubbles. No private space. No men who don’t hit on white gals. No “you must sleep in the seats, not on the floor in the aisle of the moving train” rules. No moto/tuk-tuk/taxi drivers who don’t make you want to rip your hair out. No rules, but in Vietnam, a present from above. Toilet paper, free and meant to be used in your guesthouse bathroom. I’m in love.

What you see: My buddy and I went on a trek through the Cambodian jungle with a guide and a ranger.
What’s really going on in the ranger’s mind: Well I don’t know why these foreigners come on holiday and want to sweat and hike through our pseudo-jungle. Plus, they get all decked out in those hiking boot things. Me? I do it in flip-flops, because those are the only shoes that exist here. What do people think of the trekking? Well the trek is pretty but if you count in the part about how it, like every other rain forest and primary forest growth in Southeast Asia is getting torn down, it’s not as nice as it seems, and add in the fact that the deforestation has ruined the animal population and that during our entire trip in the jungle, we don’t see a single animal other than a frog and or a tiny lizard, no birds, no wildlife, no nothing. At least I know where I’m going. Except for now. No, I do know where. Well, now I don’t know. Ok, now I do know. But be prepared because I might get us lost again…now. You enjoy backtracking, right? Is it me, my wrinkles, or my chain-smoking that makes the girl digs me? I think she’s attracted to the fact that I brought approximately 120 ciggies with me on our 3-day jaunt. And had to wake up at 4 in the morning to get my fix. Yeah, she’s definitely into me. Sick, going after men my age.

What you read: I had to sleep in a “dormitory”-type room in Saigon.
What’s really going on in my mind: I’m totally okay with how things went. Upon looking for a cheap hotel for my last night in Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City, but the names are used interchangeably), I find exactly what I’m looking for, a.k.a. the cheapest room in town. “Oh, sorry, no one else staying in room now,” the woman says, handing me the key sadly. I get a room that is about 1000 square feet. All to myself. Sweet, though it’s stressful trying to pick which bed to sleep in.

What you read: I took a 1,200 kilometer, 3-day-long train ride through Vietnam.
What’s really going on in my mind: “Why you take train? Why no fly?” they ask me when I try booking at a tour spot. “Why no bus? Train long!” they say at another. “Why we can no speak English?” at yet another. Well, the reason I want to take the train is because I have very little time left in Vietnam, want to see up north, and hear it’s a wonderful way to see the scenery. So I book a ticket in a “soft seat,” a.k.a. no bed, just a seat. I do this because I want the real experience, because I’m cheap, and because I know I’ll only meet foreigners who can afford the expensive sleepers if that’s where I stay. And also, it’s not three days of travel. You leave really late the first night and arrive before sunrise on the third day. So really, you’re only using up one day, though admittedly not getting the best sleep. But boy is it a great experience. I sit next to a man who knows some English and talks with me quite a bit, I have a seat with actual leg room, and I’m meeting interesting people, to say the least. A group of 35+ soldiers (the soccer-playing, beer-chugging, happy Vietnamese kind) sit right next to me and take up all the seats in front of me, so to say that I am an object of fascination to them would be an understatement. Some of them speak some English, and are quite happy to ask me many questions. Oh, did I mention the scenery? True, we travel during the night a lot, but during the day, our train goes right in the middle of rice fields, in between rolling hills, and along curving mountains above the ocean. These small, lonely beaches, with white, frothing water, set among the wild green mountains, are amazing. Seeing five of the same in the distance with the fog rolling in is incredible. I can’t wipe the grin off my face at having seen something so beautiful, and in a way one can only see by train. In the night, I wake up and can make out dark mountains and silvery, moonlit lakes right outside the window. I think I’m falling in love with the scenery here. Of course, while I’m taking pictures of this all, one by one many of the soldja men come to introduce themselves. It’s cute. Throughout the trip, we’re all sharing snacks. If I was a normal person, I’d barely have enough snacks for myself, but since it’s me, I somehow have enough to feed almost all the guys. As I laugh, eat, and chat together with these extremely kind young men, it dawns on me that just 40 years ago, we were killing each other and winning praise for doing so. These guys, knowing full well that I’m American, are just as welcoming as could be, and we are very sorry to see each other go. They are the true people of Vietnam—friendly, helpful, and lovely. It has been an amazing train journey.

Well folks, I don’t know how that read, but I do know that some of you read my last update very closely, for several of you noted that I’d had two questions marked #13, and only one answer. I did this for several reasons, but mostly just because I was being annoying, had nothing better to do, it was numbered 13 (which, in Sideways Stories from Wayside School, doesn’t exist), it actually happened on Friday the 13th, and I really thought we were going to crash.

So now I’m on the last leg of my trip. I have only one week left! Unbelievable how time flies. Whether you like it or not, I will be arriving in JFK next Wednesday night. If you want anything that doesn’t involve prostitutes, prostiboots, or prostitots, let me know! This might include souvenirs, pictures, t-shirts, or hookers.

I’m off to explore Hanoi, Vietnam, in my last week here. Please forgive this lame attempt at a note…I was sick, come on!

Talk to y’all soon,
Coop

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