Motorcycle trip South: Part 1

Yes, it's been almost 2 months since I last posted... I had returned to the United States and was missing Vietnam so much that I couldn't bring myself to write. Now that I have gotten over the reverse culture shock (being able to drink tap water is still a point of incredible satisfaction for me), I think I can finally tackle a blog post concerning the details of my final trip down the coast of Vietnam. I guess I had an inkling that I would get lazy and depressed upon return home so I remembered to jot down some notes during each day of my trip- now that I'm looking back over these, the memories still seem fresh:

We began our trip out of Hanoi just as a monsoon hit; we drove through 2 feet of water, with trucks creating huge waves on either side of us. In addition to the horrendous weather, I managed to split the seem of my rain pants right down the center within 5 minutes of the trip

beginning; this departure put more than a literal damper on my mood... but off we went nonetheless. Once we got out of Hanoi and onto Highway 1, the clouds dispersed and the sun

came out, instantly warming the road and our spirits. We drove through most of the day, taking

roadside breaks every 2 hours to rest our bike, our buns, and cool down with some tra da

(iced green tea). We wanted to make it to Vinh by nightfall, but were a bit behind schedule due to the colossal rains, so with the intention of driving 2 more hours after a dinner break, we packed the bike and were prepared to drive... until we noticed that the front light was not working. Driving during the evening is an all-around dangerous endeavor given the width of the road, the lack of street lights, and the excess amounts of strung-out truck drivers who have been on the road for countless hours. It was obvious to Son and myself that the trip could not continue without a headlight, and that there was absolutely nowhere to spend the night in the random village where we had stopped to eat. We started walking the bike down the street, calling out for a mechanic's help. Two failed attempts later (everyone had closed up shop by this point) we met a friendly local who said he could show us to his friend's house, who happened to be a motorcycle mechanic. We eagerly followed the good samaritan down the road and pulled up in front of a mobile phone store. Out comes an older man, who immediately starts taking the light apart. A crowd quickly began to gather upon the realization that a white girl who had some knowledge of the language was in town. So as Son lent a helping hand to the 7 other men surrounding the bike, I functioned as a sideshow of sorts, talking and miming to the women, old people, teens, and toddlers. I received a lot of comments concerning my height (everyone thought that all Americans are over 6ft, and were shocked to find that Americans

could actually be so short... I ended up getting this reaction at every single stop we made on the trip). 30 minutes later, the group of men had replaced the bulb and finagled new wiring using some copper pulled off of a street pole nearby. The headlight worked perfectly, despite the shoddy construction, and when Son offered to pay, the group (that had grown to over 20 people) started laughing, claiming that they would never charge for such a service, and that

they were all happy to have such a distraction; I was not so surprised by this reaction because I have found that the majority of Vietnamese people are always incredibly kind and giving. This amazing show of generosity left Son and I feeling very confident about the rest of the trip... we got to Vinh city less than 2 hours later.

On day two, we hit our first beach, Thien Can. The beach was located down a long, narrow country road, which was an absolute pleasure to drive down. The water was crystal clear, which greatly surprised Son, who said that no water was ever this clear so far North. I had already gotten sunburnt from having my legs exposed on the back of the motorcycle for a mere 45 minutes (lesson learned), and quickly sought out shade after a swim. The beach was lined with bamboo shacks, all serving fresh seafood, so we sat down for some lunch, and then each paid half a dollar to use a fresh-water shower (aka a bucket of water). After our beach excursion, we were back on the road for the rest of the day, until we reached Dong Ha City, where we spent the night; we paid an extra dollar for air conditioning since my sunburn was really starting to take its toll.

We spent the next two days in Hoi An, one of my favorite Vietnamese cities. We decided to go to the beach after sunset, as it becomes quite the destination for Vietnamese tourists once the sun goes down. The beach was crowded with families huddled around candlelit tables (I use the word "table", but they were no higher than my knee, which can be said for most

outdoor dining experiences in Vietnam). Son and I ordered some lemongrass-steamed prawn, which were hearty and delicious, and we spent the remainder of the evening enjoying some lukewarm beers and watching the action on the beach. Being on the beach at night was an extremely different experience than being on the beach during the day (you mostly only find white people on the beach when the sun is shining), and I recommend the nighttime dining experience to anyone who gets the chance!

