I had seen pictures of Angkor Wat in National Geographic magazines and in the World Wonders Travel books at Barnes and Noble. I had biked with Steve and our newly encountered Korean friend for three days from the capital of Phnom Penh.
Finally at 5:30 a.m. on July 1st, we meet with Charlie in the center park in front of the large Buddha temple. The day before at our hotel a Tuk Tuk (motor-cart) driver told us that biking to Angkor Wat would be "sad tour" because the bad Vietnamese come with large clippers and steal any bicycle. We had showed him our multiple U-bolt locks and he said that the bad Vietnamese clippers cut any lock. Only with him in his Tuk Tuk could we have a "happy tour." "I give you discount for only 60 dollar for happy tour. No bad Vietnamese and no lose your bicycle with happy tour," he said. We smiled politely. Now at five-thirty a.m., we meet Charlie in the park, ready to see the famous ancient ruins ourselves, ready to fight off any bad Vietnamese! In comparison to the crazy traffic in Phnom Penh, the traffic leaving Siem Reap is relaxed with a wide shoulder. Biking without the extra weight of the packs on the side of the bicycle is easy. The road is flat, the sun is still resting, but my skin still glistens with a light layer of sweat. A row of vendors parked outside of the town hospital provides us with a chance to buy a few snacks to prepare for our adventure. Charlie and Steve buy some bread and I buy a bag of peanuts for just under a dollar. We pedal in silence, each one of us taking in the scene, photographing the details in our minds. I remember the barefoot children running along side of the road with baskets of bracelets and postcards. Men pushing carts full of pineapple and mangos. Women behind carts of steaming rice and chickens steaming hot on rods. The children yell out in English, "you buy from me, sir! Three for one dollar! Postcards, you buy from me, one dollar!" Last night, a lady approached me cradling a baby boy. She looked up at me with her deep pleading eyes shaking her empty bottle. In Kalamazoo, a good test is to offer food to the begging people. Most times, they refuse and demand money. Here, the people accept the food. I motioned for her to follow me into a corner store and offered to buy her a can of baby formula. In Cambodia, everything is fairly expensive in comparison to the wages that people make because nearly everything is imported. Just a small can of baby formula cost seven dollars. She was so happy and thankful for the formula. However, when I left the corner store, a pack of beggars were waiting for me. Apparently, they had seen me help the lady and thought that I would help all of them too. I felt overwhelmed, sad. I smiled at them sheepishly and walked away with all of them following me until I could hop on my bicycle and escape. Cambodia really overwhelms me with the extremes of poor and rich. So we keep on biking on the first of July until we reach the official entrance booth of Angkor Wat. While driving/riding on the road around and up to the ruins is free of charge, there is a twenty dollar charge to carry a photograph card in order to actually enter and explore them. While we hope that the twenty dollar charge goes towards preserving the ruins, it is quite possible that it actually goes towards the corrupt fund to buy government officials new Lexus! The paved road is narrow and the towering trees hang over the road providing us with welcomed shade. Then all of a sudden, there it is! The scene depicted in so many photographs.. the main temple of Angkor Wat is in front of us. Fat monkeys climb on the rock walkway, aggressively approaching the people, like stray dogs, they beg for food scraps (with preference to fruits rather than meats). Their bellies are like inflated balloons from being overfed from the hoards of tourists that pass through each day. We use the map to guide us from temple to temple and surprisingly it is quite a distance in between the temples ranging from two to five miles! If we hadn't brought our bicycles, it would have taken us too long to walk between each of the temples and we would have had to pay the expensive taxi/tuk tuk rate! Tucked behind trees, ruins and more ruins and each rock is intricately, delicately, carefully carved with lions, elephants, people... We park our bikes by a tree and lock all three of them together. Time of the present is lost while we explore the time of the ancient, climbing up and up the rock stairs. While I enjoy being able to see and touch and feel the ruins as close as I wish, I feel that allowing each tourist to climb with freedom all over the ruins will destroy them. I remember exploring Chichen-itza (spelling?) ruins in Mexico and also Machu Picchu (spelling) ruins in Peru and all had wooden stairs leading up to them or ropes at least blocking people from actually touching the carved details. Here, people can just touch anything as they please. Nature boasts its strength as the tree roots overcome the rocks. It becomes a war with nature and man's creations-- nature winning as the trees slowly strangle and break up the carved temple. The expansiveness of the Angkor Wat leaves me without words to paint a picture. From five thirty a.m. until six p.m. we wandered the maze of the ruins and only saw a portion of them. Carved rock temples built to tower over the jungle are like dots spread out across a page. A modern paved road connects all the "dots." Along the road, there are vendors and children selling everything from rice, to spicy/sweet curry soup, cola, post cards, bracelets, tea, and coffee. Children climb the temples and pop out of each and every nook and corner, "you buy from me post card?"
And I end this post with a question to you.... "you write to me email?" We love touring, experiencing, feeling the world and all the people, cultures, tastes, smells, temples, details that it has to offer. And we equally love the simplicity of hearing from our friends and family...
lunes, 30 de junio de 2008
jueves, 26 de junio de 2008
It's time to bike, bike, BIKE!
From Phnom Penh to the city of Siem Reap where the famous Ankor Wat ruins are the distance is approximately 189 miles. We biked it in three days.
Day one: Phnom Penh to Skun (a small town with a few guest houses to break up the long trip) About 55 miles
Once we escape the traffic mob in the capital, slowly the scenery changes and the cluttered huts on sticks become less thick until finally rice fields create space between them. Men in sarongs (plad looking skirts), bulls pulling wooden carts, and motorcycles pull EVERYTHING and ANYTHING! I see several motor bicycles with a long stick across the handlebars and another long stick across the back of the bike. Each stick holds roosters hung upside down! Also, there are motorbikes with wooden bamboo barrels with pigs inside. In Skun, we find a guesthouse/hotel with a balcony and we are mezmorized by all the overstuffed minivans and motorbikes hauling odd items. We really enjoy observing the local life from our balcony.
Day two: Skun to Kampong Thom
About 50 miles
The land is flat and all my practicing on Michigan hills has prepared me well! I keep up my speed and pass all the bulls, carts, vendors, and school children on bicycles. I glance back behind me to make sure no tourist buses are coming. I see it is clear and begin to swerve around a biker when I realize there are large packs like our own attached to the back of the bike! A GPS attached to the front of the bike catches the sunlight and twinkles! And so here in the middle of nowhere in Cambodia, we meet a fellow biker! "Well, hello!" Steve says.
"Where are you from?" the guy asks.
"We are from the United States." I say
"I am from South Korea." the guy responds, "My name is Charlie."
"I am Steve and she is my wife, Teresa."
"Are you going to Siem Reap?"
"Yeah! We hope to get there in two more days."
"Where are you coming from today?" Charlie asks
"We stayed in ...the dirt town that starts with an S...uh, oh yeah, Skun, and you?" Steve asks
"I stayed at the police station down the road."
"Where did you start your trip at," I ask.
"Well, I biked all of China, Vietnam, Laos, and now here and have been on the road for 13 months."
"WOW! That is awesome! How far are you going after Cambodia?"
"I want to go into Thailand, then cut South. Then hopefully I can get a boat or something to India and bike there, then to Africa, then to South America and finally across the United States in five years."
"You like coffee?" Steve asks
"Oh yes."
We all liked coffee. Charlie taught me to mix green tea with the coffee to create a "new" beverage. Some coffee, Some tea, the hours snuck away with the clouds while we were lost in conversation sharing adventures.
Charlie became a good companion and as it turns out we biked together not only to Siem Reap in Cambodia, but all the way across the border and into Thailand.
Day three: Kampong Thom ALL THE WAY to Siem Reap (100 mile day!)
Day one: Phnom Penh to Skun (a small town with a few guest houses to break up the long trip) About 55 miles
Once we escape the traffic mob in the capital, slowly the scenery changes and the cluttered huts on sticks become less thick until finally rice fields create space between them. Men in sarongs (plad looking skirts), bulls pulling wooden carts, and motorcycles pull EVERYTHING and ANYTHING! I see several motor bicycles with a long stick across the handlebars and another long stick across the back of the bike. Each stick holds roosters hung upside down! Also, there are motorbikes with wooden bamboo barrels with pigs inside. In Skun, we find a guesthouse/hotel with a balcony and we are mezmorized by all the overstuffed minivans and motorbikes hauling odd items. We really enjoy observing the local life from our balcony.
Day two: Skun to Kampong Thom
About 50 miles
The land is flat and all my practicing on Michigan hills has prepared me well! I keep up my speed and pass all the bulls, carts, vendors, and school children on bicycles. I glance back behind me to make sure no tourist buses are coming. I see it is clear and begin to swerve around a biker when I realize there are large packs like our own attached to the back of the bike! A GPS attached to the front of the bike catches the sunlight and twinkles! And so here in the middle of nowhere in Cambodia, we meet a fellow biker! "Well, hello!" Steve says.
"Where are you from?" the guy asks.
"We are from the United States." I say
"I am from South Korea." the guy responds, "My name is Charlie."
"I am Steve and she is my wife, Teresa."
"Are you going to Siem Reap?"
"Yeah! We hope to get there in two more days."
"Where are you coming from today?" Charlie asks
"We stayed in ...the dirt town that starts with an S...uh, oh yeah, Skun, and you?" Steve asks
"I stayed at the police station down the road."
"Where did you start your trip at," I ask.
"Well, I biked all of China, Vietnam, Laos, and now here and have been on the road for 13 months."
"WOW! That is awesome! How far are you going after Cambodia?"
"I want to go into Thailand, then cut South. Then hopefully I can get a boat or something to India and bike there, then to Africa, then to South America and finally across the United States in five years."
"You like coffee?" Steve asks
"Oh yes."
We all liked coffee. Charlie taught me to mix green tea with the coffee to create a "new" beverage. Some coffee, Some tea, the hours snuck away with the clouds while we were lost in conversation sharing adventures.
Charlie became a good companion and as it turns out we biked together not only to Siem Reap in Cambodia, but all the way across the border and into Thailand.
Day three: Kampong Thom ALL THE WAY to Siem Reap (100 mile day!)
miércoles, 25 de junio de 2008
A visit to the Killing Fields, Cambodia
Humans are my favorite animal and my least favorite animal. I can have close relationships with friends and family more than I could ever hope to have with my pet rabbit or dog. However, when I read about massive holocaust or I read about violent crimes, my heart trembles at the thought that a human being like myself could do such a thing. It seems to me that everyone has pretty much the same goal in life-- eat, sleep, and be merry. It seems simple enough of a bargain that if I let you eat, sleep, and be merry, you let me eat, sleep, and be merry and there are no problems. The more I travel, the more I realize that everyone is really all the same. Everyone wants to be safe and loved with their basic needs met.
