It's so much easier to write about a trip while you're on it--that's a tip for all you bloggers out there who aspire to document your travels. And of course, I finally get the motivation to share some post-vacation thoughts just as Sarah walks in the door from a 12-hour shift in the operating room.
Probably the biggest surprise of our adventure was the difficulty we had getting back into some semblance of normal sleep patterns when we got home. Now mind you, I spent 17 days in Thailand last year (and it occurs to me that I should turn the emails I wrote about that experience into a retroactive blog, too), and when I got home from that trip, I had no sleep problems. But for a good 5 or 6 nights after our return, Sarah and I would awaken at 4 or 4:30 am, wired to the gills, talking our heads off and even watching movie snippets. Naturally, by about 6:30 or 7, we were exhausted again and would crash until 11 or 12. And so it went, both of us feeling totally disoriented by the persistence of our out-of-body states.
Now that we have our wits, and our energy, about us again, here's a rundown of some of the undocumented aspects of our 19 days, which often present inherent contrasts:
1) The crowds at the main Angkor ruins, while they didn't exactly take us by surprise, proved to be suffocating more often than not. Combined with the 90+ degree heat and 80+ percent humidity, it made for some pretty miserable moments. Arriving at Angkor Wat at sunrise, you'd think you had just walked over from your room at the Disneyland Hotel. A steady stream of buses, cars and tuk tuks on the road to the temple; packed lines at the admission booths outside the complex; and throngs of camera-wielding maniacs jockeying for position along the moat, trying to catch that special silhouetted shot of Angkor Wat's famed towers. Things don't get a whole lot more manageable at Bayon or Ta Prohm either.
However, head further from Siem Reap, to the Roluos Group, Kbal Spean (aka the River of 1000 Lingas), Bantei Srei, or best of all, Beng Melea, and you're rewarded with much more solitary--and equally visually arresting--experiences. There's more room to explore, more quiet to relish, fewer peddlers to contend with and, perhaps best of all, tourist-free photos to be had. If you go, and you only have one day to visit temples, ignore the common wisdom--hit those out-of-town ruins and skip the more popular circuit.
2) There's a certain amount of guilt that comes with visiting developing countries, most notably the uncomfortable feeling that you're gawking at (and relentlessly photographing) poverty. Everywhere we went, we were greeted as if we were Bill and Melinda Gates, the assumption being that we could literally rescue entire villages from their fates. You can't help but feel the sobering impact of such treatment and begin to question whether your presence is in the best interest of the culture you're unwittingly homogenizing. The constant barrage of weathered elderly folks and too-young children selling useless tourist drivel in the streets feeds the guilt over our exposing them to us.
That said, you also can't help but come away with the sense that by seeing how Cambodians and rural Vietnamese people live with an appreciation and embrace of the practical that is beyond the comprehension of most Americans, your newfound awareness will help to nudge our fat-and-happy culture--or at least your little piece of it--toward a more enlightened state. Of course, finding out upon arrival in Asia that our country had elected its first African American president, and an incredibly dignified and oratorically skilled one at that, only fueled our understandably smug feelings of social responsibility.
3) Getting around the Mekong Delta in any kind of hurry is simply not possible. Driving in Vietnam is a seeming competition to see who can be the biggest obstructions and most relentless honkers. There is nothing that either Sarah or I would describe as a freeway, so traffic, even when it's moving, slogs along. Going 150 kilometers takes about 4 hours, which places serious limits on day trips. We learned that the hard way, opting to wing a day-trip that, while still fascinating and enjoyable, really undervalued the region. If we had it to do all over again, we'd have done a riverboat cruise, which several travelers we met said is a fabulous experience.
But skimping on the Mekong Delta meant we were able to spend more time on Phu Quoc, which is something far fewer visitors to Vietnam make a priority of doing. Too bad for them, because Phu Quoc is a wonderful island getaway that also provides a scaled down picture of Vietnam--what with its local fishermen, pepper and fish sauce factories, local street scene, and dreamy beach settings. And while there are certainly more cultural benefits to be gleaned from a Mekong program, Phu Quoc--and in particular the Mango Bay Resort, where we stayed--presents an ideal getaway from the exhaustion of international travel. We could definitely have traded our time in Halong Bay for a more satisfying Mekong experience (more on that later), but hey, into every trip, some mistakes must fall.
4) The two main cities of Vietnam each present their own fascinating dichotomies. Take Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon); on the surface, it's a forgettable city, with all the architectural charm of a Costco. Third-worldish trappings are everywhere--from shanty-like homes and businesses squeezed between more modern neighbors, to prominent roads and sidewalks that are in literal rubble, to prostitutes and their motor bike-riding pimps approaching tourists. Yet it's also the economic engine of the country, and the capitalistic spirit that Vietnam is embracing is at the core of the city's heart. People are open-minded and friendly, English is spoken widely, and young people wear the latest styles, chat on cutting edge devices, and hang out in chic little cafes.
