Fourth of July in ‘Nam

Happy Fourth of July! Who would have thought that only forty years later an American would happily and peacefully be spending this holiday here? Circumstances change, that’s for sure. I am still in the lovely town of Hoi An, which is on a river and has a pedestrian-only old quarter that is simply charming. I rented a bicycle today and did some exploring. The beach is only five kilometers away (about three miles) so I went there to write postcards and drink from a coconut. And I finally had jackfruit today! I have seen jackfruits for sale on the side of the road from behind bus windows – so close and yet so far! Today at least I was successful. 

In the afternoon, I tooled around the old quarter hunting for guacamole. Avocados are common here, and I saw guac on a menu yesterday, which put the idea in my head. Lo and behold I was able to find some at the riverfront. Not quite guac on the dock, but I was close enough to the docks and was entertained by people loading their bicycles and scooters on to ferries bound for who knows where. I have a couple more days here so perhaps I will take the ferry just to see where it goes.

Hm I felt like I had so much to write during the day but the wind seems to have gone out of my sails. I did, however, upload more pictures and will be posting them either tonight or soon for your viewing pleasure. 

I hope the fireworks are fab this year!

“I’m so happy!” — the email I just sent to mom and dad

The above quote is what I just said to the person on the computer next to me. To say such a thing out loud is rather redundant because I am grinning like a fool and clapping my hands. Anouk, my Belgian sister from the year in Yaso, is going to be coming to Thailand tomorrow!!! I sent her a postcard from Malaysia and it got to her just in time to send an email before coming over. What a world! I just sent her an email and we will try to coordinate since she will be traveling here for a month. She will be in Yasothon from July 11-18 and then will head north. I don’t know if I can make it there in time, so I proposed that we meet in Vientiane, Laos because a) neither of us have been to Laos even though it is so close and b) everyone says wonderful things about it.

I am soooo excited!!! What are the chances?!?!

Today I was given a map of Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, and bits of Thailand. I have been pondering it alongside my calendar. Like I posted a few days ago, three months is not really that long of a time to travel in this fashion. I am brainstorming what route will be “best” (no such thing but you know what I mean) to follow. With this new development, my thoughts have changed a bit from what they were this morning. This is where I am at so far:

I am in Hoi An now, which is a lovely little UNESCO heritage city. I got here this afternoon by bus (I waited for the bus longer than it took to actually drive here and the air-con gave out for the last hour of the journey – joy of travel, right?) and ended up staying at the hotel/hostel that the bus dropped us off at. Usually I try to avoid doing so because it truly is a racket. The tour companies have agreements with various hotels and souvenir shops, with the tourists getting ripped off so people make a commission. Bogus! (Haha yesterday I taught an English girl the meaning of “bogus” – like if you buy a plate of stir-fried veggies and have to pay extra for the rice. Bogus! Just include it in the price!) But it actually turned out to be a nice place and was on the list of good, cheap accommodation that I looked at online before I came. There is certainly something to be said for at least knowing the section of town where you want to be when you get off the bus. Otherwise the vulturesque taxi drivers will take you for a ride upon arrival – literally. 

So here I am, at Hop Yen Hotel on Hai Ba Trung Street in lovely little Hoi An. I will be here at least two nights, maybe three, depending on what I can find to do. The streets are quaint, much like the other UNESCO site in Trinidad, Cuba. You can get all manner of clothes custom-made here for cheaper than you would pay retail back in the states. A German guy in my dorm had a beautiful leather jacket done over the course of two days. Incredible! I am tempted to get some clothes, though I don’t think the extravagance of going to a tailor is within the realm of reason on a student budget. But there are plenty of other clothes ready-made, so I may indulge in a new pair of pants and maybe a Vietnamese flag t-shirt. I am pretty good at justifying myself, and the excuse of the hour is that all of my clothes are being laundered. Which is true! I only have one skirt and one pair of pants, so maybe it is time to expand a bit? But I am not doing any shopping. As is my tradition, I am getting one small item to be turned into a Christmas ornament (Vietnam’s ornament is a communist victory pin circa  1972 dug up in the jungle) and I will get a flag for each country when I get back to the States. Otherwise, it is pictures, postcards, an on-the-road scrapbook of maps and tickets, and the maintenance of this blog that I am doing instead of souvenirs. Economically and logistically it makes much more sense, yeah?