So being here in Cambodia makes me think about my own kind. In history class, we all hear about the holocaust in Germany with the Jewish people. But, do we all hear about the horrible more recent holocaust in Cambodia? ...
Being in the tourist area of the capital city means having something different for breakfast other than stir-fried rice and vegetables! I look right over the strange little characters on the menu and directly at the English translations underneath. "I am having the cereal with yogurt and bananas!" While waiting for breakfast, I enjoy the scene. I am enamored by the lily pads hanging gently on the dark blue waves of the lake. The little bamboo hut/houses that cling to the ends of the hotel strip blend right in with the nature painted hues of blues, greens, and browns. At the very end of the deck there is a bright red stand with incense burning and a statue of Buddha. Just a few feet from Buddha is a sign in English that reads, "No swim." I take in the scenery. I like the simplicity of the little bamboo huts set against the backdrop of lily-pads and dark green/blue water. Dark water.. Then it dawns on me that the water is a dark color because most probably the houses and huts do not have any sewer system. ALL the waste goes directly into the lake, hence the NO SWIM sign. I flip through our guide book pages. "Activities to do in and around Phnom Penh." I read about the Royal Palace that has floors of silver and a crystal statue of Buddha inside and the history museum near the river front. Then "killing fields" pulls a nerve in my neck. "Killing fields?" I read about a ruler named Pol Pot who wanted to start a revolution and have a country full of equality-- a country full of peasants, hard working farmers. Pol Pot dreamed of a country that would produce everything from within. The idea sounds good. Pol Pot was even a teacher! He organized a group called Khmer Rouge to take over the country and to begin his revolution of a peasant/agriculture based society. In the end the Khmer Rouge killed between 2 and 3 MILLION people (educated or with glasses or supporters of the old government). The killing fields was a place where men, women, and children were taken to be executed and tossed into mass burial sites.
Biking through the chaotic mob of traffic, I keep glancing behind me just to make sure that Steve is right at my tail. The 14 Kilometers (8 miles) seems long swerving in between carts and vegetable street vendors, school-children, motorcycles, parked buses that are over saturating the small side-walks. We ALMOST become part of the traffic mob, only that our white faces make us stand out.
You would think that the "killing fields" would be a somber cold place. Pedaling down the last gravel pathway to the entrance, we are greeted by children singing. Directly to the right just a stone's throw away is a school where all the small school children sing songs. The school is only a few yards from the monument tower that holds all the skulls that were excavated twenty years later. A sign indicates the tree where many people were tied to before they were beaten to death. I think about how the children next door are clueless as to all the violent history that took place thirty years ago next to their school. How they, like myself, cannot begin to imagine. But the tree witnessed it all. There are still random teeth, bones, and clothing articles that stick up from the mass graves. It is eerie. I feel afraid of my own kind. Afraid at such horrible things caused not by nature, but by ourselves. Then a beautiful yellow and black butterfly flutters and rests calmly on a plant that grows out of the mass grave hole. I watch it for a long time and enjoy the peace it brings.
May life bring you peace
So being here in Cambodia makes me think about my own kind. In history class, we all hear about the holocaust in Germany with the Jewish people. But, do we all hear about the horrible more recent holocaust in Cambodia? ...
Being in the tourist area of the capital city means having something different for breakfast other than stir-fried rice and vegetables! I look right over the strange little characters on the menu and directly at the English translations underneath. "I am having the cereal with yogurt and bananas!" While waiting for breakfast, I enjoy the scene. I am enamored by the lily pads hanging gently on the dark blue waves of the lake. The little bamboo hut/houses that cling to the ends of the hotel strip blend right in with the nature painted hues of blues, greens, and browns. At the very end of the deck there is a bright red stand with incense burning and a statue of Buddha. Just a few feet from Buddha is a sign in English that reads, "No swim." I take in the scenery. I like the simplicity of the little bamboo huts set against the backdrop of lily-pads and dark green/blue water. Dark water.. Then it dawns on me that the water is a dark color because most probably the houses and huts do not have any sewer system. ALL the waste goes directly into the lake, hence the NO SWIM sign. I flip through our guide book pages. "Activities to do in and around Phnom Penh." I read about the Royal Palace that has floors of silver and a crystal statue of Buddha inside and the history museum near the river front. Then "killing fields" pulls a nerve in my neck. "Killing fields?" I read about a ruler named Pol Pot who wanted to start a revolution and have a country full of equality-- a country full of peasants, hard working farmers. Pol Pot dreamed of a country that would produce everything from within. The idea sounds good. Pol Pot was even a teacher! He organized a group called Khmer Rouge to take over the country and to begin his revolution of a peasant/agriculture based society. In the end the Khmer Rouge killed between 2 and 3 MILLION people (educated or with glasses or supporters of the old government). The killing fields was a place where men, women, and children were taken to be executed and tossed into mass burial sites.
Biking through the chaotic mob of traffic, I keep glancing behind me just to make sure that Steve is right at my tail. The 14 Kilometers (8 miles) seems long swerving in between carts and vegetable street vendors, school-children, motorcycles, parked buses that are over saturating the small side-walks. We ALMOST become part of the traffic mob, only that our white faces make us stand out.
You would think that the "killing fields" would be a somber cold place. Pedaling down the last gravel pathway to the entrance, we are greeted by children singing. Directly to the right just a stone's throw away is a school where all the small school children sing songs. The school is only a few yards from the monument tower that holds all the skulls that were excavated twenty years later. A sign indicates the tree where many people were tied to before they were beaten to death. I think about how the children next door are clueless as to all the violent history that took place thirty years ago next to their school. How they, like myself, cannot begin to imagine. But the tree witnessed it all. There are still random teeth, bones, and clothing articles that stick up from the mass graves. It is eerie. I feel afraid of my own kind. Afraid at such horrible things caused not by nature, but by ourselves. Then a beautiful yellow and black butterfly flutters and rests calmly on a plant that grows out of the mass grave hole. I watch it for a long time and enjoy the peace it brings.
May life bring you peace
martes, 24 de junio de 2008
Lost in Cambodia (almost)
The bikes say that they were tired and need a day of rest. Well, actually it is us that need the rest and a boat ride down the Mekong river sounds like a great way to leave Vietnam and enter Cambodia! Leaving the border town of Chau Doc, we take one last peak at the culture-- the people and their fish farms. Their houses cling to the riverside on sticks. Underneath their houses, there are nets that trap in fish. The families collect the fish and sell them to the local markets or place them inside their canoes and row up and down the river selling them in the floating markets. I sit calmly in the small boat, wide enough to fit two rows of chairs, two rows of tourists headed to Cambodia for adventure. One couple is from Spain and another the girl from Brazil and her boyfriend from Australia. They met while studying in England half way in between their separate worlds and now live for two years in Australia and then two years in Brazil flip-flopping countries. Local people come to the river to wash their clothes and they wave warmly as we pass. We laugh as naked kids jump up and down waving to us. Men lead bulls and cows to and from the river to drink. We enjoy the day of transition from Vietnam to Cambodia. We stop for an hour or so at the border to get visas, pass immigration, and switch boats. The boat takes us three hours up the river into Cambodia, then suddenly our driver parks the boat on the shore and tells us that we all go onto a bus for the rest of the journey. We all expected to take the boat into the capital city of Phnom Penh. I feel disappointed as we take off our front tires and load our bicycles onto the mini-bus. We debate skipping the bus ride and riding our bikes into Phnom Penh, but the watch already glares a late 5:30--- only at most 1 hour of daylight left and still 60 miles to go. Arriving in a strange foreign land, we decide to take the mini-bus. Even with the bus, it is after dark when we arrive in the capital city of Cambodia.
Cambodia is a country of contrast--- rich and poor. Children in rags running barefoot roaming the streets. Ironically, these poor children share the streets with corrupt government officials driving expensive Lexus sport utility vehicles. Arriving at night in a strange parking lot, we quickly put on our front tires, attach our packs to the back racks of our bicycles and nervously cycle in the heavy night Lexus/motorcycle traffic. Headlights seem to come at me in all directions and I could not figure out the logic in the traffic. Stop lights flash red, but the traffic does not stop in either direction-- just swerve around each other in a chaotic mob. I pedal in front of Steve and slowly, bravely our first meeting with Phnom Penh is rough. I glance quickly behind me. Steve is right there. Some motorcycles and cars flow forward with me and others come at me. I try to hug the right as much as I can but it appears as though some cars and motorcycles are using the side lane as a parking lot. I swerve carefully around them, keeping my path predictable for those wanting to pass me. I glance again over my shoulder and no Steve.. NO STEVE! What? Wasn't he just there? Maybe I overlooked him. I look again over my shoulder and NO STEVE! My heart skips a beat. I stop in the middle of all the traffic, there I am frantic. I look to my right, to the left, behind and behind again. No Steve. A long minute passes. I cannot believe it. I thought that I might lose the camera or maybe a pack or something, but Steve? I pull over to the side. I turn around and begin to walk from where I came from. A group of guys sitting by a plastic table hoot at me. "Where you from my lady?" they ask smiling. I am nervous and I do not respond. A tear escapes me. My knees shake. Two minutes pass. I continue to walk against or with the traffic. I don't even care about the traffic. Motorcycles zoom around me. Then for a brief moment the street is empty. No Steve. Did he get mugged? Horrible thoughts flood my mind. Four minutes gone. Alone. Lost. Then, I hear something familiar. "There you are!" Steve's voice. I have never been so happy to see him! Happy ending. "What happened to you?" I ask, in relief.
"The traffic forced me to swerve far to the left and I actually had to pass you. Then when I looked back, I couldn't find you."
Somehow we had lost each other in the mob of motorcycles, but we found each other and we found a hotel to call home for our first night in Cambodia. To celebrate our reuniting (after only five minutes of panic) we had Indian food in one of the many Indian/Pakistan immigrant restaurants!
Cambodia is a country of contrast--- rich and poor. Children in rags running barefoot roaming the streets. Ironically, these poor children share the streets with corrupt government officials driving expensive Lexus sport utility vehicles. Arriving at night in a strange parking lot, we quickly put on our front tires, attach our packs to the back racks of our bicycles and nervously cycle in the heavy night Lexus/motorcycle traffic. Headlights seem to come at me in all directions and I could not figure out the logic in the traffic. Stop lights flash red, but the traffic does not stop in either direction-- just swerve around each other in a chaotic mob. I pedal in front of Steve and slowly, bravely our first meeting with Phnom Penh is rough. I glance quickly behind me. Steve is right there. Some motorcycles and cars flow forward with me and others come at me. I try to hug the right as much as I can but it appears as though some cars and motorcycles are using the side lane as a parking lot. I swerve carefully around them, keeping my path predictable for those wanting to pass me. I glance again over my shoulder and no Steve.. NO STEVE! What? Wasn't he just there? Maybe I overlooked him. I look again over my shoulder and NO STEVE! My heart skips a beat. I stop in the middle of all the traffic, there I am frantic. I look to my right, to the left, behind and behind again. No Steve. A long minute passes. I cannot believe it. I thought that I might lose the camera or maybe a pack or something, but Steve? I pull over to the side. I turn around and begin to walk from where I came from. A group of guys sitting by a plastic table hoot at me. "Where you from my lady?" they ask smiling. I am nervous and I do not respond. A tear escapes me. My knees shake. Two minutes pass. I continue to walk against or with the traffic. I don't even care about the traffic. Motorcycles zoom around me. Then for a brief moment the street is empty. No Steve. Did he get mugged? Horrible thoughts flood my mind. Four minutes gone. Alone. Lost. Then, I hear something familiar. "There you are!" Steve's voice. I have never been so happy to see him! Happy ending. "What happened to you?" I ask, in relief.
