Okay, so about the developing world...

We didn't exactly rough it in Vietnam.  Our hotel in Saigon was modern, in the high rent district, and catered to Westerners.  We were taken to the Mekong in a cushy van and rode through it on fancy mountain bikes.  At the beach in Mui Ne, we splurged and checked in to a boutique hotel replete with fluffy beach towels and complimentary fresh juice pool side.  Even considering these luxuries, we experienced plenty of developing world idiosynchracies.  And while Vietnam wasn't really our cup of chai, it was worth spending a few weeks.

Its hard to be honest when making observations about poverty-stricken nations.  Our yuppie liberal New Yorker guilt begins to rear its head about the same time that our frustration peaks.  But one thing this trip has done is to wear away at the political correctness we carefully practiced at home, so observe I shall. 

The value of tourist sites has been overinflated by the Vietnamese.  Clearly, when backpackers first hired small fishing boats to cruise the Mekong, it must have felt like a fascinating and somewhat secret gem.  Now, trips to the Mekong are big business in Vietnam.  The country, understandably, markets every natural and man-made resource as "must sees" for tourists.  In reality, a lot of it just isn't that impressive.  No other country we've visited has as many tours, tour-based scams, tourist offices, travel agents, bus companies, etc., as Vietnam.  And yet as compared to, say, China most of the "sights" aren't much to see.  You can't blame the locals; most haven't traveled beyond the country's borders and assume that if Westerners will buy it, its worth selling.

The 3rd world is freaking loud.  People are accustomed to living in tight, crowded quarters. Extended families live together and room is made in the home for whomever needs it.  In cities the noise of traffic, construction, and humanity combined can be deafening; the locals seem to block it out and don't need to seek a quiet respite.  For us, this can be head splitting.  One rainy afternoon, I went for a pedicure near our hotel in Saigon.  At home, the sound of tabloid pages flipping and the nail-doers chattering in their native tongue would be the soundtrack.  The salon in Saigon was like stepping into a dorm room.  One girl was playing a shooting video game on a laptop at full volume.  Another was doing her make up in the mirror while yelling at someone on her cell phone.  Next to the register, the manager was hacking up a pork shoulder and her husband was cutting watermelon slices.  Having expected some much-needed quiet away from the chaos of the city, this wasn't what I had in mind.


People use everything.  Salespeople in the high end department stores cropping up all over Saigon don't yet understand the specific type of professionalism generally required in a white-tiled mall.  The girls at the make-up counters can usually be found applying testers or lounging in the customer chairs, texting.  On a steamy hot day in Saigon we hit up the Lotte Cinema for an afternoon showing of Harry Potter.  Side note, if you haven't read any of the books or seen the prior films, you may find #7 confusing.  The floor the theater was on was freezing; air conditioned and much cooler than the rest of the mall.  It shouldn't have surprised me, but did, to go into the ladies room and find two female security guards sitting on the cool tile floor eating their lunch. 

And, in wrapping up the bathroom topic, I can't fail to mention my favorite bathroom sign which can be seen all over SE Asia & China.  This is squat toilet territory and the concept of sitting is still relatively new.  Often women use the western toilets by squatting, soles of their shoes on the seat.  Many a ladies room, including in the Saigon airport, have signs on the back of the doors illustrating how to use a toilet.

In Vietnam, both traditional and modern dress have been forsaken in favor of matching pajamas.  Most grown women outside of the city can be seen sporting matching pj tops and bottoms.  And not of the Dick Van Dyke/L.L. Bean/Monogrammed pocket variety.  These are poly stretch, slightly bell bottomed, brightly colored ensembles.  While infinitely practical, there is also something so charming about them; they're like a team of dismissed gong show contestants ready to do the jerk, or take a nap, at a moment's notice.

A less charming observation is the cruelty shown to animals.  Dog is still a popular dish in Vietnam.  Since the country was opened to import, it is no longer heavily relied upon but there are still blocks in Saigon that will feature 2 or 3 dog restaurants in a row.  Perhaps as a result of the fine line between pet and dinner, even the domestic animals are often beaten or neglected.  Walking down a beach road in Mui Ne, we saw a family lounging outside their shack/variety store with a puppy.  I'm not certain what offense was committed, but the matriarch thwacked the dog in the head with a broom so hard that the sound echoed and the dog went screaming into the house.  My instant reaction was to want to hit her equally hard with a broom stick.  But this is a different world and I don't pretend to understand what passes for acceptable.

