I just started this novel by W.G. Sebald, “The Rings of Saturn” a few days ago and it brilliantly illustrated by feelings concerning the creation of museums detailing the atrocities of war. While I believe that it is one thing that cannot be denied due to comfort levels, at times, as a tourist I feel as though it is a strange marketing ploy and my place is not only foreign in these environments, but almost intrusive and arrogant. I can witness the sights of the horrors, but I am not forced to endure the burdens and aftermath of such atrocities. I do not “understand” what has happened, which is where I think the arrogance comes in. Anyway, I thought I must share this quote to start off the blog, since it’s something I’ve been thinking about lately and Vietnam has put me in a reflective mood.

“This then, I thought as I looked round about me, is the representation of history. It requires falsification of perspective. We, the survivors, see everything from above, see everything at once, and still we do not know how it was.”

Before I left Ho Chi Minh City I saw the most amazing older woman sitting at a street side coffee stand with her friend. I saw her, chatting with all the character that age brings to a face. I don’t know why it charmed me so much, but I think the quality of mortality in an aged face brings with a certain comforting feeling. The inherent and obvious vulnerability to the factors of life that I have faced and probably will face somehow formulates into an almost proven theory that the hardships of life are bearable and will lead to a position where I can chat with my friend on the sidewalk and discuss the mundaneities of life. I wonder if it’s my youth that tends to idealize conversation and look for some sort of dialectic with each engagenment and maybe the miniscule details of life that we see as mundaneities are really the most important. I have found that I have difficulty in conversation here, after so many months away. I long for the fulfillment of having a shared past and going beyond the surface to something– either the discoveries of myself or them to various philosophical outlooks or even pop culture. Sometimes I don’t want a conversation driven by the baser instincts or alcohol, but one where I learn something. I think that’s what I’m missing the most: learning and the nuances of language. This is a confession and one I am not proud of, but I find in speaking with people that are not fluent– and I KNOW it goes both ways– it’s hard to learn something because the language is so rudimentary. In some ways this creates a whole new learning experience in which someone must go beyond spoken word, but it can be an exhausting difficulty. I am here to learn about different places and people and find myself sometimes too tired to do so. And in comes the idealiziation of the familiar. I’m enjoying myself though, this isn’t written with melancholy, but it something that I have been observing that I don’t quite understand.

And jumping right into the unknown, foreign, and exotic, I got to be a specimen of wonder in my days in Da Lat. The first was me, on a motorbike, alone, traipsing through the mountain roads. Countless “Hello!” and waves from passing motorists shocked that a lone Western woman is on a bike and amused to see me in my orange rain poncho with a sense of wonder that I’m sure wasn’t inconspicous. Absolutely incredible taking my own motorbike through the hills. It was a mistake to do this and then the tour on a “hog” the next day because it really paled in comparison to having the control of the reins. But, the next day was quite comical, so I must not complain.

The first stop was to a Zen pagoda on top of a hill where several boys in a group each took turns having their picture taken with me. Some chose to stand up the hill from me, so as to not appear so short next to giant me. A couple of people on a tour then asked to have their picture taken as well. This was a first in Vietnam, but was not to be the last. We then stopped off at a waterfall. Da Lat is the tourist spot for Vietnamese so it was crawling with tourists. Sidenote: the sights of Vietnam are quite strange. To see a waterfall one must pay a fee, whereupon one sees there is the option of riding a rollercoaster down the hill to the waterfall. Strange.

Back to the matter at hand, as I’m walking down the hill, a Vietnamese woman starts talking to me. I pretend I know what she is saying. By this I mean I am pretending to myself that I might have some idea what she is trying to communicate with me. Maybe I did. We start walking together and are soon joined by the whole family. Pictures ensue with every member. The mother takes a particular shine to me and I receive kiss on the cheek, hugs and several translated compliments. She seems to like my eyes, being exotic in their green-ness. I think a woman down in the Delta complimented me on this as well. Or at least she pointed to eyes and said something in Vietnamese.