"The traffic forced me to swerve far to the left and I actually had to pass you. Then when I looked back, I couldn't find you."
Somehow we had lost each other in the mob of motorcycles, but we found each other and we found a hotel to call home for our first night in Cambodia. To celebrate our reuniting (after only five minutes of panic) we had Indian food in one of the many Indian/Pakistan immigrant restaurants!
Last taste of Vietnam
My sweat acts as an adhesive gluing my t-shirt to my back. The sun fries the top part of my thighs and as I watch them turn from white to medium rare to medium well to well done. I feel them sizzle and notice little bumps forming. "Steve, I definitely need more sun screen." I rub the sticky white cream onto my thighs, but it just mixes with my sweat and the finished product does not absorb into my skin. Rather it creates a light frosting. The narrow ribbon of a road is outlined by bamboo huts on sticks with plastic furniture inside. We stop pedaling and let our bicycles coast to the front of one of the huts. A lady sits in one of the plastic chairs and I pantomime drinking coffee out of a cup. "Cafey?" I ask. She smiles. Luckily, there is a man drinking a cup of iced coffee with milk and I simply point to his and then hold up two fingers. Her eyes sparkle and in just a few minutes we are sipping iced coffees playing hide-and-g0 seek with the sun. We sip our coffees really slowly and even mix the coffee with green tea. Eventually the sun takes a break behind a cloud and we escape while it is resting. The ingredients of the country-side are too much bright sunshine with an abundance of rice fields, vendor carts selling red hairy fruits (lichas), dragon fruits, watermelons, guayabas, coffee and tea stands, and just a touch of shade from the coconut and banana trees. The day is full of smiling warm faces greeting us with "hello, hello, hello!"
After a long day of biking nearly 100 miles, we arrive at our last destination in Vietnam-- Chau Doc. The traffic gets denser-- motorcycles and trucks whiz around us. I try to breathe only through my nose to avoid too much of the exhaust but I feel it in my lungs as I can't avoid taking deep breaths as I lean forward into my peddles. I search between all the foreign symbols on the buildings trying to locate a hotel. A man on a bicycle pulling a cart rides slowly beside me. "Can I help you? You look for hotel?" he asks.
"Yes!" I say, happy to hear my own language.
"Follow me," he says with a smile.
I have trouble swerving to the left through the motorcycle "parade" but am improving at navigating through traffic with each day that we are in Vietnam. Within minutes he pulls over in front of a large high building that actually has one English word on the sign, "hotel." "is good hotel," he says, "cheap and nice people." Steve watches the bicycles, while I have a look. In Vietnam the rooms on the higher levels are cheaper so I ask to see the rooms on the third floor. I climb up a spiral staircase and a lady opens a door to reveal a clean room with a large bed and shower for just five dollars! "Perfect!"
Vietnam:
cone bamboo hats, rice, fried tofu and vegetables, dragon fruit, coffee with condensed milk, smiling faces, warm almond eyes, rice fields, rice fields, canoes, motorcycles, and the winding Mekong river, more rice fields, more motorcycles, a whole never-ending parade of motorcycles, green tea... Vietnam has its own unique flavor of a culture that I enjoyed to the last moment, to the last drop.
After a long day of biking nearly 100 miles, we arrive at our last destination in Vietnam-- Chau Doc. The traffic gets denser-- motorcycles and trucks whiz around us. I try to breathe only through my nose to avoid too much of the exhaust but I feel it in my lungs as I can't avoid taking deep breaths as I lean forward into my peddles. I search between all the foreign symbols on the buildings trying to locate a hotel. A man on a bicycle pulling a cart rides slowly beside me. "Can I help you? You look for hotel?" he asks.
"Yes!" I say, happy to hear my own language.
"Follow me," he says with a smile.
I have trouble swerving to the left through the motorcycle "parade" but am improving at navigating through traffic with each day that we are in Vietnam. Within minutes he pulls over in front of a large high building that actually has one English word on the sign, "hotel." "is good hotel," he says, "cheap and nice people." Steve watches the bicycles, while I have a look. In Vietnam the rooms on the higher levels are cheaper so I ask to see the rooms on the third floor. I climb up a spiral staircase and a lady opens a door to reveal a clean room with a large bed and shower for just five dollars! "Perfect!"
Vietnam:
cone bamboo hats, rice, fried tofu and vegetables, dragon fruit, coffee with condensed milk, smiling faces, warm almond eyes, rice fields, rice fields, canoes, motorcycles, and the winding Mekong river, more rice fields, more motorcycles, a whole never-ending parade of motorcycles, green tea... Vietnam has its own unique flavor of a culture that I enjoyed to the last moment, to the last drop.
lunes, 23 de junio de 2008
Can I have a motorcycle with my Cofee, Please?
MI Time: 10:00 PM
Local Vietnamese Time: 9:00 AM
Location: Listening to the hum of the motorboat on the Mekong River leaving Chau Doc Vietnam for Phomn Penh, Cambodia. Houses are built on sticks holding them above the water. It may not look like the family has a farm but under and around the house, there is a mesh netting to contain a fish farm. The families sell fish to the local market.
Vietnamese Food-- After seven days of being in Vietnam, we went from being totally illiterate to showing our "insurance card" (an English speaking lady wrote I am vegetarian on a small card) which enable us to actually enjoy the plethora of soy products, rice, stir fried veggies, sweet and sour soup. Since there are a lot of Buddhist people, there are lots of vegetable options. Although I still cannot speak understandable Vietnamese with the nasal tones, I can now read enough on the menu to get by. Our "insurance card" was written out by the Vietnamese lady that helped us off the boat in Can Tho and directed us to a hotel. She spoke great English so we asked her to write "I am vegetarian. I do not eat meat" on a card. That card has served us very well!
An example of how very bad my Vietnamese is-- I love the iced coffee with milk drinks available everywhere for about thirty cents. So an evening in Can Tho, we stopped by a corner cafe on the street and I said, "Cafey?!" and repeated it a few times. They understood me and brought us two coffees on ice. However, I wanted milk with my iced coffee. According to my phrase book, SUA is the word for milk. A three letter word is pretty hard to mess up, as so I thought! "Sua!" I said, pointed to my coffee. The man brought me a glass of water. I tried again, "SUUUUUUUUA!" Next, he showed up with a cup of sugar. I smiled this time, but I guess my face showed that it wasn't what I asked for. Then he brought me tea, and finally a cup of milk. Later on, as we passed by a line of motorbike repair shops, I recognized the word sua. It was spelled the same but with two dots over the u. So I'm pretty sure that I managed to pronounce a three letter word, sua, incorrectly and possibly have been asking for a motorbike with my coffee!
Chay=vegetarian
com=rice
pho=white asian noodles
mi=ramon crunchy type noodles
snacks=huge cashews
big spiky green fruit, the size of a watermelon with bright yellow individual pieces inside
hairy red fruit the size of a super ball, white flesh inside covering a large seed. You suck on the white flesh and spit out the seed.
coconuts are everywhere!
roasted finger sized bananas
soy milk, coffee, and green tea are sold everywhere!
Bon Apetit! (If I knew how to say it in Vietnamese, I would!)
Local Vietnamese Time: 9:00 AM
Location: Listening to the hum of the motorboat on the Mekong River leaving Chau Doc Vietnam for Phomn Penh, Cambodia. Houses are built on sticks holding them above the water. It may not look like the family has a farm but under and around the house, there is a mesh netting to contain a fish farm. The families sell fish to the local market.
Vietnamese Food-- After seven days of being in Vietnam, we went from being totally illiterate to showing our "insurance card" (an English speaking lady wrote I am vegetarian on a small card) which enable us to actually enjoy the plethora of soy products, rice, stir fried veggies, sweet and sour soup. Since there are a lot of Buddhist people, there are lots of vegetable options. Although I still cannot speak understandable Vietnamese with the nasal tones, I can now read enough on the menu to get by. Our "insurance card" was written out by the Vietnamese lady that helped us off the boat in Can Tho and directed us to a hotel. She spoke great English so we asked her to write "I am vegetarian. I do not eat meat" on a card. That card has served us very well!
An example of how very bad my Vietnamese is-- I love the iced coffee with milk drinks available everywhere for about thirty cents. So an evening in Can Tho, we stopped by a corner cafe on the street and I said, "Cafey?!" and repeated it a few times. They understood me and brought us two coffees on ice. However, I wanted milk with my iced coffee. According to my phrase book, SUA is the word for milk. A three letter word is pretty hard to mess up, as so I thought! "Sua!" I said, pointed to my coffee. The man brought me a glass of water. I tried again, "SUUUUUUUUA!" Next, he showed up with a cup of sugar. I smiled this time, but I guess my face showed that it wasn't what I asked for. Then he brought me tea, and finally a cup of milk. Later on, as we passed by a line of motorbike repair shops, I recognized the word sua. It was spelled the same but with two dots over the u. So I'm pretty sure that I managed to pronounce a three letter word, sua, incorrectly and possibly have been asking for a motorbike with my coffee!
Chay=vegetarian
com=rice
pho=white asian noodles
mi=ramon crunchy type noodles
snacks=huge cashews
big spiky green fruit, the size of a watermelon with bright yellow individual pieces inside
hairy red fruit the size of a super ball, white flesh inside covering a large seed. You suck on the white flesh and spit out the seed.
coconuts are everywhere!
roasted finger sized bananas
soy milk, coffee, and green tea are sold everywhere!
Bon Apetit! (If I knew how to say it in Vietnamese, I would!)
Sweat and sunscreen cake frosting/70 mile bike journey
MI time: 7:52 a.m.
Local Vietnamese time: 6:52 p.m.
