The Mean Streets of Hanoi

Hanoi has been a shock to the system after Laos. The entire population of Laos is only half the population of this city.

Thank goddess we're of the Atari-generation. Our Frogger skills have come in handy for crossing the streets. Below is a typical street scene. I've had to adopt the mindset of stepping off the curb blindly and trusting the cycles not to run me over.

And sidewalks are not just for hoofing it. They serve many purposes - vending cigarettes, beetles, fruit, handicrafts, parking motorbikes, and urinating. All of this renders walking on the sidewalks impossible. And it doesn't stop the cars and motorcycles for laying on the horns when everyone is walking in the street.

Day four has led us to our first proper veg meal. Someone needs to write a restaurant guide just for vegetarian tourists. The Rough Guide has let us down time and again. They only list one veg place, and it was a bit of a let-down. It's challenging to find a place even when you have the address. The streets change names every couple of blocks and buildings are stacked on and tucked behind each other.

We did happen upon a great little bar - the Half Man, Half Noodle. We were drawn in by the sounds of our hometown boy, Kurt Cobain. Oh Nirvana! Music to our ears after countless evenings of being subjected to The Eagles, Clapton, and Nora Jones. Francis was also a fan of the bar's art (see top right photo), and I was bemused by the menu (black puppy for only 70,000 dong or roughly $5) .

We attempted to pay homage to Ho Chi Minh today. I even roused myself at 6:30 AM and donned my Sunday best. Unfortunately, the lines were far too long - wrapping around several city blocks. Today was the last day to see Uncle Ho before he's shipped off to Russia for his annual maintenance. I was unable to bear the heat (a balmy 97 degrees) and wait in line, so we settled for a quick visit to Lenin's statue.

We're finding Hanoi to be very different from the other places we've haunted in SE Asia. They're a cuddly lot - lots of groping and necking in the park along the lake - sights you'd NEVER see in Thailand, Laos, or Cambodia. We've encountered more Americans here than any other SE Asian nation. You can spot them a mile away. We've only seen 3 Buddhist monks, no spirit houses, and no wats (Buddhist temples). The people in Hanoi are also a loud lot. Maybe you get used to shouting to be heard over the sounds of the car and motorcycle horns and dance clubs. And apparently the Vietnamese don't sweat or shave. Francis and I have scoured the city looking for those necessary health and beauty aids. If we're unsuccessful within the next 2 days, Francis will be wearing my deodorant, and I will be using his shaving cream. Dogs do not roam the streets here. Perhaps that's because they're farmed for food and not seen so much as pets...

Here in Hanoi

So, the plane was bigger than I thought. Still a propeller but a 50-seater. Faultless take off and landing. We arrived in the evening, and the taxi driver accidentally/on purpose took us to the wrong hotel. He then of course refused to take us to the correct hotel. With the help of a Rough Guide map we found The Hotel Ritz. Along the way, schlepping our packs and fearing that the hotel may be all booked up - we inquired about rooms at some snazzy looking hotels. "No vacancy." Translation - no room at the inn for back packers. The packs work both for and against us.

The Ritz is a brand new hotel in the Old Quarter owned by a delightful couple named River and Spring. Obviously their parents must've been hippies. However, River explained that's simply how their names translate into English. (He didn't get the joke at all.) We're directly across the street (and through a winding alley) from the lake (Hoan Kiem) - the soul of Hanoi.

We have the penthouse room - a climb of six narrow flights of windy marble stairs. This completely eliminates the need for a work-out on the thigh-master. We also have a "view of the lake." If you peek our window over the tin roof of the dance club in front of us, through the heavily leaved trees, you can spy a bit of water. And aren't the faux poppies lovely?

I wish I could put sound recordings on the blog. You could share in the tsk tsk boom of the dance club (bumping right now at noon on a Friday) and the incessant beep beep beep of the car and motorcycle horns. This city is never silent.