Hanoi, meanwhile, is a far more stately city, with a lot of beautiful architecture, cleaner and more defined roadways, pristine parks, and numerous upscale international hotels. But it also reflects the nation's communist roots, with a much more subdued (i.e. controlled) tone. People are less outwardly friendly, government officials often don't speak English (or at least, they pretend not to), and public behavior is noticeably more, uh, proper. Public affection, from what I saw, was limited to couples sitting arm-in-arm on benches along Hoan Kiem Lake in the evenings.
So, to sum up, while Hanoi is clearly the more visually appealing city, Ho Chi Minh City is where the fresh energy is. If I had to live in one or the other, Ho Chi Minh City would be the easy choice.
I could go on, but I've promised myself that I'd ensure that this blog remained eminently readable. Sarah and I hope that sharing our experiences in this way has helped to personalize our trip for all of you, and that it somehow inspires you to a) travel to far-off lands, and b) write about your adventures when you do so. And if you do, please include us among those you notify, as one good turn deserves another. Besides, I always appreciate a new distraction that will keep me from what I really need to be doing.
Goodbye, Vietnam. Goodbye, Cambodia. You came and went all too quickly, as we knew you would. Thank you for opening our eyes a little wider, and making us feel more connected with the amazing assortment of peoples that call this little rock drifting through space home. Perhaps we'll be back someday. In the meantime, we'll start planning our next great international adventure...
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Vietnam Pics For Those Still Paying Attention
I know we probably lost some (most?) of you when we returned home last week, but I'm a glutton for self-punishment, and I believe in closure, so before I share some post-trip thoughts, I'm opening the floodgates with long-promised photos from Vietnam. Look at it this way--if it were 20 years ago, you'd have to come over and sit on our couch for hours while I fumbled with trays of slides and a projector that didn't work.
This young Mekong Delta resident clearly hadn't seen a twistable crayon before. That, or he really likes the taste of plastic.
Hard to resist a face this animated. This woman stopped to talk to our Mekong Delta guide, Nhi.
This family has been making (and wrapping) coconut candy for generations. They're probably also the most photographed coconut candy-makers on Earth.
One of the most common sites at mid-day throughout Southeast Asia is that of unaccompanied children making their way home from school. These two were skipping their way down a walkway near Vinh Long in the Mekong Delta.
I have a weakness for ordinary slice-of-life scenes spotted from river boats. I caught this woman pouring a bucket of water into a Mekong River channel near Vinh Long.
Another Mekong moment--not sure about the video sign. If they rent movies here, they must not do much business, as very few homes in the delta region have televisions, much less DVD players.
The woman in this photo seemed to enjoy being a photo subject. Her counterpart, not so much.
Man, those schnitzengrubens--uh, I mean the Mekong humidity--can really wipe you out. (Apologies to Mel Brooks for the gratuitous Blazing Saddles reference.)
Classic moment caught in the particularly unsanitary Vinh Long marketplace--a woman sleeps amid the colorful assortment of vegetables she was supposed to be peddling.
Ah, paradise--this was our idyllic bungalow on the tranquil island of Phu Quoc, where we spent three of our favorite days.
Sarah has a pretty good photographic eye, too--as deomonstrated by this artistic shot of our flip flops, and the bucket of water we used to clean our sandy feet after lounging on our private Phu Quoc beach.
Sunsets were definitely a highlight of our stay on Phu Quoc--this one was taken from the sitting area of the Mango Bay Resort's open air restaurant.
There are always rewards for venturing out on your own and leaving the comfort of your beach resort. Our outing on a rented motorbike enabled us to take in the colorful view of the harbor in Duong Dong (pronounced sort of like Zheng Ndeng, not that one can do justice to Vietnamese tonal pronunciation) town on Phu Quoc.
After reaching the opposite side of Phu Quoc via our motorbike, we came across these fishermen untangling their nets.
It's a good thing for U.S.-Vietnam relations that the Phu Quoc locals didn't see this obnoxious American couple engaging in some disturbing hi-jinks on a secluded beach. "Look at that American woman giving birth to a small bearded man!"
The downside of renting your own motorbike on an island that depends on mostly dirt roads--Sarah waits for a mechanic to fix our flat tire. Amazingly, the flat delayed us only about 10 minutes, and the repair costs us a whole $3, including the new inner tube.
The lighting cast by our last sunset on Phu Quoc was too unusual not to use the timer to catch this moody photo of the happy couple.
The general manager at Mango Bay told us that he'd somehow still been unable to get a good beach photo for the resort's web site, so I gladly took this shot in exchange for a free t-shirt--which I naturally left in our bungalow.