 Moving on…. Next stop is Nha Trang. I booked an open-bus ticket that took me from Hanoi to Hue to Hoi An, then to Nha Trang and ending in Saigon. I paid $44 upfront for all the tickets and all I have to do now is just call the day before I want to hop on and let them know I am coming. Voila! That easy. Nha Trang, from what I hear, has nice beaches but is saturated with tourists. I don’t really have any desire to go as there are nice beaches in Florida, but that is where the bus goes. I am thinking of doing a small trip to nearby Dalat, located in the “mountains” (not like the Rockies but still a significant change in elevation) since people have only praise to give it. We will see how the timing works out. 

Then on to Saigon/Ho Chi Minh City! There is plenty to do around there and I want to have time to visit all the museums and historical sites before scooting on up to Cambodia. Tourist offices make it easy to get a visa and transfer to Phnom Penh, so I will deal with it when the time comes. From there my plan is pretty open. I am looking at border crossings now and think that from Phnom Penh I will go to Siem Reap (another tourist hot spot) to see the splendor of Angkor Wat. Then it looks like there are a number of crossings into northeast Thailand. It doesn’t look like Thai visas for overland crossing are a problem, though they only give you fifteen days. That should be sufficient.

Once I am there, I have no worries about finding a bus or hitching a ride towards Yasothon. My Thai will flow back (I hope) and all will be well! Anouk and I may be able to cross paths there, but since she is leaving on July 18th for the north it will be little tight timewise on my part. But I think that after visiting my old haunt I will head into Laos, either by going east to the Mukdahan border (which I have been to before for a family day trip) or to the north to Vientiane, which along with Luang Prabang I have heard is amazing. I even have recommendations of museums to visit and hostels to stay at in Laos.

Kayak.com has been a great resource for looking at flights, which I do frequently. Today’s search was for a good way to get from this part of the world to India. As I thought, Bangkok is the best hub. There are flights from Vientiane, but there are two transfers and it is much more expensive than flying out of the Thai capital. So I think I will cross back into Thailand and bus it down to Bangkok for a flight out. Who knows? Maybe this time I will stay at the infamous Kao San Road. 

All said and done, I probably won’t be in Bangkok until early August. Anouk leaves August 8th, so perhaps we will fly out around the same time? That remains to be seen. She will go back home to Belgium (I think) and I am toying with the idea of volunteering in an orphanage/school near in Gokarna, which is about 70 miles south of Goa. The name of the foundation is Shankar Prasad Foundation. They have yoga classes and retreats as well. ‘Tis a thought! The place was recommended to me by Ruthi, who I met in Ubud back in Bali, so I trust it more than random charities that you can find on the internet. And I like the idea of staying in one place in India this time around since I only have a month and traveling from place to place can be a hassle, especially for a solo white lady like myself. I will be back and can do further explorations in the future!

Well happy fourth of July everyone! I hope the Davids are reading this in Chicago and that there is plenty of gonging going on…

Love!

I’m never gonna stop the rain by complainin’…

Woe is ye, grumpy traveler! Without a paddle, off the map, up the wall! Since my last post I have been giddy, grumpy, and everything in between. But I’m here now! Here being Hue (pronounced Hway, short and fast. Think Stewie Griffin asking “what” and you get the idea.) Vietnam, a good distance south of Hanoi. 

Not long after my last post, I found the girl who sold me the bus ticket, who then passed me off to a guy with no English abilities. I was told to follow him, so what else could I do? I went along with a handful of other tourist sheeple. We were left at a piss-soaked street corner, heckled by hawkers (more like vultures), and told that the bus would be there soon. Wait we did. Again, what else can you do?

But oh, ye of little faith! The bus did come. It was a “sleeper bus,” which I haven’t seen before now. As we (the other waiting passengers included a group of young lassies from Ireland and another group from Scotland) were loading our bags in lower cargo hold, it appeared that there were no more seats. Hopefully no one would be sleeping on the floor! Again, have faith in the system. There were just enough spots for everyone. I was in the back with the other girls. It looked kind of like this: One big lounge party! I was with the Scottish girls and we talked about the differences between the UK, England, and Great Britain; destinations, past and future; and Disney movies. Needless to say, it got a bit silly in the back of the bus. 

But what a journey! I don’t know what is more at cause, the roads or the bus itself, but it was one bumpy ride. To try to walk down the aisle while the vehicle was underway would surely land you quite unexpectedly in another passenger’s lap. We stopped every few hours to use the toilet and stretch out, but the bus was really quite comfortable. At least in a reclining position one’s feet are less likely to swell as mine did on the trans-Pacific flight. 