Yesterday we toured the Museum of Vietnamese Women. It offers an interesting perspective on the war with America and communism. Say what you will about the VC and Uncle Ho and communism in general - the system is far more feminist and equal than what we know and have known in the States.

We're hunkering for some veg Vietnamese food but have yet to find any. The only veg fare we've been able to hunt down (and it requires a fair amount of hunting) is Western food with a Vietnamese twist. Last night we ate at a little place called Pinky Moon. Francis had the aglio olio, in a similar fashion to what he'd make it home. I bravely ordered gnocchi with gorgonzola. My meal translated into balls of instant mashed potatoes slathered in mozzarella. No complaints. It was in fact similar in fashion to something I'd cook for myself at home. As a special treat I've attached a photo of one of the pages of the menu. Considering the Pinky Moon serves up dog breast cooked in cognac, we were lucky with our meals.

As per the request of a certain TF I will try to include more photos of Frantastic, Frantastic and I together, and a better explanation of the photos.

Farewell to Laos

So, we decided that we really ought to engage ourselves in some of the tourist attractions around about Luang Prabang before heading out of Laos. We booked a half day tour to the waterfall. What a strange adventure in turned out to be! We decided to hike to the top of the falls. Bless my Chaco sandals and the hiking training afforded to us in the Pacific Northwest. It was slippery, a skosh treacherous, and super-duper wet. It was impossible to take photos during the hike as the rain and spray from the falls lapped at us. But here we are after making it safe and sound back to the bottom. I'm glad we opted out of the swimming portion of the day as the river was full of leeches.

Apparently our half-day waterfall adventure also included a "tour of a local village." Said tour involved pulling over at the side of the road and stopping in front of 15 little girls all lined up and selling bracelets while calling "Buy! Buy! Buy! 5,000 buy!" As the girls chirped their "Buy! Buy!" song (sums up their view of Westerners) the boys went ahead and staged a cock-fighting show for us. Can you think of anything a social worker and 2 vegetarians care to see less?

The remaining shots in this post include (completely out of order as I still can't properly format this blog):

1) a street view of a restored French colonial mansion in Luang Prabang, Laos.

2) Francis' garnish from dinner at the Blue Moon cafe (where I was convinced it was my stunning beauty making the servers nervous. Their hands shook with each thing they laid in front of us. Eventually I realized the nerves had nothing to with me or my stunning good looks. The restaurant had just re-opened after a month off, and the Swiss owner was supervising their every move.)

3) View from the top of Phou Si, most sacred hill in Luang Prabang - a good climb at 300-plus stairs.

4) Francis and I (separately) descending from Phou Si. That pensive look on my face is masking a grimace of heat and fatigue. Even my sweat was sweaty.

Next stop for the Migrant Monkeys is Vietnam. We land in Hanoi early this evening. Flight 313. Laos Airlines. (Best not make the news.) I'm not nervous about flying in a 12-seater prop plane or anything...

We brake for kitties and Buddha

This migrant monkey is finding the climate in Luang Prabang much more suitable. Mornings are "relatively" cool and overcast until about 10:00 AM. The sun begins its descent around 16:30. Of course the town shuts down by 22:00 - which is fine because I need to get my sleep on before the bandsaws return to work in the morning.

We're mostly walking around the city. Francis is armed with the camera, and I'm armed with my brelly - a true life saver for this delicate little flower.

Francis would tell you (if he was participating in this blog...) he preferred the food in Vientiane. However, we've discovered a lovely little restaurant just around the corner from our hotel called the Morning Glory. She's a divine cook and serves fresh pesto and delicious fresh Laos coffee and fruit shakes all day long. The main food issue appears to be the Laotian fondness for onions. We all know how Francis feels about onions, and they're in everything everywhere- including the scrambled eggs.

We've done the museum circuit in town - "sorry, no photos, please" - ending the day with the former Royal Palace. How interesting to see the gifts given to the King by the various nations. USA contributed a piece of the moon. Australia contributed a boomerang. The most impressive gifts appear to have come from Thailand, India, and China.