We left Hoi An early in the morning and kept heading South, with our next destination relatively unknown. As we weaved around mountains, balancing precariously close to the edges when passing trucks, we spotted a beautiful and seemingly deserted beach. The weather was perfect, the sand dunes decorated with wild grasses, and the water was an inviting turquoise-blue. We took a sharp left off the road and decided to drive until we came upon a guest house. The right side of the peninsula, called Dam Mon, had been taken over by clam boats and shrimp farms, while the left side was guarded by 15ft high sand dunes. We had lost the view of the beach, and continued driving until we were greeted by that same intense blue of the ocean. We came across one guest house on the entire peninsula, and from the looks of it, it was not the most frequented spot. It was located in a small fishing village that specialized in making painted, wooden fishing boats. We dropped our stuff and drove out towards the beach, surprised that we saw no one swimming. I ran straight for the water, in an attempt to free myself from the intense afternoon heat on my shoulders. I splashed around for a couple minutes until I noticed a shadow in the water. I had already dodged a fishing net (unavoidable evidence of the surrounding community) and edged closer to get a better look. In the water was an extremely large, vividly blue jellyfish. I had dealt with tropical jellyfish before, and decided that I should make a hasty retreat, so I turned towards the shore. I took one step, and spotted another one a foot away to my right. I cupped a hand over my eyes, trying to cut the glare off the water, and suddenly I realized what had been helping to deepen the incredible hue of the water... blue jellyfish all over the place! I carefully tiptoed my way back to shore, Son having noticed as well and making the same moves. Son walked over towards a fisherman tending to his boat that resembled a large, woven bowl, and inquired about the jellyfish. Apparently they were "not too bad, just were really itchy and painful if stung by one". I took this as being quite the opposite of "not bad" and decided to enjoy the sunset out of water. When dinner time rolled around, we walked into the fishing village, causing quite a commotion, but the hunger pangs in my stomach left me with little concern. It was mostly residential and I was beginning to think we would go without dinner when we reached a tiny stand situated along the dirt path. We sat down, prepared to eat whatever was lay before us, and I startled the women when asking some questions about the food in Vietnamese. This made them all the more chatty and excited, and they relentlessly hammered Son for more information as we ate our noodle dishes. I thought the whole scene was completely charming, as Son and I walked back to our guest house, admiring the halfway-constructed boats in the moonlight.

Scared off by the jellyfish, Son and I woke early to take a walk around a nearby fishing village. The only way I can describe the village is by calling it a "pirate cove". I've posted a picture below because I can't seem to find the words to do it justice-

We left soon after, always taking the sun into account and trying to drive in the cooler hours. We made it to Doc Let beach by lunchtime, and I was thrilled when we happened upon a

beachside seafood market. I enthusiastically walked towards the market, excited at the prospects for a fabulously fresh seafood lunch, but Son seemed to know something I did not, and he hung back behind me. As soon as the sellers spotted me, I was surrounded. Over 15 vendors were on all sides, using whatever broken English they could to try and get me to buy something. Immediately I panicked and look around for Son, but he had been surrounded by another group of 15 or so ladies (all the ones not confident enough to shout English my way). I was dragged through the market, with women tugging my arms and pointing out their wares. Vietnamese terms were thrown at me as I was introduced to shellfish that I never knew existed. I managed to reconnect with Son, and we decided on some giant, fan clams, prawns, and whatever else the ladies had thrown into a bag. The ladies who had not made a sale sulked away, as the smug winners walked us to a table overlooking the ocean. 15 minutes later I was greeted with one of the most amazing seafood spreads I had ever seen. To this day- best meal of my life! Everything was grilled to perfection and garnished with peanuts, shallots, onions, chili, spices, and lime.

We awoke the next morning for an early swim in perfectly jellyfish-free waters. By 9am I was starting to feel that all too familiar pang of sunburn so we loaded the bike and got back on the road. We had made plans to rendezvous with all of my favorite Hanoian buddies at a very low-key place called Jungle Beach, a little further south. Son and I were the first to arrive to a collection of bungalows spread out over a vast track of mostly untended jungle. All the flowers were blooming, the birds were singing, the sun shining, I thought it couldn't get any better than this... until I saw the beach.

The sands were an eggshell white, free of any shells or debris. Jungle Beach was situated in a cove, surrounded by lush mountains, the occasional fishing boat, and palm trees. Little woven shades dotted the beach, with bamboo mats providing respite from the hot sand. We had arrived during low tide; as I ran towards the water, a series of shapes in the moist sand stopped me in tracks. My first fear was jellyfish,

but upon closer inspection, it turned out the beach was host to hundreds of starfish. The intricately patterned, hand-sized animals littered the shoreline, all leaving star-shaped tracks towards the receding water.

Our friends arrived around dinner time, everyone equally as excited by our fantastic surroundings. The resort is run "homestay style", with communal dinners being served to all the guests at once. We sat around and chatted with some backpackers, mostly ignoring the lime green pit viper that had wrapped itself around a rafter above our heads. Although it is considered one of the most poisonous snakes in the world, the owner told us not to fear, since his staff had seen it slither by with a rat-shaped lump in it's body earlier that day... it wouldn't

be hungry for at least another week. Our friends dropped off their stuff in the bungalows; each bungalow had a ragged, thatched roof, lofted benches topped with thin mattresses and mosquito nets, with an open floor to the sand (as basic as you can get). We all ran out towards the beach to enjoy some night swimming, barely believing our eyes as the waves seemed to sparkle towards the shore. As we jumped in, the water lit up, like we had just cracked a glow stick. Turns out paradise was also bioluminescent; the water at Jungle Beach is filled with krill and other microorganisms that emit a bluish glow when disturbed. Needless to say, night swimming became the highlight of the trip.