Despite leaving Hanoi two hours late, we arrived at Hue roughly on schedule. The other backpackers were in the same boat – er, bus – as me in that they did not know where they would stay or what there was to do in Hue. We shared a taxi at 50 cents a person to get over to the backpacker part of town, where I have remained since. 

Man, when I got off that bouncing machine this morning I was badly in need of a shower and an aspirin. The aspirin I got to later this afternoon, the shower is still forthcoming. It actually just started to rain while I am typing, so maybe I will get a double shower tonight. But it is so hot here! It is actually probably the same weather as in Florida, though ice and air conditioning are harder to come by. I dragged myself to see the Imperial City here in Hue, which seems like one of the few things to do in the city. The Imperial City is only a couple hundred years old and suffered heavy damage in the American War. Today, it is not that impressive. There are no maps and no placards to guide the visitor. Needless to say, my visit was short.

Walking back to backpacker central I saw some old war pins for sale on a ledge by the road. I was inspecting them when the seller announced “American!” Is it that obvious? We got to talking, and it turns out he is good at determining what nationality people are. He was accompanied by a retired history teacher, Don, hailing from Los Angeles. Don gave me a dose of enthusiasm for and history about Vietnam, which boosted my mood considerably. The lesson for today? If you are feeling down, pick your head up and learn something! We chatted for at least an hour, after which I bought a commemorative Communist victory pin from 1972. Lop, the seller, has pins like these as well as official’s pins, dog tags (Don’s specialty – he buys them by the thousands and brings them back to the States to do research), coins, and a whole host of other objects found in the jungles and junk drawers of Vietnam. This encounter was a pleasant surprise. 

Another way to boost one’s mood is with food. As my Uncle Dave Fitz always says if you don’t feel good then think about when the last time you ate was. (Or something to that effect.) I am trying to stay hydrated (kind of hard when the water on hand is warm if not hot) and fed. It is easy enough to be a vegetarian in Vietnam. My diet here is pretty much rice accompanied by tofu and/or vegetables stir-fried in some sort of oily sauce. Condiments include soy sauce, spicy sauce, and tomato sauce. There is fresh fruit, but the trouble is just finding it. Usually it is sold by ladies wearing straw hats carrying their wares over their shoulders. Fruit was easier to find in the larger city of Hanoi.

At this very moment I am at Le’s Garden Bar in Hue and there is a regular monsoon a-brewin’. I came here for a post-dinner smoothie with the intention of working on my on-the-road scrapbook, which I did with a rather large audience of resident waitresses. They have two free computers (a nice thing about much of Asia (that I have seen anyway) is that free Internet can be found at many hostels and restaurants for paying customers), one of which I am making use of while the storm rages on. Just one mississippi between lightning and thunder = the storm is right over us! My oh my that breeze feels good. Those raindrops can keep on falling!

 

Time is on my side…?

Currently I am in the Hanoi Backpacker’s Hostel – the central headquarters of Hanoi for loud, young, beer-loving backpackers. I just got back from the tour of Halong Bay, which was lovely though now that I am back and comparing prices I realize that I seriously overpaid for the two-night trip. Was it worth it? Eh. I would have been fine going a more touristy route for a better price but what is done is done. At least I got some pictures.

I got back from the Halong Bay trip at 4:30 then immediately booked a four-stop bus ticket that will get me to Hue, Hoi An, Nha Trang, and Ho Chi Minh City. The bus was supposed to leave at 5:30 pm and it is almost 6:30 now. Sometimes things run slow but other backpackers going to the same destination have already been taken. We will see how this goes.

In the meantime, I have been doing some thinking about my proposed itinerary. I was thinking I would go through Vietnam, north to south, then cross overland into Cambodia. From Cambodia I would cross into Laos, and being so near my beloved host family I want to hop over to Thailand to visit them. I see my host dad is reading this blog: I miss you too! Will be there soon!

All of the above travel will take about a month or so. Since tomorrow is the first of July, that itinerary will last until August. From Bangkok, where is a girl to go? I was thinking of flying into Myanmar and exploring there for a few weeks and then going to India for at least a month, followed by a couple weeks in Europe. But at this pace I need to make some decisions. Either hurry up (I am moving rather slow except for today’s impulsive bus ticket purchase) and get to it all or go at a comfortable pace and don’t get to as much. I am thinking the latter option is the more suitable of the two.

