Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

People think I am joking when I tell them of our experiences in Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam. Well, I was not joking. Get a load of this.

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Sziget Festival to Add "high culture" to Program

Having seen this amazing performance in Vietnam this year, it is a "must see" for those coming to the festival.

The Sziget Festival, a week-long musical extravaganza on Budapest's Obuda Island, will offer 35 theatre and ballet performances while Hungarian museums will sponsor 12 events, the festival's media chief told MTI on Friday.

The theatre events will include performances by Danza Contemporanea de Cuba, Stockholm 59 Degrees North and Hofesh Shechter. They will be performed on five different stages during the festival, to run between August 13 and 17, Viktoria Veto said.

A special treat for theater fans might be a performance by the Vietnamese National Water Puppet Theater with its unique visual effects and unusual figures.

Museums, including the Museum of Fine Arts, the National Gallery, the National Museum and other large public collections, will have an opportunity to offer their own programs at the festival for the first time ever.

Similarly to earlier years, the literary events will serve to complement the festival's main profile which is music for the younger set.

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Mysterious Knocker Part 2: For Real This Time

The knock on the door occurred again this morning, but this time we could not send him away to get more sleep. We had a flight from Hanoi to Kuala Lumpur at 9:15 and the airport is over an hour away.

The taxi was on time and started the meter as we arranged ourselves in the cab, but I told him the hotel had paid for the trip. He asked for a receipt, but Ron had seen the clerk hand him a paper already. I told him to turn around and get it from the hotel if he did not have it, because we were not paying the bill. Miraculously, he continued to drive on.

We had paid for Express boarding, but had no clue what it meant. Checking in was a breeze and Air Asia was again great. We boarded first with express boarding directly into the plane getting to choose our seats first and first shot at the overhead storage. Our luggage weight was not an issue, which was a relief. The flight took off on time and we arrived ten minutes early. The landing was the smoothest we have had in years.

From the airport, we took the bus shuttle directly to our hotel for 15 Ringgits each, a real bargain. The hotel clerk remembered us and welcomed us back apologizing for not having the same room available. We immediately took our dirty clothes to the laundry service next door to pick up tomorrow, so when we get home, we will only have one shirt each that needs to go into the wash.

Not having a really good coffee since we left Siem Reap, we had to go to Starbucks for a caffeine fix. We did head back to the mall that had the large white Christmas tree to see if it still graced the lobby, but it was gone. The Chinese Lunar New Year starts on January 18^th and the whole mall is decorated in red and gold in anticipation. If you look at my photos, the changes are dramatic. If you want to see my albums, send me an e-mail to drryanjames@gmail.com.

Our enthusiasm is not what it was a month ago and although there are a couple of things we would like to see here, we only have tomorrow. If we see them, fine, but if we don’t, oh well. After being gone a month, our thoughts about tourism transpire from we have to see it all to whatever we see and do is fine. Touring around is work. Being a tourist is mind bending. Not only to you have to transform your thinking to the language differences, but the culture, the food, and a real obstacle is transportation once you hit the ground. It has not been easy getting from one place to another, but it has been an experience that I probably would not have given up when all is said and done. It helped me grow as a person to see what others have to survive with in a microscopic piece of their daily lives making me feel fortunate for living in Budapest.

The WiFi is not working at our hotel, so we have not been able to download mail or post my writing, so we will have to make a trip to Starbucks tomorrow where they have free WiFi at everyone of the 150 stores in the country.

The major difference being back here as opposed to Cambodia or Vietnam, is prosperity. More people are better off here than in the other countries. Malaysia had embraced technology and it has worked for the masses. No one here is hounding us to buy books, cigarette lighters, fruit, combs, bracelets, jewelry of any kind, or offering us rides in their cyclo (there are no tuk-tuks or cyclos here). No one is asking us where we are from, how old we are, or if we have children. The culture shock continues with the majority of women wearing head coverings. Then there is the weather. It is so much hotter and humid here. Just as we were entering the city, the clouds opened up and it poured a torrential rain. Thinking this would relieve the humidity, when it stopped, it was only successful in creating a city steam bath. You can almost see the steam rising from wet pedestrians as the sun is now drying their clothing.

Similarities do exist, each restaurant you pass has someone trying to get you into their door and massage parlors are everywhere outnumbering the number of tourists in any of the countries. Full body massages run on the average of $6.00 for an hour, the same for a foot/leg massage also. From what we can see, they are all legitimate massages, but it goes without saying there are probably other types available also, but not for this writer for sure.

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Mysterious Knocker

This will be a brief post. It was basically an uneventful day. But, it did start out interesting when someone came knocking on our door at 6:00 am to say they were waking up Mr. Tam. We both popped up and Ron said through the door, there is no one here by that name. They repeated the message and Ron did likewise. We tried getting back to sleep, but then about fifteen minutes went by and the knock came again. The messenger said the taxi was here for Mr. Tam. Ron again shouted through the door, but refused to open it to speak to the guy. Speaking through a door to a non-native speaker who barely understands English is like expecting your pet dog to literally understand everything you say to them; it just does not work that way. The shouting match went back and forth for a good five minutes, before we realized it was not Mr. Tam, but Mr. Jam or James. They were under the impression we were leaving for the airport today and had a taxi waiting. The first knock was our wake-up call and the second go around was the taxi’s meter is running even if you are not. Opps! Right hour, wrong day, try again tomorrow.

Neither of us could get back to sleep after this. After a shower, we went down to breakfast where each male employee looked sheepish, so we could not tell which one was the morning messenger, but we smiled at all of them to show no hard feelings. Now we wondered if we were getting one to two nights free for the botched guideless boat trip, but either way, we were prepared.

Blue dragons seem to be a rarity, but I wanted one. The Hmong people make stuffed animals with their ethnic weaving and cloths that they create. I wanted a small blue dragon, but had only seen the large ones, while the small ones were lemon yellow, hibiscus pink, and tangerine orange combinations. We finally agreed on getting the large one since it was the correct color, but we could not remember where the store was where we saw it. After hunting for over an hour, I suggested we give up the search and Ron wanted to find the Catholic Church anyway.

When we found the church, it was overflowing with people at the 10:00 am mass. The next one was in French at noon, and then in Vietnamese at 4:00. Whiling the time until we could return, we found a café. The French mass was not nearly as well attended as the morning one, yet it was surprising to see how many people there were. Just having a French mass shows there is a need, which makes me wonder why. The interior of the church is something we have never seen. The entire altar and side altars were done in red and gold, very ornate designs, but really red and tons of gold. I felt like Dorothy in the Land of Oz after a Beijing makeover. It was unusual too that they still had their Christmas trees up and lit at this late date. Hopefully, they are artificial or are a real fire hazard.