The children seem to either fear or love me. I must appear such an odd creature with my platinum hair and tattoos. At least one child has attempted to rub off my tattoos - insisting that it must be pen.

Expect more kittens and Buddhas in your next installment. And trust that we are well (and in spite of some of my previous postings) truly having a fabulous time!

Yin and Yang in Luang Prabang

Francis and I appear to be alternating sick days. He's laid up today with the stomach bug that seems to plague Westerners in SE Asia. So, it was my turn to troll the streets with the camera. I'm adjusting to the heat - with the aid of my brelly and an ice coffee from time to time. I also found my first aircon internet cafe, so I expect to be parked here for a bit.

Today I strolled along the Mekong. Too shy to take any photos of the curiosities - several games of boccie ball, vegetable vendors dressed in traditional garb, and children playing games with tin cans and old shoes. It seems to be rude to take photos of the locals. However, Francis and I have found ourselves to be the subjects of many a photo op for the locals. (They try to be sneaky, but there's no question about what they're doing with their camera phones pointed directly at us and the giggling) The Thai tourists seem especially fond of having their picture taken with pasty Westerners. They always ask first. However, we've decided to start charging 10,000 kip per shot (about a dollar). Hey, it's what the lady-boys do in Thailand. I learned that the hard way.

It's so different here and yet so much the same. The Laos love TV, and it's incessantly on in every restaurant and hotel lobby. Their favorite shows appear to be Thai soap operas or morality plays based on traditional tales. The morality plays are my favorite. The actors are dressed in 15th Century garb, but you can always see their jeans and faux rolex watches peeking out from under their costumes.

Luang Prabang is an early to be early to rise town, so we've had to roll with that. The bandsaws kick in about 8 am with a lunch break around noon, so we're learning to plan sleep times around the construction schedules. Although we've bee told repeatedly that the Laos find it foolish to work too hard, those construction guys sure put in a good long day.

The kids continue to come out at night - all with the same tchotchkes and the same lines. "Madame, you are so beautiful. I love your hair." After about the third rejection they'll lean in and whisper "Coca cola." My response is that it is far too late at night for that much sugar and caffeine. However, I'd be happy to buy them a container of milk. For some reason they never want it. I am hoping to run into a little lad named "I" again. He had the best game. Fake tears and all. He'll certainly break me down before the week is out.

I've gotta harden my heart, swallow my tears

We've been off the map for a few days.

Got our Buddha on before leaving Vientiane.

Then we headed north to a little town called Vang Viang. A backpackers haven. But Francis and I are not back packers (in spite of the packs we lug). The town was just full of dirty hippies looking for a cheap high. If I never see another facial piercing or dreadlock again it'll be too soon. The bus dumped us at a bungalow a good half mile from town. Being the weenie that I am in the sun (it's been in the mid-90s), we simply stayed there. Held hostage. Although from the photos (the view from our bungalow) you can see there are worse places to be captive.

I did manage to venture into town on two occasion for dinner. Poor Fran, it was a town that was much more about the 80 cent beer than the cuisine. And even though we've managed to press through the entirety of our adult lives without seeing a single episode of Friends - it was utterly inescapable in Vang Vieng. I kid you not - episodes blared from every single restaurant in town. The theme song still haunts my dreams.

After two days, we paid for a VIP bus to Luang Prabang. I'd hate to see how the non-VIPs travel here. "It made the Long Leg to Laos" feel like a luxury cruise. When we arrived at the station (9:30 AM), our driver was enjoying some breakfast complete with a couple of cans of Beer Laos. The bus left a half hour late (and we were a half hour early), so he had some time to sober up. Brown schmeg from the aircon that wasn't even turned on dripped onto the heads of the Aussies in front of us for 7 hours. Rest stops included pee breaks by the side of the road. (I could always spot the novice SE Asian traveler. She'd be the one who was not armed with tp in her bag.) We also picked up and delivered various chickens and produce. Highway 13 is the most treacherous road I've ever seen. Not much more than a single lane winding up into the mountains. No guard rails. Little villages with paper-thin houses clinging to the sides of cliffs. And our driver was fond of passing the 18 wheelers around the curves.