So the day was being carted around and being a spectacle to accompany the other sights the other tourists had come to see. Hilarious. I’m finally finding my inability to understand a bit comical. When we were down on the Delta  the tour guides and boat driver were speaking Vietnamese and laughing and I found myself chuckling a bit. This was not because I thought it sounded funny, but the fact that I was sitting there with absolutely no idea what they were talking about. It struck me as strange–maybe uncanny, if I may– to be in that situation. It’s a good thing. I’m entirely out of place and it’s a bit funny to me. It’s better than feeling badly– I must accept that it’s ridiculous that I speak no Vietnamese and expect understanding. I’m fortunate that some English is spoken and that my pointing and pantomiming skills are becoming spot-on.

Off to get some lunch. Tomorrow is tailored clothes. This is me being a Westerner in Vietnam. I am shopping and as much as I’ve begun to loathe shopping and commericialism while here–even more than back home– I will in Hoi An. I will support the local economy. This is what I’m saying I’m doing.

It seems when travelling the ubiquitous topic of conversation is finding the “real” ________ (insert country here). Well, I can’t say that the tour bus was the “real” experience, but I would say discovering the source of the wet sensation on my foot was pretty real. It seems the cheeky little girl sitting in front of us could no longer hold it and proceeded to release the discomfort all over the bus and onto my foot. I didn’t get the full brunt of it, but I suppose the volume doesn’t matter. Here I am, Vietnamese girl urine and all.

I arrived in Dalat today and am happy to report it’s much cooler than Ho Chi Minh City. Much cooler. In fact at a mere 80 degrees faranheit, I’m actually cold. It seems I have become used to the hot and humid weather of Vietnam. But, cold at 80 degrees means Seattle summer may mean sweatshirts and slacks. I had some suspicion that this would be the case, but I couldn’t quite believe it. But, upon arriving in the Vietnam highlands I have discovered that my inkling is true. 8 hours on an air con bus was a bit of a body fuck, since air con kicks the shit out of my allergies. Two hours of sleep didn’t really make the trip more enjoyable, but it’s gorgeous up here so I can’t complain. And after spending the night in an oven, I’m happy to not be sweating my tits off.

Vietnam isn’t treating me too badly, it’s a nice change, though a bit hectic at times. I’m hoping to lose count– or at least forget– the people that have some sort of grievance against Vietnam and want to persuade me towards the same view. I shouldn’t even bother going North? Just leave now, the whole country is the same, eh? God. At least lie and tell me it’s great, why try to ruin my trip. I don’t know that I’ll be extending my visa to stay here, but it is lovely. I’m waiting to be blown away by some Vietnamese cuisine– maybe cook a bit myself. I am definitely looking forward to not being hassled to buy something or ride a motorbike the second I step out of my guesthouse. Vietnam wears on you a bit. The constant stimulation can be exhilarating, but it’s also hard to think that I can last in the face of it for as long as I have in other areas. Who knows. I’m quite liking the bit of a faster pace in places, as I’m able to keep seeing new things.

I have now discovered that what I need in a place is: good coffee, good books, dancing or other form of physical activity that I can partake in on a regular basis–cycling, good food is helpful, the list might go on. Good coffee though is such a deal maker. Good beer or wine is nice as well. Wow Seattle, it seems you’re doing pretty well for yourself, aren’t you?

I’m totally brain dead after no sleep, air con, and a long bus journey. Later my friends.

In my hurry to recount all the amazing details that comprise my life I forgot to mention the way I completely tripped over this long metal pole intended to block motorbikes from driving through the park. This lead to such things are almost face planting, probably causing the locals to piss themselves laughing, and a goose egg bruise on my shins. It was a shining moment.

I have now almost consumed everything one is not supposed to have in a foreign country and lived to tell the tale: fresh fruit from street vendors, fresh springs rolls with shrimp that have probably been out too long, ice, etc. Guide books are real fear mongerers.

I have now officially arrived in Vietnam. So far what I have to show it some black boogers and a feeling of being a bit under the weather. Pollution will do that to you, even if I do wear one of those surgeon masks.