Basically the rest of the day took us on the search for blue dragons. What we discovered was another restaurant run by former homeless children as a training program in self-survival and hospitality skills for future employment. We had refreshments here to show our support and bought a t-shirt from them. Next door is a shop that sells fair trade items produced in cottage industry workshops by village women, where we found a little gift for a friend.

Our dinner choice was a restaurant recommended by a friend who had lived in Vietnam for nine months, bless his tolerant heart. The desk clerk told us it is the most famous restaurant in Hanoi serving recipes from the entire country’s gastronomic offerings. Outside the hotel was a cyclo, so we climbed in after negotiating a $5.00 ride. This poor man really earned his money. It turned out to be quite a distance from our hotel, so his poor legs must have been tired. When we arrived, I gave him extra dollars, so he said he would wait for us to take us back.

Neither of us was thrilled with our choices for dinner. The starter was delectable, but the entrées were ho-hum not even coming close to the descriptions on the menu. Dessert was an interesting addition. I had mung beans in coconut milk with peanuts and jelly. Interestingly, many desserts are sweet soups. When we left the restaurant, our cyclo driver was no where to be found, but we waited ten minutes to see if we were overlooking him. We decided on a taxi back, which took thirty minutes due to the driver being young, not aggressive in his skills, plus never getting higher than second gear.

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Who Pulls the Strings?

We were really at a loss as to how to spend the day today having covered the major sights and attractions already, which is really a short list. We had passed the zoo on the city tour, but it had heartbreak hotel written all over it, so it was not a way to have a happy ending here. We both had different ideas for breakfast and thankfully many restaurants offer a variety of menus including Vietnamese, American, British, and even Mexican breakfast options. We went to the one offering French toast as well as a breakfast burrito settling for these choices. We chose well, both being satiated, we went back to the market to get t-shirts.

Strategically planning the door to enter closest to the clothes, we were able to avoid being mauled or maimed while at the same time avoiding mauling and maiming anyone trying to grab us. Successfully buying two t-shirts and one pullover with smiles and the rewarding feeling for the sales people as well as ourselves, we left to walk the city. I had found a stuffed dragon made by the Hmong people in one shop, but was not thrilled with the color. We went in hunt of another dragon of a different color. Searching high and low over blocks and blocks of shops, it seemed this type of craftsmanship was limited to the only store I saw it in. We walked a couple of miles in the meanwhile in a much longer period of time than it would normally take since it is usual for sidewalks to be parking lots for motorcycles or temporary restaurants, causing detours into the street where you have to play Ping with traffic. Crossing the street is another time waster; it reminds you of an old television show called “This Is Your Life”.

Ron had read about an ice cream parlor that is French owned while supposedly serving the best ice cream in the city. We sought it out and placed our orders. He was more gracious with his compliments than I was, but I did not think my choices were all that flavorful. While we were sitting there, it started to sprinkle. We were hoping for some rain as the sky had been overcast for a couple of days and the humidity was in the 80-90 percentile each day making it feel unusually warm with the heat and pollution from six million motorcycles.

Meandering back to the hotel, we had decided to buy tickets for the Vietnamese Golden Dragon Water Puppet Theater, the only water puppet show in the world, so they claim. Tickets were $4.00 each and the hotel sold them. The show was at 6:30 or 8:00 pm, so we chose the early show and had planned on a restaurant nearby for afterward. In the meanwhile, we read, wrote, and planned the rest of our trip out.

I was checking e-mail here at the hotel, where they had a cable I could hook up to my computer; no wireless was available. When I work off of the battery, the computer is extraordinarily slow. After minutes, Outlook finally opened and the mail downloaded rather quickly being a high speed connection. I spotted an e-mail from my editor, which was a stab in my stomach. I had submitted my manuscript, if is it is still called a manuscript when it is a travel guide, on October 8^th getting an immediate response thanking me for getting it in weeks early. I had then written him a couple of times before leaving having concerns about rewrites, but never received a response. Having fifty percent Italian DNA, I worried obsessively that there were so many things wrong with the book they had not decided not to use it and did not know how to break the news to me. Until we left for the trip, I was panic stricken about not getting a response, but miraculously when the trip started, I was able to let it go completely. Now, with a week left of vacation, the e-mail I had waited months for has arrived. Outlook corrupted and would not open any of my mail. Grrrrrrrr…

We walked to the puppet show not exactly sure of the location, but Ron with his map in hand and after asking for directions a couple of times, we found it. I had imagined a water puppet show as puppets being hung down over a pool of water, not really remarkable, but could be interesting. There was no preparation for what we saw, which was phenomenal. On the stage on either side sat three musicians: two woman and one man on the left and two men and one woman on the right. Center stage was an oversized red and gold temple type building sitting on a large pool of river water. The water was as muddy as the actual river making it as opaque as a black cat in the dark on a moonless night. The water had some other props as well. We half expected the temple to be the stage for the puppets, but wrong again. The water was the stage as many of the puppets emerged from the sides of the temple while others came from the water directly. Puppet dragons broke the water’s surface along with fish and ducks. People entered the fluid stage from the sides. There were seventeen vignettes in all accompanied by the musicians playing instruments and being the voices of the characters. Even without language, it was enthralling. All of the tourists were flummoxed as to how the puppeteers performed these feats. It seemed possible that they were all under water manipulating the puppets upward, but there were not enough disturbances on the waters surface to betray someone below. In addition to this, there were no air bubbles rising to the top to betray breathing apparatus below. When the show was over, the puppeteers came out for a bow, all ten of them. They were in the water, but only wet from the waist down. Their chests and heads were dry as a bone. The magic continues, for us, anyway.

Around the corner and two blocks away was the restaurant the hotel recommended. When we reached it, there was a crowd of about forty people waiting to be seated. We took a taxi home again and ate locally.

When we returned to the hotel, I booted up the computer and tried the Internet and Outlook yet again. Finally, it worked and I was able to open the letter from my editor.

“Hi, Ryan,

At long last, I'm getting back to you. I apologize for the delays. It was ridiculously busy around here in November and December, and I realized that I never emailed you in the chaos leading up to the holiday break...