Since I already have a visa to India and know virtually nothing about Myanmar (except that it is recently opened and is a really hot destination now soon to be changed by tourism) I think I will follow the dream of going to India. I have been talking to other travelers (including a German couple on a yearlong Asian tour, three months of which they spent in India. Wow!) and am liking the idea. So now I think I will spend all of August in India volunteering at an orphanage before hopping over to Europe to bum around for a couple weeks before reporting to Oxford on September 24th. With a little research I have found some music festivals in Germany that are the weekend of September 7-9. We have a heading!

So that is what I am thinking. Three months and some odd days sure sounds like a long time, but when you are on the road it goes quickly. Decisions have to be made and choices, responsible or not, are followed through. Whew!

Okay signing off to check on where the hell my bus is. Just breath and smile and remember the Thai mai ben rai .

Where am I and how did I get here?

The compound question that functions as the title of this post is one that I find myself asking with increased regularity. When the question is voiced, it is usually accompanied by a smile, headshake, and eyes to the skies. 

Take last night, for example. My new friends are Nigerian soccer players who live and work (i.e. play soccer) in Vietnam. Their Vietnamese is excellent and one of them has a scooter. So we met up, had dinner at a local place. Food for vegetarians is easy enough to come by. I asked someone to write out “I am vegetarian” in Vietnamese to make it easier to explain the situation. 

Dinner finished, Kennedy (the one with the scooter and flawless handle on the language) suggested that we go to a club. Yeah, sure, why not. I was thinking Ybor city and felt up for dancing. So we were off, passing through a nice part of town, until we pulled into a parking lot packed with scooters and Toyotas. We dismounted and went to an outdoor elevator where a man wearing black slacks, a pressed white shirt, and a red tie escorted us up. If his tie was black and a little bit thinner maybe he could have been a Mormon missionary. 

Up, up, and ding. Doors slide open. And… The Macarena? Yup. And the dance floor, which was a real parquet dance floor, was filled with Vietnamese men and women, young and old, swiveling their hips just like you would see at a nieghborhood block party in the States. Who would have thought? The three of us took a seat and watched the floor. The Macarena was followed by some more line dancing. I tried and failed horribly to join the line – three more hours of the same song and maybe my efforts would have been passable. But these people knew how to move it! And to all different kinds of music. Waltzes, a country-Western Christmas ballad, a variety of Latin dances. Young men dressed identically to the one that met us at the elevator were on hand to pluck the wallflowers and help them bloom. I went out a few times, staying in a corner and struggling to keep the rhythm. For the most part I was content to observe and ponder: where am I and how did I get here? Local Vietnamese dance club was not exactly on my list of things to do, but what an interesting place to end up. 