4 days and a lot of snorkeling and sunburning later, our friends all boarded a plane to head back to Hanoi, while Son and I stayed on to continue our trip South.

Taking on Vietnam by motorcycle (general thoughts)

2,700 kilometers, 2 people, 1 Honda Win 100cc motorcycle, 3 bottles of sunscreen, and a desire for adventure = 1 trip down and up the coast of Vietnam. It's been 18 days since Son and I set off down Vietnam's oft-used Highway 1. Since so much has happened over the course of our trip and I can't possibly cram it all into one blog entry, I'm going to begin by explaining the most prevalent theme of our journey: The Road.

Highway 1 runs down along the coast of Vietnam... through mountain passes, along beaches, between rice paddies (no surprise there), and has become the focal point for many cities, both big and small.

It is the most frequently travelled highway in the country, and it's dismal upkeep makes it a somewhat treacherous drive, which leads me to question why no one seems concerned with road maintenance. Pot holes and loose stones aside, the highway itself carries many functions in addition to transportation, and these various uses of the road was one of the most fascinating aspects of the drive. Here are just a few things that can be found on Highway 1:

-Unattended children doing whatever they want

-Unattended livestock doing whatever they want

-A vast array of goods drying on the shoulders (corn, peanuts, chilies, hay, coconuts... just to name a few)

-People standing around waiting for a ride

-Vehicles treating the road as their own personalized parking spot

-Social gatherings

-Various modes of transportation transporting a wide variety of materials/animals

-Men peeing with no regard for public decency

-Herding space

... no matter where we were in the country, we could always count on more than just vehicle traffic down Highway 1. The most amazing thing to me, was the way that people went about public transportation. If a Vietnamese person wants to take a bus somewhere, they simply stand on the side of the road, placing suitcases and bags in front of them as a call sign that they are in need of transport. There they would wait until a bus would roll by (they ranged from tiny vans to oversized sleepers) and, without ever coming to a complete stop, the vehicle would lumber to the side of the road at just the right speed for the prospective traveller to throw in their bags and hop onto the step. What makes this even more hysterical is the fact that picking up people on the roadside is illegal. Each bus has to report to the government how many seats they sold, but with the use of tiny stools, floor pillows, and bags of rice, the bus herder (the man who's job it is to hang out the door and find more passengers) can turn a 10 seater into a 20 seater, pocketing the extra money. Therefore, if buses are rolling alongside the road, preparing to pick someone up, and the police are nearby, shouts ensue, people start running in all directions, and the bus tries it's best to out-drive the authorities. Watching a bus overcrowded with people (this usually results in appendages sticking out of the windows), and loaded down with all sorts of bags on the roof try to manage escape is particularly funny, and ended up being one of my favorite sources of entertainment during the long hours of the drive.

On the other side of the spectrum, the way animals use the road is equally as interesting. 2 days drive outside of Hanoi, we were stopped short in our tracks as we came across 300 ducks, feet flapping against the pavement, moving in a very orderly fashion across the highway. We sat there motionless for a good 5 minutes watching them all run along, quacking and jostling to get to the other side. I'm kicking myself for not taking a photo of one of the most hysterical animal crossings witnessed on the trip. While ducks pose a minor threat to the average motorcyclist, cows and water buffalo prove a bit more dangerous. The shoulder of the road is meant for motorbikes and bicycles, while the actual highway is reserved for trucks, buses, and cars; this fact proves somewhat absurd when you have to dodge a large herd of cows that amble slowly along, seeming to have no concern for the high-speed vehicles passing at precariously close distances. Numerous cows and water buffalo tend to do their own thing (especially when their herder is not present, which is most of the time) and opt to cross the road for "greener pastures" on a whim. Meaning that in addition to dodging potholes, stones, refuse, children, and drying farm goods, one must also be able to dodge large animals at any given instant. Son did a particularly good job at this, and I give him a lot of credit for keeping me alive when a baby water buffalo decided to run out in front of our bike.

More to come on the actual details of our travels in the next post...

