Saigon

The Mekong was definitely an experience, but I am so thankful for the refreshing breath of Saigon. We found Madame Cuc's Guesthouse 64 and are being treated like princesses. The girls who work here speak great English and are the most accommodating people I have meet thus far. The rooms are spotless and they offer us tea, coffee, or juice anytime we walk in the lobby. A hot shower took off most of the layers of grime from the Mekong trip, but I think I will live the rest of my life with a few of those layers still on.

The city is fun! Some 6 million people live here and it is said that 3 million of those people own motorbikes. The streets are packed with bikes darting every which way. There are delicious restaurants, beautiful parks, modern skyscrapers, and colonial architecture. It is nice to walk around the city- get some movement in the ole legs, and the internet is appreciated- who knew I was getting so addicted to technology. Art museums and a huge market are only blocks away from our guesthouse. We sweat through a few laps through the market- women grabbing our arms in encouragement to purchase one of their t-shirts or sets of chopsticks. "Buy Something." "What you looking for." My witty responses move to an ignoring silence by the end of the few days.

Many people ask us where we are from. We spent some time discussing the best answer, for honestly, being an American here seems a bit embarrassing. They call the "Vietnam War" the "American War" here. The museums and art are full of stories that bring shameful tears to my eyes. For a few days we responded "Canada." I mean Minnesota is pretty fricking close, but then I decided that I can't help where I was born and the war wasn't my idea. The first woman I told I was American (they don't know the "United States") was the pharmacist. After the three second delay and then my honest response, she busted out her passport to show me her visas from last year and this upcoming year for the US... and with a gleam in her eye, then came the photo album. Pictures of her in front of Walmart, Sears, Shamu, and a few other staples of America. This was the first of three photo albums I have seen in Saigon upon my response of "America." The cyclo drivers (bikes pushing one-seater carriages) are men who seem to be old enough that they must have some sort of "American War" experience. The most awkward response to "America" was an owner of some restaurant... "Everyone knows America. You are very famous for all the things you have done." I felt his eyes seeking deep into mine, "I was just born there." The mood lightened and he brought us some of the best food we had eaten yet in that country!

Everyone's English is great, the city is very easy to tourist around. We saw the main sights the first two days we were there. The headaches were on and off still, but knowing that I had medical assistance available seemed to bring a sense of calmness over the problem.

March 24th- I woke up at 5 in the morning to my stomach practicing a gymnastic floor routine. I huddled into a ball, primitive sense of protection. I was Ill. After 3 hours of running from my toilet to the bed, I dug out the medicine bag and talked myself into eating an Imodium. Our tour began at 8 a.m that day. I laid on the bed until 10 minutes to 8 and slowly descended the 6 floors of spiraling stairs.

The Cu Chi tunnels were not skip-able in my mind, but hearing that it was a two hour bus ride to the sights definitely gave me second thoughts. I hurt. My head was spinning and my stomach was twisting, I went from freezing to nauseous to exhausted. All day was painful. The tunnels were wild to see, so small. I cannot believe people lived in these tunnels for years, hiding and attacking. Children were soldiers in this community, some of the tunnel entrances were only big enough for a small child to enter and exit! We crawled through one tunnel that was expanded and buffed for tourists for about 30 feet- and that was enough! It was even light a little and still so stressful to be in such a cramped quarter so many feet underground. I couldn't even stand by the time we made it to the War Museum. I sat and waited for the girls to gather information from all the buildings of photos and stories. We went home, climbed the 6 floors (which actually is about 8) and I fell asleep for a few hours while Lex and Leah shopped around. I started some antibiotics that night, and the ladies brought me back to health by picking up some dinner and gatorade for this dehydrated girl. I feel fantastic now...

I cannot believe that this journey is nearing the end. I am focused on loving my last few weeks here, but I am so excited for this spring and summer. All my doors are open and I am free with a new wave of life and love that I am sooo thankful for! As always, the universe has given me exactly what I needed!
After a little under a week in southern Vietnam, Leah leaves us to fly back to the states and lexie and I hop some motorbikes to get on the night train which will bring us half way up the coast.
Later- I love you all!

to market to market to buy a...

Last day on the Mekong

Many surprises have come up along the way, but motorbiking down a dirt road paralleling the Mekong River today has definitely been my favorite to date. The road is so narrow and my driver cruises. We politely honk as we come within inches of hitting bike riders and walkers. The motorbikers take us to a pier where we sit with Dua waiting for our 6th boat in the past 3 days.

