How I Made It Back in America
Posted by Molly


So I'd have to agree with that 80s cult flick, Reality Bites. It's true: Our re-entry back to the States was uneventful, difficult, and bittersweet. I found myself really filled with mixed emotions. Of course it was wonderful to see our families and friends after the journey, and there's something--although I haven't quite figured out what--mysteriously comforting about setting foot again on U.S. soil. That "Welcome to the United States of America" sign you encounter on arriving from an international trip to a domestic airport always makes me burst out in a smile. But I have to tell you, it's been tough getting back into the swing of things, and most of you (unless you've traveled to third-world countries) will think I'm crazy for what I'm about to share, but it's no joke. I am a changed woman.

I used to love to shop. Granted, I never bought much, but the browsing, the looking, the trying on, the quest for the ultimate deal--it was fun, gosh darn it! But ever since Southeast Asia left its indelible mark on our souls, I find it next to impossible to buy things. Okay, so those of you who know me well will chalk that up to my compulsive inability to spend money on myself. But this has developed into a different kind of problem. Sure, I'll drop cash on toilet paper, food, books, cleaning supplies, a Muni ride downtown (although I prefer to walk), a burrito with friends, heck, I even kept my mouth shut when David signed us up for the cheapest NetFlix subscription. I was psyched to catch up on all those movies I've never seen.

But when I found myself face to face with the mall during our first week back, I felt the onset of panic set in. I was killing time on a rainy day in downtown SF while the car was being smog-checked (that's another story for another time...ah, the wonderful workings of the DMV). With nothing to do for an hour and no umbrella to speak of, I headed for San Francisco Centre. My breath got quick and shallow as I rounded Kenneth Cole on auto pilot past Origins to the Nordstrom express elevators. My pulse raced as my feet glided across the shiny marble floor I'd trodden on many a time. Those 10 seconds in that crowded, enclosed moving box felt like an eternity.


Alas, when I was finally spit out into Nordy's shoe department, I was gasping for air (and a good deal on a new pair of dogs for my feet). The sight of all those beautiful shoes revived me, as did a light conversation with a pleasant salesman, who instantly identified the Franco Sarto leopard-print loafers I had on. We both agreed we loved the designer but that he hadn't put out anything good in a while. (These are the heavy conversations we Americans engage in regularly.) But when I stopped to admire a cute pair of flats, and even the incredible savings I would have garnered wasn't enough to make me throw down the plastic, I knew something was desperately wrong. I just couldn't justify having more bling for my feet after seeing all those starving and shoeless kids in the jungles of Indonesia and the dusty unpaved villages of Cambodia. Call me a bleeding heart liberal, but this is real stuff here, folks. I left feeling lonely, confused, and afraid for what had become of our society (and I haven't even shared the ensuing 20-minute conversation I had on said subject with a saleswoman in the Individualist department).

It took David and I several weeks of crashing at our friends' pad before we found a decently priced San Francisco sublet to inhabit for the next four months. Luckily the place was fully furnished (quite tastefully I might add), but we ended up bringing in a few of our own things to make the place feel more like home. While I enjoy the occasional decorative taste of Pottery Barn, the burgundy velvet bedspread we encountered on our first night here wasn't really to our liking, nor was the food-encrusted, overused-for-margarita-making blender. We've found we're much better sleepers under our familiar down comforter, and our protein smoothies taste better without the leftover hint of tequila.

But even more urgent was the desire to acquire some of our long-lost, stored-away wardrobe, as we were both pretty sick of wearing what we've now dubbed as "trip clothes." David swore off of them the minute we got back on American soil, leaving most of his SE Asia duds in a brown paper sack tucked away in the closet. I, on the other hand, can't so readily abandon the vestments that carried my body through so many amazing sights and scenes. (Okay, who am I kidding? My pre-trip clothes simply don't accommodate the umpteen plates of nasi goreng and the gazillion or so Beer Laos we downed on this voyage.) Face it, folks--I gained some weight on this trip, and until the gym and the hills of San Francisco melt away enough pounds, I'm doomed to inhabit my convertible North Face pants for yet another month or so, despite how stupid they look with dress loafers.

So we headed over to our trusty 10x15 Shurgard unit one Sunday to retrieve some duds, and lo and behold, do we have a lot of stuff crammed into that little space! We opened garbage bag after garbage bag of clothes, linens, shoes, and accessories, plucking out an item here, an item there, until we'd amassed a pile that we thought suitable to get us through the next few months of our lives. After putting it all away in the sublet, I am still amazed at how much we have--and this is only about 1/5 of what I own! It's somewhat sickening to see a fraction of my t-shirt collection hanging idly in the closet (I spend a lot of time in sweats and fleece these days), knowing there's plenty more where that came from back at the trusty Shurgard unit. I could clothe an entire Laotian village with my wardrobe, I kid you not. And the shoes...ah, my loves, my babies, my shining lights, well...let's just say that DSW Warehouse and Shoe Pavilion haven't exactly been tops on my list of places to visit, and I spend a lot of time in the--you guessed it--trail runners that went with me to Asia.

The bottom line? I can't seem to stomach shopping malls anymore, I lose interest in bargains that once used to excite me, and I'm blown away by the amount of senseless consumerism in which our country engages. Do we really need all this stuff we have and continue to buy? Luckily our sublet owner has Tivo, so we benefit greatly from taping most of our favorite programs and then watching them back sans the senseless plethora of ads. Tell me why I need one more lemon-scented cleanser, and just what's so great about Purina's newest formulation of dog food? We don't even own a dog (yet). And yeah, TV...well, that's another thing all together. While we were in Asia, we hardly even noticed the boob tubes in our hotel rooms until David discovered soccer on Ko Lanta and became obsessed to the point of taking a daily break from the beach (how dare him!) to catch up on the latest Real Madrid shenanigans. Beckham, Zidane, Raul, Figo, and Ronaldo have become household names now.

And then there are the little things, such as the outrageously deafening noise of the hair dryer. Don't use one for three months and then tell me what you experience when you try to go back--it ain't pretty. (Alas, my hair's been in an endless ponytail since we got home.) And the daily junk mail we receive that's killing all the trees. And the fact that you can rarely get a live person on the phone to help you with any of your credit card billing problems (and believe me, there are plenty). And the traffic, ah, the lameness of San Francisco drivers who can't seem to negotiate the slightest tricky situation on the streets. We encountered the worst traffic I'd ever seen in Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City, but even the Vietnamese--with their incessant honking and lack of respect for traffic signals--brought a method to the moving madness that puts any San Francisco driver to shame. The people in Vietnam drive with a sense of humility, a sense that they're all suffering the same evil fate when stuck in a massive backup of endless cars and scooters. Here, it's an "every man for himself" mentality, where each driver feels morally wronged by everyone else on the road, decides who can out-honk the other, who can flip the bird the fastest, and who can come closest to knocking out a pedestrian (usually me) in the crosswalk. It's pathetic, and I find myself walking whenever the chance presents itself. The car is amassing a layer of dust as I write.

So I wax cynical for this posting, but what I've shared here strikes a true chord in my life these days. I am much more aware of how I spend our money now, more cognizant of the amazing opportunities we have in this country, and more grateful than ever to be an American, despite the shortcomings I outlined above.

There is no place like home, but there are other places. I encourage you to get out and see how the rest of the world lives, and then tell me if it's not the greatest lesson you've ever learned.