I assume you were busy with end-of-the semester activities, so hopefully not hearing from me was a blessing in disguise... The good news is that things went smoothly on my end and I've already shipped files off to the copyeditor. I think the book's in great shape, and I'm pleased with all the work you did... I mentioned earlier that I didn't think I'd have a long list of queries for you, which turned out to be true, though I do now have one substantial query here for you, and I hope you'll bear with me and this tardy request: I'm wondering if you could rework the introduction in chapter one. I think you did a nice job of explaining how you came to live in Budapest, which is just what I requested, but I think you maybe steered a bit too far off the topic of the city and what it's like to live there now. I think this would be a good opportunity to discuss what the city was like when you first got there and sum up how you've seen it change, with a few historical references thrown in. I would possibly cut the story about September 11th and shorten up your "getting there" story to 1 to 3 sentences and then focus the intro on living in Budapest, since your stories of teaching courses, opening up a B&B, etc., would be more interesting to readers... Also, anything you could add about Budapest *right now* as opposed to even a few years ago would be great to include. I know you added a lot of these notes and observations in the What's New chapter, but unfortunately, I had to cut some of those anecdotes to tighten the chapter (and keep us on page count). I'm attaching a copy of the current What's New chapter so you can see its final form, and I'm pasting your original chapter 1 intro below for reference... Please let me know if you're game for reworking this intro; again, it shouldn't be more than a page and a half, but I think it contributes a lot towards setting a tone for the book, introducing you as the writer and getting the reader excited about the book; so I think it's important to get it right, and I apologize if my initial instructions didn't help us to do that on the first take... Would it be possible to get a new introduction by the end of this month? Please let me know... I hope all is well, and hope you enjoyed the holidays... Best, Steve”

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City Tour - Part Snore

This is not a pretty city. There are interesting parts, some well manicured small parks, and a few visual surprises, but very few. Today, we had a city tour planned so we would not miss something spectacular without realizing it, though our guidebook held no promises. We were to meet at the agency in the next alley at 7:50 am. We ran to a restaurant, told them we had a tour in twenty minutes and if they could not produce two omelets in five minutes, we were just having coffee. Miracles do happen and our perfect omelets with a French baguette heated perfectly were sitting in front of our faces with four minutes.

Arriving three minutes late at the tour office, we had to wait an additional twenty minutes for our tour van to pick us up. Being the first, we had to pick up three more couples and then we were off. The first amazing fact that we deciphered from our tour guide whose English was less than spectacular was that the population of Ho Chi Minh City is ten million. Holy population explosion, this city’s population is the same as the total population of Hungary. One cities population is the same as a whole country. If that were not enough to blow us away, the next statistic did it for sure. There are six million motorcycles in the city, because at one time the only type available was Honda for $7,000 a pop, but now you can get a Chinese made one for $300.00 new or $200.00 used. They need a special and different license to drive a motorcycle than a car and they are eligible from the age of seventeen years old. As of January 1^st, they have to wear helmets or be fined. This was one of the highlights of the tour, which does not fare well for the day. He told us that clients in the past have asked him if Vietnam has a large Muslim population since so many motorcyclists wear face masks. The masks are for the pollution, not a religious zealousness. The overwhelming majority of the country is Buddhist.

As pleasant as our tour guide was with his five year degree in Tourism and Travel, he admitted that languages did not make up much of the curriculum. With his burly accent mutilating the English language, it was a verbal-auditory puzzle for the rest of the day. One of our fellow travelers was a Vietnamese who escaped to the U.S with his family, when he was a baby. He was able to aid us with the really tough comments when asking our guide to repeat himself for the tenth time would be just downright rude.

Our first stop was one I could have skipped altogether. It was the memorial for the Vietnam War. There are six buildings. By the mid point of the first one, I was in tears. I was part of the draft, I was part of protesting, I remember the exact spot I was at when the Kent State shootings were announced. There is no way I could go through these buildings that held devastating pictures, scenes of torture, remembrances of all kinds that would make Hell look like an amusement park. The only building I made it through successfully was the one with the protest posters and photos from around the world trying to get the U.S. to leave Vietnam. There were many photos I remember seeing in LOOK, TIME, and NEWSWEEK. I was disheartened and had to wait out the time for the rest of the group to regroup.

Perfectly timed, the next stop was a Buddhist temple that dates back to the 1700s. A monk was performing a funeral service, what timing after the memorial. The grounds were being maintained by a number of monks who were busy at work repainting memorials of prior temple leaders, cutting the topiaries, and cleaning. This also happens to be a monastery.

When we stopped at the Chinese market, it looked innocent enough from the outside. Our guide told us how it is sectioned off to set us on our shopping adventure. We had no thoughts of dropping any money here, so he took us around himself. With aisles barely maneuverable, we passed the candy and dried fruit section, the shoes, the material, and off the rack clothes. All of the while, people are pushing and shoving to get by with either an urgent need to be some place else or with trays of food from the restaurant area going to the sales people on the floor. Even our guide admitted it is too hectic and swarming with people for him to come here other than with tours. He said it is like this seven days a week. Merchandise is piled so high and there are no obvious lines of demarcation from one vendor and the other, it is impossible to know how they can keep track or do inventory. Yet, all of the workers are unloading yet more cartons with more commodities and noting all of it, while counting stock on hand.

The tour included a light lunch back at the tour office. Strangely, the tour office is in the next alley from our hotel. They served rice, spring rolls, and a green vegetable, but for those of us who would not eat shrimp, were served tofu. They also brought out a soup that was so flavorless, none of us could determine what stock it once had.

A continuation of the day included the Imperial building, used by the President of Vietnam during the war. It has ninety-six rooms, but thankfully, we did not have to view all of them. It is still used today for some government functions and can also be rented for weddings and birthday parties. From here we went to the Catholic Cathedral renamed Notre Dame, but we arrived early. It closes for lunch so we walked across the street to the post office to kill time. The post office is the size of a generous train station. All services you could want are provided from posting your mail to buying souvenirs, making international phone calls, or buying a vending machine drink.

Being called a cathedral one would expect some pomp and flash, but this was a plain church with small grottoes dedicated to different saints. Strangely, the statues had halogen lights around them with electric halos. Our last stop was a lacquer making factory where we were able to see products go from raw wood through all of the processes needed to make it a finished product. The best part of this was that it was a workshop for the handicapped, so seeing a dozen wheelchairs parked to the side while people applied tiny bits of eggshells onto painted wood was a bright light.

This had ended our tour of Ho Chi Minh City. We hope you have enjoyed yourselves and if you have please remember the driver and I wish you a wonderful New Year. Ugh! I need a nap.

My Internet luck ran out. We went to the WiFi café, but they had an Internet blackout and could not get it fixed in the forty-five minutes we waited.

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Ho Chi Minh City

One of the restaurants in the next alley over has free WiFi, so we decided to have breakfast there and check e-mails, pay bills, and other mundane things. The place was empty with the exception of one young man, yet six of the booth tables had laptops on them, opened and running. I could not believe the bad luck not being able to find a table where there was a plug available. The hostess came running out of the kitchen to sit us, competition is tough for patrons. She pointed to a table occupied by a laptop and I asked if it was okay. When she said it was, I realized that since they offer free WiFi, they also offer computers in order to access it. All six of the computers on the tables belonged to the restaurant as their bargaining chip for getting customers.