Yesterday, Dua picked us up from one of the few buses we have been on this week, and took us to our homestay- his uncle's house. I am pretty sure it could qualify for the second hottest day of my life... The homestay was pretty boring, just sweating in the shade watching the silty polluted river drag itself through the flat land. We were mostly left to ourselves, except, when the kids (12 yr old boy and 20 year old girl) came to play with us. They brought us fruits and "messed up" one of our many speed scrabble rounds to practice spelling English words- which was fun! They would laugh at us when we would try to speak Vietnamese- being that it is a tonal language, we just can't seem to hear the specific inflections they use. We walked around a bit, but there wasn't much to do... we met our beds pretty early, where we shared a room with a lizard that could have stood a fighting chance with small dog. We were woken up at 6 for breakfast and then put onto the motorbikes for the fun ride to the pier.

Dua must have been my age, he works all days lugging tourists around the floating market... which is where we went to next! Unfortunately, we were not going with him, but a tour group.
So we are sitting on a pier blindly waiting for the next part of this three day journey. The pier is a limb of a cramped street market like one I have not yet seen. Woman wearing the traditional conical hats ("Non La") or a motorbike helmet rule this area- either buying or selling perishable goods. Buckets of live fish (from tiny to huge in size) and eels, tables full of fleshy meat, and fruits and vegetables stacked high in their glory of bright colors.

As I write I am watching a woman with a pair of scissors begin to fillet some of her hundreds of fish she is selling- snipping off the fins, gills, and tail with a few mindless moves. She cuts as if she is making hundreds of paper snowflakes... quick, easy, emotionless, methodically. The meat stands are unbelievable (lexie and I have recently started a "This Shit Would Not Fly in the States" list and these plastic tables in the sun with chunks of meat out in the open for sure makes the cut. I just watched a woman finish shaving the last whiskers or hairs off of some big mammal!)

The market is tight. Narrow walkways with lots of action at a jarring volume. I would like to take a moment to digress to the apparel switch that has happened at the boarder. The men- totally western, as in every country I have been to. They can get away with anything from jeans and a t-shirt to trousers and a button up to a towel and a cigarette. The women in Vietnam have a style I was unfamiliar with until now... they wear straight legged pants and long sleeve shirts, flip flops or rubber boots and their Non La hats. Often the prints of the pants and top match, but sometimes they are so different. I am at a loss of words to describe these prints- they look like a child's pajamas. I will add some pictures to help describe the outfits.

A crazy woman with a green and white swirly patterned pj set walks past me to throw some garbage in the river (because that is where the garbage goes here.) She stops in front of me, touches her freshly shaved head and says (sort of shouts) something at me. I smile (because that is what I do here.) She grabs my hand and we twirl around and dance for a little bit in the street. She's crazy, but I am crazy too.

The floating market is just like any food market I have been to except everyone is on boats... good name, I guess. We still are not sure if it is a traditional means of trade as much as a tourist sight, but it is an amazing sight. The dozens of wooden boats vary in size, they are either oared or car motored along with bellies filled with a particular crop. If you sell pineapples, then you put a pineapple on the highest part of your water craft- that is how others know where to find the pineapple boat guy. If you sell cans of soda, then you crash into the sides of boats labeled "TOURISM" if the bright orange life jacket didn't give it away :)

After our third long day on the Mekong, we are pushed into one last bus and brought to Saigon. Upon arrival, my headache which was localizing in my jaw and teeth dissipated! We were excited to have modern amenities and a hygienic atmosphere again!

To the next border!

We exit through what looks to be everyday traffic. Thousands of motorbikers charging to their next destination. 1-4 people per bike, often the rear riders are sitting precariously side saddle style. Most drivers were helmets here, which I haven't seen much of in India or Thailand. I love to witness the loads that some motorbikers seem to commute with... a huge bag of fabric, baskets of fruit, boxes stacked high. I have actually seen one driver with twenty plus tuk tuk tires circling his body as he struggled to reach the handlebars :)

The man who picked us up, brought us to the travel company and left us for a non-English speaking guide. Whatever. Then we picked up another guy on the side of the road who I thought maybe had food for our lunch or spoke English, but then he jumped out at a stop light... but then we picked him up again after about 25 minutes of insane traffic. The bridge is so overloaded, traffic flowing like water- weaving through, navigating towards the path of least resistance following no rules. Maybe there are no rules to follow? But there ARE men selling bags of hot dogs off of their motorbikes, and that is way more fun than rules!