Peace,
Molly

Living the High(rise) Life in Hong Kong
Posted by Molly


Going from sunny beach to grey city was a tough transition, but we figured it was a fitting bridge to our lives back in San Francisco, which now were looming in the too-close future. We loved our three days in Hong Kong, so don't get me wrong. But it was unseasonably cold by the time we arrived January 22, and we'd just spent 15 days on warm Thai beaches wearing not much more than bathing suits and flip-flops every day (and some days even the flip-flops were a stretch). The transition was a bit jarring on the senses and the soul.

We ended up shopping our first night for wool sweaters and scarves (no joke). All those warnings about the humidity and the unbearable heat fell on deaf ears this winter there. We did manage to find a few bargains: I grabbed a funky fun "On Dog and Friends" wool cardigan with a giant bunny logo on the back, while David squeezed into some hip duds from a Korean clothing maker. Nathan Road delivered a wealth a neon and made for good people-watching.

Hong Kong is just another big city in our eyes, but what makes it so unique is the overwhelming number of high-rise buildings that dominant a relatively small area of space. You feel like an ant as you wander among the concrete structures that pop up everywhere. We especially enjoyed the Mid-Levels area, where you "stroll" up a hillside through neighborhoods using the aid of moving walkways (think people movers at the airport) and steep escalators. It makes for a bit of a couch potato experience, but by the end of the journey, you're grateful for the assistance.

The view from Victoria Peak was awesome, as was the tram ride up, even though the clouds/fog/haze (we never really figured out what it was, it was just grey) limited our visibility a bit. We enjoyed our jaunts across the harbor on the Star Ferry, which reminded us a lot of Seattle. The people, the smells, the sights, it was all interesting. We especially enjoyed our evening harbor cruise, where we witnessed the crazy sound-and-light show. All of the buildings light up, and some even have moving lasers on their tops. It's quite psychedelic in a modern, controlled, Communist sort of way.


One day we ferried out to Lantau Island to visit the world's largest seated Buddha statue. It was quite impressive! The bus ride to the top of the mountain alone was thrilling enough, not to mention the climb up the steps to the base of this amazing structure. Afterward we explored a nearby temple and then dined on snacks from an unusual cafeteria. I still can't digest the Chinese peoples' fascination with gel-like colored blobs of goop. I stuck to chow mein and green tea.

On our last day, we took a double-decker bus to the other side of Hong Kong Island to visit the Stanley Market. The ride was thrilling, as David had never been on a double-decker and we sat up top in the front-row seats. Cheaper than an amusement park and scarier than a roller coaster (we weren't on a track, mind you), our 45-minute harrowing mode of transport took our breath away. It was a glorious afternoon filled with sunshine and blue sky, a fitting way to send us off. We shopped a ton and enjoyed a late lunch and beers at a cute cafe along the waterfront.

Our flight left at 10:00pm, and we luxuriated on Singapore Airlines direct to San Francisco. For 11 hours, I watched three movies on my personal screen, played video games to my heart's content, and dined on sumptuous food (all of this in coach, mind you). I barely slept at all and could have stayed on that plane for another few days, there was just too much fun stuff to do. And I certainly wasn't thrilled with the idea of being home. But nevertheless, all good things must come to an end, and thus it was with our Southeast Asian journey. What an amazing experience!!

Beach Days Come to a Close
Posted by Molly

After 15 luxurious days on Ko Lanta and Ko Ngai, we headed reluctantly via ferry to the island of Phuket for a quick overnight before catching our flight back to Bangkok. The ferry ride was delicious: Dark azure waters skimmed along beneath us as we dangled our feet over the edge of the boat, the wind whipped through our sun-bleached hair, and the sun shone endlessly while we munched on fresh pineapple. We made a quick stop to transfer ferries off the island of Ko Phi Phi Don and saw firsthand some of the aftermath of the devastating tsunami. Despite having no reference point for how the island had looked before the natural disaster, we could easily see the multilevel construction of new buildings where we'd heard modest beach bungalows once stood. It was an eerie sight, especially when taken in from the bow of a ship in the exact waters where a massive tidal wave had rolled through just over a year ago.

We arrived in Phuket a bit unsure of what we might encounter. Many tourists on Ko Lanta had told us to avoid this island at all costs, that it was nothing more than a glorified Asian version of Cancun. The mental image was unappealing to say the least, but we plodded on, seeing as we were there out of necessity to catch our return flight to Bangkok.

After a lot of haggling with the taxi stand, we invited two Korean tourists to share a cab with us to Patong Beach in an effort to keep a few Baht in our pockets. The journey turned out to be pretty uneventful, and Phuket delivered just what I thought it would. Much like the Hawaiian Islands, there are areas that remain rural and unspoiled, and then there are strips of beach that have been wildly overpopulated with resorts, tackily clad tourists, and plethoras of eateries and places to buy wasteful, cheap schwag. We found ourselves amid the latter, but seeing as we never really left the comforts of our resort, it didn't prove too problematic. What was an issue were the unshakable feelings of grief and devastation that lingered over this place.

As the cab approached the property, I looked to the left and realized we were driving on that exact stretch of road I'd seen a hundred times on TV last winter, and more recently, just a few weeks earlier from our hotel room in Vietnam, as we watched the one-year anniversary memorials. The trees we were passing were the same trees to which many people had clung so desperately for dear life, many of them unsuccessfully. Construction equipment and cranes now occupied dirt lots where beachfront hotels once stood. Endless rows of colorful lounge chairs and umbrellas blanketed the sand, and throngs of tourists filled the waters, but nevertheless, there was an unmistakable sense of trepidation hovering in the air.

On a tip from a Swedish friend we met on Ko Lanta, we booked into the Novotel Phuket Resort, which was miraculously unscathed by the tsunami due to the fact that it's built upon a hillside. At the north end of busy Patong Beach, the Novotel offers a simultaneously eerie and beautiful cliffside view of the Andaman Sea. We got a decent room with a lame view of a construction site--this after having already turned down two pathetically dismal rooms the staff offered us. Ironically this construction had nothing to do with tsunami rebuilding; rather, it was a fancy future timeshare complex sharing the hillside with our resort.

We spent the rest of the day either in the pool or body surfing the two-foot swells on Patong. Being in that water was both refreshing and jolting. I couldn't stop thinking about the horrors that faced this island last year. Later that afternoon, from the safety of the hillside swimming pool, I could rest at the water's edge and gaze out over the entire inlet, imagining what it must have been like to be on that beach that fateful day. The feeling was intense, and it lingered the entire 24 hours we were there.

We managed to enjoy a great happy hour of cheap fruity drinks and funky Thai bar snacks (think fava beans fried in oil but left crunchy), then ate a great Americanized meal at an outdoor restaurant on the property. We awoke the next morning refreshed and less than eager to return to Bangkok. The southern Thai beaches had been very good to us!

The 45-minute ride to the airport was harrowing: Our driver had the incessant need for speed and just about mowed over everything in his path. During that ride, David took our minds off of our impending doom by calculating that we'd drank close to 160 gallons of beer between the two of us on this 11-week journey that was quickly coming to a close. I gasped and chuckled at the same time, wondering how much more damage we'd do in Hong Kong. Time would only tell, my friend.

Fantasy Island Becomes a Reality
Posted by Molly

Hello again, this time from cloudy San Francisco. Sure wish our California weather looked a bit more like this photo. Seems the gray skies will never end around here. Is this good prep for our impending move to the Pacific Northwest? I have to wonder.

Many of you have inquired why we haven't posted anything since our return from Southeast Asia. Well, let's just say something called life got in the way, but I'm pleased to be back here now putting fingers to the keyboard and sharing the final days of our amazing trip with you.