The plugs throughout Vietnam and Cambodia are European style plugs, while Malaysia has British style; however, here they are all as loose as an old bitch after birthing six unwanted litters. Besides the plug, you need a 2 by 4 to hold it in. The plug has to dangle just so in the outlet in order for an actual electric connection to be made. After fiddling with one for a good three minutes, I asked Ron to try, but the only way we could get it to work is if he held it. For some reason he was not willing to be bent over holding it for the forty-five minutes I would need it just so. My battery was already evaporated, no juice was left. A plug was essential. Then it occurred to me that if their laptop was plugged in, I could most likely use that plug. After asking, I cut the power to their machine and powered up my own. Finishing up, we dropped the computer off at our hotel and we were off for discovering.

It was not a terribly eventful day. We went to one of the major markets that covers one full city block. They sell everything from raw materials for making your own clothes, to touristy souvenirs and restaurant are serving food. If you are a tourist, you are like highly prized beef. Each stall will call you over, ask what you want to buy today, or many have the give of prophecy to automatically have a shirt, underwear, pants, t-shirt or belt already in their hands telling you this is what you have come for. If you smile and say “No, thank you” or “just looking”, they start getting aggressive. These mostly young women will grab your shirt, your arm, or your pant leg if you are tall enough and they are sitting on the floor at the time to get your attention to show you their full selection of wares. If what they have in their hand is not to your liking, chances are they have something you will find desirable if only you give them the chance.

Ron was looking for a muslin pullover V-neck and I happened to spot one, but it was embroidered. I made the mistake of making eye contact and now the race was on. Not only did I have the two women at the current booth all over me like white on rice, but every woman at every booth within earshot knew there were potential consumers within radar range. We were like trapped animals. The woman first showed us to shirt I did not like for him in his size, so then we asked if they had it plain without the embroidery. They did. One woman actually held my arm while the other went looking for it, lest I should escape during this diversion. When the ‘perfect’ shirt was produced, Ron was flipped around like a store dummy to see if the shoulders were the right size. They were cookin’ on full steam and there was no stopping them now.

The next factor was bargaining the price. When they suggested some ridiculous price, I told them for that much we would grow our own cotton, run it through a cotton mill, spin it, weave it and have it hand sewn for cheaper. Instead of lowering the price, they return with “How many do you want to buy?” Not being taken in by the discount for quantity trick, we said just one. The floor of the New York Stock Exchange has less bargaining done than we did with these two. Finally, I suggested Ron leave it behind to think about whether or not he really wanted it or not. He has had the idea for this shirt for over a year and each time we have come across one, he has negated it. We left them pleading with us to remember their stall was 116 and a price tag of 150,000 Dong, less than $10.00.

As we tried leaving the narrow aisle overflowing with merchants and merchandise, the smell of money was in the air and we were wanted bounty. We were grabbed, seized, snatched at, mauled, and man handled. The only thing we were not offered was someone’s first born child. We made our escape.

Many countries we have traveled to have had people who are poor or those that are out to scam try to sell us everything and anything, use emotional blackmail, or just pester us to distraction, but this is the worst we have dealt with. We continued walking and came across a pleasant young man with his sidewalk stand set up. He makes pop-up cards that he hand cuts and arranges. One card may open to a multicolored lotus flower while another may be a farmer plowing a field with oxen. They were beautifully executed. He had one of butterflies, so I bought it for my office.

Hearing various rumors that there was a Hard Rock Café here, we went in search of it. They vendors sell HRC t-shirts, but we fell for that stunt in Rome in 1993, years before HRC’s arrival. Though it was Sunday, all of the stores are open all day. This not being a Christian country, the day of the week means nothing to them. At the Tourist Information Center, we found there was a knock off HRC, but it was closed down. What we did find was a Gloria Jean Coffee shop! Yahoo, real coffee for a change, not the faux French press drip coffee that is cold by the time it finishes dripping. Guess what direction we went in?

Being fueled by caffeine, we ventured into a tall tower mall that was as western as they get, but the sign offering the chance to win a trip for two to the Beijing Olympics this year if you use your Visa card at any merchant in the mall, made it appealing. The grocery store at the top was a haven of American brands, but not with imported prices. If only we did not have strict weight limits on luggage. One strange item was Lipton brand chocolate milk tea bags. They also had a full line of breast creams to make your breasts more beautiful after various occasions.

We were sitting on the steps outside this building when a young guy comes over and wants to polish our shoes. Well, fine, but I am wearing Crocs, which can be cleaned in the sink or shower and Ron is wearing his Birkenstock sandals with only two narrow leather straps. When we refused him, he stood in front of us smiling. Deciding to ignore him, we started speaking to each other. I felt something and the guy was washing my shoe with a toothbrush and water. I jumped up yelling stop. He then tried Ron’s sandal with shoe polish, but when we stopped him again, a security guard came to expel him from the area.

Ron had found out there was a Catholic church nearby with a mass at 4:00 and wanted to go. In the courtyard was a grotto with a shrine to Mary. It looked like the vision from the movie about Fatima. Inside the church, it could have been any country, nothing spoke of cultural differences except the flower leis around statues like they use for the Buddha or Quan Yan statues. Mary and Quan Yan could pass for sisters, can you imagine. As it would happen, this was a benediction, not a mass. When it was over, we left; Ron had his fix, which would last him a week or so.

Eventually, we returned to the market and bought the shirt making two women happy, but not as excited as they would have been had we bought two, three or six gross of anything. Getting out of there took lots of exercise in dodging, pulling, picking hands off of us, and sprinting when we had a clear shot.

Stopping for a beer at a sidewalk café within an hour, we were approached to buy fruits or vegetables from four different vendors, sunglasses from two vendors although the fact that we were both wearing Rx eyeglasses did not seem to dissuade them, books from vendors that walk around carrying a stack of 40 different books all in English, three vendors that sell Zippo lighters with slogans on them, a vendor with a wide variety of Gucci or other designer wallets and then there are multitude of physically deformed who are begging for money.

It is emotionally wearing having so many people try to sell things when it is evident they are not doing this for the fun of it and you realize how much better off we have it than they do. Then the beggars all have legitimate claims and needs, but when do you stop giving and giving and giving, when you know there is no social security system in place to aid them and this is their survival. We have limited ourselves to each of us giving to one person each week.

From social work consciousness to reality once again, we went to the restaurant Good Morning Vietnam for dinner. Surprisingly, it is Italian food, the perfect change needed and their pizzas were excellent. They promise an authentic Italian chef at each of their five locations throughout Vietnam and the chef delivered the goods.