At the end of a long and drunken night of French food and revelry in Saigon's famous Dong Khoi district, Sarah and I show off the new custom duds we had made for us by a local clothing designer.
A plane trip and overnight train ride from Saigon later, Sarah is accosted by Hmong peddlers as we make our way through the market in Sapa, in the mountains of Northwest Vietnam.
The contrast of this photo didn't cooperate, but who could resist the juxtaposition of a solitary woman working on her craft while two pigs fornicate just a few feet away?
I wish I'd have gotten as good a shot of this old Hmong woman's face as I did of her hands--not that anything could have been more colorful. (The blue is from the native indigo plants they use to dye their garments.)
Holy crap, Hmong children are cute.
This Hmong peddler was particularly persistent. Sarah was about to buy an usual necklace from her until she noticed that a little bell was missing. The next day, this same woman miraculous spotted us on the street to show us that she'd fixed it, and naturally we couldn't help but complete the purchase. Note the way she uses her toes to hold the thread.
What I said about Hmong children above goes double for these two. The girl here demanded that I buy one of her bracelets in exchange for this photo. It was absolutely worth the 20,000 dong (about $1.20).
I can't possibly say enough about Ca, the 12-year-old Hmong girl who walked with us for much of the morning on our second day of trekking near Sapa. The youngest of three children, she faces a life of hard tribal tasks and caring for her parents and grandparents while her older siblings attend school in Sapa and Hanoi. And yet she smiles like she has everything one could want.
A Hmong man ushers his little one across one of the many rickety--and totally entertaining--bridges we crossed during our Sapa treks.
Our wonderful and warm Hmong guide, Maos, got these girls to pose with her for a photo. She seemed to know everyone we passed. (Incidentally, I'm guessing at the spelling of Maos' name, as she doesn't read or write, and the Hmong still don't keep written birth records.)
One of the many characters we encountered (and who were peddling their wares) during our Sapa treks.
Talk about your local color--this 89-year-old woman brought us tea when we stopped at her guest house for a brief break from our Sapa trek. Maos stays in the house with the clients she takes on 3-day treks, which Sarah and I both wished we could have taken the time to do.
An obligatory photo of the admittedly beautiful seascape of Halong Bay--a beauty, I might add, that is completely overwhelmed by the Disneyfied way in which they shuttle too many tourists through the overly structured sightseeing itinerary.
The best part of our Halong Bay mini-trip was, without a doubt, meeting our two awesome new friends, Spyros and Alyssa, whom we hope to one day visit in their home city of Rome.
Near the end of our trip, a woman in the old quarter of Hanoi suddenly placed her load on Sarah's shoulder, lending additional authenticity to Sarah's fast-developing Southeast Asian style. Naturally, I felt obligated to buy one of the woman's bags of pineapple--which, incidentally, Sarah wouldn't touch but turned out to be the best fruit I tasted on our entire trip.
I love the vibrancy of street scenes such as this one I caught in Hanoi's old quarter, where the streets are named after the items that at one time were exclusively sold on them. (This practice has given way as the area has evolved into a tourist mecca filled with kitschy gifts, of which we bought way more than our share.) This photo is a perfect end to our show-and-tell, as my memories of the trip will be filled with such images.
This young Mekong Delta resident clearly hadn't seen a twistable crayon before. That, or he really likes the taste of plastic.
Hard to resist a face this animated. This woman stopped to talk to our Mekong Delta guide, Nhi.
This family has been making (and wrapping) coconut candy for generations. They're probably also the most photographed coconut candy-makers on Earth.
One of the most common sites at mid-day throughout Southeast Asia is that of unaccompanied children making their way home from school. These two were skipping their way down a walkway near Vinh Long in the Mekong Delta.
I have a weakness for ordinary slice-of-life scenes spotted from river boats. I caught this woman pouring a bucket of water into a Mekong River channel near Vinh Long.
Another Mekong moment--not sure about the video sign. If they rent movies here, they must not do much business, as very few homes in the delta region have televisions, much less DVD players.
The woman in this photo seemed to enjoy being a photo subject. Her counterpart, not so much.
Man, those schnitzengrubens--uh, I mean the Mekong humidity--can really wipe you out. (Apologies to Mel Brooks for the gratuitous Blazing Saddles reference.)
Classic moment caught in the particularly unsanitary Vinh Long marketplace--a woman sleeps amid the colorful assortment of vegetables she was supposed to be peddling.
Ah, paradise--this was our idyllic bungalow on the tranquil island of Phu Quoc, where we spent three of our favorite days.
Sarah has a pretty good photographic eye, too--as deomonstrated by this artistic shot of our flip flops, and the bucket of water we used to clean our sandy feet after lounging on our private Phu Quoc beach.