As you might remember, we opted to skip Myanmar and kick it on the southern Thai beaches for our last few weeks of fun. We never (well, maybe once) regretted our decision to opt for endless sand and sun over immense culture and controlling governments, let alone a really messed-up monetary situation the Burmese had to offer. Sure, I would have liked to have seen the stunning Shwedagon pagoda, intriguing Mandalay, and the ancient ruins of Bagan (and hopefully one day I will!), but our decision became even less lamentable when we discovered the remote and lesser-traveled island paradise of Ko Ngai.

Pronounced Ko "Hi" by the locals, this tiny isla bonita lies a mere 45-minute speedboat ride southeast of Ko Lanta, yet it feels worlds apart. There are only five operating resorts here, and I use the term loosely. Two are backpacker bungalow dives that leave a lot to be desired from what we could see; the third is an overdone Swedish mecca called Fantasy, complete with fake Hindu gates, a conference center, and a huge restaurant with marginal food (luckily it was at the far end of the beach from us, a good 20-minute walk away); and the other two were sheer paradise. A sixth resort (owned and operated by the aforementioned Fantasy folks) was due to open a month after we left, but hopefully it hasn't spoiled the quietude we found.

We were tipped off to Ko Ngai by Junie, the owner of Time for Lime, the Thai cooking school we stumbled upon one evening on Ko Lanta. She said the island was her favorite place to chill out for a few days, and coming from a Ko Lanta resident, we figured that was all the recommendation we needed. Could it get any "chiller" than Ko Lanta, we wondered? We soon learned the answer was a resounding "yes!"

We chose the Thapwarin over Coco Cottages, mainly because it looked the most inviting, although once we got there and checked out the digs, Coco was equally as impressive, had nicer open-air bathrooms, and boasted a better restaurant in our opinion. It wasn't, however, directly on the sand but on a verdant patch of jungle grass. Granted, the beach was a mere 100 feet away, but we wanted to wake up in the morning, step outside our hut, and feel sand between our toes. And that's exactly what Thapwarin provided us four glorious mornings in a row.

Our friendly Ko Lanta tour operator-cum-Internet cafe operator-cum-owner of Mickey the dog, Surin, had hooked us up on a snorkel tour speedboat drop-off to get us to the resort, and what a ride that was! As we approached the island, I noticed nothing dramatic, and certainly nothing in the way of civilization. Where were all the people, the hotel rooms, the bungalows, and the sunbathers? I was beginning to think we'd made a mistake as we rounded the back side, and then I quickly understood what I was in for: Four straight days of blissful paradise, with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and hardly any people to share my space. The place looked deserted, and in a good way. It was high tide, so our boat was able to pull up practically to shore. I could see the wonder, the jealousy, the awe in the other passengers' faces as several dark-skinned Thai workers waded out to gather our backpacks and help us alight. I almost couldn't believe it myself. "Are you sure this is our stop?" I asked David, wondering if the boat's driver had made a mistake. But no, I recognized the bungalows from a brochure Junie had loaned us; we were joyously in the right place.

For four straight days we did just about nothing, and loved every minute of it. We had thought we'd had it good on Ko Lanta, but we had it even better on Ko Ngai. Sure, the food wasn't as good, they often ran out of French fries, the bartender licked the spoon he used to make our smoothies (and then put it back in the blender to pour!), the beach chairs weren't as comfortable, and there was no air conditioning in our bungalow. But we could hardly complain given we were two of only 15 people at the entire resort, not to mention practically on the entire island.

The basic bungalow we opted for was pretty spartan, but we really only used it to sleep and shower in. For $50 a night (we just couldn't justify $100/night for A/C!), I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. Who cares that we later heard tales from folks who'd stayed in $10 bungalows on Phi Phi; surely they didn't enjoy the solitude that we did on this island untouched by the tsunami. Much to my delight, the open-air bathroom was relatively free of creepy crawlies--my nemesis--and the few ants that did arrive from time to time didn't bother me. I actually learned to enjoy being one with nature as I showered each evening under the darkening blue sky and blowing palm fronds. An occasional leaf would drop into the bathroom and the birds would chirp endlessly, reminding me of just how awesome it is to bathe in the great outdoors.

The mosquitoes, however, were a different story. We knew there was no malaria risk this far south along the Andaman coast, but skipping the Deet was not an option. Ironically I received the most bites of the entire trip after just one night under our net on Ko Ngai. It seems we'd let in about 20 of the nasty buggers in the process of putting our net down for the night. I awoke itching like a madman; David counted 40 bites on my left hand alone! I looked like a four-year-old with a raging case of chicken pox. We got smarter as the nights wore on and made a game out of killing the beasts before we retired each evening. It was a major feat just to get the net down, tucked in, and bug-free; An early-morning trip to the bathroom could spell disaster if you weren't careful to tuck back in.

Bug bites aside, we enjoyed leisurely breakfasts under the main hut accompanied by the resident dogs and puppies (seems every Thai island has them). We watched long boats come and go, the main method of transport for the island (there are no roads, so everything is shuttled in by boat). We then made those tough decisions we had been forced to make on Ko Lanta: Should we read or do Sudoku? Swim or go snorkeling? Nap now or nap later? The days were incredibly warm, long, and luxurious. The occasional cloud cover that had cooled us on Ko Lanta was nowhere to be found on Ko Ngai. An azure sky with blazing sun provided the ultimate beach tanning experience, and the cool turquoise water a stone's throw away kept us cool and collected. We watched deep red sunsets from our bedroom window and rose at dawn to snap photos of the island as it came back to life each morning.

We quickly discovered the biggest draw to Ko Ngai, apart from the immense solitude and pristine jungle/beach setting. An offshore reef provided the best snorkeling we'd ever encountered, and the best part was, we could swim there several times a day and frolic with the fishies for as long as our bodies would carry us. We worked out a deal with Thon, the resident "resort manager," to rent snorkel gear for the low, low price of $10/person for four days--a steal! After a few applications of shampoo to keep our masks clear, we donned our flippers and made like banshees for the reef, carefully avoiding the plethora of spiny sea urchins that lurked below us. It was sheer paradise.

At Thon's suggesting, we even rented a kayak one day, and with snorkel gear in tow, headed for the nearby island of Ko Mah. All we had to do, he said, was tie our kayak to one of the buoys along Ko Mah and dive in with our gear on. We never ended up snorkeling, though, as we couldn't quite master the art of jumping in and out of our kayaks without tipping the entire boat over and emptying its contents into the sea. Our entry-and-exit practice sessions just offshore from the resort made for good laughter that evening as several other resort guests gathered with us at the bar and remarked on our fated attempts. Snorkeling aside, the scenery from our kayak was awe-inspiring and worth the adventure.

On our second morning on the island, we were treated to a special event. A young couple from Canada had chosen to get married on the island at the neighboring Coco Cottages resort, and they'd planned a Buddhist ceremony. As if it were an everyday occurrence, shortly before 8:00am David came running up to the bungalow and shouted, "The monks are coming, the monks are coming!" I arrived on the beach in time to see the last orange robe descend from a speedboat that had motored over from the mainland city of Trang. I watched in awe as the waddling bald men made their way down the beach and up to the covered hut that would host the ceremony. It was an impressive sight to witness, and one that left me speechless for the rest of the morning.

They say all good things must come to an end, and thus it was with our time on Ko Ngai. We returned reluctantly to Ko Lanta, knowing we'd discovered a special place that would live on in our hearts and minds for many days to come.

Loving Life on Ko Lanta
Posted by Molly

Well, we saved the beach--and the best--for last for a good reason. I told a cute couple from the UK today that if we had started here, I never would have wanted to leave. Yes, that's our resort pictured here, and yes, that's the Andaman Sea about a foot away from the resort (okay, it's more like 50 feet).