Towards the end of the evening there was a break for free-style dancing to electronic music. One lady (who I hope I am like fifty years from now) was dancing and pulling me in with a smile. Finally! I was up and in the crowd of families jamming to remixed Western tunes. Crossing cultural boundaries, baby!

~~~

Today was filled with museums, including the jail where John McCain was held when he was a POW. Of course the museum was one-sided, but conditions could have been much worse for the “pilots in pyjamas” held there. I also went to the women’s museum (Loved it! My respect for the women that I see here is greatly increased.), the Temple of Literature, and Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum. All in all a good nine hours of ambling through the streets of Hanoi. 

Tomorrow I have a three-day tour booked to see Halong Bay. The company was recommended by my bunk mate, who was good-naturedly woken up while I was rustling through my bags at his bedside. (Ah, the joys of hostels. No better way to meet people.) The tour will include kayaking, swimming, biking, trekking, a homestay, and beautiful views of the bay’s many islands. The picture below is like the one on display at the travel agency. Wow, right? Apparently a lot of travelers will go on party tours here, but my tour will be quieter and more cultural. I hope.

So that’s the deal for now. Peace!

 

 

First 24 Hours in Vietnam

Just as soon as I arrived in Kuala Lumpur it seemed that it was already time to go. Of course that was my own doing, and I cannot say that I was disappointed to leave. The haze continued to worsen, closing some local schools and producing an effect on my physiology roughly equivalent to chain-smoking for days on end. The cough is lingering but at least the headaches are gone.

Before continuing on to Vietnam, I want to address an observation I had in the last post about Malaysia’s flag. Upon further examination, it is apparent that the flag has fourteen red and white stripes, representing Malaysia’s fourteen states. The red stands for courage, the white for purity. The blue is for the unity of the diverse peoples of Malaysia. The yellow of the star and the moon are for the royal color, which is yellow. Interestingly, each state still has a royal family. The political system is designed to allow each provincial ruler power over the whole country for five years, at which point a new ruler will get to have a go on the political carousel. It has worked so far.

Another interesting tidbit that I gleaned from a fantastic (and free!) tour of Merdeka (Independence) Square is that in the 1940s, the Japanese invaded the Malaysian peninsula on bike and had the whole region on lock-down in a matter of weeks. Talk about pedal with some mettle.

Now, on to the latest musings. I have been in Vietnam for a solid twenty-four hours now. Yestserday I rolled off the plane and through customs with no difficulty. The whole pre-arranged visa is a crapshoot. Some holiday-makers got waved through without any previous arrangements while others were left to the mercy of an agonizing scrutiny of all their documents. I had the paperwork required and was given no hassle (except that the agent didn’t want to give me $15 change out of the $60 USD I had to pay. “People have been paying you all day – I know that you have change back there!” He relented and paid up.) and the next customs agent didn’t even look at my approval paperwork. It was worth doing for the peace of mind at least.

Bag collected, and off to find a way to get from Point A.irport to Point H.anoi. I saw a backpacker couple and suggested we share a ride to the Old Quarter, which is the hive and hub of Hanoi backpacking culture. They had reservations already, so I went to their hotel to get a map (where I happened to run into one of the girls I went snorkeling with in Nusa Lembongan – seriously, it is a small world) and directions to the nearest cluster of hostels.

The map was poorly marked and proved useless, as did my efforts to enlist the help of local people in placing me on the map. No luck. Until…! It was getting dark and I looked lost enough for someone to stop and offer assistance. A local? Who speaks English? With an iPhone to shed light on the hostel (never hostile) situation? Glory be! Her name for English-speakers was Ariel and she walked with me all the way to Backpackers Hanoi, which is a ritzy hostel with a lively crowd in the bar/lobby all day. Just like that, welcome to Vietnam!

This is proving to be my favorite place so far. Hanoi is a bustling city, with a strong local pulse that drums on even with the tourist presence. My observatons thus far…

Those conical pyramid hats that everyone thinks of when they think of Vietnam are not just tourist accessories like I thought they would be. They are a part of the daily attire for a large number of Vietnamese, especially laborers and the ladies walking the streets with a pole over one shoulder supporting a flat basket on both sides, balancing like scales of fruitty justice. Earlier today I quite unexpectedly became encumbered by one, with a hat to boot. The lady offered to take a picture -“no money! No money! Picture for you!” which I accepted. She then demanded that I buy some cut-up pineapple for 180,000 dong, which is about $6USD for some warm, slightly spoiled fruit. Highway robbery! I resisted, though a the bag of fruit (yellow as its contents) was not allowed to leave my hands. Finally, by dint of exasperated refusal, I was able to get away by parting with a more reasonable 30,000 dong. Some of the pineapple turned out to be okay and one of the pictures she took is actually pretty awesome (if I may say so myself), so all in all it worked out.

But, as a tourist, there are tons of scams here. Like I know the taxi driver gave himself a nice tip despite the meter when he brought us to the wrong place (which was thankfully at least near the right place) and dragged his feet about making change. Some places will also ask that you pay in USD and they give change in Vietnamese dong. In this case you are at the mercy of the exchange rate of the merchant, which is never in the savvy shopper’s favor.