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Happy Bumpy Birthday to Me

At some point today, my birthday will start, but I don’t flip over the age counter until it is 8:25 am on the east coast of the U.S. the time I was born on this date. Then and only then will I accept being a year older, a dramatic change from my youth, when I waited for the clock to strike midnight in just about any time zone to claim a celebration should begin. I was having my morning coffee outside while having a cigarette when one of the tuk-tuk drivers came up to talk to me. After immediately telling him we were leaving today and would have no need for his service, he said he was waiting for a Brit or Aussie staying at the hotel who he had arranged to pick up the night before. His English was near excellent. We chatted about what I had seen in my limited time here, then there was a lull in the conversation as we watched the market place become more and more alive. He then turned to me and said “I feel sick. Yesterday, I went to a wedding in a village forty kilometers from here and in order to return here to work, I only had two hours sleep. Now I don’t feel too well.” I asked if he could take the day off to get some sleep and feel better, but he said he needed the work and the money to support his family who lives in the village he came from. He was so young looking, I assumed he meant his parents. Later, Ron had the opportunity to speak with him and found out he is thirty-five years old, has a wife and three children. He is one of nineteen children and his father is close to eighty years old. He father was hoping to have all of his children home for the New Years celebration in April since it may be his last, but this young man can not afford to attend and was feeling sad about it. There are so many stories similar to this one about how people in these countries have to make dramatic changes in their lives in order to survive; it makes many westerners look pathetic by comparison with our sniveling complaints about how difficult life is for us. We have no idea many times, what sacrifice to survive really means. Twenty minutes later than scheduled, our shuttle arrived to load us with nine others to bring us to the bus station for our trip to Ho Chi Minh City. With traffic, a journey that should have taken fifteen minutes, took twice as long. When we arrived at the bus station, there was not a bus in sight, but a parking lot full of soccer mom vans all painted the same green with white lettering, leaving us a scratching our heads perplexed. When I handed our tickets to a young man who seemingly was an official something, he took them, and returned them stamped and then pointed at yet another van. The second van was no different than the first van we rode in, making us wonder if this was another intermittent form of transport. He took our luggage and pointed to two seats, but at the time, I had not noticed our seats were numbered and matched our assigned ‘bus’ seats. As two of ten, we were ready for take-off. Traffic was mounting as the morning rush was well under way by this time. The zigs and zags that these drivers have to do are amazing. I think I have determined the qualification for a Vietnamese driver’s license. They use a tennis court with twenty cars in it. In order to pass the test, you have to drive one of the cars to each corner and to three random points in the rectangle without killing or doing major harm to anyone. If you can accomplish this, you have earned your license. A written test seems ludicrous since there are no traffic signs and only one or two street lights that no one pays attention to. They function as pretty red and green lights without stimulating any other associations. The first part of the drive was not too uncomfortable. The scenery was poverty row and more poverty as displayed by the run down businesses trying to sustain their proprietors. The word strip mall has new meaning here. These buildings and businesses have been stripped of whatever dignity they once had. It occurred to me that all of the Reality shows on television are all amateur wussy games compared to the reality of life these people have in daily existing. If you were to put a group of Vietnamese or Cambodians up against any of the groups who have suffered and whined about their trials of survival, the American group would have been voted off of the island so fast, there would not be second show, let alone a full season. One hour is about all I could take of looking out the window, since the weaving of our van in and out of traffic was a dizzying experience. Without lines painted down the middle of the road, the entire road is fair game regardless of the direction of travel. The car horn becomes an indispensible tool for signaling other drivers of cars, trucks, motorcycles, and bicycles of your intentions. In Egypt, there was a joke. “What is the first thing in an Egyptian car to wear out? The horn. Here, the answer should be the driver. I think I would rather suffer the trials of Hercules than attempt being a professional driver in this country or Cambodia for that matter. After two and a half hours had passed, we stopped for a ten minute rest break. I could not believe the colossal big gulp drinks my fellow passengers returned with. Surely, they knew when the next break would be. We thought ourselves brave eating a tangerine, still fearful it may be just too juicy for our own good. These people were drinking like camels preparing for a trip over the Sahara. As it was, I had to chant mantras just to keep my thoughts clear of anything that would lead to an unscheduled stop of the van. Ten minutes after leaving the bus station, we where stuck in traffic. The side door flung open and five people jumped into the van. Ron and I clutched our bags tightly. Highwaymen in broad daylight in the middle of a town have come to rob us? Rob us only if we were interested in what they were trying to sell; the five were hawking drinks, fruit, lottery tickets, and cakes. Two blocks later, everyone disembarked from the van, but the driver motioned for us to stay put. Were we the only two going to Ho Chi Minh City? What a strange place to drop off all of the other passengers. Within another block, we were on a ferry boat. As we sailed over the river, an older man who was a fellow passenger returned to the van and started talking to us. He asked me if I had been to Vietnam before. This is the third time in two days I had been asked this question. I am assuming they are asking if I fought in the war, guessing me to be age appropriate. He said he worked with the U.S. Army during the war, but he had not used his English for a number of years. When we changed the subject to the journey, he said that the ride was realistically two and a half hours, but because of the road conditions, it made it a much longer expedition. For the next two hours, the road was so bad, it was like riding the Matterhorn ride at Disneyland while an earthquake and tornado were happening simultaneously. The only thing we did not do was flip over and I can only assume it was because there was so much traffic, there was no room to do a flip. There was not even enough room on the road to flip a coin. The gravel roads had more potholes and pits than a teenage boy with a bad case of acne. Trying to read during this time could cause epileptic seizures even if you were not epileptic; trying to nap could cause the same sickness that affects astronauts in deep space. The mantras in my head were getting louder and more intense as my bladder was doing shake, rattle, and roll for another two and a half hours. But wait, that meant five hours on the road already and this was supposed to be a five hour trip, yet we were not at our destination. Bless Buddha, we did make a second rest stop. I would have rather wrestled alligators than get back on that van, for some undetermined amount of time, but not having a clue where we were and being short on alligators, I acquiesced. It was not until another one and a half hours passed that our senses led us to believe we were close at hand, however, the bus station looked eerily like the original and the two rest stops, so we could not be sure until the driver motioned for us to get out of the van. With the luggage in tow, our vet friend helped us arrange a taxi to our hotel, located in District 1. We agreed on $10.00 for the fare, which was ominous in this very inexpensive country. The drive was like something out of a science fiction movie. Swarms of motorized vehicles were coming from six different directions to one traffic circle with everyone wanting to finally escape it to go in a different direction. Hollywood has never produced such miraculous scene without having a fifty car pile up as a conclusion. I did not fear for our lives nearly as much as I did for the motorcyclists and bicyclists. This is something that should be videoed and put on YouTube, because it really has to be seen to be believed. Egypt’s drivers are pure amateurs in comparison. This city is immense, congested, and makes Las Vegas look like an abandoned playground by comparison. Though there is no plethora of casinos here, the lights and activity certainly make up for it. Our hotel is down an alley. That does not give me confidence. Once we start trekking down the alley, we discover fifteen other hotels and an equal number of restaurants are resident businesses of the same alley. Our room is spacious, clean, and comfortable, but nothing to do back flips over. We are on the first floor, the only room on the first floor at the top of the stairs from the reception desk, so our only window is looking down on them. We checked our alley and the next alley for dining opportunities which range from Vietnamese, Italian, Mexican, Thai, and Indian. We settled on Indian. The food was great, but after we finished, this young woman came up and asked if I wanted another beer, totally ignoring Ron. I said no thank you. Then she asked if she could sit with me. RED Flag, red flag! I simply said I did not think so and she left. I was expecting problems with the bill, but there weren’t any. There were many other tourists there, so it made me more confident in creating a scene if there were a problem. One of the rules of our hotel that is posted besides no explosives is that prostitutes are not allowed in the room. I told Ron if he had any birthday surprise planned for me, he had better nix it. My birthday continues until 8:25 EST tomorrow. I was ripped off on this one with this travel nightmare.