WARNING--THIS BLOG ENTRY WILL NO DOUBT MAKE MANY OF YOU ENVIOUS AND ANGRY AT US. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK AND DON'T HOLD IT AGAINST US THAT WE'VE STUMBLED UPON THE MOST AWESOME FIND.

We are holed up on the southern Thai island of Ko Lanta. The tsunami hit here just over a year ago, but unlike its similar-sounding neighbor to the north, Khao Lak, Ko Lanta escaped with minimal damage. I heard that 11 people lost their lives on this island, and while I by no means intend to make little of their tragic loss, this island didn't see near the devastation as its northern neighbors, Ko Phi Phi (Don or Lei), Phuket, and Khao Lak. In fact, our resort (we always manage to find a sweet one AND a sweet deal) had very little damage, which is comforting. While you can't help but think about the killer wave when you wade out to take a dip in the sea, the feeling here is one of joy and ultimate laidbackness (yes, that's a word I made up just now).

After four nights in Bangkok--me stuck in bed much of the time with a nasty cold and sinus infection, and David whiling away the hours with a nice travel agent--we decided to skip Myanmar (a bit difficult to travel in, and we were honestly templed out after Angkor, although it remains a highlight of the trip) and head to the beaches for our last two-and-a-half weeks. Boy, are we glad we did!

By the way, before I wax poetic about our island experience so far, let's just say Bangkok in early January is much more forgiving than Bangkok in mid-November. We both had a much better time there this time around, even taking in a VIP movie one night (that's a story of its own) and a splurge night out ($60 for 2 for dinner...the horror!) at the famed Blue Elephant cooking school. The weather was more bearable--high 80s but lower humidity--the hotel cheaper but nice, and the new neighborhood we found a delight.


So back to the beach. Ko Lanta is just AMAZING! This place is the bomb. It makes Kauai look like New York City...does that put it in perspective for you? The place is the definition of "chill." (For our parents' generation, that means way cool and laid back.) The water is insanely warm; the skies alternate between hot sun and cooling soft rain; the best snorkeling on the planet lies an hour's speedboat ride away; the food rarely disappoints; the beer comes pretty cheap and readily available; the semi-wild beach dogs are super friendly; the white sand is silky soft; and despite the island being overrun by the entire nation of Sweden (it seems they ALL holiday here for weeks on end), the culture is pretty awesome.

We just love it here, so much in fact that we already extended our stay at this resort for two more nights (bringing the grand total to seven). We plan to head south on a private speedboat to the small island of Koh Ngai, where we hear it's REALLY chill, to spend 3-4 nights in a swanky beachfront bungalow (all for only $50/night), and then back to Ko Lanta's Klong Dao beach for another four nights. Then we'll head to Phuket on a three-hour ferry, only because we have to spend a night there as we booked our flight back to Bangkok out of there and we figured we should at least see the place. Everyone we've chatted with says don't bother, as Phuket is like Cancun in the worst way--overdeveloped--and hey, after you spend a few hours on Ko Lanta, you don't want to be anywhere else. We will probably take a day trip to Ko Phi Phi, because we hear you have to see it, too, but staying there is overrated from what we've heard. So that's our beach story in a nutshell.


We sleep in, we rise for breakfast, we snag a beachfront lounge chair, we read for a while, we dip in the turquoise Andaman Sea (warmer than a bathtub and perfectly calm), we read our books, we order coconut/pineapple fruit shakes, we nap, we swim some more (the water is so salty you can float for 10 minutes and feel like you're on a raft), we have a snack, we walk on the beach, we play with dogs (I've already befriended a cute black one named Mickey--see pic--who loves hanging out with us), we take showers after umpteen hours of sunbathing, we arrive for $2 LARGE beers and free yummy appetizers, we order dinner after a few rounds of cribbage, we eat ice cream, we dip our feet in the sand and look at the stars, and we retire around 10pm, only to get up and do it all over again. If it's raining, we take a nap in our cool air-conditioned cabana or read under a covered hut; if it's sunny, we douse ourselves in SPF 30 throughout the day and seek comfort in the cool smooth sea. It really is the life, and we are SO lucky to have found it.

Klong Dao beach is on the northwestern tip of Ko Lanta Yai (this is the bigger of the two Ko Lanta islands), and it's a mile of white-sand heaven. It's dotted with a number of lower-end bungalow resorts and a few nicer digs like ours, along with a ton of beachfront restaurants and bars, but it still feels very calm and mellow (despite the plethora of white-haired Swedes and their gazillion children). You can literally stroll in either direction from our resort, watch sand crabs scatter in all directions, and snag one of a million chairs in the sand to sip a cool drink, eat a cheap tasty meal (except for the tacos--the Thai people should never make tacos)--and watch an amazing sunset.

That's it for now. Mickey is asleep at the door to this Internet cafe and awaiting one last belly rub before we retire for the evening. It's already 8:20pm and our cool sheets are calling. :-) Last night we "smuggled" Mickey up on the deck of our resort's restaurant while we drank beer, played cards, and ate dinner. Don't worry--we were the only ones in that section of the place because it was raining and we had the only covered hut near the beach. She slept at my feet for almost three hours and enjoyed the bits of beef I tossed her from my spaghetti bolognese (yes, Western food still wins out many a night when we find a good place that makes it the right way). Today she followed me everywhere...go figure! A few bits of beef and I have a new best friend. She and I took a nice stroll at sunset (although there wasn't one due to the clouds...oh well) while D. tried to sleep off the cold we think he got from me. Luckily he's determined not to let it take a hold of him, as you can't really snorkel well with a stuffed nose.

Only two more weeks to go, and we really feel how lucky we are now to have had this amazing journey. You are all in our thoughts and best wishes!

Peace and love,
xoxo Molly

Notes From Cambodia
By David

We flew from Saigon to Siem Reap Cambodia (pronounced See-emm Ree-epp) on Dec. 29 and got to town in the early afternoon. After almost 2 weeks in Vietnam, we were immediately pleased to find that the Cambodian people are just as sweet and kind as the Thai and Lao people we had met previously. We were also psyched to find Siem Reap has a small town feel, which we really prefer to the bustling crazy cities of Bangkok, Hanoi and Saigon.

Siem Reap is almost in the smack middle of Cambodia but leaning a bit to the northwest. The fact is there really is only one reason tourists travel to this town and that is to see Angkor Wat, the most majestic and massive array of temple cities you could possibly imagine, that saturate the countryside just a few kilometers from the town center. Angkor Wat rates up there with other not-too-shabby world sites including the Parthenon, the Great Wall, Machu Picchu, Stonehenge, etc. Over the recent years, Siem Reap has boomed, with more hotels and guesthouses than you can count, and even a small downtown center loaded up with western restaurants and western music.

On our last days in Vietnam, we read the overview of Cambodian history in our one Lonely Planet guidebook that in 2 or 3 pages summarizes the misery and devastation of this poor country. Millions of people were murdered in the late 70's under Pol Pot's dictatorship and following his ousting many more died of starvation. Since then, Cambodia continues to be corruptly run so that the classes of the poor stay poor, and the wealthy get wealthier.

We knew that despite the overpriced plane tickets to get in and out of Cambodia and the expense of a 3 day pass at Angkor Wat being a bit stiff ($40 US), that at least we would be helping this poor country somehow. Unfortunately our naivety was exposed a few days later when our driver pointed out that a hotel conglomerate runs Angkor Wat and pays the government 'rent' for just a percentage of the entry fees. Getting in and out of the airport costs the drivers money as well, and we paid a hefty $25 US each to leave the country. Since a French company runs the airport, again we wonder just how much money actually gets into the right people's hands.