Despite what some older British and Canadian men told me, the border was no problem, even though I’m an American. And, despite the many nay saying stories of travellers, Vietnamese people do smile. I’ve smiled at many while I’ve been here and they’ve all smiled back– with the exception of a guard at the Reunification palace.

I imagine many of the stories are true, but I wonder what people are expecting when they’ve come to Vietnam. I’ve heard so much bad stuff since I’ve been away, I was almost tempted not to come. I’ve only been here two days and I did have some creepy guy from Senegal almost ruin the night for me yesterday, but it hasn’t been bad. I guess one has to take it all in stride. At the markets people are trying to earn a living and if I could get $50 for something, of course I’ll try to charge that, if the person will pay it. Conversely,  I only want to pay so much for something, so why would I pay more? Of course it’s more troublesome to constantly have to barter, but things are overpriced back home and we get no say in it. It’s unfortunate that a whole country has to have a bad reputation. From the Vietnamese I’ve encountered they’ve been very friendly, so it saddens me to hear their reputation. There is a lot of thievery and ripping off, but that’s common for any large city– Detroit, anyone? And they’ll shoot you and beat you up in the states for a wallet. I suppose there is this certain attitude when people are travelling that they should be able to do what they want–they are on vacation after all– and shouldn’t have to take the necessary precautions. Things like, not walking around wasted at night through streets or walking alone at night or hanging your purse on the back of your chair while eating. I can say all this and eat my hat later on, but one can’t expect that one can live with wreckless abandon just because work isn’t in the picture. I also realized that I’m not always the nicest to tourist in Seattle, “What Dumbasses” I say to myself as I see them wandering around, gawking, getting in my way as I try to walk at a reasonable pace. I’m an asshole, I’ve now realized, but it also makes the behavior of locals if they aren’t always the most friendly, make much more sense. One can’t expect to visit a city and have every one bowing at your feet and kissing the ground you walk on. I need to be nicer to tourists when I get home. I always happily give them directions, but I should stop cursing the slow, clueless walkers. I’ve been there, just about every day for the last 4 months.

So, yes, I bartered today. And I’m now an owner of a rip off Chanel bag. I hardly knew what I was getting myself into– just voyeurism I thought, but I made the mistake of going in the booth. And then having something catch my eye, even if only ironically and then she pounced. And lowered the price by half her original quote and I couldn’t resist. So, if all goes as planned I’m going to come home looking like I could hang out in Fremont. Sweet. I was laughing to myself as I walked around, dripping sweat with pit stains, a greasy face, and running shoes that it’s quite the contradiction to buy designer stuff while I’m back packing. Carrying that bag around is going to be hilarious.

It’s a Monday, so most of the places were closed, as I came to find out after walking around the city to all the museums, but the walk was nice. I’m a bit hesitant to rent a bike here– by that I mean I won’t– as the streets are even more motorbike mad than Phnom Penh. I wasn’t so scared crossing the streets, as I’ve mastered that after walking and riding my bike around Phnom Penh during rush hour, so that was a bonus in my impression of the city. I’m staying one more day, though I had planned to leave in the morning, just so I can get a greater sense of this sprawling metropolis. I don’t know what I expected, but it’s huge.

Despite all the Communist stars waving above all the buildings, it’s quite a booming commercial center. It’s a bit like New York, but Asian and different because of that, of course. But, in terms of size and districts and fancy shopping stores and traffic, it’s definitely the same if not bigger than the fair Apple.

Tomorrow I go to more Museums, just to get the full effect of the American war, as it’s called over here. I went to the unification palace and got a bit misty eyed when I saw a few of the horrific images of the war, so I don’t know what to expect when it’s a museum about the war– maybe some tissues should be handy. The torture prison in Cambodia made me sick to my stomach and on the verge of tears as well, but I think that’s a normal human response. It should be. I may need a pick me up at the end of the day after that. I did last time. A few moments to reflect and de-tension myself. The horrors that have been endured in so many of the countries over here is stupifying. I can’t really describe my reaction, but it’s painful to see, though necessary to understand the atrocities that go one while I spend countless hours checking stupid internet websites or painting my toe nails back home.