My lack of understanding extends to sanitary conditions, as well.  More than once a waitress touched the food on our plates with bare hands.  Trying to be helpful, the proprietor of a Hue restaurant on our hotels' block picked up a spring roll off my plate, made me a lettuce wrap, dipped it in dressing, and then handed it back to me to eat.  These moments seem trivial in reflection, but sitting in a nice restaurant away from the solicitous moto drivers, the open manhole covers, and the constant din of "madam madam madam," we would relax but then immediately be caught off guard again.  

Similarly, our ideas about schedules have been challenged.  We took  the "nice" bus to Mui Ne, arranged by our hotel.  The A/C barely worked, the bus driver yelled into his cell phone the entire ride, and we stopped to have a tire changed half way through.  The Vietnamese, used to waiting around, didn't think this a bit strange.  The foreigners who thought the cool ride through the countryside would be 4 hours and were practically peeing in our seats when it turned into six and a half, were not nearly as patient. 

Traveling in poor countries is hard and strange.   We come from priveledge, we're traveling the world, and we don't even have jobs.  Our expectations are frequently not met, and it seems cruel and selfish to complain, but that doesn't make the day to day any breezier. 

Being in Vietnam was eye-opening for us and while I don't pretend to understand the finer points of the country's history or the current political situation, I know a lot more than I did on arrival.  I'm glad to have gone, but I'm also happy to have left. 

Not a huge fan of sci-fi, but....

I've had to liken myself to John Hurt's character in Aliens, of late.  I've been generously hosting something parasitic for over a week.  At first, I mused that perhaps a cranky waitress in Mui Ne had drugged my food.  But since the little beast has reared its head again upon arrival in Cambodia, striking Ed too, I'm pretty sure it was something we ate.  Or, more likely, the lack of sanitation, refrigeration, and hand washing in Vietnam.

Last night I finally called my Moms, read her the labels of the prescriptions our doc gave us before we left, and started on the good stuff.  We were supposed to see the sunrise at Angkor Wat this morning, but decided to put it off, since we weren't sure hiking around the jungle with a fever was going to be the most enjoyable way to experience the majesty of the temple ruins.

Being sick while traveling is the pit stains.  Its not like at home, when being really knocked out meant staying home from work, blackberry on the coffee table, watching DVR'd TV and napping.  Away, its postponing the fun times we're meant to be having, confinement to a hotel room and 4 English speaking channels, and trips outside in 95 degree heat to pick up strange food (note to SE Asia - PLEASE stop putting sugar in our coffee when we ask for no sugar.  I know you think its gross to drink it black, but the good news is you don't have to drink it, I do.  When it tastes like a coffee-flavored dum-dum, I have to throw it away).  That said, considering neither of us has been sick for more than a day or two since leaving, I'd say we've been pretty lucky and were about due.

On the upside, staying in last night gave me the opportunity to view some high quality movie entertainment.  Have y'all seen "Wanted?"  Most absurd and absurdly watchable action flick I've watched in ages.  I'm even coming around on that James McEvoy.  Ah, the healing powers of cinema.  Or, was it the antibiotics kicking in...

This is the 100th post!

One hundo low-quality musings from yours truly.  Thanks for hangin' in, readers.  And for your comments, which brighten our mornings in far away lands.

SE Asia hearts vintage

There are a million differences between the developing world and home.  I've been thinking a lot about the small frustrations that we've grumbled over in Vietnam and why the locals don't even notice these myriad irritations.  But more on that later.  One key difference that's obvious is that here goods are maintained; at home we replace.

This can be highly frustrating.  Arguing with a worker in Mongolia who insisted on patching a tube in the tire of my bicycle for the 97th time rather than simply replacing was rage inspiring (I offered to pay him for the new tube).  The number of cracked glasses we've been served, even in swank joints, is surprising.  People hang on to their shit until its absolutely beyond repair.  Often this is financial necessity, equally often its stubborn habit.

Sometimes, though, this behavior allows for preservation of old treasures.  And I mean preservation, not restoration.  Even as the pool tiles turn to dust at the Atlanta, the staff continues to skim the top, bleach the deck, and chlorinate the water.  The idea of re-tiling probably hasn't crossed their minds.  And the Unification Palace (aka the Reunification Palace, Independence Palace, and The Palace) in Saigon practically feels haunted.  