Threshing Rice

This Wednesday I returned to Mai Chau for one final trip, mostly with the intent of catching a glimpse of the village during harvest season. I visit so often due to the sleepy nature of the place, and the fact that all the locals can always be seen sitting around their homes/shops, staring intently at the passerby, and willingly participating in conversation when given the chance. This time, the whole atmosphere was completely different. The streets and houses were abandoned (everyone was working in the fields), with the exception of an occasional pair of farmers pushing a cart of rice stalks down the road. I had been especially waiting for this opportunity to get involved in the actual farming of rice, so I ventured over to a local friend's stilt house on the other side of the village (with a couple tourists in tow... the usual tour guide Flip was pretty ill so I took the reigns for the day). We arrived, ready with conical hats in place, to follow Xuan out into her rice paddy. The start of the walk towards the rice paddy caused a bit of difficulty for some of the tourists I had brought along; 3 bamboo stalks were placed side-by-side in the effort to function as a bridge over a creek. Xuan and myself took our shoes off, used our toes to grip the bamboo, and trotted to the other side. I had become somewhat used to this sort of thing, so I had forgotten that this obstacle could strike fear into the heart of those not so comfortable around water. A couple of the tourists managed to make it across okay, albeit slowly, but the last girl made it halfway before being hit with a fit of shaking and sobbing. A very helpful neighbor waltzed by toting a large bamboo pole at just the right moment, and was able to walk over and poke the stick in her direction to give her a bit of stability. After crossing the water, we left our sandals on the bank and continued to follow Xuan on the raised, grassy paths between the paddies. There had been some rain the night before, so the usual solid ground had given way to pits of mud. I had seen this one coming, and dressed accordingly, prepared for mud to ruin anything I was wearing. I guess I didn't give a clear enough explanation of the possibility of getting dirty, so some of the girls were not quite pleased by the final result of their clothes. Nevertheless, the girls who were not so keen on getting even more muddy, sat aside and watched as Xuan prepared myself and 2 other girls to thresh the rice. We each tied a string around our waists, and wrapped a bundle of thin bamboo strands into the string (these would then be used to tie each bundle of rice stalks). I was given a small sickle, and took my first step into the rice paddy. I sank into the mud immediately and had it up to my shins. I did my best to ignore the scuttling spiders and other muddy/water creatures and focus on the job at hand. I had a good time slashing at the stalks of rice, and even became quite adept at stowing the sickle under my arm while tying the rice stalks together with my other hand. I kept impressing myself with my "natural farming ability" until it came time to actually move. Each step in the paddy required a tremendous amount of effort; I had to fight the mud suctioning my foot into the ground, and then find a suitable location for my next footstep between stalks of rice (I was afraid of ruining Xuan's harvest). I was threshing rice for about 20 minutes and managed to cut and tie around 20 bundles before I realized how sticky and hot I had become. I was so engulfed in what I was doing that I hadn't noticed the sweat dripping off my nose (or even the fact that I had dropped my nose piercing into the mud). Xuan called us in around this time, and I squished and squooshed my way back to the grassy path. I felt like a true farmer, covered in mud up to my knees, donning a frayed conical hat, and brandishing a sickle.... then it occurred to me that I was dead tired... after only 20 minutes. After making it back across the bamboo "bridge" and cleaning myself in the crystal clear, cold water pumped from a well, I began to reflect on what an intense life these rice farmers live. Xuan had been kind enough to let us leave our rice stalk bundles on the field, rather than put them in a basket and transport them back to her house, which I was completely thankful for. I did some math, and it turns out that one rice stalk bundle is equivalent to half a small bowl of cooked rice... which equals a lot of work for such a little bit of rice! I had always imagined how hard the farming life for these people must be, but after finally having gotten a taste of it (however limited), my respect for these people and their lifestyle reached new heights. These Vietnamese farmers know the true definition of hard work, and rather than be bitter about it, seem to be some of the happiest people I have ever encountered. Definitely something to think about....

On a slightly related note- I am leaving tomorrow morning for my final, big trip before my return to the United States. Son and I are taking a motorcycle down the coast of Vietnam, stopping along beaches, old architectural sites (upon my persistence, of course), and jungle trails before meeting up with friends at Jungle Beach Resort in Nha Trang. I'm really excited about this inevitable adventure, only a tad bit nervous about the possible dangers, and completely ready to soak up as much of the country as I can. I should be on the road for around 3 weeks, and will try to get a post or two up if I'm in a place with a computer. I know this trip is going to be long, going to be intense, and going to be tiring, but I can't wait to get on with the challenge. I am ready to wholly commit myself to this journey, and hope to come back with a refreshed outlook on life. :)