I am hot, no AC in this van (as promised by the brochure that I later will find out is not much of a "promise keeper" in general... we had to go through a company. A three day trip down the Mekong River Delta can be self organized but neither time nor language are in our favor to try this feat so... we put on our baseball hats, khakis, and sneakers (not really!) and took the tourist badge on this one)

We drive on. I didn't think the drive was supposed to be long, but it ended up being a few hours. I surrender to my experience. As I let it all visually pass by, I try to remember it detail for detail, for in less than three weeks none of this will be visible from I-94.

Little old ladies squatting on the side of the road or straddling the back of a motorbike... what their eyes have seen! Old men riding bikes that pull heavy carts. Entire families on open bed trucks, ladies selling mangoes, monks collecting alms, kids playing in the dirt (smiling of course!) dogs roaming, garbage resting. Women with baskets in one hand, baby in the other. Gasoline sold in Sprite bottles at roadside tables. Oxen pulling carts through the main road and in multi-green farm fields. Bundles of sugarcane transported on women's heads. Doorless houses and kids in uniforms scatter the street.

So I am hot, I have to pee, and my head aches in a way I have never experienced (it has now been hurting for over 24 hours and I wonder what the next three days will bring) We found the pothole ridden street Cambodia is infamous for. Dusty, polluted, chaotic, and I don't want to be anywhere else in the world right now :)

Next came the random alley drop off where we were shuttled (team totaling 7) to a boat to begin our journey down the Mekong River Delta. It is a wide flat silty body of water. We cruise in the middle, which doesn't bring us near any of the action on the banks, but I read that because it is the end of the dry season the water is very low. So low that we actually had to take 40 minutes to tow out a boat carrying rice! We just lounged on the boat (on the folding chairs that were placed inside the small wooden craft) for a few hours filling out some paper work, reading about the places we were traveling towards, and enjoying each others company. I stopped enjoying much else once we started to deal with the boarder crossing crap... I expected lunch and there never was any- I never do well on low blood sugar:)

"Welcome to Vietnam" said the tour guide who immediately tried to scam us of a couple dollars (we passed the scam thanks to a mummbly British fellow), then he freaked out and made us wait in the heat for awhile because he had to pay the medical fee that we all refused to pay. We demanded our passports back which- he wanted to keep- and then stopped at some dock so he could grab a lunch snack which he threw into the river when he was finished!

I did chill out and had some moments of joy when we turned into the small canal system (and the hunger pains subsided- no food until 6 p.m today!) Families and communities that truly live in this remote and natural section of Vietnam. I cherished this moment of the boat ride existence. Houses built high above the canal banks looked quiet but the lives that were happening right on the water were exciting and moving. Smaller boats I can only imagine were to be used for fishing, and big boats which looked as if they were they housed the families were sitting still. The boats looked ancient and had laundry drying and open windows. Every person we passed waved and energetic and sincere "hellos" as we passed. Kids laughed as they swam in the filthy water that their mom was washing the dishes in at their side. The sun was nearing the western horizon and it was simply beautiful to pass squatting farmers in rice fields with the traditional conical straw hats.

After a long day, we arrived to Cahu Doc. We walked to our hotel. Beads of sweat dripping down my back, into my eyes- hotter than sin! We told the guy at the front desk two things he didn't like. First, that we were going to keep our passports for the night. And, second, that the three of us were going to stay in one room together. We said it nicely, but he still put us in a windowless room on the top floor. It was filthy- hair on my bed and ants in the bathroom style. But even worse was the temperature of that room. I swear the devil must have been in the room next door. That night I slept on my towel, on my silk sheet, so that the sweat would absorb. This is the grossest and hottest place that I ever want to stay in my life.

The City Suffers

The Killing Fields in Phnom Penh...

Where only 30-40 years ago 1.7 million Khmers (1/4 of the population of people from Cambodia) were buried by their own countrymen. The goal was to halt all forms of inspiration, education, and freedom. Pit after pit of dead bodies were excavated, until the point had been made- let the other bodies rest, as these skulls and moved earth show the horror of what this country is still recovering from. Some of the pits in the Killing Fields were filled with all women, some were only children, some were all decapitated victims- all were beat and tortured. Stacked skulls rise high in a temple near the entrance of the fields to memorialize and intensify this horrible genocide.

Tears stream down my cheeks as we walk through the quiet grounds. So much suffering, how does a human being torture or kill another?! So many families destroyed, lives turned into pure painful existence... running and silenced for fear. What people do for power is inhumane. So many innocent civilians slaughtered for the goal of an uneducated peasant community.