In each new country, while contending with each new currency, I know I am getting ripped off. But I am learning quickly (I hope). Like the old adage says: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Nonetheless, there is a great energy here and I am dancing to the pulse of it. An ad in the elevator is asking for a tour guide, and I am seriously considering making an enquiry. I am taking my time and reveling in the indulgence of travel. Museums, new food, meeting fab people, no 21+ agism. At this pace, I am probably not going to reach Thailand for a month. The “plan” is to mosey down to Ho Chi Minh City over the course of a couple weeks, then from there weave up through Cambodia and Laos. Depending on the vibe, I am expecting to spend a week in each country…? Then cross into Thailand, grab a bus to Yasothon, and spend a week or so making the rounds there. Then… Myanmar. I don’t want to rush there either and am thinking of taking at least two weeks to check it out. So that brings me into… at least the middle of August? I was hoping to spend a solid month in India volunteering at an orphanage, but at this pace who can say? The only thing that is certain is that I will be at Oxford on September 24th and will hopefully be home for Christmas. Dad, shall we make a tradition out of last year’s events?

But all that talk of the future is getting ahead of myself. Right now, I am in Vietnam, sweating like pig and witnessing a pink lightshow on the clouds outside the fifth-storey hostel window. For the sake of time (I am meeting some new friends in an hour) I will revert to list form to share some more observations:

– Some women, particularly those who are riding scooters, wear long jackets with sleeves reaching past their fingertips. The jackets and matching facemasks are in floral prints that wouldn’t look out of place on dollar-store shower curtains from 1995. That’s a fashion statement even I will take a pass on, though they seem to pull it off.

– Songbirds hang in ornamental cages outside many storefronts. Old trees line the streets, and if it weren’t for the whiz of the traffic many places would be quite serence with the addition of sweet avian voices.

– But the traffic! Honking is constant. There are seemingly no rules, though people generally seem to drive on the right side of the road. Besides that, it is a free-for-all. I am already used to having scooters whiz by passing within a few inches of my person. (Hold onto your purse! Don’t be a target!) Crossing the street can make me think about reaching out to Jesus or Buddha or whoever happens to be in the neighborhood. I went across a five-lane thoroughfare today that was a bit of a doozy. But I’m alive! Sometimes you just have to go and hold a steady pace so that you are predictable. Unpredictable pedestrians, like unpredictable drivers, are more likely to invite accident. Still, I kind of feel like the grandma in Mulan who tests the luckiness of a cricket my walking across the road carrying it with her eyes closed. That’s pretty much how it happens here.

– Outdoor seating is common, though the seats tend to be no more vertically gifted than a big-boned chihuahua (speaking of anatomy, not Dogopoly). Drinking in the streets is not technically allowed, so when the police make the rounds all of the illicit watering holes mysteriously dry up only to refill (sorry, not on the house) a few minutes later.

– My museum for today was a Vietnamese History Museum, which got me all riled up. I could still use a clearer picture but my goodness these people have been subjected to a lot in the past couple centuries. I learned that the socialist party was formed and active in the 1920s, making our mission of “containment” forty years later seem like a load of baloney. Drs. Parssinen, if you are reading this, know that I am looking forward to your Spring 2014 class “America in the 1960s” even more now. In the meantime, I shed some tears and thought about the documentary Hearts and Minds.

– As an American, I was wondering if there would be any animosity towards me since the generations have not completely cycled through. Some of the old ladies sitting on the chihuahua stools could probably say more than any museum exhibit. But I have felt nothing but warmth here, which is a relief. I am seeking out the Vietnamese perspective in the museums (HCM City has a lot of them) but am using interaction with locals to learn the language and customs instead.

Images of Singapore

The colonial ties in Singapore are still strongly felt. Everyone speaks English, and some ties are still felt as this nifty motorbike parked in Little India may suggest.

Teh C (tea with sugar and condensed milk) is a popular drink in Singapore. I tried this cup out of a cute cafe in the Arab District.

Haw Par Villa is an at-times quirky at-times freaky larger-than-life display of Chinese mythology. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I am pretty sure that the writing on top of this cave says “Welcome to Hell.” Inside there were displays of the afterlife punishments for different wrongdoings in the mortal plane.

One of my favorite things about this trip is the ready abundance of Indian food. Oftentimes (like at lunch today) the food is served on a banana leaf (with a spoon and fork for the white girl – I will admit that I do need lessons on eating rice with my fingers in a way that does not completely soil myself) and is delicious and cheap. This thali was a welcome addition to a day filled with walking around the parks of Singapore.

The Singapore botanical gardens are world-class. I was able to hoof it to the orchid garden (at the other end of the park from the MRT station) and snap some pictures at dusk. The variety and abundance of radiant orchids was a delight.