I’m off to eat some soup. I hope you all are well.

xo

Here I am, back in Phnom Penh, a survivor of shrooms bought on the street (though not a survivor that got high at all) and loving Cambodia. Why? It’s hard to explain. There’s a certain sort of feeling like it’s my home in an unfamiliar territory. It’s easy to chill out here and do normal things like attend Cambodian football team games and yell with the other Khmer men when Cambodia loses to Nepal. When I go to a restaurant there are two little Khmer versions of Thelma and Louise screaming around on a tricycle, one with sunglasses, the other behind the wheel raising absolute hell over the planks keeping us from plunging into a pond of putrescence. When I leave my room there are monks collecting alms from the woman I buy banana bread from. Other monks are further down, standing in their bright orange robes holding parasols as shields from the sun.

The next corner holds the tuk tuk drivers blasting “Apple Bottom Jeans” and asking if I need a ride anywhere. Even that kid that told me to “Fuck off” when I wouldn’t buy something. Or that other little boy peeing in the aisle. Or the use of CB 4 radios instead of cell phones. Or a visit to the s 21 prison of Pol Pot and witnessing blood stains still on the walls, hundreds of pictures of the slaughtered masses and still finding that people even bother to ask questions about me in the first place. How can they even be bothered? The children are absolutely hilarious and each day has me bonding with the mothers and children as they yell, “Hello!” or just play games while I do the inevitable wait for services.

I went to the embassy today, which was a strange experience. Quite a lot of security, special service for the Americans, air conditioning, and dozens of people finding out about their Cambodian wive’s citizenship status. Surreal, but also made me miss home a bit. So, I guess I’ll have to say that America is beautiful and despite a lot of things I am happy and lucky to have been born there. For sure.

My travel friend and I spent the day on bikes barely surviving as we biked through the city. Though there is a certain system to the roads here, it requires constant vigilance and attention. One distraction or fascination with a bordering shiny object and you’re toast. I’ve got a few more days in the capital before I move on to Vietnam. I can’t wait, despite horror stories from others. A new country, delicious food, tailored clothes. Grand. I’ll be doing some serious itinerary sight seeing while I’m there, which is a change I’m looking forward to. Barely six weeks before I return home, which isn’t sounding long at all anymore.

Eh, I’ve been at this cafe too long and a sunset on the lake is calling me.

Well, now I’ve officially had the first, “buying drugs in a foreign country and not getting what they say” event. The last time was Prague, of course, which, no matter how many times he poked us and telling us it was acid, it was most definitely not acid.

After smelling the weed we figured it was oregano and the boys decided to eat it. Apparently they got fucked up, but not stoned, so the jury is out on exactly what it was. Some tourist treat, I suppose. Ah, Siem Reap.

I just got back into Phnom Penh today and am looking forward to cruising around the city again. I really like this city and it become exponentially better when you’re weaving through the traffic on the back of a motorbike. I will surely miss you guys.

Battambang proved to be a bit of a hole in the wall city– we didn’t expect much or anticipate much, but it didn’t really deliver. Of course, the monks were ever present and soothing my vibes, but there wasn’t much else to do there. Despite wanting to take the train to Phnom Penh so we could ride on the top, after finding out it was a 20 hour train ride since it goes so slow, we opted not to partake. The bus ride proved eventful, complete with friendships made with some of the women and a handshake and smile upon alighting on to the bus. I love that. I even had one of the women stop me to make sure I knew I was getting off at the right stop. Cambodians, you are amazing people. I never cease to be impressed by how helpful, friendly, hilarious, and fantastic singers you are. So far, aside from Laos, you are my favorite. I even like the cute little kid on the treacherous bus ride to Battambang over a bumpy dirt rode that just stood up and peed in the aisle. I think children may be one of my favorite parts about travelling to new places. They are hilarious. Each one stares curiously and some are almost militant as they yell, “Hello!”or confusedly “”Good bye” as you approach their line of sight. My favorite so far has been the child that was absolutely pissing himself laughing, jumping up and down pointing when my travel mate and I got stuck in a torrential downpour on our bicycles. It was well worth the ride, though I was soaked through and through.