I've decided that's what this trip needs to be about - remembering what it's like to feel vulnerable and then confronting your fears - occasionally with the help of a little valium.

Luang Prabang is not the bargain we'd hoped for. Francis likes to tease me because I treat the Lonely Planet like the Bible and each accommodation I select based on the book's recommendations is not much more than a crap-hole. We're sucking it up and paying $25/night to stay in a beautifully restored French provincial mansion. The only downside is the construction that is everywhere. In spite of the spotless and tasteful room we can't seem to escape the bandsaws. It makes a good night's sleep or a nap virtually impossible.

I've also had to hone my ignoring skills - a task made easier by 10 years of working with kids who have behavioral difficulties. There are a dozen adorable children on every corner selling cheap beads and begging, "Please, Madame, I need the money for school." Although they speak impeccable English and can charm you to tears. But as I learned in Cambodia - if you do for one you become a mark for all. And so I've had to harden my heart.

It gives me pause about this country where cigarettes are cheaper than water and children are used as begging pawns to secure money for their parents' opium addictions. Where valium in a few cents per pill but 10 ibuprofen cost me $5.

I don't mean to sound bleak. We really are having a lovely time, seeing sights that we'll remember for a lifetime and meeting the strangest blokes.

Vientiane - a WHole New World

Let me begin be impressing on all of you the absolute glorious beauty of my new tattoo. It was well worth the brief the fainting spell and the constant application of a creme known here as "nappy baby bottom cream."

The next few shots are of Patouxia, the Arc de Triumph in Vientiane. This monument was constructed in the 1960s with concrete donated by the US for an airstrip. I'm not what the story is, but the plaque outside of the monument refers to it as a "monstrosity."

Francis and I made it over to the National Museum yesterday. There's an extremely impressive prehistoric exhibit. The Dutch trading exhibit was also well done. Then things got a little more bizarre as the tales of history became more recent. Although the US bombing raid on Laos (in the mid 60s to and 70s) was secret to the Americans for nearly 15 years, the Laos people were well aware of the presence of the "American Imperialist puppets" and the carpet bombs that destroyed much of their cultural sights including the ancient Plain of Jars and temples.

Here we have various shots of the city. How'd you like to be an electrician in Vientiane?I'll include more later, but technology is not my friend today.

We continue to encounter the strangest expats. I'll refer to our new friend as "S" because I'm pretty sure here's over here avoiding a tax evasion scandal as well as some potential other legal matters. He's been very friendly and generous with the strangest tales to be told. He claims to have served 7 years in prison for bank robbing (only got nabbed for 4 out of the 13 jobs), lost 2 million on technology stocks in the 90s, started up a balcony franchising venture in Britain. Who knows how much truth is any of it. But we've heard the same stories three times in pretty consistent detail (he repeats himself a good bit when he's drinky). So, he's either an honest fellow or a brilliant liar (likely a bit of both).

Vientiane has a bit of a wild west feel. It hasn't come along so far as Thailand, although I will argue that the plumbing seems to be better. It seems to be safe, but then we're usually sequestered in the hotel by 9 PM watching wretched America movies we'd never dream of seeing in the States.

We expect to be here for a few more days, then perhaps go 3 hours north no Viang Vang. There seem to be some impressive caves, and we're really for a bit more chilling out.

The Long Leg to Laos

The last five days of travel have been brutal! We took a 12-hour 1st class aircon overnight bus from Chiang Mai to Khon Kaen. I know that "first class" bit really sounds impressive. However, what it means is that we spent 12 hours in a fah-reezing germ factory, with Francis almost losing his cool because the overhead lights on the bus didn't work. Poor thing just wanted to read one of his 19th century novels to lull himself to sleep. For a land with 97% literacy, the Thais don't seem to care so much for reading.