Speaking of our driver, we were lucky to have the nicest guy drive us around Angkor sites for 2 full days. His name was Ann (pronounced "Ahhn") and he was just the best. Over the 2 days, he took us to many of the most beautiful sites in Angkor and would just drop us off and wait while we walked through each temple city. Sometimes an hour or two would pass and then we would find him waiting for us under a tree and chatting with his driver friends. We'd hop in the air-conditioned car and he'd say "So Molly and David, where next?"

Angkor Wat.....what can I say to explain what it's like? Most of these temple cities were built from the 900's to the 1200's and they vary in size, condition and style quite a bit. Some sites have been left as is all these years and they lay in ruins with the jungle completely smothering them. Others have been maintained or improved over time with the jungle kept at bay, and elements of the structures reconstructed or at least stabilized. Most are in a state somewhere in between.

One of the best parts of Angkor Wat as a whole is that tourists can walk through most all of it without dealing with roped off areas, glassed-in protected sculptures, a glut of signage, cheesy gift stalls, etc. Instead in most cases, walking through a site can feel like stumbling on and discovering it yourself. Molly and I would often walk together and then slowly drift off on our own down a dark passage. Slowly the tourists would disappear and silence would take over. And then out of nowhere, I'd come upon a headless Buddha statue still sitting as it was placed 1,000 years ago, or an ornate stone carving that is hiding in the shadows would catch my eye. Walking up to get a closer look, I'd sometimes reach out and touch the carvings quickly to get a better sense of how insanely beautiful they really are and how long they must have taken to create.

Like other temple sites in the world, Angkor temples often included steep staircases of stone that you can still climb up to get stunning views of the surrounding landscapes. These steps are dangerous to say the least, as steep as ladders really, and climbing up and back down usually required a conversation under your breath as you went to actually persuade yourself that you will make it in one piece. "There just steps....it's not like they are moving or something....OK they are small, and sloping down.....OK that step is completely gone, but I can reach the next one maybe....there's only like 50 or 75 steps total, right?.....each way....OK, do not embarrass yourself by screaming now....maybe there's an escalator on the other side.....I think I am going to scream....wait, there's a little kid just zooming by me...if he can do it, so can I......" And then you'd get to the top or the bottom and look around as if it was no sweat. In the end, of all the temples we visited, only 2 had a handrail to hold. I actually liked the climb-at-your-own-risk feature of Angkor Wat. It made then experience that much more exhilarating. I mean what is a National Park if you can't at least periodically run the risk of dying while visiting, right?

The highlight for me was visiting Ta Prohm, the Angkor site made famous in the Tomb Raider movie with Angelina Jolie (who is practically canonized here in Cambodia by the way). This site is crumbling in places thanks to time and the forest of trees where the roots have literally crushed the stone in places. The roots snake there way through stone doorways, along walls, etc. We arrived at this site close to sunset and as we explored we were immersed in the sounds of parrots and cicada's chirping away non-stop. The sounds, the late afternoon light, the heat and humidity, the stone carvings and everything all came together in what has to be the most magical place I have ever been in my life so far. We were there for an hour maybe, but it felt like a day. The serenity of this place can't be emphasized enough. Just writing about it lowers my heart rate.

And then there are the children....

At each Angkor site, tbere are food and crafts stalls off to the side where locals try and sell to the tourists. There strategy for sales is a good one. The adults send their young children, mostly little girls aged 3 to 10, out to greet the tourists as they head back to their car, Tuk Tuk, or bus, saying the constant refrain, "Okay, you buy cold drink? Okay you buy 10 postcards for one dollar. Okay, you buy 3 scarves for 2 dollars." No matter how many times you say no thank you, they will catch up to you and walk beside you for at least a minute, and often much longer. I have to say that these kids looked pretty scrappy, barefoot and dirty and often wearing western t-shirts or pajamas. But their faces were stunningly beautiful. They smiled and I was completely enamored. They'd walk beside us and I would just want to spend time saying no thank you just to be amused by their funny comeback lines. If I didn't want a drink, they would say "Okay, you buy for your driver." Sometimes they would say "Okay if you tell me where you from and I know capital, you buy from me." Hearing a 4 year old try to pronounce Sacramento was priceless. In the end sure it became annoying to constantly be hounded by the little ones, but I never grew tired of it. Instead I would turn things around. I'd ask them their names and how old they were. I asked how far away they lived. Almost always they would stop the sales pitch and with a smile start to engage with me. They were clearly happy to discuss something other than the hard sell. In the end they would often walk to our car and when we would get in they would wave goodbye as we drove away with grins ear to ear. Truthfully we wanted to give them all a one dollar bill, but our driver Ann again commented on the reality of things. He told us that if we give them money as kids, they start to learn that they enjoy getting the money more than going to school, and over time they will stop going to school.

After 2 days of exploring by car, we opted to take a Tuk Tuk for the last day and visit a few remaining sites before we flew out to Bangkok that night. The Tuk Tuk's here are motorbikes that pull a 2 wheels carriage that has a nice bench seat for 2 people and is open air on the sides, back and front, but covered on top to protect from rain as well as sun. This was key as it was very hot and sunny for most of these days.

The Tuk Tuk took (hah hah) us to the Roulos site which required a drive through local villages and the main downtown area of Seam Reap where the bulk of the 1 million locals live. Like other countries we have visited, it was so neat to see how Cambodians really live. Truthfully they seem to live a bit better than those in Vietnam. The houses seem better made, there is more space between each house, and there are cows and pigs everywhere. Sure the poverty level is painfully clear, but as a whole people seem to have a better quality of life from the limited we saw.

So now we are back in Bangkok for a few days before heading south to the beaches of Thailand - Krabi, Phuket, etc. Molly is nursing a cold she picked up today, but tonite we plan to see a movie, The Chronicles of Narnia.

More later.
~David

Haunted by the Past: Reflections on Vietnam
Posted by Molly


Hi, everyone, and Merry Christmas from Hoi An, Vietnam! It's Dec. 25 for us right now, and we just gorged on a HUGE Western-style buffet at the four-star beachfront resort we decided to check ourselves into for three nights. I never thought I'd be so happy to see pasta salad and roasted turkey on my plate. We are on Cao Dai Beach, about five kilometers from the ancient city of Hoi An, known for its 200+ tailors and silk clothing made-to-order. Too bad it's misting and grey, with no sign of sun in the sky. The weather has been unseasonable cold and wet here, but it really doesn't matter. We are living large with hot showers, comfortable beds with non-questionable sheets, wash cloths (A HUGE FIND HERE), great food, fairly cheap beer, and all the sand you could ask for. It's a nice change from the last week or so of interesting and trying-at-times travel.

It's pretty wild to think that we are currently spending in one night at this resort what we spent on our total of three nights in Hanoi, a night in Hue, and half our trip to Halong Bay. For the low, low price of $130/night, D. and I have an ocean-front king-bed room (they upgraded us as there are only 35 rooms booked in a resort that houses 196!), and we basically have the place to ourselves. In the States, this place would cost us easily $300+ a night, but it's small comfort thinking we got a deal. It's an eerie feeling to be in a place this large and luxurious knowing we spent $10 for our hotel two nights ago in Hue, and it was a pretty decent place complete with one resident gecko. After our 13-hour overnight train ride from Hanoi to Hue, and after wrestling with the incessant honking and beeping of five million scooters and taxis in Hanoi, we figured the splurge here was worth it. And besides, it's Christmas, dang it, and we deserve to be pampered, right? Not so sure...