Date: 20 June 2008
Location: On a street corner, drinking an iced coffee with condensed milk in Can Tho city, Vietnam. At 5:30 a.m. this morning after fueling up with cashews and raisins, I actually put on my hideous bike shorts-- you know, the really tight ones, like the shorts they wear in the 70's exercise videos. However, with a long journey of nearly 70 miles, I didn't want a sore bootie. you would think that at 5:30, traffic would be non-existent. I think there was less traffic on westnedge Avenue at the early a.m. hour the day we left than in Ben Tre. Tho motos were already zipping down the street and by 6;10 the sun was already energetically dancing its song SOLO-without the accompanyment of the clouds.
It was only a few miles out of the town to the ferry dock. Even in the course of a couple of miles, we stopped and stopped again to guzzle water. We even tied a five liter water bottle to the back of the bicycle. We went through over ten liters of water today! The first fifty miles of the trip (Mo Cai to Vinh Long, Vietnam) were beautiful--narrow roads holding hands with bridges. Along the sides of the road, there was rice laid out to dry. While on Michigan backroads, we usually find peace and quiet on the rolling hills, here in Vietnam we were ALWAYS surrounded by the zoom of motos. We passed nearly all of the fellow bicyclers riding older three speed bikes. Kids yelled , "Hello!" All day, we were greeted with Hello, hello, HELLO! We eagerly yelled back and people responded with a shy laughter. That is pretty much the extent of my Vietnamese communication skills-- zero-- we rely on their one word of English and end up with a two word pleasant conversation :)
By the time we reached the town of Vinh Long, the sun was baking us and we had to stop! Everywhere along the side of the road there are cafes where the custom is to drink a class of 1/3 full espresso and filled up to the top with ice. They also put a pot of green tea on the table. After finishing with iced espresso, it is custom to refill the glass with the green tea; very refreshing and energizing. We felt ready to pump onward the next twenty miles to our destination of Can Tho, but little did we know that our next twenty miles we would be in FULL midday sun-- no trees for shade in a construction area with NO shoulder. Motos, bicycles, buses, vans--CRAZINESS! But heh, we lived to laugh and write about it. We were on the ferry ride to cross the river with only two more miles to go, beat red, dripping with sweat when a nice lady approached us with, "hello, where are you from?" She was very pleasant and spoke much more than the usually one word vocabulary. She chatted with us the entire ferry ride and asked us where we were going to in Can Tho. I pointed to a hotel name in my guidebook. She smiles and said, "Nice family in this hotel." Off the ferry at the entrance to the city of Can Tho, traffic was hectic with moto galore. Feeling overwhelmed without a map, I just went straight and figured we would eventually run into something interesting! Then I noticed our new friend was riding her moto real slow for us to follow her, "I show you hotel," she said with a smile. She went slow the entire way turning here and there, like a guided pac man race tour. At one point, I couldn't swerve left fast enough through the maze of motos and found myself stuck in the middle of traffic. Steve and the lady waited kindly for me to maneuver my way around, then down a short alley. I cannot really pronounce the name of our hotel, but it is off the main drag just a bit where the BRRRRRRRMMMMM of the motos is faint. The owner lady greeted us warmly, "I show you room!" We climbed a spiraling staircase to room four. The room had air conditioning, fan, private shower and bath, king bed, and balcony for ten dollars. "Yes!" I said, "two nights!" Downstairs, our lady friend that had so patiently guided us here showed us her map of the city and asked if we would like a boat tour of the floating markets tomorrow. She said that her uncles did tours for 16 dollars a person starting at five-thirty a.m. and lasting for about eight hours. Breakfast and coffee would be included. We warned her that we were vegetarian and shared with her our troubles of finding vegetarian food. "No problem," she said, as she began scribbling gibberish letters on the back of a card. "This card will help you. It say I vegetarian. I no eat meat."
After seventy miles of biking, we were caked with sweat-- not exactly cream frosting, rather with a mix of sun screen and dirt. The cold shower felt soooo good! Buddha had helped us so much today, but Buddha belly was hungry! We decided to try out the magic words on the card. Hopping into the local restaurant across the street, Steve showed the lady our new "insurance" card. She smiled. We anxiously waited and were so happy when in minutes she returned with a plate of white rice and stir fried vegetables. Finally we really enjoyed Vietnamese cuisine. Our success for the day--
TOI AN CHAY! (I AM VEGETARIAN).
Local Vietnamese time: 6:52 p.m.
Date: 20 June 2008
Location: On a street corner, drinking an iced coffee with condensed milk in Can Tho city, Vietnam. At 5:30 a.m. this morning after fueling up with cashews and raisins, I actually put on my hideous bike shorts-- you know, the really tight ones, like the shorts they wear in the 70's exercise videos. However, with a long journey of nearly 70 miles, I didn't want a sore bootie. you would think that at 5:30, traffic would be non-existent. I think there was less traffic on westnedge Avenue at the early a.m. hour the day we left than in Ben Tre. Tho motos were already zipping down the street and by 6;10 the sun was already energetically dancing its song SOLO-without the accompanyment of the clouds.
It was only a few miles out of the town to the ferry dock. Even in the course of a couple of miles, we stopped and stopped again to guzzle water. We even tied a five liter water bottle to the back of the bicycle. We went through over ten liters of water today! The first fifty miles of the trip (Mo Cai to Vinh Long, Vietnam) were beautiful--narrow roads holding hands with bridges. Along the sides of the road, there was rice laid out to dry. While on Michigan backroads, we usually find peace and quiet on the rolling hills, here in Vietnam we were ALWAYS surrounded by the zoom of motos. We passed nearly all of the fellow bicyclers riding older three speed bikes. Kids yelled , "Hello!" All day, we were greeted with Hello, hello, HELLO! We eagerly yelled back and people responded with a shy laughter. That is pretty much the extent of my Vietnamese communication skills-- zero-- we rely on their one word of English and end up with a two word pleasant conversation :)
By the time we reached the town of Vinh Long, the sun was baking us and we had to stop! Everywhere along the side of the road there are cafes where the custom is to drink a class of 1/3 full espresso and filled up to the top with ice. They also put a pot of green tea on the table. After finishing with iced espresso, it is custom to refill the glass with the green tea; very refreshing and energizing. We felt ready to pump onward the next twenty miles to our destination of Can Tho, but little did we know that our next twenty miles we would be in FULL midday sun-- no trees for shade in a construction area with NO shoulder. Motos, bicycles, buses, vans--CRAZINESS! But heh, we lived to laugh and write about it. We were on the ferry ride to cross the river with only two more miles to go, beat red, dripping with sweat when a nice lady approached us with, "hello, where are you from?" She was very pleasant and spoke much more than the usually one word vocabulary. She chatted with us the entire ferry ride and asked us where we were going to in Can Tho. I pointed to a hotel name in my guidebook. She smiles and said, "Nice family in this hotel." Off the ferry at the entrance to the city of Can Tho, traffic was hectic with moto galore. Feeling overwhelmed without a map, I just went straight and figured we would eventually run into something interesting! Then I noticed our new friend was riding her moto real slow for us to follow her, "I show you hotel," she said with a smile. She went slow the entire way turning here and there, like a guided pac man race tour. At one point, I couldn't swerve left fast enough through the maze of motos and found myself stuck in the middle of traffic. Steve and the lady waited kindly for me to maneuver my way around, then down a short alley. I cannot really pronounce the name of our hotel, but it is off the main drag just a bit where the BRRRRRRRMMMMM of the motos is faint. The owner lady greeted us warmly, "I show you room!" We climbed a spiraling staircase to room four. The room had air conditioning, fan, private shower and bath, king bed, and balcony for ten dollars. "Yes!" I said, "two nights!" Downstairs, our lady friend that had so patiently guided us here showed us her map of the city and asked if we would like a boat tour of the floating markets tomorrow. She said that her uncles did tours for 16 dollars a person starting at five-thirty a.m. and lasting for about eight hours. Breakfast and coffee would be included. We warned her that we were vegetarian and shared with her our troubles of finding vegetarian food. "No problem," she said, as she began scribbling gibberish letters on the back of a card. "This card will help you. It say I vegetarian. I no eat meat."
After seventy miles of biking, we were caked with sweat-- not exactly cream frosting, rather with a mix of sun screen and dirt. The cold shower felt soooo good! Buddha had helped us so much today, but Buddha belly was hungry! We decided to try out the magic words on the card. Hopping into the local restaurant across the street, Steve showed the lady our new "insurance" card. She smiled. We anxiously waited and were so happy when in minutes she returned with a plate of white rice and stir fried vegetables. Finally we really enjoyed Vietnamese cuisine. Our success for the day--
TOI AN CHAY! (I AM VEGETARIAN).
sábado, 21 de junio de 2008
Buy groceries on the Mekong river, Vietnam!
MI Time - 2:47AM
Local Vietnam time: 1:47PM
Date: Saturday 21-Jun-08
Location: In a local cafe in Can Tho Vietnam overlooking crowded street
Ladies with bamboo hats sell mini-bananas, motorcycles zooming by...epiphany, women do whatever men do. They ride motos and row canoes down the river, which is more than I can say for Honduras where the culture was very machista and women only stayed at home. Culture here also seems to be very non confrontational. I remember wandering the Chicago airport before departure and commenting to Steve, "this is the busiest I've ever seen it in the airport." There were business men in suits rushing here and there, women in high heels, clickety clickety click, familes scurrying with childern, long lines for starbucks coffee. Everything and everyone humble-jumbled together formed a large rock band of noise. In contrast, landing in the Vietnamese airport waiting for baggage and in the long immigration lines, I felt the need to whisper to Steve as if I was in the library. Vietnamese tend to be more soft-spoken. I don't see a lot public display of affection (hugging kissing, holding hands). Unfortuantely, the habit of carelessly tossing garbage out of bus windows or non-chalantely onto the street while walking is a commonality I've seen in all our travels, including Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Honduras, Nicaragua, and here in Vietnam as well. Even our boat guide this morning tossed his empty cigarette box into the Mekong river. Smoking! It pains me to see young men 14, 15,16 years of age smoking. Another custom that I've noticed is that a large percentage of Vietnamese men smoke or chew. I wonder when and why that custom was started.
Each day we are awakened by the concert featuring the motos and the alarm clock. This morning a rooster awkwardly joined in. We went downstairs at 5:30AM, the hotel lobby door was already open and a thin small-framed man greeted us with a smile and shy chuckle. He waved his hand as a greeting. We darted single file through the motos and bicycle traffic (not many cars) and followed him into a quaint coffee shop. "Blah blah blah...Cafey?"
"Cafey...yes" I replied with a smile. The little man disappeared and left us sipping iced coffee (belive me, you wouldn't want it hot here). Five minutes later, our tour boat guy returned with a bunch of finger sized bananas. "Banana?" he announced. I looked up banana in my phrase book. "Choo-ea" I stated proudly. Our communication was limited. To break the awkward silence, I had him read me the numbers in Vietnamese from my phrase book, and I repeated them over and over. "We go" he stated suddenly. We followed him out of the cafe and to the boat dock.