Sunsets were definitely a highlight of our stay on Phu Quoc--this one was taken from the sitting area of the Mango Bay Resort's open air restaurant.
The second of our three sunsets on Phu Quoc was the most spectacular. The orange glow grew more brilliant with each passing moment, and the silhouetted boats on the horizon add a distinctly Southeast Asian touch.
There are always rewards for venturing out on your own and leaving the comfort of your beach resort. Our outing on a rented motorbike enabled us to take in the colorful view of the harbor in Duong Dong (pronounced sort of like Zheng Ndeng, not that one can do justice to Vietnamese tonal pronunciation) town on Phu Quoc.
After reaching the opposite side of Phu Quoc via our motorbike, we came across these fishermen untangling their nets.
It's a good thing for U.S.-Vietnam relations that the Phu Quoc locals didn't see this obnoxious American couple engaging in some disturbing hi-jinks on a secluded beach. "Look at that American woman giving birth to a small bearded man!"
The downside of renting your own motorbike on an island that depends on mostly dirt roads--Sarah waits for a mechanic to fix our flat tire. Amazingly, the flat delayed us only about 10 minutes, and the repair costs us a whole $3, including the new inner tube.
The lighting cast by our last sunset on Phu Quoc was too unusual not to use the timer to catch this moody photo of the happy couple.
The general manager at Mango Bay told us that he'd somehow still been unable to get a good beach photo for the resort's web site, so I gladly took this shot in exchange for a free t-shirt--which I naturally left in our bungalow.
At the end of a long and drunken night of French food and revelry in Saigon's famous Dong Khoi district, Sarah and I show off the new custom duds we had made for us by a local clothing designer.
A plane trip and overnight train ride from Saigon later, Sarah is accosted by Hmong peddlers as we make our way through the market in Sapa, in the mountains of Northwest Vietnam.
The contrast of this photo didn't cooperate, but who could resist the juxtaposition of a solitary woman working on her craft while two pigs fornicate just a few feet away?
I wish I'd have gotten as good a shot of this old Hmong woman's face as I did of her hands--not that anything could have been more colorful. (The blue is from the native indigo plants they use to dye their garments.)
Holy crap, Hmong children are cute.
This Hmong peddler was particularly persistent. Sarah was about to buy an usual necklace from her until she noticed that a little bell was missing. The next day, this same woman miraculous spotted us on the street to show us that she'd fixed it, and naturally we couldn't help but complete the purchase. Note the way she uses her toes to hold the thread.
What I said about Hmong children above goes double for these two. The girl here demanded that I buy one of her bracelets in exchange for this photo. It was absolutely worth the 20,000 dong (about $1.20).
I can't possibly say enough about Ca, the 12-year-old Hmong girl who walked with us for much of the morning on our second day of trekking near Sapa. The youngest of three children, she faces a life of hard tribal tasks and caring for her parents and grandparents while her older siblings attend school in Sapa and Hanoi. And yet she smiles like she has everything one could want.
A Hmong man ushers his little one across one of the many rickety--and totally entertaining--bridges we crossed during our Sapa treks.
Our wonderful and warm Hmong guide, Maos, got these girls to pose with her for a photo. She seemed to know everyone we passed. (Incidentally, I'm guessing at the spelling of Maos' name, as she doesn't read or write, and the Hmong still don't keep written birth records.)
One of the many characters we encountered (and who were peddling their wares) during our Sapa treks.
Talk about your local color--this 89-year-old woman brought us tea when we stopped at her guest house for a brief break from our Sapa trek. Maos stays in the house with the clients she takes on 3-day treks, which Sarah and I both wished we could have taken the time to do.
An obligatory photo of the admittedly beautiful seascape of Halong Bay--a beauty, I might add, that is completely overwhelmed by the Disneyfied way in which they shuttle too many tourists through the overly structured sightseeing itinerary.
The best part of our Halong Bay mini-trip was, without a doubt, meeting our two awesome new friends, Spyros and Alyssa, whom we hope to one day visit in their home city of Rome.
Near the end of our trip, a woman in the old quarter of Hanoi suddenly placed her load on Sarah's shoulder, lending additional authenticity to Sarah's fast-developing Southeast Asian style. Naturally, I felt obligated to buy one of the woman's bags of pineapple--which, incidentally, Sarah wouldn't touch but turned out to be the best fruit I tasted on our entire trip.
I love the vibrancy of street scenes such as this one I caught in Hanoi's old quarter, where the streets are named after the items that at one time were exclusively sold on them. (This practice has given way as the area has evolved into a tourist mecca filled with kitschy gifts, of which we bought way more than our share.) This photo is a perfect end to our show-and-tell, as my memories of the trip will be filled with such images.
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