Halong Bay, goodbye Vietnam.

Mark, Aly, Mat, Jon, Julie and I spent our last night together on a boat cruising around Halong Bay, which turns out to be my second favorite location in Vietnam. The rocky monoliths are simply a darker shade of the misty grey sky. They appear silently, jutting out over the smooth grey water. On the surface of the water, a thin veil of white blocks out the formations origins in the water. Photos in this situation are futile. The rocks and the fog are something that are better saved in memory. The pictures posted over the beaming faces in tourist offices are much clearer that the view around our junk boat, but the mysticism of Halong Bay seems made for this weather. The occasional butterfly instills fascination, seeing as the islands are uninhabited. Judging by their silhouette, the surface of these shapes are extremely rocky. The rocks are staggered one behind the other, creating the perfect grey scale. Even the sky puts off a white light that shines grey on the colorless water. The ink black junk boats are unfortunately lacking the traditional fish bone-like ribs of the mast chopping the brilliant tangerine orange sails into thick chunks, offering a splash of color. We could very well be watching a silent black and white film from a gently rocking wooden couch. Said goodbye to my babies, and am currently back in Bangkok, saying goodbye to Phil and Dan, whom I met in Cambodia (so many goodbyes!), but will soon welcome my sister to the long complicated, wonderful world that is Paige's trip around the world. Oh, and I will be celebrating my six month anniversary on the 29th of December. That means only six months left to go folks. Boo. Check ya lates.

Love in my tummy

Of all of my favorite experiences on the road, food often ranks high on my list. I'm traveling with real foodies now, and we are quite known to describe a fantastic meal, saw a braised oxtail in a cherry wine reduction, at a gorgeous restaurant, maybe at the base of a ski slope, candles and ambient music a constant prescense, but my favorite dining experiences are the roadside food stalls. Ok, so you're hungry right? When you open your wallet do moths flutter out? Are the poor imitations pizzas and spaghetti bolognaise made with chopped sandwich ham failing to quench your honed sense of taste? walk down a dimly lit alley and have a broken, filthy, small, plastic seat. That ambient music I mentioned earlier? Yeah, thats crying babies, sizzling oil and clucking women. Can't decide what to have? Taken care of. There are no menus at these mobile metal carts, your order is places when you sit. Julie, Jon and I can now discern whats being slung into bowls by the demeanor of the diners, the cutlery being used, even the shape of the "kitchen". Julie can almost always be counted upon to murder a bowl of pho bo, jon is often drawn to grilled seafood and I am partial to noodle places, like Hoi An's specialty, cao lau. Pho bo joints have large steaming pots of broth, handles of the large sieved ladles used to steep the noodles like broth curling over the edge. Sandwhich places have baguettes stacked up against the glass piled on rounds of laughing cow cheese and delicately balanced hardboiled eggs. The women with conical hats who bob along with a yolk are often weighted down with chicken rice topped with fresh curry leaves. Today, Julie and I sat for pho bo, good old reliable pho bo. Without so much as a glance or spoken word, bowls are instantly heating up the lower half of our faces. The carousel on our table consists of always, always, the same items. IN no particular order, there are a mix of broken wooden and plastic mismatched chopsticks, spoons scrubbed clean of their design, forks ( for the foreigners, square pieces of paper, often cut up childrens homework, which are used as napkins, toothpicks, soy sauce, bottles of store bought hot sauce, tiny jars of homemade thick scarlet hot sauce, a plate half covered in limes half in red chilis, small bowls of fish sauce, sometimes containing garlic, sometimes chilis, a tea pot full of the dreaded tepid winter melon tea and a small tray full of loved and abused teacups. Your server often shows you how to squeeze a lime into your soup ("Yes, thank you."), and how to spoon up some hot sauce ("So that's how its done.") and before you know it, your tossing your said "napkins" on the ground with the lime rinds, chili butts, dropped chopsticks (if your traveling with Julie) whether you're inside or out. No matter, the stray dogs will get whatever your leave behind, eating under the stool of selectively attentive locals. The average street food costs about 75 cents, and cannot possibly be compared to the mostly shitty little guesthouse restaurants with their exorbitant grease and prices.
I'm still waiting for the bizarre food Ive read about in Vietnam, which can apparently be found in bizarre specific food markets in Hanoi. Julie and I can stroll in the market for hours, buying anything we haven't tried before. Out favorite snacks are lychees, boiled peanuts and hardboiled quail eggs. We had grilled chicken feet in Kom Tum, nails and all. The one thing I couldn't quite get myself to try was the baby- chicken fetus eggs we found in Cambodia. The eggs were interrupted during the development process, and one western woman i met described eating one as eating a bony, feathery egg. Luckily, shop owners are gracious enough to indicate theses "baby inside" eggs to us, and the tip often has a small hole in the shell. Other eggs are literally coated with a partially dried, jet black mud as if they had been buried at some point. Banana leaves make a frustrating packaging job for curious foreigners. Their contents are indicated to those in the know by their use of toothpicks and bits of string. Sometimes unbearably sweet, sometimes a gummy fish cake, its like playing edible Russian roulette.