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Mack the Tuk-Tuk Driver

There is nothing about this hotel that has not charmed us. The services are excellent, the room has plenty of room, and the television gets over 50 channels, one of which is BBC, so we were able to get Iowa caucus news. The furniture is good quality, not cheap junk and the mattresses are superb.

Breakfast is included, so I was able to get an omelet with a roll and coffee. The amount of butter was nearly humorous that for such a tiny bit they would bother dirtying a dish. Ron asked for some jam and it is 2 cents extra. No complaints, it is just a funny cultural difference.

At 9:00 am, while we were eating, our bicycle tuk-tuk driver was waiting outside for us, like a puppy waiting for a scrap from the table. We were the scraps he wanted. We had arranged for 10:00, but he must have been fearful we would skip out on him. He most likely was casing the place guarding all of our escape routes. We went out to tell him we had to rearrange our hotel in Ho Chi Minh City; Ron had the dates wrong and we were scheduled to check-in today. The reception was kind enough to call and make the changes. He was happy to wait for us and he had a friend with him. There was no way the two of us would last in one tuk-tuk for a long distance ride without one or both of us either falling out or becoming crippled along the way.

We asked our main ‘driver’ his name three times, but each time, neither of us could understand what he said, but is sounded something like Mack. Between us, this is what we called him. He has a stuttering problem in English and in Vietnamese. Watching his face when he is speaking his mother tongue, you can see he struggles at times, his head goes downward and his face contorts. Regardless, we were off to the mountain and the temples. We agreed on 80,000 Dong each since we had two ‘drivers’.

Riding a regular bicycle with someone sitting on the bar is plenty of exertion, but to have a cart attached with a 6 foot 1 inch man adding weight is enough to make me want a rest just thinking about it. For him, it was effortless and we sped through town to go tell it on the mountain over the river and through the water buffalo fields, through hill and dale. The ride was approximately twenty minutes long before he parked his vehicle and said we would walk from here. Here was an area filled with temples, Buddhist temples. As we entered the first temple, I put my cigarette out and was able to take my shoes off to enter, but Mack said not to bother. Unlike in Thailand and Cambodia, they do not remove their shoes when entering the temples. The caretaker was walking around smoking a cigarette, which shocked both of us, but Mack said in Vietnam you can smoke anywhere. I had an instant picture of a Catholic priest offering the Eucharist with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and started to chuckle.

Each of the temples was dazzling in its own way and Mack was great about explaining things to us. Many of the monk caregivers from each temple are buried within the temple and a memorial is set up for each of them. Photos were allowed in every temple except the main one. You could smoke in it, but not photograph it. One of the Buddhas looked like a Las Vegas night show, with a robe that lit up and behind his head a rotating color wheel of reds, oranges, and greens. We dubbed him the Elvis Buddha as irreverent as that may be, he did look entertaining, though from our western perspective, really tacky. Along with Buddha, there were female statues, which presumable were Kwan Yin. She is frequently portrayed as a slender woman in flowing white robes who carries a white lotus in her left hand, an abiding symbol of purity of heart and spirit. Some answers to our questions we received from Mack were incomprehensible and rather than embarrass him by asking him to repeat it multiple times. We had to piecemeal information we could understand.

Outside the largest temple, there was a little boy running around with a strange haircut. He had patches of hair on each side of the head, while the rest of his head was close to shaved. Mack explained that the family has dedicated him to the temple. The temple was an active place with dozens of people bringing in offerings, lighting incense and praying. It turns out that this is a normal day’s business and all of the surrounding shops sell flowers and baskets of food for people to buy for offerings in the temple. If I lived here, I would have to seriously look into Buddhism. A peaceful calm comes over me when I am in a temple.

We did not make it completely up the mountain as Mack has planned since the temples are less ornate as you climb higher, so it did not make much sense to go further when we have seen the best first. When reaching the bottom, we stopped for noodle soup. My pork noodle soup had kidney or liver in it and I was more than willing to share it with the two Chihuahuas running around the place.

On the ride back, we saw water buffalos grazing in front yards, houses on stilts, woman cooking from portable pots, and other cultural iconography making this country stand out from the rest and ultimately charming. We had Mack drop us off at the hotel, but he had convinced us we should take a boat ride to see fish farming, the only Muslim mosque in the area, and a small indigenous group of people who are silk weavers. We agreed to be picked up at 2:30 giving us a chance to get our butts back in shape before taking off again.

Mack was outside panting waiting our return by 2:00. We both managed to fit into his cart by facing each other and we took off to the dock. We boarded a boat, the three of us with the woman who was our captain. First stop was a fish farm. Interestingly, there are many houses that are built on stilts out on the river. The only access to them or from them is by boat, but whole families live here full time, usually fishermen. Some even have dogs, but I cannot figure how they walk it or train it for that matter.

The fish farm is one such building as the houses, but with racks for floors that are lifted up with thousands of fish kept confined. Mack fed them to show the tremendous reception they give for food. When they reach a certain size, they are transferred to another holding area, all the while kept in their native waters, the river.

The next stop was the silk weavers and for the life of us, we could not understand why these people were special. After many futile attempts, we gave us asking for an explanation we could understand. Where our boat docked, it was incredibly high getting from the boat to the dock. With my bad hip, it was impossible for me to lift my leg that high, so wanted Ron to go without me. Mack would not hear of this and I thought he was going to lift me himself, but being half my size, I am appreciative he did not try. I had to sit on the dock first and get up from there. Embarrassing moments are part of the game of travel.