MI Time- 10:00AM
Local Vietnamese time - 9:00PM
Date: June 22nd 2008
Location: droopy eyed and in our hotel in Can Tho
So I'm not going to last long, but I wanted to gift you a beautiful snapshot of the floating market. Our guide steered the boat from the back using the motor most of the time and sometimes just the paddle. We went downstream for about an hour and all of a sudden...canoe...canoe...another canoe, canoes everywhere. Our guide parked us right in the middle of the canoe chaos. We bought some green dragon fruits (big red pink fruits with green spikes and white inside with tiny black seeds). The taste resembles a kiwi. Another wooden canoe pulled up beside us. A little Asian man (all Asian/Vietnamese men seem to be really short and small framed) was swimming in sodas and buckets of ice in his canoe. He held up a plastic cup already filled up with ice and motioned for us to pick a beverage. "Cafe!" I stated. He nodded his head and filled our cups with espresso/coffee and milk. In the middle of the floating market we were sipping iced lattes for 30 cents each. Canoes were filled with cabbages, carrots, dragon fruits, onions, garlic, even bathroom supplies and clothing. Imagine going to the supermarket and every isle's products packed into a Canoe!
Local Vietnam time: 1:47PM
Date: Saturday 21-Jun-08
Location: In a local cafe in Can Tho Vietnam overlooking crowded street
Ladies with bamboo hats sell mini-bananas, motorcycles zooming by...epiphany, women do whatever men do. They ride motos and row canoes down the river, which is more than I can say for Honduras where the culture was very machista and women only stayed at home. Culture here also seems to be very non confrontational. I remember wandering the Chicago airport before departure and commenting to Steve, "this is the busiest I've ever seen it in the airport." There were business men in suits rushing here and there, women in high heels, clickety clickety click, familes scurrying with childern, long lines for starbucks coffee. Everything and everyone humble-jumbled together formed a large rock band of noise. In contrast, landing in the Vietnamese airport waiting for baggage and in the long immigration lines, I felt the need to whisper to Steve as if I was in the library. Vietnamese tend to be more soft-spoken. I don't see a lot public display of affection (hugging kissing, holding hands). Unfortuantely, the habit of carelessly tossing garbage out of bus windows or non-chalantely onto the street while walking is a commonality I've seen in all our travels, including Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Honduras, Nicaragua, and here in Vietnam as well. Even our boat guide this morning tossed his empty cigarette box into the Mekong river. Smoking! It pains me to see young men 14, 15,16 years of age smoking. Another custom that I've noticed is that a large percentage of Vietnamese men smoke or chew. I wonder when and why that custom was started.
Each day we are awakened by the concert featuring the motos and the alarm clock. This morning a rooster awkwardly joined in. We went downstairs at 5:30AM, the hotel lobby door was already open and a thin small-framed man greeted us with a smile and shy chuckle. He waved his hand as a greeting. We darted single file through the motos and bicycle traffic (not many cars) and followed him into a quaint coffee shop. "Blah blah blah...Cafey?"
"Cafey...yes" I replied with a smile. The little man disappeared and left us sipping iced coffee (belive me, you wouldn't want it hot here). Five minutes later, our tour boat guy returned with a bunch of finger sized bananas. "Banana?" he announced. I looked up banana in my phrase book. "Choo-ea" I stated proudly. Our communication was limited. To break the awkward silence, I had him read me the numbers in Vietnamese from my phrase book, and I repeated them over and over. "We go" he stated suddenly. We followed him out of the cafe and to the boat dock.
MI Time- 10:00AM
Local Vietnamese time - 9:00PM
Date: June 22nd 2008
Location: droopy eyed and in our hotel in Can Tho
So I'm not going to last long, but I wanted to gift you a beautiful snapshot of the floating market. Our guide steered the boat from the back using the motor most of the time and sometimes just the paddle. We went downstream for about an hour and all of a sudden...canoe...canoe...another canoe, canoes everywhere. Our guide parked us right in the middle of the canoe chaos. We bought some green dragon fruits (big red pink fruits with green spikes and white inside with tiny black seeds). The taste resembles a kiwi. Another wooden canoe pulled up beside us. A little Asian man (all Asian/Vietnamese men seem to be really short and small framed) was swimming in sodas and buckets of ice in his canoe. He held up a plastic cup already filled up with ice and motioned for us to pick a beverage. "Cafe!" I stated. He nodded his head and filled our cups with espresso/coffee and milk. In the middle of the floating market we were sipping iced lattes for 30 cents each. Canoes were filled with cabbages, carrots, dragon fruits, onions, garlic, even bathroom supplies and clothing. Imagine going to the supermarket and every isle's products packed into a Canoe!
jueves, 19 de junio de 2008
Bicycling to Ben Tre
Michigan time: 9:40AM
Local Vietnam time: 8:40PM
Date: 19-June-08
Location: Ben Tre coffee bar
6:00AM, our little watch alarm welcomed us to day 2 in Vietnam.
"Why so early?" you may ask.
If we had any hope of actually surviving our ride to the Ho Chi Minh bus station to write/tell about it, we had to leave early to avoid traffic. Unfortunately, the alarm did not sing solo. It sang in harmony with the buzz of the motorcycles. With an angered belly and anxiety on my shoulders, nervous about the ride, we left by 6:20AM and hugged the right lane as much as we could. Then after about 5 min, I found myself behind a slow lady biking with her child in front. I looked over my left shoulder and I saw a slight break. I swerved around her in slow movements, curving like a snake around her, giving the mopeds time to move around me. We swam like little minnows in a school of fish. Remarkably, we all glided and curved to a unified rythm. I caught on and slowly passed an older man a bicycle. Then I realized that the knot in my stomach was untied. I began to enjoy the ride. Really, there were few cars. NOTE: anything and everything can be transported on a bicycle or moped. Even mirrors and bed mattresses! You think you need a truck to move your bed. Well, apparently not. I wish I could have taken a photo of the matress with a cart, but I was too busy being a minnow in a school of fish.
It felt good to take off my helmet. We only biked 3.5 miles from the hotel to the bus station, but it was a 3.5 miles I will never forget. Fortunately, we were lucky with the bus. We just repeated My Tho (our destination) and through pointing we were directed the correct bus. They tossed our bikes on top. We cringed when they flipped on top as if they were bean-bags. We were the only white people on the bus. We were nearly the last ones to board the bus. I love it when it works out that way! No wait! However, we did stop every 20 minutes to load on wall tiles. I felt sorry for the bus driver. It must be really stressfull avoiding all the mopeds. He constantly honked and moved at a medium/steady pace to keep movement predictable. With each minute, the mopeds seemed to mulitply. More and more people were awake and heading to factories to work. By 8:30, traffic was very hectic and chaotic.
Suddenly the bus attendant smiled at us and said, "My Tho!" She moved her arm in a straightforward motion. Then several of the passengers also smiled and pointed forward. I followed Steve off the bus carefully with all the packs. A man swiftly passed the bikes down to Steve.
"Obviously, we need to go straight." And straight we went.
Off the highway now, traffic was lighter and easier to navigate. We just followed the bicycle/moped traffic flow all the way to the water/river front and spotted the huge ferry ready to leave. We hopped on with no trouble-perfect timing! I guess the angels or buddha must be watching over us. Without planning, everything seemed to work out today. The 15min boat ride took us across the wide river (also carrying cars, trucks, and cargo). We pedaled about 11 miles to the town of Ben Tre. Our thirst glands were turned too high and we drank bottle after bottle of water. Along with some coconut covered peanuts for a snack. More pointing and smiling made the purchase complete. Really, people do not speak English. It is really strange when people speak to us or try to tell us prices in Vietnamese. We smile stupidly, we find ourselves and illiterate and mute. We now carry a pen and paper and motion for people to write the price for us. At least they use numerals.
At Ben Tre, at 12:30PM Vietnam time, we called it a day. Sweating buckets and drinking bottles of water under the overly vibrant sun, I happen to see the word "Hotel" mixed with all the Vietnamese jibberish. We enter and a petite woman seemed to understand that we wanted a room, so she showed us one: air conditioning, fridge, beautifully remodeled toilet and shower. She wrote 160,000 on a piece of paper ($10!) Great! We smiled at her and nodded yes. As soon as she shut the door we began shedding our wet sweaty clothes and jumped into the shower. We also dumped all the dirty clothes in the shower with us and washed them. Without breakfast, Steve began to roar with hunger and we walked towards the market. Being illiterate was harder than we had imagined.
In the market, we pointed to some of the hairy ball fruits we recognized from our time in Honduras. I pointed to a weird spikey red fruit that matched the guidebook description of the must-try dragon fruit that supposedly resembles that of a kiwi. I also spotted peanuts and pointed to a giant bag of them. Steve calmed his hungry with a licha (red hairy fruit) and I cracked into a peanut shell and not yum! It was squishy and soft inside. "What is wrong with these peanuts?" I exclaimed. Then it dawned on me...usually peanuts are roasted. These were raw peanuts. We sat down by some tables where people were eating and smiled. I recognized the word "Pho" for soup. When the lady aproached us, we both said "Pho". She stared at us blankly, I guess we didn't say it correctly. So we pointed to a bowl of soup somebody else had. I tried to say "An Chay" for vegetarian in Vietnamese to no success. A minute later, she returned with a beef noodle soup. We politely smiled and ate the noodles. They were strange, thick, and bright white in color and took the flavor a sweet onion. Still hungry, we head back inside the market, and there, lit up like a treasure, was a huge bag of cashews. We pointed and made a shape of a small bag. We also pointed to a box of raisins. We successfully celebrated our purcheses and devoured the biggest cashews you've ever seen!
It's getting late after 11pm local time and we're off to rest in preparation for tomorrow's bike ride.
Local Vietnam time: 8:40PM
Date: 19-June-08
Location: Ben Tre coffee bar
6:00AM, our little watch alarm welcomed us to day 2 in Vietnam.
"Why so early?" you may ask.
If we had any hope of actually surviving our ride to the Ho Chi Minh bus station to write/tell about it, we had to leave early to avoid traffic. Unfortunately, the alarm did not sing solo. It sang in harmony with the buzz of the motorcycles. With an angered belly and anxiety on my shoulders, nervous about the ride, we left by 6:20AM and hugged the right lane as much as we could. Then after about 5 min, I found myself behind a slow lady biking with her child in front. I looked over my left shoulder and I saw a slight break. I swerved around her in slow movements, curving like a snake around her, giving the mopeds time to move around me. We swam like little minnows in a school of fish. Remarkably, we all glided and curved to a unified rythm. I caught on and slowly passed an older man a bicycle. Then I realized that the knot in my stomach was untied. I began to enjoy the ride. Really, there were few cars. NOTE: anything and everything can be transported on a bicycle or moped. Even mirrors and bed mattresses! You think you need a truck to move your bed. Well, apparently not. I wish I could have taken a photo of the matress with a cart, but I was too busy being a minnow in a school of fish.