The Atlanta:

Both of these places look magical from afar, like stepping back in time.  Up close the wear and tear peeks through in faded upholstery and 50 year old uncleanable dirt.  They're like Demi Moore that way.  Did you see "The Joneses?"  Because I did, and I expect she's filed a civil suit against that DP.  Some rough angles in that flick...

Ed and I likely set a record for time spent in the palace and gathered some hot decorating tips (no joke) while we wondered.  Its considered the site of the end of the Vietnam War, the famous lawn the VC rolled their tanks onto.  The basement is a maze of communication rooms used to plan and execute war.  It was beyond creepy down there, and we loved every second.  Its basically Communist Graceland, minus the music.

The Unification Palace:

It's not you, it's Mekong.

Since our experience with the ijits at Blue Mongolia, Ed and I have been wary of signing on for anything with even a whiff of "group tour."  When we decided to spend some time in the Mekong, our initial plan was to go DIY.  After looking at bus schedules and consulting some locals, we realized that piecing it together was going to take more effort and planning than we were willing to put in.  We ultimately consulted a reputable tour company in Saigon to discuss our trip.

The dude behind the desk actually had the information we were looking for, answered all of our questions, and didn't try to sell us on the tour or anything else during the entire 15 minutes we talked to him.  In the land of kick backs and bus drivers who do not hesitate to hijack their passenger load for a quick stop at Uncle Trang's House of Knickknacks and Snakejuice, the soft sell was a novel approach.

We discussed whether the price tag merited the itinerary outlined and decided to book a 3 day tour with Sinbahlo Adventure Travel.  And you know what happened?  It was freaking awesome.  We got to travel on tiny boats through the canals of the delta and cycle on back dirt country lanes through villages and along rivers feeding the Mekong.  I rode across tiny bridges made from scrap by locals past rice paddies, fish farms, fruit markets, and children released from their classes to watch us ride by and yell "HELLO!"

From a bike:

From a boat:

In Mongolia, we were pressured several times into awkward visits in the gers of Nomads who clearly weren't prepared to receive us nor necessarily that psyched that custom made it incumbent on them to do so.  The good folks at Sinbahlo seem to understand what both locals and tourists want out of "home visit" - the tourists want to glimpse the local lifestyle without having to make stilted, translated conversation through the guide.  And the locals want to know what their responsibility is (serve fruit & tea, show us around the brick making factory), how short the visitors will stay, and to get paid.  We were anxious about our homestay on the Mekong, but the family was super nice and seemed happy to retire to their quarters and let us knock back some Tigers in peace.

Side note on the homestay - that shit was like wild kingdom.  A very indoor/outdoor camp-like experience in a home on stilts in the Mekong river, it was a beautiful spot.  The night we stayed, we went to take showers in the "bath area" and in the course of rinsing off in freezing water were greeted by a praying mantis and watched a gecko snatch a flying cockroach nearly its size and try to eat it in one bite.  The cockroach escaped from its mouth and flew into the folds of the towel I had around my waist; slapstick ensued.  We barely slept in our mosquito-netted bunk due to the deafening sounds of the jungle behind the house.

Guest wing:

Hallway:

Our little group of 5 of us got on well, and we particularly enjoyed the company of a Swiss gentlemen named Franz.  Or, "Tour de Franz" as I called him while cycling.  He was super cool and had a bazillion interests and has travelled everywhere.   He also shared Ed's nerdy lust for camera equipment and brown liquor, so they were fast friends.  

Our final morning was a visit to the unmissable floating market in Cai Rang.  We boarded a small boat so we could thread between the larger market boats and got to board one of the vendors' boats for a fresh pineapple snack.  While hanging on deck, we saw masses of tourists in much larger vessels skirting the edges of the market and were pleased with our choice of tour.  Also we were in, like, all their pictures.

The boyz (Rolf, Ed, Franz) on the pineapple express:

The Dominique Factor

We've obviously been heavily reliant on the internet during our travels.  Booking tickets, researching locations, checking maps to figure out, literally, where on earth we are, the world wide weber has played a starring role in ensuring the smooth moves.  Conversely, its usage by vagrants like us has substantially limited travel spontaneity.   During college (in the stone age), we showed up in a town or city and phoned accommodations pulled from a trusty guidebook at a payphone in the train station; there was no other way.  Now, even hostels can and often must be booked in advance.  One the one hand these advances take the anxiety out of the arrival, on the other they deprive us the joy of living on the fly.