It's a ridiculous amount of money to be spending per night in a country that is so poor, but don't think we aren't grateful. We have been humbled along every step of this journey, particularly in this country, where tourism really only took off about six years ago. Even still, we see very few Americans...not sure if that's due to the avian flu scare or the lingering affects of the war, which, by the way, everyone over here calls the AMERICAN war. It took me a good 10 minutes to figure out what our Halong Bay guide, Tuan, was talking about when he kept saying "the American War." Put in those terms, it really makes you think harder about our involvement here.

I was too young to remember the Vietnam War, too naive to understand the Gulf War, and too fed up with our need for global control by the time our country went to war with Iraq in the 21st century. I'm sure I'm offending some of my more conservative family members, but if you walked even a few minutes in my shoes during the past week here, you might change your thinking. I've had tears in my eyes for much of this journey in Vietnam, and there's a sick feeling lingering that I just can't shake.

Everywhere we go we're haunted by the past. There are tombstones all over the countryside marking the places where hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese lost their lives. These graveyards are on a scale I've never before witnessed; the hillsides and fields are literally covered with them. Among the dead and buried, farmers plow their meager fields as their water buffalo trudge through the mud, children ride bicycles, women pick crops, mangy dogs trot along dirt roads, and tour buses honk, honk, honk to pass World War II-era pickup trucks still used by locals for construction work. The landscape is made all the more unattractive by the fact that the Vietnamese only seem to paint the fronts of their houses, so most everywhere you go, ugly dark grey concrete stares back at you from all sides.

Yesterday morning we drove through Da Nang, which served as the main base for the U.S. during the war. It's a pitifully ugly city: Shameful concrete buildings come with stunning oceanfront views, many people live in tin-roofed shacks along unpaved roads, places unfit for human residence abound, and crumbling brick moss-and-rust-covered buildings remind you that the past is still very much alive here. You see it in the faces of anyone older than 40...anyone that is old enough to remember what happened to this country in the late 60s and early 70s. Every time I look in the faces of those people, tears well up inside me. I think of the suffering they faced, I envision the horrors our troops encountered, and I imagine the rift the war created in our own nation. It's overwhelming to realize that much of what we see on our travels here was bombed heavily to the point of extinction, including the bridge we crossed over on our way to dinner the other night in Hue. It's hard to believe that our peaceful boat trip up the Perfume River to visit some ancient tombs and old pagodas the other day was a mere 30-minute car ride from the infamous DMZ, and the sight of major U.S. and Viet Cong fighting.

It hit me the hardest on the way to Halong Bay on Monday, Dec. 19. Our guide, Tuan, as I mentioned earlier, was giving us a bit of history on Vietnam. He kept talking about the American War and then mentioned that we would be taking a quick rest stop at a local Red Cross rehab place for children whose parents were exposed to the "orange agent." I quickly realized he was talking about Agent Orange, which--too young or not--I'd obviously heard about. I studied Vietnam War literature for a quarter at UCLA, and it was doubtful I'd ever forget about Agent Orange.

Our bus pulled in, we poured out, and there were about 50 young people between the ages of 14-20 all working furiously on these gorgeous hand-made embroidered wall hangings. Their needles moved quickly up and through and back again on the canvases, their faces for the most part glum and heads down. I walked by the first young boy, whose back was severely hunched, and I just watched in awe as he worked. But something wasn't quite right. As I watched him sew with his right leg crossed over his left under his table, it took me a few seconds but then I saw it. His foot was completely turned around 180 degrees from how it should have been--a severe deformity. I just started bawling, and David looked at me with worried eyes. "Honey, you can't start crying now...look at these cute girls who are waving hello to us," With that, I glanced over into the middle of the group, and there were two young girls with huge smiles on their faces waving hello. I just cried even harder until one of the ladies working there came over to me with a concerned look on her face, pleading, "Madame??? Are you okay?" I couldn't explain it to her; I simply said, "We're from America, and I just feel horrible." I couldn't help but feel somehow responsible for these mangled children.

As I type this now, I have the same lump in my throat I had that day. I don't think I'll ever forget that moment in that shelter. Most of the kids looked pretty miserable, but as Tuan pointed out, they were being taken care of and given jobs, which they would never be able to find in Vietnam out on their own with disabilities. Needless to say, I left that place feeling quite shaken up. The sun was shining, and as we boarded our junk for our two-night/three-day Halong Bay adventure, I managed to put on a happy face. I'd waited years to see this place with my very own eyes, and it delivered. Thousands of limestone rock islands everywhere, the sun hitting them at different angles and creating gorgeous shadows at every turn. We swam in warm salty waters just before sunset, ate a delicious meal prepared by our young Vietnamese all-male crew, and slept like babies in our private cabin, lulled to sleep by the gentle movement of the water.

The next morning we arrived on Cat Ba Island--the only inhabited island in Halong Bay--and moved into a cheap guesthouse. We boarded a new tour bus and drove about 45 minutes to the other side to board an extremely small and ricketly old boat. A young and very skinny Vietnamese boy piloted us for 20 minutes or so through mangrove swamps and shrimp farms, where we alit to walk along the skinny mud walkways to a remote cave near the Gulf of Tonkin. The boatman removed a few boards from a small shack and powered up the generator that would light our way. Once inside, Tuan told us this cave was used by hundreds of Viet Cong to store many weapons used to fight the Americans. The cave was virtually undetectable, but its location was key. There were caves like this all over Halong Bay, Tuan said, and some were even used as full-blown hospitals during the "American War." We just stood there in awe and wandered about the limestone beauty, trying to imagine what life would have been like there in 1970. It was an eerie and awesome feeling, not unlike the one I had upon leaving a Hanoi cafe the other day to use the restroom across the courtyard of the military museum, only to be taken aback when I saw a heap of metal in a nondescript corner of the patio. There, sticking about 50 feet into the sky, were the remains of a U.S. military plane, its fuselage half gone and around it similar other pieces of U.S. plane remains. Off to the side and proudly displayed was a U.S. Marine Corps helicopter intact and gleaming in the sun. The Vietnamese seemed quite proud to display these trophies, and I just wandered off to the restroom in shock and awe.

Some of the people here smile and are very friendly, eager to practice their English with us. Others stare blankly and don't return our cheery hellos. We lie and tell people we are Canadian, because we quickly learn that you don't get very far if you tell people you're from the United States. It's heartbreaking to be associated right off the bat with something as evil and painful as the war. That said, we've had some amazing heartwarming experiences. Like the other night in Hue, when we stopped for "happy hour" at a cafe run by a deaf mute family. The person waiting on us (we're still not sure if it was a young man or a young woman) proudly brought us our two locally brewed Hudas and proceeded to pop the tops off with a makeshift bottle opener...a piece of wood with a few screws fastened in strategic places. David and I worked our way into tea-party-sized plastic chairs (the standard in Vietnam), and we wiled away a good hour just watching life happen on the streets of Hue.

Three beers and a big plate of fried spring rolls later, we realized we'd just eaten and drank to our heart's content for a mere $2.00. We tipped the owner 8,000 Dong-- another 50 cents--and the look on his face was priceless. You would have thought he'd won the local lottery. Everyone in the place was all smiles, and the man proudly presented David with our very own autographed bottle opener. Written in red marker on one side was the name of the cafe; we smiled and the man quickly motioned for us to turn it over. On the other side, he'd written the day's date and "Hue, Vietnam" in the same red pen. We laughed with joy, shook his hand, smiled widely at the deaf mute family, and headed out to face the scooter traffic (it follows you basically in every city here) with our precious homemade souvenir in hand.