It felt good to take off my helmet. We only biked 3.5 miles from the hotel to the bus station, but it was a 3.5 miles I will never forget. Fortunately, we were lucky with the bus. We just repeated My Tho (our destination) and through pointing we were directed the correct bus. They tossed our bikes on top. We cringed when they flipped on top as if they were bean-bags. We were the only white people on the bus. We were nearly the last ones to board the bus. I love it when it works out that way! No wait! However, we did stop every 20 minutes to load on wall tiles. I felt sorry for the bus driver. It must be really stressfull avoiding all the mopeds. He constantly honked and moved at a medium/steady pace to keep movement predictable. With each minute, the mopeds seemed to mulitply. More and more people were awake and heading to factories to work. By 8:30, traffic was very hectic and chaotic.
Suddenly the bus attendant smiled at us and said, "My Tho!" She moved her arm in a straightforward motion. Then several of the passengers also smiled and pointed forward. I followed Steve off the bus carefully with all the packs. A man swiftly passed the bikes down to Steve.
"Obviously, we need to go straight." And straight we went.
Off the highway now, traffic was lighter and easier to navigate. We just followed the bicycle/moped traffic flow all the way to the water/river front and spotted the huge ferry ready to leave. We hopped on with no trouble-perfect timing! I guess the angels or buddha must be watching over us. Without planning, everything seemed to work out today. The 15min boat ride took us across the wide river (also carrying cars, trucks, and cargo). We pedaled about 11 miles to the town of Ben Tre. Our thirst glands were turned too high and we drank bottle after bottle of water. Along with some coconut covered peanuts for a snack. More pointing and smiling made the purchase complete. Really, people do not speak English. It is really strange when people speak to us or try to tell us prices in Vietnamese. We smile stupidly, we find ourselves and illiterate and mute. We now carry a pen and paper and motion for people to write the price for us. At least they use numerals.
At Ben Tre, at 12:30PM Vietnam time, we called it a day. Sweating buckets and drinking bottles of water under the overly vibrant sun, I happen to see the word "Hotel" mixed with all the Vietnamese jibberish. We enter and a petite woman seemed to understand that we wanted a room, so she showed us one: air conditioning, fridge, beautifully remodeled toilet and shower. She wrote 160,000 on a piece of paper ($10!) Great! We smiled at her and nodded yes. As soon as she shut the door we began shedding our wet sweaty clothes and jumped into the shower. We also dumped all the dirty clothes in the shower with us and washed them. Without breakfast, Steve began to roar with hunger and we walked towards the market. Being illiterate was harder than we had imagined.
In the market, we pointed to some of the hairy ball fruits we recognized from our time in Honduras. I pointed to a weird spikey red fruit that matched the guidebook description of the must-try dragon fruit that supposedly resembles that of a kiwi. I also spotted peanuts and pointed to a giant bag of them. Steve calmed his hungry with a licha (red hairy fruit) and I cracked into a peanut shell and not yum! It was squishy and soft inside. "What is wrong with these peanuts?" I exclaimed. Then it dawned on me...usually peanuts are roasted. These were raw peanuts. We sat down by some tables where people were eating and smiled. I recognized the word "Pho" for soup. When the lady aproached us, we both said "Pho". She stared at us blankly, I guess we didn't say it correctly. So we pointed to a bowl of soup somebody else had. I tried to say "An Chay" for vegetarian in Vietnamese to no success. A minute later, she returned with a beef noodle soup. We politely smiled and ate the noodles. They were strange, thick, and bright white in color and took the flavor a sweet onion. Still hungry, we head back inside the market, and there, lit up like a treasure, was a huge bag of cashews. We pointed and made a shape of a small bag. We also pointed to a box of raisins. We successfully celebrated our purcheses and devoured the biggest cashews you've ever seen!
It's getting late after 11pm local time and we're off to rest in preparation for tomorrow's bike ride.
Bicycling in Ho Chi Minh City
Day 2:
MI time: 11:20 a.m.
Local Vietnam Time: 10:20 p.m.
Date: August 18, 2008
After enjoying curry veggies and reice at our Indian Restaurant, we jumped into our internet cafe ready to send out our first blog. Well, almost ready anyway as soon as I am finished painting you a picture of today with my words as a paintbrush. If I could paint a picture of today it would be vibrant and chaotic with lots of colors.
We started our morning at seven a.m. The hotel (Ha Vy, $10 a night with fan) provided us with free breakfast. I really thought it would be rice with fish, but to my delightful surprise breakfast was a bread roll, strawberry jelly and peanut butter. Oh and coffee with sweet condensed milk. I only put a couple of drops in mine, but apparently, the same canned condensed milk we use for baking purposes is used for everyday coffee.
We both stared at the huge cardboard boxes in the hotel lobby. Steve's box had a huge cut in the side. On mine the metal mount on the tire was poking through the side of the box. What if our poor bikes did not survive the journey in good health? To our delight, ripping off all the tape revealed the same enjoyment as opening christmas presents: joy! Especially when we discovered how easy putting together the bicycles was. We even gave them a quick test run. The experience of riding my bicycle in Ho Chi Minh City for the first time is a memory that I will not forget. Steve had just tightened the seat and squeezed the front tire. "I think your bicycle is done," Steve said.
"Then I will give it a test run!" I stated.
"You're crazy, unless you wanna get killed you better be kidding me!"
"Actually, I am serious. I will just go to the corner and back."
I carefully veared to right out of the hotel lobby, hugging the right side of the road as much as I could while a parade of motos circled around me. I did exactly as I had read in the Lonely Planet Guide Book about "how to walk in Ho Chi Minh City." Go in a straight line without sudden movement so as others can easily go around you. Five minutes later, I arrived safely at the hotel and it was Steve's turn. After five minutes of cycling up and down the supposedly "low traffic" street in front of our hotel we were done biking for the day! We both felt funny from the 11 hour time change and overwhelmed with the constant motor bike parade. We spent all day walking and practicing how to cross the street! Crossing the street with a CONSTANT flow of mopeds reminds me of an ATARI game I used to play as a kid where the player was a chicken and had to cross the street. Each time you successfully crossed the street you would advance a level and the traffic would become more intense. So here I was in Ho Chi Minh City; a chicken locked into a video game crossing the street at the most advanced level. We stood there at the curbside waiting for a break in traffic. Five minutes passed. Still a steady flow of chaos. Then a local stepped beside us. She waited for maybe ten seconds and stepped into the street. We locked hands and became her ducklings, following her closely. I felt stuck in a beehive with ZZZ of the motors engulfing me. We kept a slow pace as they all zoomed around us. I sighed in relief. We had made it acrost our first street. My relief lasted only a block as we aproached another intersection. We acted as ducklings once again and follwed a local Vietnamese closely at a slow steady pace. Once, I looked to my right and saw a swarm of mopeds and froze! A mistake! BEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEEP! The moped swerved rapidly, avoiding me. Note to self: Never stop! Keeping a steady rhythm helps the moped drivers anticipate to veer slightly to the right or left to avoid me. Stopping throws them off. The next intersection, we were "big kids" and crossed the street all by ourselves! We held hands and just walked real slow, almost pretending NOT to see the traffic and we made it!
FIRST STOP: market. One of my teacher friends at Lincoln teaches a lot about Vietnam and requested that I send her some typical things. So my first interaction with locals besides with the taxi driver and at the hotel was at the market. We entered the huge cement structure and were welcomed by a myriad of clothes, bags, fruit, vegetables, meat, fish, oysters, rice, cashews, sandals--you name it! Peaople beckoned us to look and enter into their stalls. I felt overwhelmed. Steve and I walked in silence.
"Aren't you going to buy something for your friend?" Steve asked.
"I don't know how to!" I exclaimed, wide-eyed. We continued window shopping /wandering through the market two or three times until I had picked out in my mind exactly what I wanted to buy. Some really beautiful plates caught my attention. They reminded me vaguely of the plates they used in the Japanese restaurant in kalamazoo called Sushia. I also had in mind to buy some of the bamboo hats that all the local women were wearing. Wall hangings depicting typical scenery were also a must have.
"So yes, Steve," I stated, "These are the things I decided on. Now all we have to do is step out of the shy stage and actually buy them." We walked up to a lady and asked, "How much are the plates."
"duakuwanquozua!" She replied or something to that effect. Steve and I smiled blankly at her. Then we had a brighter idea. We walked up to her plates and pointed at them. She came to us with her calculator and typed the number 120,000. With 16,000 dong to a dollar, we figured the price to be under $10. We smiled at her, picked up her plates, and nodded yes. She uynderstood and packaged up the plates for us. Little by little with a series of pointing and smiling, we managed to purchase all of our items. On the tourist street, we became best buddies with the indian restaurants, and ate just like at our favorite restaurant in Kalamazoo called Saffron for under $5. We enjoyed rice, naan, curry and vegetables. And then a big boo boo. AFTER the spicy indian cuisine, I felt like something juicy and sweet. Anyone that knows me knows that I absolutely love grapes. So I found some in a supermarket.
"Teresa, maybe the grapes are not the greatest idea. The guidebook always says peel it, boil it, or loose it, " Steve Said
"No, no, Esteban, these grapes are fine. They are bagged and from a supermarket. I will even wash them with some of your distilled water."
Well, as it turns out Steve was right. No more grapes for me.
Lets just say it as sweet as possible. That evening I was up with the hershey squirts.
MI time: 11:20 a.m.
Local Vietnam Time: 10:20 p.m.
Date: August 18, 2008
After enjoying curry veggies and reice at our Indian Restaurant, we jumped into our internet cafe ready to send out our first blog. Well, almost ready anyway as soon as I am finished painting you a picture of today with my words as a paintbrush. If I could paint a picture of today it would be vibrant and chaotic with lots of colors.
We started our morning at seven a.m. The hotel (Ha Vy, $10 a night with fan) provided us with free breakfast. I really thought it would be rice with fish, but to my delightful surprise breakfast was a bread roll, strawberry jelly and peanut butter. Oh and coffee with sweet condensed milk. I only put a couple of drops in mine, but apparently, the same canned condensed milk we use for baking purposes is used for everyday coffee.
We both stared at the huge cardboard boxes in the hotel lobby. Steve's box had a huge cut in the side. On mine the metal mount on the tire was poking through the side of the box. What if our poor bikes did not survive the journey in good health? To our delight, ripping off all the tape revealed the same enjoyment as opening christmas presents: joy! Especially when we discovered how easy putting together the bicycles was. We even gave them a quick test run. The experience of riding my bicycle in Ho Chi Minh City for the first time is a memory that I will not forget. Steve had just tightened the seat and squeezed the front tire. "I think your bicycle is done," Steve said.