If that was not enough sorrow-filled education for one day our next stop was Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. This barbed wire half block in the middle of downtown is an old high school that was transformed into a prison during the Khmer Rouge Regime. A 3-story building built with hope for education, turned into a chamber of torture. This is where the civilians were brought before they were bused to the Killing Fields.

Inside each room I feel slightly suffocated. I feel the weight of the cruelty and injustice that happened within these walls. I CAN NOT imagine what happened here (even with all the visual aids of beds with chains, pictures of starving men, battered children, torture devices still on the premises) The walls are stained with suffering, the tiles on the floor have felt so much weight, the stairwells tell nightmare-ish stories.

Sick to my stomach, I can not drink my water thinking of all those who died of starvation and dehydration on these grounds alone. The entire country was starving for years under Pol Pot's rule. Starved and overworked or killed were the two types of life offered at this time.

We rode home in silence trying to make sense of it all. Watching the people who are trying to put together all the pieces of a shattered society, the rebuilding from this cultural massacre and shredded nation.

I look at all the people we pass and am amazed to see so many smiling faces. I have to take a second glance at anyone who is over 40 and wonder what the hell their life has been like... how were they able to survive? The kids run around barefoot in the street and smile as they scream "hello" when we pass. The hundreds of tuk-tuk drivers and store merchants are relentless with their, "hey lady" "you want to buy" "have a look lady." I guess it is better than "madame"- wanna see me really get close to my patience level... call me "madame" and ask me what I want twelve hundred times in a row.

I do like Phnom Penh. It is an interesting city... built by the french, destroyed by the Khmer Rouge, reestablished when the Vietnamese attacked Pol Pot (and of course unnecessarily and randomly bombed by the US). I will not say it is a dream destination or a place I can't wait to return to, but it is a city licking its wounds. Our last two meals were at restaurants that provide programs and training to former street youth www.streetfriends.org. I even cried after lunch because our little waiter was so fricking cute and made it off the streets!

All right, just thought we should all know a bit about the action that has been going on over here the past few decades... next stop Mekong Delta?!?!

Bus Ride to Phnom Pehn

Why did I have to come so far away to be able to recognize all the stories in the world? It must be because I am less wrapped up in my own... finally!

The sky is so big. We pass countless lives, we all only know our own. I can never read books when I travel through the countryside- instead I prefer to imagine the thoughts and dreams, hopes and fears of all those who we are passing. I have a poet whispering in my ears over sweet sweet beats. My imagination inspired to explode!

The people I pass- a life I will not know this round on the universe... palm thatched stilted huts 30 yards off one of the few major roads in the entire country! Handmade ladders leading to their open door abodes, some houses fenced in by 6' sticks pounded into the soil every 12". The garbage littering the ground is much less prevalent than in the crowded city, but I believe that is because the families are truly living off the land. Plastic bags aren't in their front lawn because they don't own plastic bags. Picturesque farm lands reach the end of my field of vision, but must span much further. Water buffalo and cows meandering through the land, we just slammed on the breaks almost hitting a hungry looking cow.
The green mud pools that separate the houses from the road seem to be man made, I just saw a boy no older than 10 years slamming a pick into the earth to build one. Maybe the pools are for the water buffalo, or maybe for fishing small proteins. The road is maybe one of two or three main roads in all of Cambodia, only in recent years has it been paved (and from what I hear, we are very thankful of that!) A bit too many children running around the farm yards to assume everyone gets to go to school here. A group of young boys digging trenches, a girl preparing food with her mom and gramma, kids emptying a cart of products, and a girl carrying her sibling on her hip as she walks down the road. Street stands with a single umbrella shading unknown foods for sale, more developed stands are the palm and bamboo huts where a six-pack of people hang out. I do not what they sell or who to... dried fish or fresh fruit to neighbors?

I don't envy their lives- the basic struggle for survival, the lack of opportunities and arts. I don't wish them my life either- the loss of basic eternal truth through a complex, hectic, and luxurious materialistic lifestyle. But... okay, I wish them my life a little. I mean an education, a life of play, 6 months of travel, and hot pink toenails are things I would wish for everyone!

They have huge open windows looking out onto their huge sky. All they need is family and the environment that surrounds them. They must believe in god because their lives look impossible without some faith!

In the middle of their muddy ponds, gorgeous lotus flowers grow. In the miles of their rice fields crops, an amazingly luminous green. In the eyes of the dust caked children's faces, the brightest glimmering light. Do they get to dream big? They must live for right now. Death and destruction constantly on the forefront with an average lifespan of 58 and millions of active landmines still threatening the nation. The suffering of Cambodians will be discussed in my next journal entry.