Earlier in the day we'd boarded our private touring boat piloted by a Vietnamese man in his 50s, his 40-something wife, and their adorable four-year-old daughter. The little girl was smitten with us, and while shy at first, by the end of the ride she was lounging comfortably in my lap as the wind skirted the Perfume River and we motored home in the shadow of the hundreds of graveyards watching us from the Hue hillsides. Most tourists would have been annoyed by the fact they'd paid $10 for a private tour of the countryside and had to put up with an at-times crying four-year-old whose mother tried to sell us everything from cheap wooden Buddhas to a new pair of Nike pants for David, and frowned for the rest of the trip when we refused to buy. A lot of bad things happened to this little town 30+ years ago, and we just took it all in stride. Nothing, as we've learned, happens as you expect it to in Vietnam. It just comes with the territory.

As hundreds of locals toil in the murky fields and small children seek out objects to play with, we're faced now with the tough decision of whether or not to lounge around on a beachchair, take a hot bath, get in a game of ping pong, or rent bicycles for a day of sightseeing. It's incredible to think of the opportunity we have as Americans. We learned the other day that the average Vietnamese person earns a mere $30 a month, which doesn't go very far. We try to be mindful of the wealth we bring with us, and we go out of our way to thank everyone working at the hotel (although I realized I've been saying "hello" to people for days when I thought I was saying "thank you," which explains the weird stares I was getting.) We've stopped asking people if they've ever visited the United States, because the first thing they tell us is they would never have any money to make the trip, let alone be allowed by their government to go.

The staff is all wearing Santa hats, there are Christmas trees and gingerbread houses in the lobby, and holiday music pours out of the stereo system--but it still doesn't feel like Christmas. I am disturbingly haunted by the past and at the same time comforted by my husband and the good fortune we have to experience all that we've seen in the last seven weeks. With one month left in our journey, I'm eager to see what lies ahead. We fly to Saigon Tuesday for two nights and then muster up the courage to explore Cambodia. We've heard it's the roughest to travel in, but going into and out of Siem Reap for a few days to see the temples at Angkor should help ease the pain.

You are in our thoughts on this Christmas Day, and we send our love and best wishes to you and your loved ones. I miss everyone dearly but we are having an amazing trip.

Love and peace,
Molly (and David)

Harried in Hanoi
Posted by Molly

Noisy, crazy, noisy, crazy, noisy, crazy, oh, I'm sorry...I must have gotten caught up in the frenzy that is Hanoi. Those two adjectives really describe this place best, but if I'm to be perfectly fair, it does remind me a bit of Paris, there are some beautiful spots to seek out (few and far between, mind you), our hotel is decent for $30/night and near a lovely lake, and it is simply amazing to watch life zoom by. But we both have headaches, our eyes itch, and our lungs burn after a mere 3-4 hours of wandering the city. There is no reprieve save a few moments indoors, but even that doesn't really drown out the noise of the incessant traffic.

Somewhere near 82 million people live in the country of Vietnam, and after a mere 24 hours in this city, I'm convinced 80 million of them are riding by our hotel right now on their scooters with their horns full-blast. Neither of us has ever seen anything like this, and while we were warned we'd hate it here after lounging around in mellow Laos for a week, we both agreed we had to see it for ourselves nonetheless.

We arrived after spending a day in Vientiane, Laos' capital city. It's not nearly as charming as Luang Prabang, but at least it's still mellow, even for a "large" city. Everything in Laos seems 50 years behind the times, which is part of the allure. After a nice quick flight on a Vietnam Airlines jet, we thought we'd died and gone to heaven with our smooth takeoff and landing. Amazing what a jet engine can do for one's state of mind, especially after two unsettling (but safe, mind you) legs in a Lao Airline prop plane that stood a mere six steps off the ground and looked like it hadn't been flown since the 60s.

Got through immigration just fine, collected our bags, changed $140 to Vietnamese Dong (needed a briefcase just to carry all the bills...it's just under 16,000 Dong to the dollar, so you do the physics calc), and headed outside for a taxi. We were told $10 would be fine for the 30+km drive to the Old Quarter, where we were seeking out a hotel we'd heard good things about.

Our driver was a young kid, probably no older than 22. Like everyone else under age 80 in Vietnam, he seemed to have an urgent need to honk at everyone and everything traveling at the normal speed, then flash his headlights a gazillion times and insist they move out of his way. It was manageable when we had a concrete center divider, but when we hit a four-lane bridge and there was no longer a wall of cement between us and the oncoming traffic, it was more than I could stomach. People here pass on the LEFT side, despite having a right lane to drive in as well, so that means we are careening full speed and then some toward oncoming cars trying to pass a large truck full of who-knows-what, along with several scooters overloaded with 500 heads of kohlrabi (or at least I think that's what it is...some strange looking cabbage we see everywhere). I just about lost it several times and then decided to just close my eyes and clutch David's leg.

We made it off the bridge just fine, but then our driver did an abrubt 180 and headed back the way we came, took a strange offramp, and the next thing we know we're driving along under the bridge in the pitch black of night in a very deserted area. I figured we were goners, me having watched too many episodes of CSI before we left, but as David pointed out, if he'd wanted to rob us or, better yet, kill us slowly, he would have had ample time to do so before then. Nice way for my husband to cheer me up, eh?

I continued to panic for another 10 minutes or so when we started approaching more populated areas, and something that resembled somewhat of a city. Things were looking better...until our driver pulled up to a random storefront, where a man rushed up to us with a smile on his face, opened David's side of the taxi, and said, "Welcome to the blah-blah-blah (insert unknown Vietnamese here) Guesthouse." I looked at David and said, "Welcome to scam time." I sternly leaned over and told the man this wasn't our hotel, letting the driver know I wasn't pleased as well. The man asked where we were going; I told him the Hong Ngoc Hotel. He asked if we had a booking there already; I quickly lied and said "Yes." He and our driver then exchanged a few words in Vietnamese, and the man hopped in the car. David asked him what he was doing, and the man said he would show our driver how to get to our hotel. Rather odd, but we went with it. After a few blocks, the man hopped out at another suspect "guesthouse" and we were once again on our way...until we hit the biggest, craziest traffic jam I've ever seen in my life. Swarms of mopeds, bicycles, cars, buses, and yes--even a few pedestrians--were all trying to make their way in five different directions through an intersection. Our driver rolled down his window, asked something of two young girls on a scooter, and then proceed to MAKE A *&%^$#!!! U-turn in the middle of this sea of chaos. Given that we were moving slower than a snail, I couldn't really see the real harm in it but it was insane nonetheless!


A few blocks later, we finally got to the street of our hotel, and since the driver clearly was done with the trip, he pulled over somewhat to the side of the road, said the street name about five times, and pretty much demanded we get out on the spot. We grabbed our bags and then he tried to tack on a few bucks to the fare. We stayed firm and said "$10" but asked how much in Dong. He just kept yelling $12, so we did our own math and figured we'd give him 160,000 Dong, but before I could put my extra 20,000 note away, he snatched it from my hand and walked away. So we actually ended up paying him 170,000 Dong, but I was just happy to be done with the guy. Besides, what's an extra $1.40 between friends?

Luckily our hotel was only about a 1/2 block from where he kicked us out, and the friendly staff more than made up for the bad ride from the airport. Our room is adequate for $30: A few small ants roam the toilet or bathtub but don't last long under the heavy weight of my imposing Toilet Paper Wad of Doom. (I don't like bugs, big or small.) We have cable TV, although we only seem to get a lot of soccer or bad Vietnamese variety shows. We have clean sheets, although they could use a little TLC. We have a mini-bar with bottled water and sodas. We have A/C. And we even have three pairs of plastic slide-on shoes for our lounging comfort, although it appears 75+ people have worn them before us. I'll stick to my smelly Tevas, thank you very much.