"Then I will give it a test run!" I stated.
"You're crazy, unless you wanna get killed you better be kidding me!"
"Actually, I am serious. I will just go to the corner and back."
I carefully veared to right out of the hotel lobby, hugging the right side of the road as much as I could while a parade of motos circled around me. I did exactly as I had read in the Lonely Planet Guide Book about "how to walk in Ho Chi Minh City." Go in a straight line without sudden movement so as others can easily go around you. Five minutes later, I arrived safely at the hotel and it was Steve's turn. After five minutes of cycling up and down the supposedly "low traffic" street in front of our hotel we were done biking for the day! We both felt funny from the 11 hour time change and overwhelmed with the constant motor bike parade. We spent all day walking and practicing how to cross the street! Crossing the street with a CONSTANT flow of mopeds reminds me of an ATARI game I used to play as a kid where the player was a chicken and had to cross the street. Each time you successfully crossed the street you would advance a level and the traffic would become more intense. So here I was in Ho Chi Minh City; a chicken locked into a video game crossing the street at the most advanced level. We stood there at the curbside waiting for a break in traffic. Five minutes passed. Still a steady flow of chaos. Then a local stepped beside us. She waited for maybe ten seconds and stepped into the street. We locked hands and became her ducklings, following her closely. I felt stuck in a beehive with ZZZ of the motors engulfing me. We kept a slow pace as they all zoomed around us. I sighed in relief. We had made it acrost our first street. My relief lasted only a block as we aproached another intersection. We acted as ducklings once again and follwed a local Vietnamese closely at a slow steady pace. Once, I looked to my right and saw a swarm of mopeds and froze! A mistake! BEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEEP! The moped swerved rapidly, avoiding me. Note to self: Never stop! Keeping a steady rhythm helps the moped drivers anticipate to veer slightly to the right or left to avoid me. Stopping throws them off. The next intersection, we were "big kids" and crossed the street all by ourselves! We held hands and just walked real slow, almost pretending NOT to see the traffic and we made it!
FIRST STOP: market. One of my teacher friends at Lincoln teaches a lot about Vietnam and requested that I send her some typical things. So my first interaction with locals besides with the taxi driver and at the hotel was at the market. We entered the huge cement structure and were welcomed by a myriad of clothes, bags, fruit, vegetables, meat, fish, oysters, rice, cashews, sandals--you name it! Peaople beckoned us to look and enter into their stalls. I felt overwhelmed. Steve and I walked in silence.
"Aren't you going to buy something for your friend?" Steve asked.
"I don't know how to!" I exclaimed, wide-eyed. We continued window shopping /wandering through the market two or three times until I had picked out in my mind exactly what I wanted to buy. Some really beautiful plates caught my attention. They reminded me vaguely of the plates they used in the Japanese restaurant in kalamazoo called Sushia. I also had in mind to buy some of the bamboo hats that all the local women were wearing. Wall hangings depicting typical scenery were also a must have.
"So yes, Steve," I stated, "These are the things I decided on. Now all we have to do is step out of the shy stage and actually buy them." We walked up to a lady and asked, "How much are the plates."
"duakuwanquozua!" She replied or something to that effect. Steve and I smiled blankly at her. Then we had a brighter idea. We walked up to her plates and pointed at them. She came to us with her calculator and typed the number 120,000. With 16,000 dong to a dollar, we figured the price to be under $10. We smiled at her, picked up her plates, and nodded yes. She uynderstood and packaged up the plates for us. Little by little with a series of pointing and smiling, we managed to purchase all of our items. On the tourist street, we became best buddies with the indian restaurants, and ate just like at our favorite restaurant in Kalamazoo called Saffron for under $5. We enjoyed rice, naan, curry and vegetables. And then a big boo boo. AFTER the spicy indian cuisine, I felt like something juicy and sweet. Anyone that knows me knows that I absolutely love grapes. So I found some in a supermarket.
"Teresa, maybe the grapes are not the greatest idea. The guidebook always says peel it, boil it, or loose it, " Steve Said
"No, no, Esteban, these grapes are fine. They are bagged and from a supermarket. I will even wash them with some of your distilled water."
Well, as it turns out Steve was right. No more grapes for me.
Lets just say it as sweet as possible. That evening I was up with the hershey squirts.
Arriving in Ho Chi Minh City
MI time: 9:00 AM
Local Vietnam time: 8:00PM
Date: 16-Aug-08
Location: Indian restaurant, Ho Chi Minh overlooking crowded street with constant motorcycle traffic.
We survived aour 1st day here and really enjoyed exploring a new foreign place.
Dear reader, I left you with my thoughts snoozing and dazing off on the airplane between Tokyo and Ho Chi Minh. I'll take you now to the moment when the voice on the intercom woke me. "prepare for landing" followed by all the gibberish of Vietnamese that I could never untangle.
For the record, ANA airlines was like a "5 star hotel" with regard to their excellent service. Free wine every little while, coffee or green tea, on-demand movies, pillows and blankets, complimentary earphones, everything.
So we had a safe landing as I squeezed Steve's hand. I remember standing up initially with a wobble in my step from sitting so long. Next: a game of pacman like race through the maze of security, baggage claims, immigration, customs...it all was very smooth. One step at a time in conjunction with pointing and smiling the customs officer waved us through, no questions asked!
We were very happy to re-unite with our bicycles after having been very worried that they would be lost or damaged. We walked out of the airport at 11:30PM into a sea of smiling faces welcoming relatives and missed loved ones and a a white sign that read "Mr. Steven Ha Vy hotel." We waved at him in acknowledgement, he waved back and said "you waiting here I get car." After a while, I asked "where did he go?"
"I don't know" Steve replied.
"I'm sure he will be back with his car in a minute" I said.
Across the road a small round faced man waved at us. "They're he is" we both exclaimed.
WE pushed one cart to cross the road and he helped us load the bikes into his car. "We are finally on our way and off the airplane!" I said happily. The man reached forward and set the meter.
"Where you go?" the man asked. Steve and I looked at each other confused. Didn't the man just have our hotel name on his sign?
"Which hotel you go?" the man repeated.
Then it dawned on us n. We had gotten into a taxi driver's car. We had confused the taxi driver with our hotel representative.
"Oh... Uh.... I'm sorry. so sorry..."Steve stated, "We are in the wrong car."
"So sorry," I repeated as we unloaded the bikes and boxes leaving the taxi driver confused. We looked up again and there was our real hotel representative holding the sign with his car near where we had been waiting before.
Our woes of being confused were soon put to rest. Our jolly driver who didn't know much English began singing every English love song that he had memorized: Yesterday by the Beatles, By the Rivers of Babelon... Then he pulled out a folded piece of paper from the glove compartment that read, "Song List."
"Together we sing song you like," he stated. So that was a moment to remember. Singing with our taxi driver while dodging motos and darting left and right through the light midnight traffic to our hotel.
"A lot of motos," I commented.
"No moto, no girlfriend," he stated with a laugh. Supposedly there are three million motorcycles in Ho Chi Minh City!
"With these many motos at night, I can only imagine how bad the traffic must be during the day," Steve commented.
"Much traffic. Be careful to crossing street."
"Thank you so much," I said, "How do you say thank you in Vietnamese?"
"Kham Urn!" he replied.
"Kham Urn," I spoke my first Vietnamese words of thank you.
Kham Urn--many thankyous to all of your emails and love that will give us the power and adrenaline to keep peddling!
Local Vietnam time: 8:00PM
Date: 16-Aug-08
Location: Indian restaurant, Ho Chi Minh overlooking crowded street with constant motorcycle traffic.
We survived aour 1st day here and really enjoyed exploring a new foreign place.
Dear reader, I left you with my thoughts snoozing and dazing off on the airplane between Tokyo and Ho Chi Minh. I'll take you now to the moment when the voice on the intercom woke me. "prepare for landing" followed by all the gibberish of Vietnamese that I could never untangle.
For the record, ANA airlines was like a "5 star hotel" with regard to their excellent service. Free wine every little while, coffee or green tea, on-demand movies, pillows and blankets, complimentary earphones, everything.
So we had a safe landing as I squeezed Steve's hand. I remember standing up initially with a wobble in my step from sitting so long. Next: a game of pacman like race through the maze of security, baggage claims, immigration, customs...it all was very smooth. One step at a time in conjunction with pointing and smiling the customs officer waved us through, no questions asked!
We were very happy to re-unite with our bicycles after having been very worried that they would be lost or damaged. We walked out of the airport at 11:30PM into a sea of smiling faces welcoming relatives and missed loved ones and a a white sign that read "Mr. Steven Ha Vy hotel." We waved at him in acknowledgement, he waved back and said "you waiting here I get car." After a while, I asked "where did he go?"
"I don't know" Steve replied.
"I'm sure he will be back with his car in a minute" I said.
Across the road a small round faced man waved at us. "They're he is" we both exclaimed.
WE pushed one cart to cross the road and he helped us load the bikes into his car. "We are finally on our way and off the airplane!" I said happily. The man reached forward and set the meter.
"Where you go?" the man asked. Steve and I looked at each other confused. Didn't the man just have our hotel name on his sign?
"Which hotel you go?" the man repeated.
Then it dawned on us n. We had gotten into a taxi driver's car. We had confused the taxi driver with our hotel representative.
"Oh... Uh.... I'm sorry. so sorry..."Steve stated, "We are in the wrong car."
"So sorry," I repeated as we unloaded the bikes and boxes leaving the taxi driver confused. We looked up again and there was our real hotel representative holding the sign with his car near where we had been waiting before.
Our woes of being confused were soon put to rest. Our jolly driver who didn't know much English began singing every English love song that he had memorized: Yesterday by the Beatles, By the Rivers of Babelon... Then he pulled out a folded piece of paper from the glove compartment that read, "Song List."
"Together we sing song you like," he stated. So that was a moment to remember. Singing with our taxi driver while dodging motos and darting left and right through the light midnight traffic to our hotel.
"A lot of motos," I commented.
"No moto, no girlfriend," he stated with a laugh. Supposedly there are three million motorcycles in Ho Chi Minh City!
"With these many motos at night, I can only imagine how bad the traffic must be during the day," Steve commented.
"Much traffic. Be careful to crossing street."
"Thank you so much," I said, "How do you say thank you in Vietnamese?"
"Kham Urn!" he replied.
"Kham Urn," I spoke my first Vietnamese words of thank you.
Kham Urn--many thankyous to all of your emails and love that will give us the power and adrenaline to keep peddling!
miércoles, 18 de junio de 2008
The never ending airplane journey
June 16th 2008
Michigan time: 06.29pm.
At 4:10 Am this morning, we awoke to the loud, beep beep beep of the alarm clock.