Hoi An, the second chapter

The weather is working against some and for others in Hoi An. Sun barely pierces the thinning clouds that don't have the vigor to discolor the blue sky. Its low season, the weather being partially responsible, so the streets, rather than filled with tourists, are filled with desperate motodop drivers. This unfortunate aspect of traveling doesn't touch us, we who stroll on trampolines, smiling genuinely. Julie, Jon and I find Hoi AN delightful. This may be chalked up to the innate European-ness of the place, with its drooping bougainvillea and moss coted yellow buildings, or perhaps its the nightly street flooding along the river, young boys crouching under plain and rainbow umbrellas along the street of streams. The breeze pushed gently against the swaying Chinese lanterns hung from the dark, carved wooden storefronts. Even the specialties of Hoi An are charming; white roses, shrimp wrapped in rice paper topped with chopped peanuts. Though Hoi An is decidedly a tourist town, you can still bypass the snooty French-Vietnamese restaurants and step aside package tourists swathed in smart zip-off shorts and take a seat at a beer- oi joint. Beer-oi is a preservative free "fresh" beer that is dirt-cheap, proven by its effective hangovers. Unesco-world heritage site guarded, the old town retains its old world edge. The boats have slender eyes painted across the bow (or is that stern?) and remind me of a book i used to read when I was a mere wee-one, the name of which escapes me now. Mom? Its a quiet town, tuk-tuk drivers nap in the covered seats reserved for clients, oblivious to our needs of a lift. The town is designed for those seeking tailored suits and expensive cooking classes, and even the budget travelers seem to absorb into the dark alleys rather than loud bars. Culinary accomplishments in Hoi An extend to our preferred food stands. The tiring pho bo (beef noodle soup) features refreshing accompaniments and we are finally able to find our much sought after spring rolls.

Photo postings

oh, and im sorry to admit to the world that I am now a Facebooker.

Sand and Mud

You dont need to crave speed but you do need to enjoy eating large amoutns of sand to go sand surfing, or rather, sand sledding. The dunes that are strangely situated next to the beachtown/fishing of Mui Ne are differentiated by locals by their color. Yellow is said to provide the best location for sunsets, while red has the best "waves". The sand spills abruptly onto the road separating the dune sand from the beach sand. Upon the arrival of our rented motorbikes (thats right, im driving motorbikes with the best of 'em), dozens of young female entrepreneurs press large sheets of plastic on all sides of us, accosting us together like a SWAT team. With the rental of the sled comes our very own nine year old guide, who after trudging up the semi-permanent shifting mountain, plops me onto the tobogan, knees to chest, arms grabbing the front which curves up with pathetic intentions, feeble promises of protection from the violent onslaught of sand like pins and needles from a dry hell. By all means, don't scream or laugh. Sand soon found its way into ears, hidden crevices in my purse and cameras, and I was crunching the stuff for days, finding grains behind my knees and under my toenails. Only at the summit before the descent do you realize your proximity to water. After a slide, visions, smells and sounds of the ocean dissapear. The wind blowing off the water created swirls in teh sand that reminds me of the fake wood found in 1970's television series. After Mui Ne and the strange town of Dalat, a mix of a Swiss mountain village with a large imposing swatch of Asian paint, a town curiously "known" for wine (terrible, despite our drinking several bottles), Jon, Julie and I descended upon the beach town of Nha Trang, hoping to heat up under the melting sun SE Asia promises backpackers. Alas, it wasn't meant to be, so after a night at the bars (what else is expected of one in a beachtown without proper beach-like activities?) we splurged on a visit with Aly, Marianna and Mark to the hot springs and mud baths. Been months since Ive been pampered. Stations are numbered and lost half naked tourists are led from bath to shower to tub to pool by smiling attendants. First off is the mud baths. An attendant turns the tap, shooting murky silty mud into the carved marble bath, just large enough for the six of us to lay, head to toe, the length of the tub. You can float in mud, splash in mud, soak in mud, while away childlike hours in mud, giggling, dunking, attempting a whirlpool, and rolling over one another like logs. We rinsed off the mud under open air showers, walked through a gauntles of piercing jets of water, and were eventually led into a hot mineral springs tub like cattle. Still moving about with Jon, Julie, Mark and Aly, heading off to Hoi An today, whenever the bus gets around to taking off. Ive spent unfathomable amounts of hours waiting in the heat, travelling in the air-conditioned buses, I feel I should calculate hours spent on the road. Silliness, P, silliness.