In this community, all of the men wear sarongs, not pants. Within minutes, Ron had a sarong wrapped around him, a silk scarf around his neck and a hat on his head. In the time it took me to take his picture with both our cameras, I was being costumed also. Excellent craftsmanship, beautiful colors, but not something we would go around wearing in Hungary or the U.S. for that matter. With disappointed looks at their lack of a sale, we disrobed, said thanks for the chuckle and moved onward to the mosque in the area. All of the while, we were surrounded by fifteen little girls trying their best to get us to buy their waffles. They look like Belgium waffles, but have different fruits in them. Ron succumbed to one little girl unbeknownst to me, while I was promising I would buy 7 quarters of waffle for $1.00 from another little girl when we returned. I was hoping to shed her like dead fur.

When we returned from the mosque, my little parasite was ready to storm me for her dollar, having no other diversion than to wait for my return. When I looked for a dollar, I did not have one, only a ten and was not about to give it up expecting change. Her face was heartbreaking, so I gave her more than enough for two quarters of waffles and then gave her all of my change besides without expecting yet more goodies in return. She was still clearly disappointed. I seem to think she could not return home until her quota was filled for the day.

Yet another little one latched on to me and begged sorrowfully for me to buy from her too and would not take no for an answer. Just as we were going down the plank, another tourist was approaching and I suggested she try him instead. Like a mechanical robot, she changed direction and attention to target this newest victim.

After we headed back, we decided to walk around, so said our good-byes to Mack giving him his requested amount of money and a large tip besides. He was truly thankful. His plan is to ride for one more year and then leave the country to study English in Great Britain. We wish him luck.

Yearning for a good cup of coffee, we asked at the hotel for a recommendation. It was a distance away, but we walked needing to flex our muscles. The ‘good’ coffee is an individual French pot type device that sits over a glass. There are no lattes, so ordering a white coffee means the coffee drips into condensed milk. Aside from not being what I really want, it was tasty with the right amount of sweetness from the milk.

When I used the bathroom, the toilet was an American Standard brand. The lid on the tank was cracked and the toilet had no seat. The cracked lid with the brand name, conjured up metaphors in my mind about the broken American standards in the country now and especially with primaries starting to take place.

They tried overcharging us and we are not certain if it was an accident or not, but 10,000 Dong is a big mistake. Fortunately, they had left the menus on the table so I could show the waiter the costs of what we had and why the bill was wrong, because he did not speak English.

By the time we walked back to the hotel, the sidewalk restaurants and portable kitchens were invading any free space usually reserved for walking, so it was a dodge ‘em game with the traffic getting back.

For dinner, we decided to ask the desk clerk for a recommendation and he gave us three, each out of walking distance. Not surprisingly, there were two tuk-tuk drivers outside the hotel door pleading for business. We hired both of them to go to the first restaurant on the list. As a good sign, it was filled with locals and we were the only obvious foreigners there. As usual, I have problems finding things on a menu I can eat throughout Asia, because I am highly allergic to fish. That rules out not only the obvious fish, but all things cooked in fish sauce also, which is often the case with beef or pork dishes. I had three options on this menu; however, I could have ordered squid, frogs, snails or snake, but I am just not that adventurous before a major bus trip in the very near future. My beef with sesame was served with a salad. My rule of thumb is not to eat any fruit or vegetable that does not need to be peeled unless the menu specifies it was washed in pure water. Out of the salad, I ate the onions and cucumbers, left behind the lettuce and tomatoes.

Tomorrow, we leave for Ho Chi Minh City on a five hour bus ride on a bus without a bathroom. NPO (nothing by mouth) for me after 9:00 pm.

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So Long Cambodia, Hello Vietnam

The hotel gets one credit in its favor. The wake up call was on time and it was a real person, not a recorded message. We raced through showering, went up for breakfast and was treated to some unusual sights along the riverfront. There was a large group of people doing their exercises as a group not far from the hotel. About ten minutes later, Ron spotted an elephant walking down the street. There was a man walking along side of it, but not riding it. The elephant was meandering down the street like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Every time I see Caucasians walking the streets, especially single women, I wonder if they knew what Cambodia was like, are they disappointed or overwhelmed, and then I wonder where they have been, and where they are going. The same thoughts about expectations occur to me about myself. I still have not processed it fully, but I have found it more intense than Malaysia, definitely in a positive way. There is a liveliness amongst the dirt, the chaos, the poverty that is energetic. There is no way to describe the traffic other than sheer madness. Regardless of whether it is a two or four lane road, there are no lines and seemingly no rules. Everyone drives wherever they can find room to fit between other cars, scooters, or bicycles without regard to what direction anyone else is going in. It is a combination of Italian and Egyptian driving taking the most negative of both.

Obediently, we made it to the lobby by 6:50 am only to be told, we would not leave until 7:30 am giving us time for breakfast. We had already shoveled it down, so only had to wait for our ride. We were transported in a new Toyota equipped with GPS and a steering wheel inlaid with wood. Our very young driver, a replacement for the one we were told would drive us, was competent and had the patience of Job to drive this route. It was not until the last ten minutes of the 1 ½ hour trip that the road was paved. We passed innumerable schools, so there were hundreds of children of all ages in white tops and blue pants or skirts, competing with road space with motorcycles and cars. We were praying for their safety, but they all looked like seasoned commuters trailblazing their way to their destination. There is not four turns of the wheels without hitting a pothole; in some places the entire road is dug out making it like driving through a valley before reaching street level once again.

Arriving at our destination seemed to be a mistake at first; it looked like someone’s battered car mechanic’s garage. Our driver assured us this was the correct place to be and waited for the young man there to get Vietnam forms for us. We filled out entry and exit forms and another list in triplicate. We were left sitting on benches in this dirt yard with a rundown corrugated metal building in front of us, not knowing if there was a river nearby. The driver told us before he left that the boat would arrive at 10:00 am, an hour yet to go. An hour’s sleep missed out on…

As the clock reached 10:00, other buses arrived and dropped off bedraggled travelers. In total, there were six of us and it was time to board the boat from behind this curious establishment. The luxury boat we were sold on was less than such. Carrying our luggage precariously down a gangplank of a dubious nature, we boarded a boat with two long wooden benches down each side. The crew, a family of father, wife, and son were more than pleasant and pleased to have the work. The deck we were promised to walk around was there, but the information missing was that the deck was only one foot wide, no barrier between you and the river, and a handrail at eye level. The upper deck was only accessible by maneuvering this width challenged deck as was the toilet, neither of which I had any intentions of negotiating.

With the challenges of getting to the toilet, I became obsessed with having to use it, willing myself not to have a need, but worrying about how I would get to it if I did. If I fell off of the deck, how long would it take for anyone to realize it? I used all of my mental energy trying not to concentrate on bodily functions, but when told not to think about pink elephants, they always appear.