My first instinctive thought was: "NO! I don't want to go to school!!" Usually, each morning we awake to the alarm clock, jump into our clothes, grab good old peanut butter jelly, toast, or yogurt and rush off to our jobs. I rush to my group of second grade monsters and Steve flies off to his customers that roar with fire about payments and loans in the call center. BUT NOT TODAY! Oh right, it is summer vacation. The day of our departure for our crazy South East Asia bike trip! The reality set in and ignited all my emotions at once: excitement, anxiety, the love of adventure, the fear of the unknown. A burst of adrenaline sent me hopping out of bed and to my feet. Laying in bed at midnight, I had went through my mind with a list of morning "to dos" and amazingly , they popped into my head immediately-- SSWW (shorts, sheet, wallet, and watch!) Everything was packed. It was really not that difficult when all we could take we HAD to carry for the entire trip on our bicycles. Gy came punctually to pick us up in her white van and by five a.m., we were rolling down a lonely Westnedge Ave. Usually bustling with traffic, the street was so empty it looked like a parking lot. The wee hours of driving to Chicago- O hare airport tip-toed away while we discussed everything from travel dreams, fears, and Hungarian music with Gy. We thank Gy for her love and positive energy to make the very first leg of our travel a fun and beautiful memory.
9:00 a.m. Kalamazoo time we pulled into the front of terminal one at O'hare airport. "What if they wouldn't accept our bicycles? Are they packaged ok with the cardboard boxes? How on earth are we going to fly 13 hours? It will be my longest flight ever. I felt anxiety and excitement, happiness all at once. Together all of these emotions compiled a recipe for a solution similar to an energy drink. We taped all our boxes closed while waiting in the check in line. A round-faced gentleman called us politely to the counter. An assistant taped our boxes again with airline tape with ANA written all over it. A dog to our right inside of a carrier/cage barked.
"It the dog yours too?" the man asked.
"No!" Steve grinned, "traveling with two bicycles is enough trouble."
"Do you live in Vietnam?"
"No! We live in the United States."
"We are going to a bicycle through Vietnam, Cambodia, and Thailand," I offered.
"Awesome!" the gentleman replied warmly. "Have you ever flown with ANA airlines before?"
"No!" I stated anxiously, "I am actually worried about the long thirteen hour flight."
"Oh, flying ANA is like a five star hotel!" he replied kindly.
We put each bicycle on the scale one at a time. With my bicycle, we had packed all the tools. My bicycle weighted 17 kilos. Just like that the boxes and bicycles were checked! We took a photograph with Gy. Checking in and passing through security was a breeze.
So the thirteen hour flight... Well, I HATE sitting. I I purposely slept only five hours of less each night on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night. My dream wasw to sleep most of the thirteen hours out of pure exhaustion.
We had a couple of hours to wait in Chicago before boarding and of course there are Starbucks Coffee Shops popping out of every gateway and corner in the airport luring me with the aroma of freshly brewed espresso/mochas. Thanks to Kerri Grabiec's suggestion, I tried a double shot espresso on ice. So maybe it was that double shot of espresso or maybe it was just the adrenaline of traveling but after watching FIVE movies (Jumping, 27 dresses, Just for laughs, Bucket, and Vantage Point) I AM CURRENTLY STILL SITTING HERE AWAKE!! I'm excited for our landing in Ho Chi Minh City. Those first few minutes of becoming aquainted with a new place... How will it feel? I imagine there to be narrow streets with bikes, carts, cars, vendors crowding every block and corner. Of course, we will be landing at 11:00/midnight... So it might feel like a ghost city. We made reservations online with a hotel recommended by our lonely planet guidebook to also pick us up in a minivan. Although the airport is only 4 miles from the hotel and I would LOVE to walk/bike it especially after more than 18 hours of sitting, I don't know how safe it is in the neighborhood between the airport and the town center, so late at night.
Flight from Tokyo to Ho Chi Minh city. Time: 10:40 AM Michigan time, 9:40PM Vietnam time. We only have about 1 hour to go. We have slept almost the entire journey from Tokyo to Ho Chi Minh, eyelids are still heavy.
Ok, the internet is closing so I will have to drop you all there and write you later. We are here safe in Ho Chi Minh city enjoying new sites and wishing you all well in Michigan Love, T and Steve
Michigan time: 06.29pm.
At 4:10 Am this morning, we awoke to the loud, beep beep beep of the alarm clock.
My first instinctive thought was: "NO! I don't want to go to school!!" Usually, each morning we awake to the alarm clock, jump into our clothes, grab good old peanut butter jelly, toast, or yogurt and rush off to our jobs. I rush to my group of second grade monsters and Steve flies off to his customers that roar with fire about payments and loans in the call center. BUT NOT TODAY! Oh right, it is summer vacation. The day of our departure for our crazy South East Asia bike trip! The reality set in and ignited all my emotions at once: excitement, anxiety, the love of adventure, the fear of the unknown. A burst of adrenaline sent me hopping out of bed and to my feet. Laying in bed at midnight, I had went through my mind with a list of morning "to dos" and amazingly , they popped into my head immediately-- SSWW (shorts, sheet, wallet, and watch!) Everything was packed. It was really not that difficult when all we could take we HAD to carry for the entire trip on our bicycles. Gy came punctually to pick us up in her white van and by five a.m., we were rolling down a lonely Westnedge Ave. Usually bustling with traffic, the street was so empty it looked like a parking lot. The wee hours of driving to Chicago- O hare airport tip-toed away while we discussed everything from travel dreams, fears, and Hungarian music with Gy. We thank Gy for her love and positive energy to make the very first leg of our travel a fun and beautiful memory.
9:00 a.m. Kalamazoo time we pulled into the front of terminal one at O'hare airport. "What if they wouldn't accept our bicycles? Are they packaged ok with the cardboard boxes? How on earth are we going to fly 13 hours? It will be my longest flight ever. I felt anxiety and excitement, happiness all at once. Together all of these emotions compiled a recipe for a solution similar to an energy drink. We taped all our boxes closed while waiting in the check in line. A round-faced gentleman called us politely to the counter. An assistant taped our boxes again with airline tape with ANA written all over it. A dog to our right inside of a carrier/cage barked.
"It the dog yours too?" the man asked.
"No!" Steve grinned, "traveling with two bicycles is enough trouble."
"Do you live in Vietnam?"
"No! We live in the United States."
"We are going to a bicycle through Vietnam, Cambodia, and Thailand," I offered.
"Awesome!" the gentleman replied warmly. "Have you ever flown with ANA airlines before?"
"No!" I stated anxiously, "I am actually worried about the long thirteen hour flight."
"Oh, flying ANA is like a five star hotel!" he replied kindly.
We put each bicycle on the scale one at a time. With my bicycle, we had packed all the tools. My bicycle weighted 17 kilos. Just like that the boxes and bicycles were checked! We took a photograph with Gy. Checking in and passing through security was a breeze.
So the thirteen hour flight... Well, I HATE sitting. I I purposely slept only five hours of less each night on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night. My dream wasw to sleep most of the thirteen hours out of pure exhaustion.
We had a couple of hours to wait in Chicago before boarding and of course there are Starbucks Coffee Shops popping out of every gateway and corner in the airport luring me with the aroma of freshly brewed espresso/mochas. Thanks to Kerri Grabiec's suggestion, I tried a double shot espresso on ice. So maybe it was that double shot of espresso or maybe it was just the adrenaline of traveling but after watching FIVE movies (Jumping, 27 dresses, Just for laughs, Bucket, and Vantage Point) I AM CURRENTLY STILL SITTING HERE AWAKE!! I'm excited for our landing in Ho Chi Minh City. Those first few minutes of becoming aquainted with a new place... How will it feel? I imagine there to be narrow streets with bikes, carts, cars, vendors crowding every block and corner. Of course, we will be landing at 11:00/midnight... So it might feel like a ghost city. We made reservations online with a hotel recommended by our lonely planet guidebook to also pick us up in a minivan. Although the airport is only 4 miles from the hotel and I would LOVE to walk/bike it especially after more than 18 hours of sitting, I don't know how safe it is in the neighborhood between the airport and the town center, so late at night.
Flight from Tokyo to Ho Chi Minh city. Time: 10:40 AM Michigan time, 9:40PM Vietnam time. We only have about 1 hour to go. We have slept almost the entire journey from Tokyo to Ho Chi Minh, eyelids are still heavy.
Ok, the internet is closing so I will have to drop you all there and write you later. We are here safe in Ho Chi Minh city enjoying new sites and wishing you all well in Michigan Love, T and Steve
martes, 10 de junio de 2008
Dreaming and Drinking Coffee at Waterstreet Cafe
It all started as a dream. We yearn for adventure. We yearn for an escape from routine. We yearn to learn about the mystery of the world that seems so foreign. In the cold crisp months of December, we dreamed of biking across the United States. It would take four months to bike the entire United States... Or maybe we could bike Spain and Portugal... Or maybe we could forget the bike adventure, and travel to India. So many dreams. What about South East Asia? Could we bike it in the rainy season? We don't speak a lick of Vietnamese. Dreams of tropical places over cold wintery nights and coffee. Dreams that floated their way into reality and to a simple 'click' on the computer screen, purchasing plane tickets. Steve, what did you just do? "I spent 3800 dollars in one click."
So here we are again at our favorite coffee place, drinking coffee and it's hard to believe that in less than a week the familiarity of our lives will do a sommersault. Three more days of teaching my little second grade monsters. Three more days of phone calls at the bank. Then, I don't know what? I guess, we will both have to wait and see what the next journal entry brings... For now, we leave you with lots of love and wishes for a peaceful evening below a clear sky with a gentle early summer's breeze.
So here we are again at our favorite coffee place, drinking coffee and it's hard to believe that in less than a week the familiarity of our lives will do a sommersault. Three more days of teaching my little second grade monsters. Three more days of phone calls at the bank. Then, I don't know what? I guess, we will both have to wait and see what the next journal entry brings... For now, we leave you with lots of love and wishes for a peaceful evening below a clear sky with a gentle early summer's breeze.
lunes, 9 de junio de 2008
People are people
Where did we get the idea to bicycle in
…on a late night’s walk home from Waterstreet after drinking large mochas, I say to Steve, “You know, I haven’t been this nervous before about a trip. I am worried about biking all that way. I mean, really, we have no arrangements made or hotel reservations. Can I even ride my bicycle all that way? What if the people don’t like Americans?”
“We must remember,” Steve replies calmly, “People are people all over the world and most of them are good.”
During the cold dreary months of
“Yeah, and then we can cycle from
I read the book, “Miles to Nowhere,” about a couple from
“Let’s do it! Let’s cycle across the world!” I exclaim.
“Let’s not!” Steve replies.
After school, I begin researching bicycle tours around the world. I read journals from people that had bicycled through
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