After arriving in Khon Kaen we understood why everyone seemed so perplexed that we chose that route to approach Laos - not a town so warm to farang. And I am the antithesis of incognito with my platinum hair and tattoos. If there was veg food to be had in that town, we never found it. We've discovered that eating is the hardest bit about traveling in SE Asia, and Thailand is not always the Land of Smiles.

Next destination was Nong Kai - where there was one veg restaurant, a few smiles, a lovely board walk, and an impressive wat. I also participated in a little Thai wine tasting. Fran bowed out after taste number two. Truth be told Thai wine tastes like something that would be produced in a jail house.

We did meet a cute little couple from San Diego who decided to stay in Nong Kai and work there for two months at the restaurant/bar/guest house. They were terribly helpful in explaining the nuts and bolts of what to expect at the border crossing to Laos.

Unfortunately, we were not prepared for the totality of the experience. I had to bust out some of my old school mosh pit skills as we waited in the immigration line to exit Thailand. Lines do not exist in Thailand, and the Thais have no qualms about squeezing themselves in front of you. I battled it out for a good half hour with one little Thai lady. In the end - in spite of my elbows, weight advantage, and incessant hip-checking, that little gal got her way.

Immigration on the Laos side of the Friendship Bridge was anything but friendly. An unfortunate introduction into the country. We chose a taxi instead of a tuk tuk (open air vehicle) for the 24 km drive into Vientiane. Silly Americans assumed taxi meant aircon. We'd have done just as well to tuk tuk it bumping along the dusty road to the city.

By this time my cold (from the 1st class air con bus) had gotten the best of me. I'm filthy, soaked wet with sweat, and ready to pass out. Fran checks out our selected guest house and decides (wisely at the time) that it'll do for a night - just until I can regain my constitution.

The place was perfectly nasty, but I couldn't bear the thought of moving on without a shower and a nap. Thank goodness for sleep sacks because the Donald Duck sheets on this bed hadn't been changed in eons, we covered with cigarette hole burns, and bed bugs. Fran left me huddled up in my sleep sack while he went on a reconnaissance mission for a more acceptable place to bed down.

We ended up around the corner - for only $4 more per night we a clean bed, friendly staff, and breakfast included.

Can't wait to write more about Vientiane. I know that we're going to love this town with its French aura, $2 chardonnay, and REAL coffee.

Bye Bye Chiang Mai (for now)

Alas, we begin our final hours in Chiang Mai before a 12 hour bus ride to Khon Kaen. That begins the next leg of the journey into Laos. I wonder if the orchids will continue to be so spectacular. I've never had much luck with them at home. I agree with Francis - they make me mad and shouldn't get any special treatment. Nope, they should be treated exactly the same way as the rest of the plants. (Perhaps that's why mine always die.)

Francis has greatly enjoyed strolling about, taking photos. (Again his skills are far superior to mine.) The tree photo is a banyon tree. The Thais place their old spirit houses here when they upgrade. We've been told it's alright to take them once abandoned. But that advice came from a farang, and it feels a little sacrilege to me.

My best purchase of the trip has been my little brelly. My little pixie friend was absolutely right when she insisted it's best to make one's own shade. The Thais get a kick out out of it too. They think we all want to be tan. Tan is alright. I just simply don't do it. Just various shades of pink for me. My ancestors are from cold, dark places.

We hope you enjoy the random photos. There's not much I can tell you about all of them. I think Francis loves those the best. And to be perfectly honest blogging feels too much like work for him to be too interested right now. Perhaps we can coerce him later.

We also had a darling chat with some schoolboys who interviewed Francis to practice their English. Just when I think we may be on the "take" again, some random act of kindness takes place, and I fall in Love with Thailand all over again.

Of course I also wanted include a shot of me with Pom. He completed my tattoo yesterday. (This time I did not pass out.) I did choke back a few tears at the end. He was so terribly kind and gentle, and took great care to maintain the integrity of Nate's cherry blossoms since the pieces are now all entwined. I'm going to make you all wait until the healing process is further along before I post shots of the finished product. It's simply spectacular.