The beautiful scenery was as valid as the deck to walk around. It was not unattractive, just repetitiously green with trees. I forgot to mention that I used to have nightly dreams about drowning while on a boat. It all started after watching the original version of the Titanic, but in my nightmares the boat is always less pretentious and similar to the one we are on. Therefore, I immediately notice there are no lifejackets and swimming to either side of the river are beyond my lung capabilities even if I had never touched tobacco in my life and only floated on my back.

Our travel companions were a mother and daughter from The Netherlands plus a Swiss couple. We are not sure of their relationship, but he had his big toe painted red on one foot and all of his toenails except the big toe painted red on the other foot. One toe had a ring on it and his left earlobe had a dime size hole in it sans an ear stretcher. My only resource for avoiding drowning and bathroom thoughts was to stretch out trying to sleep on the wood bench. Most of the others went to the ‘upper deck’. When I did snatch a snooze, I had dreams of the boat overturning, not good. The journey was 2 ½ hours before we pulled up to shore. I was hoping it was for a bathroom break and stretch, but it was Cambodian Passport Control. We filed out to show our passports; it was relatively easy. The guard looked at our Visa, pulled out our Exit card and then stamped it with so many rubber stamps; it would make the Hungarians jealous.

We were herded back on the boat, sailed for another ten minutes and docked again. This time we had to take our luggage with us for Vietnam Passport Control and Customs. The plank to reach shore was about the size of a balance beam in gym class. Being able to get over this with luggage in both hands should have qualified all of us for an Olympic gymnastics team. Once over this toothpick of a board, we had to climb rocks and eroded shoreline to get to the top. I guess if you can make it, you deserve to enter the country. This may be their endurance test for entry.

After handing over our passports to a guard who looks them over, we get waved on to a building to have them stamp, stamp, and stamp again. We all passed with flying colors, and then there was Ron. There was a problem with his Visa, but we could not understand the problem. I was told to continue on, but could see him from where I was told to go. I had to pay another $1.00 for some reason; the Visa already cost $20.00 from the Embassy.

We had all had our passports stamped, but Ron was still waiting to pass GO. Finally, he was told he could pass. The problem it turns out was that the Embassy put 2007 for his entry and exit dates, not 2008. Mine was done correctly, but we never caught it when we picked them up.

A very beautiful young Vietnamese woman shepherded us to a ‘restaurant’ where we had to wait for them to do yet something else to our passports, probably check them against wartime or CIA records. During this wait time, we were encouraged to order lunch, but I still had bowel-kidney obsession, so passed on that offer.

When it was time to re-board the boat, it was now a Vietnamese boat with a different crew. Actually, the boat was slightly nicer with eight sets of double seats with a narrow walkway down the center. Not having an upper viewing deck, they did have a back deck, but with no room for luggage, I was wedged in and holding tightly. This portion of the journey had a young woman working it. Her exact role was unclear, but she collected tickets from the passengers. Two Australians were added to our group. Their Visa did not start until January 3, but they showed up on January 2^nd and were not able to cross. The tour guide took them home, gave them dinner, a place to sleep, and breakfast before returning them to the boat today.

This section of the river was narrow enough to make getting to either side easily accessible doing the doggie paddle. At last I could let go of one fear. The views were interesting to say the least. We witnessed water buffaloes being washed in the river; people fishing with huge nets, ducks caged on the water, children swimming in the mud brown water, and families out for a boat journey to who knows where. It made the last two hours of the trip captivating.

Reaching land, we were greeted by young men who wanted to be our drivers to our hotel. Their version of a tuk-tuk here is a bicycle with a wooden seat in the back. Ron and I crammed into one with our luggage, Ron hanging over the edge. Fortunately, it was not far to the hotel. We found out hotel by chance on a site called travelfish.org. It had some good reviews, so we booked it for two nights. We are at the Trung Nguyen Hotel 86 Bach Dang in Chau Doc for $15.00 a night, we have a spacious double bed room (they call these twins, but the beds are double sized), a TV with over 50 channels and free WiFi. Tile covers the floor in the room and decorative tiles adorn the bathroom. Breakfast is included. We have a balcony with two chairs and it is air conditioned. We were really lucky with this one.

After consulting the guide, we were headed out of the hotel for dinner. Our tuk-tuk driver was waiting for us and wanted to ‘drive’ us. Since it was only two blocks away, we declined. He promised to find us again. We went to a local restaurant that was empty on our arrival, but had a waiting group of people when we left. The food was tasty and plentiful, while the cost was cheap. However, the friends who had lived here told us we should bring plenty of American singles with us to pay for things since they are regarded higher than the Vietnamese currency, the Dong. When we asked at the hotel if it was true, we were told that hotels you can pay in dollars, but restaurants and markets you have to use Dong. Gosh dang it or gosh Dong it, we purposefully took out extra dollars from the ATM in Cambodia to have US dollars. Their ATMs only spit out dollars if you don’t have a local account. If we had known, we would have waited until we arrived here.

Being full from dinner, we did a walk around. The night market was still active at 7:30pm, although not all stalls have electricity, so they sell in the dark. The city is still active in early evening with people setting up make-shift kitchens on the street or sidewalks and plunking down nursery school sized chairs at miniature fold up tables for their patrons. The cultural differences are alarming at times, yet the resourcefulness is ingenious.

In search of a larger hotel where our chances of getting a coffee would be better, we found a restaurant/guesthouse that serves coffee. We were not there longer than five minutes when our tuk-tuk driver shows up with a fare he was dropping off at this restaurant. Losing him is like trying to shake a summer cold. He sat down with us like he had been invited. His voice and accent are as jarring as a mosquito when you are just falling asleep, yet he did hook us into a trip tomorrow. We arranged for 10:00 am.

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Good Morning, Vietnam

How can 22 different embassy web sites be wrong, I ask you? After looking for the Vietnam embassy address, we found the same listing on all web sites, but when Ron went there, they were no where to be found. A call into the US embassy did the trick, we found the corrected address and this morning, we went to apply for our Visa for December. First we had to have pictures taken in one of the photo booths in the subway. Two photos per application please! This was a comedy of errors since the machines are obviously made in Italy. All of the signs are in Italian. Of course, we had a late start and was fumbling for change once we were at the booth. Our plan was to have two snaps and immediately change seats so we could get 2 and 2 with the same amount of money. BUT we were fooled. The flash only goes off once and you get four of the same shot. Better look pretty the first time or you are out of luck. After scrapping for more bills (recommended) and the balance in change, Ron had his chance. Off to the embassy, tiny, but orderly embassy with two women and one man working, we had our applications in and were out of there in 20 minutes time. One sheet, easy to fill out application and two photos was all it took. They keep our passport until it is completed. We can return on Monday for them. Viola!! Simple. The Visa is 9,000 Ft each. Our Visas for Cambodia and Malaysia can be obtained at the airports.

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