Lately, I've become a good bit more dubious about sites like Tripadvisor.  I love user-supported content as much as the next liberal.  But we've recently stayed at a few top-rated joints in SE Asia and I've begun to notice something I've named 'the Dominique factor.'

When I was in middle school I was a devoted watcher of General Hospital (insert joke about academic achievement and intellectual development........ here).  During the year or so that I watched, a featured character was Dominique, the girlfriend of mobster Sonny Carlino, who was also being semi-stalked by Brenda (played by Vanessa Marcil).  As an aside, Brian Austin Green, I tip my hat.  Vaness then the Fox? What kind of jewelry/drug/waterboarding cocktail do you give these women?  Anyway, Dominique was constantly referred to as "pretty."  It was like the writers couldn't go three lines without inserting dialogue about her ethereal attractiveness.  But, like, she's not that pretty and she's always standing next to Brenda who could make anyone look like a dog.  Even so, Dominique is supposed to be the more beautiful.  The thing is... over time I started to think that maybe Dominique was the hotness because that was beaten in like a drum.  I found the beauty in a fairly average face because I was brainwashed into believing and, so, the 'Dominique factor.' 

I'm developing a theory that the same happens with Tripadvisor.  Since the vast majority of reviewers are tourists, they have limited knowledge against which to benchmark their experience.  The scenario, as I see it, plays out thusly: a visitor checks in to a hotel and has a good to great time and writes a glowing review.  A reader chooses the hotel on the merit of that blurb and is pleased to find that it lives up to the review written.  That person piles on another good to great review.  This happens several times until the hotel's reviews and averages paint it a fantastic choice. 

Here's where the Dominque factor comes in.  Down the line, a traveller books in to that hotel and he already knows he's going to have a great experience.  He checks in with the understanding that this is an awesome hotel and that belief positively impacts his time there.  Because, when he sees that the shower needs re-tiling, or the owner is tipsy, or there is noise from the street, he doesn't let those things detract from the experience he thinks he's going to have.  Like my watching of Dominique, he believes the place is fab because so many have agreed that it is.  And, sometimes, regardless of his true assessment, that confidence lets him overlook the warts (or Dominique's way-too-big-forehead) and merrily enjoy the experience he expected to have rather than the one he actually has.  Maybe even to write another positive review.

Coming to this realization hasn't made me trust travel sites less, its just put them in a different context; perhaps a context you all have previously considered.  In reality, the people reviewing a bungalow on a small island in SE Asia probably haven't been to any other bungalows on that small island.  There is no ability to compare so the baseline is an arbitrary expectation.  I've started to realize that when a business has experienced this statistical grace its likely merited, but there are probably a dozen other joints down the beach just as good.

Deep thoughts...

Spoiled by Gabriel

Since M&J departed, we've spent quite a bit of our time in Saigon with Molly & Andrew's friend Gabriel.  He is, in 2 words, the fucking best.  Gabe has taken us to eat the most amazing food, meet the most awesome people, have the coolest off-the-beaten-path experiences, and gone out of his way to make our hang time super terrific.  Who brings bahn mi kebab sandwiches for breakfast to people he's met one time?  Gabe does.  He's the best thing that could have happened to us in Vietnam.

One of our extra special dates included our first motorbike rides (I want!) to the peninsula across the river where some seriously space age plans for development have been laid.  Riding on Gabe's bike on dirt roads along the river, past fields of leveled homes, canals where fisherman catch shrimp, and countless shacks with laundry hanging outside was surely one of the most memorable mornings of our 5 months away from home.

Before coming back to lunch at an amazing fish noodle joint, we hit a fruit stand where Gabe introduced us to the local varieties.  In the afternoon, the three of us enjoyed massages and fish tacos at Gringo's, a must-visit for anyone coming to Saigon.

The fact that someone who was a stranger only a few days ago went to so much trouble to plan our days and navigate this hectic city for us was unbelievable; that fact that we've made a new friend is even better.

Our favorite citizen of Saigon:

Motorcyclin' (with aforementioned fruit):