Fabric Market and Seriously Cheap Seafood

This Sunday, a couple friends and I finally solidified our plan to drive to the fabric market located outside Hanoi. We boarded our motorbikes, donned our sunglasses, and started the 30km drive out to the market. There are numerous fabric markets within the city, but we had been informed that the markets outside the city are cheaper and offer a greater variety. Since I'm leaving Vietnam relatively soon, I decided this was the opportune time to pick up some material to get some quality Vietnamese tailoring done. So, off we went, driving across the famous bridge that was built by the French (and withstood all the bombing during the Vietnam War, so it is quite a point of pride for the city), and continued driving straight until the street began to narrow, the houses grew less numerous, and farm plots came into view. The fact that you can reach farming areas within 30 minutes of driving is one of the reasons why I prefer Hanoi to Saigon; it takes at least 2 hours to even get a glimpse of a rice paddy when driving out of Saigon, since the sprawl is just so massive. We continued our drive down a mostly-paved road (a real treat compared to your typical countryside street) and found ourselves surrounded by growing corn, rice, beans, and many other vegetables too numerous to name. I was beginning to doubt that we were even headed towards a market when a slew of bright colors came into view. Instead of being situated like a traditional Vietnamese market, with stalls clustered around one central area, this fabric market abruptly began with shops on either side of the road, spanning down the street as far as the eye could see. We parked our bikes, and started to walk along the road, causing quite a scene with the locals, since they hardly get foreigners this far out of the city. The variety of colors and materials was a bit overwhelming, and we found ourselves stopping every 2 minutes, with shop keepers beckoning us over to feel the material and insist that no other shop could rival such quality. When we began bargaining in Vietnamese, the all too familiar look of shock followed, then big smiles and large price cuts. We stumbled upon some material that featured every single Super Mario character that ever appeared in the game, so I obviously picked up a couple meters of this to make a dress.... who wouldn't want a Super Mario dress?? All in all, we spent hours browsing the stalls, despite the stifling heat, and we left satisfied... our brains swimming with potential clothing designs (I left with enough material for two skirts and a dress, all for under 10 dollars).

Despite the fact that we were all sweaty, we opted to go out for some street food. We arrived to a famous seafood spot located down the street from my house, where they offer a huge array of shell fish, served "southern style". This included crab legs in tamarind sauce, spicy grilled squid, diced giant snails in a sweet glaze, clams steamed in a lemongrass broth, and oysters served with peanuts and shallots (note pictures below). My Vietnamese friends ordered a fetus duck egg, which I neglected to try, since I've had it in the past, and am not a fan of crunchy, half-formed animals. According to them, it is quite the tasty treat, but I have a feeling that this is one Vietnamese cuisine that will simply not grow on me. Overall, we ate a huuuuge amount of seafood, and ended up spending 5 dollars each. I've been here for almost 2 years now, and the cheapness of everything still never ceases to amaze me. I think that upon return home, the price of food and drink will be the biggest adjustment for me to make.

The Junk Jeep Adventure

This Thursday, myself and 4 of my closest friends in Hanoi began our trip to the Northernmost area in Vietnam. Flip runs a tour company with a 26 year old Vietnamese guy named Manh, who knows how to drive and had done this trip before, so we decided to save ourselves money and use the company jeep and neglect to hire either a driver or a tour guide. When the jeep pulled up outside my alley, we all began to get a bit nervous... the thing was a wreck. Here is the initial list of jeep ailments before the trip even began:

- No airconditioning

- Windows unable to move up or down (one stuck open, the other stuck mostly closed)

- Dashboard held together with tape

- Driver's seat broken, and slanted to one side

- No seat belts

- Non-functioning windshield wipers

- External damage fixed with duct tape

... and these were the obvious things. I don't know much about car engines, but the creaking noises and loud bangs from under the hood were enough proof that the car was equally as shoddy on the inside. Nevertheless, we piled inside, with no idea how far the jeep would get... or if it would even make the 10+ hours to the border at all. About 2 hours into our trip,

some alarming clanging noises took our attention off the lovely scenery and onto the roadside in hopes that we would find an auto garage. We managed to pull into a deserted garage, and all stood around for a while, hoping someone would show up. Eventually, the mechanic appeared (his hair only half cut, so we must have interrupted his barber trip), and he started to take a look at the car. Manh gave us warning that it would take some time, so we crossed the street and headed to a bia hoi, where we proceeded to sit around, enjoy some cold beer, and take in the scenery of the countryside. When we returned the garage, the mechanic had already replaced one tire, and could be seen underneath the jeep banging away at the undercarriage. He soon came back with a flame torch, and burnt off a piece of metal, the metal which he claimed was making the clanging sound. We all were pretty satisfied with his work at this point, paid him 5 dollars for labor, and got back in the car to start the trip again. We made it 30 minutes before the banging sound returned, so we stopped off in another small village in the mountains and had a second mechanic take a look. This one surmised that the previous mechanic was an idiot, and only made the car worse. So once again, we left Manh to deal with the car while we moseyed down the street to find another bia hoi; we had some cold beers, chatted with some locals, turned away a homeless man trying to get a ride, and once the sun started to set, headed back towards the jeep. This time, Manh seemed very pleased, and informed us all that the new mechanic was a genius (which I had originally doubted given his aesthetic), and the jeep was as good as new. All of us took this information with a grain of salt, but piled back in anyway, prepared for the final 3 hour drive to reach the first destination, Ba Be Lake. The jeep continued to choke and groan as we circled up tiny roads that twisted and turned around mountain curves. The road conditions were not so wonderful, so we were being thrown about the jeep, but were really enjoying ourselves given our two previous bia hoi sessions. With over an hour to go, we heard a tell-tale "thump-thwack" coming from the front tire, and pulled over for an inspection. Sure enough, a sharp rock was stuck in the tire, and you could even hear the air rushing out from the puncture. It was pitch dark, so we all sat around enjoying the stars, while a local family came out of their hut to help hold flashlights while Manh was changing the tire. Everyone was in a very fine mood by this point, since we all agreed that the excitement level of the journey was multiplied by the jeep's obvious troubles. It made the whole travel experience completely unpredictable, and we were well on our way to a great adventure.