I saw Angkor Wat up in Siem Riep, which was a test of will power and mental perserverance, but was well worth it. Awaking before sunrise to see it rise over the temple was hard, especially after not being able to sleep the night before, but I was proud of myself for sticking it out. By 11 AM we had seen the temples and it was much too hot to keep pressing on. Without monks walking around and chanting, it’s not quite the same experience. I probably spent too long in the city itself as I found myself equipped with a bicycle and a bookstore which English language books. Despite considering “Midnight’s Children”as I departed, I picked up Kerouac because I have to be that cliche. I can’t imagine another time when I could be fucked to read it, so I may  as well now. See what all this noise is about. Got some more Kundera, read my first Murakami and picked up a couple more. I’ll probably grab another before I go to Vietnam, since Cambodia has offerred more for my money than any other country. Well, aside from Laos. I’m looking forward to Vietnam, though the stories are half and half whether it’s amazing. It’s more of a struggle, the people are more intense, less willing to interact on a human level and much more militant begging and selling. I have become fed up with looking like a bank, but I’m brushing it off. There’s not a lot that can be done. I’ll see what Vietnam is like for myself, since generalizations are rarely accurate. Cooking classes and tailored dresses– if nothing else I’ll be set in that respect. A little over a month left and I head home. It seemed like it was forever until i would be and now it seems like no time at all. I wonder if I’ll cry before I leave. I know I’m going to miss seeing monks everywhere, motorbikes with entire pigs strapped to the back, motorbike armies taking over the streets, bicycles everywhere, and the children riding gigantic bikes as they leave school in their uniforms.

What will I do without grilled bananas? It remains to be seen. It’s hot here, it rains buckets every afternoon, but I’m got some mental peace in Siem Riep. Another country and I’ll be tossed through the ringer again, but if I can avoid being killed, arrested, or maimed there’s not too much that could happen that would ruin my life in Vietnam. And I cannot wait to go ape shit at the tailor’s. Any dress I can imagine? Any shoes I can imagine? The list will stretch longer than my cash flow, but even if I only get a few perfect things, I’ll be satisfied.

Off I go to maybe score some shrooms, go for a walk and prepare for the next day of sightseeing and maybe a Cambodia vs. Nepal soccer match. More to follow…

I’m a nerd. Or something like that. I just found a new book– some Kundera– and suddenly life makes sense. I’m in a new city, a new guest house and I feel the prospects mounting. Who knew a book could be so powerful?

Well, I’ve finally done it. After 3 months of travelling with no sickness, I finally got something here in the beautiful country that is Cambodia. I’ve only been puking, so I suppose it’s only half as bad as it could be, but it’s rocking my world so far. I’m glad the place I was staying had television, as I found myself too nauseous to sleep. This made for a desirable state for catching my bus the next morning. Oh, yes, a 5 hour public bus ride while feeling like I’m on the verge of puking. Sunglasses on, flip flops off, me contorted in some odd position so I can lay down on the seats. Riding along, stop at a rest stop. I got to the bathroom and within seconds I’m puking in a squat toilet in some dank, dark bathroom stall in the middle of nowhere. My aim was correct, which was good, because it came with little warning. Already feeling like it was the longest bus ride in the world, I still have two more hours until my destination. Glorious.

I finally make it there, I’m alive, I hire a motorbike and it takes me to a guesthouse. I’m not overcharged, which is what I love about Cambodia and am taken to the room I’ll be renting. The man asks me if I’m okay, which is another thing I love about Cambodia– real human conversations– and I say I’ve been sick. I wait for the room to be cleaned and then proceed to sleep all day, awaking only to watch the Karate Kid 2 and then later trying to eat some toast and drink some water, since I know I’m terrible dehydrated. If it didn’t make me so nauseous to drink it, I’d happily drink some more. C’mon body, if you need water, you can’t make it painful to drink.

It’s raining, so the coast I’ve travelled to remains unexplored. Hopefully I can get myself to a pharmacy today and find a magic cure. It’s just making me stronger.