When a famous personality visits the garden, they get an orchid named after them. I dub this one Orchidaceae kellianus.*

Marina Bay Gardens, located on land reclaimed from the sea located behind the iconic three-towered Marina Bay Sands, is yet another green oasis/wonderland. This photo was taken at the entry of the gardens. Those supertrees in the back are enormous and look like they are straight out of a sci-fi movie about colonizing some distant land with life from earth. Someday the trees will be covered with green, but for now much of the plants are still in the lower level.

*For the biologists out there, Orchidaceae is the family, not the genus of orchid plants. But I like the flow and am willing to bend on this flight of fancy for the sake of humor.

Bye bye Bali, Selamat datang ke Malaysia!

My last days in Bali were perhaps the highlight of the trip so far. The day following my previous post I decided to get up early and book a ferry ticket to take me back to Bali from Nusa Lembongan. Upon landing, I marched through taxi stands and shuttle offers (only good for a minimum of four people) with no direction other than forward.

It was not long before a blue bemo caught my attention. The driver was a smiling man and the passenger in the front seat had a warm look about her. “Downtown Denpesar?” She asked. Sure, why not. We agreed on a price and I climbed in. The side door of the minibus is perpetually open, but the doorway is small and it is a rather comical sight to see a person encumbered in such a fashion as a backpacker clambering in. On my hands and knees I crawled to the back of the vehicle to sit on a spare tire with my pack resting on the bench.

At the Bali Museum, a central location, I paid my fare and wriggled out. The folks at the museum were kind enough to allow me to leave my big pack behind the desk while I wandered the museum (adequately informative but reeking of mothballs) and the city. And I do mean wandered. The streets are terrifying to cross as traffic lights are few and far between and even when they are present they are not always heeded. I turned around a few times, going up this street and down another, with no clear direction. After a few inquiries of “informasi too-ris?” I was able to find the tourist information center for Denpasar. Lovely people! Free map, free info booklet, free postcards, and a free local call to the friend of a friend in Seminyak. The grumpy mood of my hot, hungry, and lost self was lifted somewhat.

Armed with a map and a plan for the evening, lunch was the next priority. Lonely Planet Bali and my new map recommended the central market, which I found without much difficulty. A lady sitting outside her shop, after it was determined that I was not interested in buying anything other than food, taught me how to cross the street in the local style to reach the market. Since openings are few and far between, one must simply walk out into the street with one’s arm raised and walk determinedly forward. Motorbikes and cars will supposedly slow down. Miraculously, it worked! Twice: to get there and back. I don’t think I’ll press my luck for a third time.

This meal was certainly the most authentic meal yet. My traffic teacher told me that food could be found on the top floor of the market. Weaving my way through narrow aisles bursting with colorful fabrics and Hindu articles for worship, I came to a dark end. Of the aisles, I mean. There, I found a) that I was the only boolay (foreigner) and b) where the local people go to eat. I stood around the edge, hesitant and observing, when a woman invited me in English to sit down. “Vegetarian?” “Oh yes yes” she replied and said something incomprehensible to the mama manning the food stall. “Sit, sit!” And so I did and waited, grabbing a sweet drink next door while I waited.

When the sweet drink was more than half gone, a plate of true gado-gado was put in front of me. Veggies, real peanuts (not the sauce like the tourist places use), and a spicy sauce. Yum.

Fed and sweetened, I returned to the museum to collect my bags in much better humor than before. Upon leaving I was plied with offers of “Taksi! Taksi!” I accepted a ride from a motorbike and off we were to Seminyak. Motorbikes are cheaper and faster than cars (because of the way they weave through traffic) but are none too comfortable for persons wearing a large pack to the rear and a regular bag in front. Must remember for next time.

In any case, I made it, safe and sound, to the jungle house of Charles. Charles is a friend of my MIA travel partner, and I have been in touch with him since landing on the island. Finally we meet! He has a lovely open-air house near the beach. Ten years ago, there was a clear view of the beach and nothing but rice fields around. But the area is developing rapidly and Charles has a mind to move somewhere more isolated. In any case, it is a beautiful house filled with beautiful company. People come and go, just as I did in my less than twenty-four hour stint there, but what a lovely time it was.

After talking with such soulful company, I took time to reflect while en route to Kuala Lumpur. Mostly about the life lessons that can be learned while traveling solo. At first I was frightened of the uncertainty and of traveling alone, but I have come to embrace it. Bali was where Jim and I were intending to spend the summer, but now that I am alone I am free to make my own itinerary and fly along by the seat of my pants (or salwar, depending on the outfit at the time) to whatever port calls. It feels good to make and execute plans and feel confident that I can navigate my own way around this great world of ours, learning and seeing and eating and doing whatever pleases me.