After the tire was replaced, we arrived at a communal stilt house overlooking Ba Be Lake

around 9:30 pm. We sat down to some late dinner, tried to ignore the massive tropical bugs, then laid down two to a mattress pad underneath mosquito nets. That night, an incredible thunder storm hit, which kept me awake with the loudest thunder peals I have ever heard (the stilt house shook with each clap). The rain was intense, and had me worried about the conditions for driving and hiking the next day. We woke up, brushed dead bugs out of the "beds", and had an egg over noodles before proceeding to the lake. We all hopped on a small, rickety boat, and spent the next four hours taking in the views of Ba Be Lake.

The water was incredibly blue, and reflected the

amazing greenery of the lush mountains all

around us. The trees were some of the largest and greenest I'd ever seen, and we all agreed that we felt were boating through Jurassic Park... the

place seemed untouched for thousands of years. The weather was slightly overcast, and grew

increasingly more humid and wet when we turned off into an alcove of mountains. We went through a small channel and arrived to a tiny village on the shore of the lake. We got off there, and started our hike to see some waterfalls, enjoying the misty rain, which made the experience seem all the more tropical. Everything was looking okay, until we hit the part of the trail that was completely flooded over by the rushing water that resulted from the storm the night before. Two other tourists were in front of us, and haltingly looked around for another option,

glancing down at their expensive hiking shoes, and back at the flowing, muddy water. We were all equipped in simple

sandals, so we pushed through and hiked the path in sandals, enjoying the cool water that was up to our shins.

We reached the waterfall, snapped some pictures, and decided it was time for a swim, so we headed back to the boat. The boat took us a to a little island, which we used to jump off into the cool waters of the lake. After we got our swimming in, we returned to the stilt house and got back into our jeep, which we began to call the Jurassic Park Jeep at this point, given the fact that it looked exactly like the one from the movies, and it was driving us through terrain and environments that seemed hand-picked right out of the films.

Just as we were circling the lake and heading up a steep pass towards our next destination, the gear shift snapped in two. So now, we were halfway up a very intense incline, with the shifter sitting there in 2 parts. Manh, who continually proved himself the most resourceful one of us, quickly ripped the covering away, and began to drive using the sharp-edged remainder of the shifter. We gave him a round of applause, and began the climb again. We stopped an hour later for lunch, while Manh went out to get the gear shift repaired. After the Jurassic Jeep had been fixed, again, we got back on the road. 4 hours later we reached our next destination, Cao Bang city, just 80 km south of the border of China. The city was pretty dead, but we managed to befriend some local security guards, who insisted on giving us shots of their homemade rice wine (this happens a lot...) and kept making cheers to our wisdom, which we all though slightly strange but toasted to nonetheless. After an early and delicious breakfast, we were driving through the mountain passes on a perfectly sunny day. The roads were narrow, unpaved, and even more dangerous given the shipping traffic coming through China. There were hundreds of

gigantic, load-carrying trucks bringing goods from China, and they all seemed to get stuck on

every curved incline and muddy road. It all struck me as slightly stupid, since these roads were barely navigable with a Jurassic Jeep, let alone a huge freight truck. By far, this part of the drive was the most scenic yet. Colossal limestone mountains covered in the most obscene green of Vietnamese flora surrounded us in all directions. Farmers were all out in the fields transplanting their rice, so we got to see a lot of tiny farming villages in action. When we reached Ban Gioc waterfalls, a hush came over the jeep, as we all literally had lost our breath with the beauty of this place. Two waterfalls, side-by-side, represented the border of China.

Abandoning all sense of responsibility, we grabbed our towels and ran towards the water (meaning we had forgotten all the sunscreen). The day was hot, humid, and incredibly sunny; swimming in the cool blue of the waterfall and exploring the moist caves had us ignoring the sharp tingle of impending sunburn. After enjoying a swim and having a waterfall-side picnic of hot mango slices, we headed to the other waterfall belonging to China, boarded a bamboo boat, and drove right up alongside the falling water, enjoying the mist and the view.