I’m starting to get a cold. Bull sheeit. If there weren’t so many god damned ebola carrier monkeys running around maybe I wouldn’t have become a victim of this stupid virus. I hope it’s a real dousy because I hear Cambodia has a great reputation for providing comfort.

Bollocks.

Well, friends, it’s time I admit why the posts have been few and far between. I discovered mushrooms. It’s because of mushrooms that I am here today and didn’t die of aversion at the Full Moon Party.

It was all that I had predicted and more. I will allow that it did have the redeeming quality of playing “My Girl Likes to party all the time,” but aside from that it was bollocks. Everyone from Pioneer Square was there and the mushroom shakes that night were as weak as piss after downing a Nalgene full of water. Picture that. Weak.

I realized that part of the problem was there were no Thai prozzies to dance with, just a whole heap of Western girls travelling to Koh Phan Ngan on their parents dime in order to get fucked by some muscle factory exhibiting movement that only seems like dancing after consuming about 2-3 buckets. And by this I mean about a fifth of whiskey and two or three Redbulls. I tried to drink the asshole away and just dance, but being groped somehow didn’t start resembling the fun of a roller coaster, which only left women to dance with. And those girls just oozing stupid to the point that I imagine they might be like those frogs with hallucinogenic properties in their skin; Don’t get too close to them or you might absorb some of the stupid. And so I had to leave the beach. I really can only dance to that “Apple Bottom Jeans” song 3 times in one evening. Luckily we left and went to a smaller enclave where we found some decent dance music and a more enjoyable dancing crowd. The highlight of the Full Moon Party was the discovery of roasted chicken sandwiches. One of the most amazing parts of the trip. Delicious. The rest was generic, as could be expected from anything on a beach that is marketed in any package deals. I’ve been tainted by getting to dance in Berlin with wicked people so having to fight my way around drunk Swedish girls and scrawny English boys trying to make out with me is surprisingly less fun than it sounds. Maybe starting to drink beer at 730 AM may have made me less excited to drink until 730 AM the next day.

The next two nights fully made up for this experience as I found myself nearly dying laughing as we discussed midget ninjas, how beer is served in England, and the new trend of serving ice cold cigarettes after consuming the famous shakes of mushroom mountain. What remained any semblance of composure quickly devolved into me nearly dying of laughter as my friend pointed out that the sand looked like millions of pictures of Edvard Munch’s “Scream” portrait and then proceeding to tickle me. As if that wasn’t bad enough, we ran into someone from Vang Vieng wearing flip flops and socks. I was complete toast.

Dancing on the beach with a guy I met from New Zealand bull shitting about how bad the music was and absolutely pissing ourselves laughing. I cried, I hyperventilated, I nearly fell over I was laughing so hard. I closed the night listening to Radiohead.

And as I stared at the island and thought about how much it looked like an alligator I wondered if I was still tripping. Well, if the fact that I thought the song on my i pod was the most amazing song I’ve heard in a long time (thought I’ve listened to every song about 500 times) is any indication I was forced to deduce I probably was. But man, did I need to laugh that hard. I’d been in the monthly mood fuck that always comes with the full moon.

And then we had to leave. Another couldn’t be spent waking up at 5 pm. That was about the worst trip home ever as I found myself up til 7 AM and having to wake up at 11 AM to pack and be a human being. I was hoping the valium on the bus would help. They did “help” in the sense that they did their job in relaxing my muscles, but this was less fortunate when I was trying to pee in a squat toilet at some rest stop mid valium trip. I’ll allow that maybe chewing the valium instead of swallowing them may have led to my state, but I still am in awe that I didn’t complete piss all over myself or fall over onto that fragrant paradise known as the squat toilet bathroom floor at a rest stop in Thailand. Beautiful. My legs have never been so simultaneously rubbery and heavy as they were last night.

And now I’m back in Bangkok on my way to Cambodia. My liver is cleansing since apparently drinking Redbull and whiskey all night makes me brain dead the next day. Imagine! I’m going to miss my mushroom shakes, but I may find some more and some more awesome people that would make the trip worthwhile. If not, I’m counting on you guys when I get back home. Ha.

Two days of sobriety and I’ll have some good stories to put on here. Bear with me.

xo