The nice man who checked us in, named Hom or Hong or something of the sort, speaks good English and gave us the best advice of the trip: "When you cross the street, look left and look right but DON'T look in the face of any motorbike drivers. If you do, they think you are giving THEM the right-of-way, and they will plow into you. Just look straight ahead and start walking." It's easier said than done, Hom/Hong, but in the last 24 hours, you'll be proud to know we've actually gotten quite good at it. After all, what fun would a city be if you only saw one side of the street the entire time? It's daunting, it's dangerous, and it's what makes Hanoi tick.


Today we found a refuge from the craziness here and had a lovely afternoon. After wandering around the peaceful Temple of Literature (we're still not really sure what it is, but it offered a slight respite from all the honking, and it was structurally appealing), we wandered down a side street, only to get "lost" for close to a half-hour in what I can only describe as the Venice, Italy, of Hanoi: Long skinny alleys (with scooters!) that connected to other skinny alleys that continued to bleed into yet more alleys, complete with local Vietnamese folks going about their daily lives, and no tourists in sight. There were wild shops, a great market, some quiet moments, and--when the path finally spit us back out into the hectic streets--even a cute little sidewalk bar with great people-watching and cheap beer. We savored every minute of the find.

We're off tomorrow on a three-day/two-night journey on the World Heritage Site of Halong Bay. We'll sleep on the boat the first night, sail among gorgeous towering limestone rocks, and spend night number two on Cat Ba Island. We then return to Hanoi for a night and another day of sightseeing before taking the plunge and trying the 14-hour overnight sleeper train to Hue. We figured we had to rough it at some point on this trip :-) We then hope to spend Christmas on the beach in the resort town of Hoi An. We're keeping our fingers crossed that one of the three beachfront resorts still has room for our weary souls.

Ho Ho Ho from Hanoi and all that jazz!
Love, Molly

Left Behind in Luang Prabang
Posted by Molly

Seems like David overdid it on the fried rice yesterday. He had it for lunch, he had it for dinner, and now he's having it in the form of a bad case of what we, the hotel manager, and the local Lao pharmacist lady can only determine is a very bad case of food poisoning. I feel so bad for him! We had to postpone our trip to Vang Vieng today, because he is barely able to walk farther than the bathroom without feeling nauseated. Luckily he's able to get himself that far, because it's where he spent the bulk of last night. Thankfully the hotel is a gem and we can keep our room another night, which is good, because I doubt David would be able to move out at this point,and any future guests who arrived would no doubt have to share the bed with him. They hotel manager is great and has rebooked our minivan and guesthouse in Vang Vieng for tomorrow, so we're hopeful we can depart then, but if not, we'll try to fly to Vientiane on Saturday afternoon and then connect directly to our Hanoi flight.

The other day David wrote about yin and yang, and it's very apparent to me this morning as I write this entry. Two days ago I felt like death warmed over, was screaming in pain from intestinal cramping, and couldn't be budged from the bed if you paid me. My loving husband rubbed my back, got me my fleece (I had major chills), took my temperature a jillion times, and waited on me hand and foot. It brought real meaning to the phrase "for better or for worse" that we recited during our wedding in April.

Today the roles are completely reversed. David is essentially helpless, it hurts him to roll over in bed, and he and the toilet have formed a very special bond over the last 12 hours. I am now HIS loving nursemaid, and feeling a bit helpless myself as I listened to him wretching all night long, I trotted out this morning as soon as the pharmacist opened to explain our plight. Luckily she speaks good English and French, both of which I feel comfortable using (the former a bit more than the latter when it comes to things of a medicinal matter). She loaded me up with anti-vomitting pills, some powder which we've determined is some kind of clay to help with the "clearing out of things," and she suggested he begin Cipro, which we brought with us. I also visited the local "mini-mart" (a dark, dingy makeshift version of a convenience store, where I interrupted the owner this morning who was busy relacing his tennis shoes and talking to his caged parrot in Lao) to purchase 2 Sprites and a large bottle of water, as the pharmacist suggested rehydration as the next step. We seem to be in good hands for a village whose medical services leave something to be desired, according to everything we hear.

On that note, yesterday we visited the manager of the kayaking outfitter to explain to him that we were a bit unhappy with our Lao version of the Lewis & Clark saga we endured on the river on Tuesday. Five hours of straight kayaking with no break and no real guidesmanship isn't what we signed up for. The manager is a nice German guy named Marcus who was quite embarrassed to hear of the issues we encountered. He offered to give us a set Thai dinner at a restaurant of his choice or $10 back to make up for our hassles; we opted for the $10, which goes a long way in Lao, as my stomach was still not up to par. Marcus then shared some stories of a few mishaps they've had in the past. Just yesterday one of their "drivers" at the elephant camp fell off his jumbo and had to be "rushed" to the hospital. When he said "hospital," we both looked at him in amazement and said, "We thought there was no hospital in Luang Prabang." (To be honest, we were more in awe of the word "rushed," as we know now from personal experience that no one does anything quickly here. :-) He smiled and said they'd just opened a brand new one, but if we thought the road was bad going to Khiang Se the other day, boy, should we see this one. Only in Lao would they open a new medical facility but not bother to pave the road to get there. When we asked if the elephant driver was going to be okay, he said he didn't know as he only watched as they loaded him in the truck and carted him off. We all cringed as he described the feeling of having a major back/neck injury and having to travel almost an hour or so on a heavily-rutted and pothole-ridden dirt road in a tuk-tuk. Not a place you want to get injured, new hospital or not.

As I write this feeling myself only about 80% well, I'm thankful I'm not at David's 2% of operating capacity. I'm starting to feel a little nausea coming on, and that weird wet sensation in the back of the mouth that preceeds a bout of vomitting. Hopefully it will subside, as I can't imagine us both being out of commission at the same time. I told David that I think we both need a few days of juice fasting to relieve our overloaded systems. Everyone said it would happen to us at some point or another; I'm just thankful we have a nice place to stay in a comfortable bed located in the most amazing town I've ever visited. Thankfully neither of us is in dire straits.

You really begin to cherish the simple things in life when your health is briefly taken from you. This morning I sat at a very French-inspired cafe across the street from an elemntary school and sipped my cafe latte while watching a yard full of screaming Lao children run around and play with no cares in the world. As I ate my warm baguette with cheese and butter (yes, I'm in Asia, but remember the French influence here?), I counted monks passing on the street. I believe I got up to 9 before I paid my bill and left. It was the slowest I've ever eaten a meal in my life, save for the week I spent this summer at my silent meditation retreat. It was simply so peaceful to sit and watch life unfold before my eyes. It's something we often don't take the time to do in the States, and Laos offers a beautiful opportunity to do so at every turn in the road. Perhaps there's a reason we're staying here so long, sick or not.

Lastly, I want to send out a loving get-well wish for my mom's dear high school friend's husband, who suffered a stroke the other day after having a triple bypass a few weeks earlier. My mom was with them in Colorado Springs the week of the surgery but sadly got the call from Janie the other day that Bob was back in the hospital and facing some paralysis, which we hope is only temporary. I plan to visit a temple later today (luckily I have a plethora from which to choose here) to pray for both him and my husband, as it seems they both could use a little blessing from the Buddha.

I hope you are all safe and well this week before Christmas and Hannukah are upon us. It's a bit odd to be in Southeast Asia for the holidays, but we're comforted by the presence of each other and the love we've found in our marriage, which seems to grow more solid as each day of this journey passes. It's nice to know you can lean on someone when you need to and do the same for them when the shoe is on the other foot.

I know David joins me from his bed in saying hello and sending our love. I'm off to administer the next dose of his medicine right now.
Namaste and peace to you all!
xoxo Molly