We then set a precedent and climbed up one of the rocks for a group picture (you are not allowed to climb or swim at this waterfall, but we felt it necessary and ignored the complaints of our boat driver). We were all so in awe of the natural beauty of this place that we sat around on the boat, expressed our joy in our current situation, and just continued to stare into the waterfalls for another hour. Manh was finally able to pull us away from Ban Gioc and got us into the jeep, where we excitedly chatted of our experience for the next 3 hours to get to our sleeping quarters for the night. This was our last night on the road, so we decided to take full advantage of the karaoke rooms downstairs; Anneliese and Hilary were initially against the idea of karaoke, but after some Spice Girls, they got into the action. We had some pretty rousing renditions of Boney M's "Rasputin" (for some reason, a HUGE hit in Vietnam), and Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire". By the time we were half-way through singing "Sweet Home Alabama", the Nha Nghi owner came down and unplugged the television and karaoke, prompting us to go to bed. We got to our room which hosted a large 3-D picture of a scantily clad Western woman from the 80's (in hindsight, I wish I had gotten a picture of it to further prove my point of how absurd it was). Right before we went to sleep, we had to usher a gigantic tropical flying bug off of Lien's bag and outside of the room. This black, winged creature was the size of my hand, and boasted large, red pincers. If I hadn't consumed so much beer, I would definitely had fled the room screaming, but I guess I had a little bit of liquid courage and pushed it out of the room with the back of my sandal. After the bug had been ushered out, we all had a great sleep, and woke up to another beautiful day. We were on the road early, and opted to get breakfast in some random place in a village about an hour away from Don Khe, where we had stayed the previous night. We all enjoyed a bowl of pho vit (pho noodles in broth with roasted duck... amazing!!!) and then continued our drive up to Lang Son, a town with a big market on the border of China. We were all hoping to buy some ridiculous Chinese products, but the closest I got was a pair of shoes and some bracelets. The most rewarding thing about this stop was the lunch of Banh Cuon (rice pancake rolled around fried onion) and grilled pork. We enjoyed some Chinese beer, which was really the most Chinese thing about the place, and then the girls stopped to go to the bathroom before we left for Hanoi. The bathroom was a stick hut at the end of a water buffalo grazing field; I had to weave through water buffalo, trying to avoid the larger males that tend to charge, to make it to the toilet. Well, toilet is too kind of a word, it was more of a hole in the ground with two planks over the top, with a box of ash nearby to throw in afterwards. I had never seen ash used to keep the smell down, but it did a fine job. A "bathroom" we had used on the side of the road earlier was constructed the same way, but had no ash, and the smell was enough to make me decide to skip out on using a bathroom for another 3 hours.

We got back on the road as a huge storm cloud rounded the corner of a mountain. This had us a bit worried, given the lack of windshield wipers and of window functioning. Manh, as ever impressive, continued driving, even though the storm had hit and visibility was next to nothing. When the storm had passed, and we were all a bit wet, he went outside, brushed the windshield off with his hand, and continued on our way. We drove through the rest of the day, and reached Hanoi by dinner time, all getting back to our houses before the sky opened up and let out another gigantic tropical storm. We all congratulated each other on surviving the trip, gave many thanks to Manh's excellent driving skills, and made conjectures on the lifespan of the Jurassic Park Jeep. Honestly, it was the best trip I've ever taken, and will never forget just how amazingly beautiful Vietnam can be.

Linh's Wedding and CAMA!

This past week has been quite busy for me, and now that I am returning to the states in less than a month, I don't plan on slowing down!

First off- I attended the wedding of one of my closest friends, Le Thuy Linh. Although she and her French-Canadian husband are already married on paper (foreigners are only allowed to live with a Vietnamese person if they are officially married in the eyes of the government), they had the wedding ceremony on Thursday. Since Gabriel didn't have any family come to Hanoi for the wedding (they are having a second wedding in Canada next month), I went to the pre-wedding family party to give him at least one English person to talk to. I arrived at 9am to Linh'smother's house, where I sat around with some very ancient family members and attempted to socialize in Vietnamese. This was a complete disaster, since the older generation seems touse a more formal, dated version of the language, and we couldn't understand anything the other was saying (this happens to me with really old Vietnamese people all the time). So, I proceeded to sit around, have copious amounts of tea poured for me, and wait for Linh and Gabe to make their entrance. Finally, Gabe and Linh descended down the stairs through a shower of confetti (I only managed to get all the stuff out of my hair two days later), and made their rounds greeting the family members. Gabe was really relieved to have me there, as I could tell he was pretty stressed having all these old women talking to him in Vietnamese at the same time.

Per tradition, Gabe served tea to the mother andgrandmothers, while Linh catered to the men. Linh also did some translating for her grandma, who was begging Gabe to "be fertile and have a lot of children". To this, he replied by downing an entire cup of tea and scalding his mouth. We made our move to the wedding "limo", which was actually just a black sedan covered with flowers. I carried Linh's train behind her, trying to keep it off the dusty roads, and I got blasted with another confetti canon in the process. When we got to the hotel, it was business as usual. Linh and Gabriel took their posts underneath the balloon archway, and took pictures with every single arriving guest. I stood around with some friends to chuckle at Gabe, who seemed more awkward than ever posing with all these Vietnamese families (he is a very tall guy...).Aftereveryone arrived, the wedding proceeded like every other Vietnamese wedding I have been to: the couple are declared married by an MC on stage, they pour champagne into a fountain of glasses filled with dry ice, and smile and nod for more pictures. The guests spend this whole time eating a traditional wedding meal which consists of chicken, fried shrimp, mushroom/egg soup, fried fish, beef, sauteed veggies, and creme caramel. I always find it strange that during the "ceremony" up on stage, all the guests are eating, chatting, and drinking. The couple then made their rounds with decorated glasses, toasting each table. By the time Linh and Gabe arrived at our foreigner table (they had placed us at a table in the back, which seems to happen at every wedding I've been to) they both seemed ready to call it day. An hour after the wedding began, the hall was almost empty. Guests pretty much come to weddings for the free meal and drinks, then leave. I hung around a bit longer to get some more time with Linh, but soonenough she had some more family obligations and I headed home around 1pm. All in all, very enjoyable, but very fast-paced.

Two days later, the CAMA International Music Festival hit Hanoi. I had attended last year and had an amazing time, so I naturally planned to go again this time around. A bunch of my friends got together for some bun cha, then walked over to the American Club (a big outdoor venue) at 1pm to take in the day. I had prepared myself with lots of sunscreen (a mistake I had learned from last year) and very light, breathable clothes. Luckily, they had set up a giant tent to help with the sun factor, and by the time evening rolled around, the multi-colored lights reflecting off the white tent made for a very convincing festival experience. The music during the day was great, and we all sat around enjoying fruit juices, good food, and good company. CAMA is a big event for the expat population, showcasing music from all over the world, so literally every foreigner friend of mine in Hanoi was there. As the night wore on, the music got very heavy-metal, which is, in my opinion, not the most enjoyable party music, but given the crowd, the drinks(they had Coors Light, which cannot be found on a normal basis) and the food, I hung around until it was over. The music last year was WAY better, so that was a bit disappointing forme, but I had a blast hanging with my friends, which left me quite satisfied.

(CAMA photos credit of Aidan Dockery, check out more of his work here)

This evening, I am attending a Bubble Show; the most famous bubble performing artist is in Hanoi for a couple days, and I feel I would be cheating myself if I didn't go. He holds a bunch of world records for biggest bubble, most consecutive bubbles, and so on and so forth. Honestly, I don't know how many things you can do with bubbles, but a friend of mine went to the show already and said it involved lasers, audience participation, and overall, was an extraordinary experience. So, I'll let you know how that goes. :)

Dog thieves and North Koreans

Okay, the title of this post is a little misleading, but it involves two random anecdotes that I decided to put together, so here goes:

Dog thievery: a common problem in Hanoi. If you ask any Hanoian about dogs being stolen, they all respond with a shrug and "it happens all the time". Apparently, puppies are stolen in order to be re-sold, while adult dogs are stolen for, well, dinner. My friend Gabriel has bought three different puppies, and all three have been stolen. On one occasion, he was walking his dog down the street when two men on a bike grabbed the leash, swooped the dog onto the bike, and drove off... all while driving at a relatively quick speed (these were obviously trained professionals). His other two dogs were both stolen from his garage while he was out on an errand. Although the loss of these cute dogs is definitely saddening, at least we can still believe that they will be sold to another family, and have a chance to live out a long, happy life. Gabriel has since purchased an unattractive puppy with disfigured hind legs (it wobbles strangely as it walks), and he's fairly certain that no one will attempt to steal this one.

Son's family's dog, Mi, was stolen two days ago; she was over ten years old and her fate was a bit more clear. According to his uncle, he let the dog out for a morning roam around the block to take care of business, and as he looked out the window, saw her being dragged behind a motorbike by a rope. His uncle ran downstairs and jumped on his own bike, determined to get Mi back, but the men had already pulled her onto the bike and sped around a corner. It's with instances like this in mind that I refrain from eating dog, no matter how much of a delicacy Vietnamese people claim it to be. Really, American dogs just don't know how good they have it!

And on a completely different note-

This evening a couple of us got together to go to a North Korean restaurant with our Korean friend Min (who I lovingly refer to as Min-ty Fresh). According to Min, this restaurant is run by the North Korean government (only the few countries that still have good relations with N.K. are allowed to have this sort of restaurant). All of the employees have been sent over from North Korea, and they are not allowed to leave the vicinity. Additionally, every night from 7-8pm, the women perform traditional North Korean propaganda music... which made for a truly entertaining evening. My friends and I decided that since any opportunity to dance with North Korean women is extremely limited, we might as well get up on stage and shake it around with them; this we did to the great enjoyment of all the other Korean restaurant guests, who quickly got out video cameras to record the whole affair. The food was phenomenal, and the eating atmosphere was made even more intriguing with the propaganda videos being played on a giant television on the wall. We quickly befriended a nearby table of Korean businessmen by accepting to take shots of Pyongyang Liquor (Min informed us it would be considered an atrocity of we refused). They then proceeded to serve us alcohol mixed with bear bile, followed by ginseng vodka... the last being the least offensive to the taste buds. Two of my friends managed to acquire English tutoring jobs off of these friendly, red-faced fellows before we parted ways. Overall, it made for a very comprehensive experience... I shall definitely be returning.