Getting out of the bug at KL Sentral, the transportation hub, a flagpole stood bearing what appeared to be a limp American flag. Red and white stripes, blue in the corner. Could it be…? A puff of wind inflated her slightly and I saw that it was not the stars and stripes. Rather is was the star, moon and stripes. The resemblance to the U.S. flag with the Islamic influence is somewhat striking. Was it intended? Perhaps I will be able to find out in the next day. In any case, it will be a clever addition to the flag collection I keep of each country I visit.

So here I am in Kuala Lumpur. I got in on Friday (it is Sunday night now) and would have booked a ticket out today if there was one available at a reasonable time and price. The people are quite friendly, willing to talk, give directions, and administer reminders to be safe and drink water. Master Chee, a martial arts master and photographer who printed my passport photos, gave me tea while talking about China, exercise, and the safety precautions that he is hired to give to the Malaysian police. AJ, a curator at the cultural center, talked at length about the joys of traveling alone, how things happen for a reason, and gave more safety advice. Namely, don’t go out alone at night. He had a scar on each arm from separate mugging incidents. Careful, Kelly. I’m listening to these people and ignoring those few who make kissing noises at me when I walk by after dark. Damn blonde hair can attract undue attention. 

Now is an interesting time to be in Kuala Lumpur, for the experience of international pollution if nothing else. Political and geographic borders mean nothing to the clouds of haze that has drifted northward from Sumatra (a large island in Indonesia) and engulfed Singapore and much of the Malaysian peninsula. I was hoping to get down to Malacca and maybe up to Penang, but am quite satisfied to be leaving for Hanoi, Vietnam on Tuesday. Here there is a proper haze indeed! I noticed it upon landing and thought that Malaysia was just a little smoggy by nature, but such is not usually the case. Today was the worst yet, and I am wearing a mask à la swine flu epidemic. The 7-Elevens are sold out. Police are handing mask rations out in the streets. It’s the latest fashion.

My eagerness to leave Kuala Lumpur stems not just from the unsightly haze but from the toll it is taking on my health. Runny nose, chest cough, headache, tired body. Check check check check. Do I have a fever or is it just the trapped heat of the city? Yes. I am, in short, slightly ill.

Happily, however, I relocated to a nice hostel in Chinatown (Raizzy’s Guesthouse) which is clean, full of people, and is a good place to chill. And so I am. Good progress is being made in the reading department (Jitterbug Perfume may be left here along with my Lonely Planet Pocket Singapore and Bali) and I took the first nap I have had since the journey began. My nature is inclined to squeeze as much as I can out of every place by wandering the streets, but today I was more content to stay in. At least I still made it to Batu Caves (a Hindu temple inside caves that is swarming with tourists and is easily accessible by train) and the National Museum (which was less easy to reach, allowing me only ten minutes of browsing in each of the four galleries. The exhibit about the Malay empires was the most sumptuous and therefore my favorite.) as well as dinner at a food court in Chinatown.

Tomorrow hopefully the smog will clear a bit and the walking tour I have booked to see Merdeka (Independence) Square will be more pleasant.

Well the cups of tea that I drank while typing and reading are getting to me, and it is probably time to allow someone else a turn on the hostel computer. Much love from Malaysia to all!

Bicycles, banyans, boats

Two days ago I woke up with the roosters (not an unusual occurrence when there are so many around), packed my bags, and hopped in a shuttle bound for the top of one of Bali’s mountains. I was joined by a couple from Canada on their honeymoon (it was their one-week anniversary) and a gang of ladies from Australia out having some girl time. Together we rode, past terraced rice paddies (we stopped for a picture) and various plantations. Breakfast was held overlooking a crater lake and streaks of blackened earth folding over the side of Mount Baktur, Bali’s active volcano that erupted most recently in 2000. 

From there, we stopped at a plantation to sample various Balinese coffees and teas and to learn about useful plants as well as the source of the expensive “Lewak coffee.” Lewaks, mongoose-like mammals, are voracious consumers of the finest coffee beans from right off the tree. The beans are digested and passed still whole, coming out looking less like a Snickers and more like salted peanuts. Then they are washed and ground into coffee so good it has to be tasted twice. I did try it and there was nothing unusual as far as the taste is concerned.

From there we finally got a move on with the bike ride. We passed through villages, forests, and rice paddies. All along the way children would call out “Hellooo!” and wave. Our cadre of cyclists responded in turn. The whole ride was mostly downhill, though there were a few groan-worthy ups for this native flat-lander.

Afterwards, I was dropped off at the monkey forest and left to face my fate. Before coming here I saw the Amazing Race episode that took place in Bali and felt compelled to see the place for myself. The Monkey Forest really is a lovely little preserve, where the drone of scooter traffic is greatly reduced by the mossy trees. The monkeys themselves are amusing and seemingly easily amused. I feared for my person (espcially my glasses) but since I carried no food I was of no interest to them. That is, until it started to rain at which point I took shelter under a banyan tree with the critters. What a situation: to be taking shelter with a family of distant relatives. They carried on with their business, though after a bit one of them did come next to me to look and start to unbutton the pockets of my khakis and paw at my bag. I tried to push his hand away, which was met with bared teeth. Friendly as they seem, these are still wild animals. I moved along despite the rain.

That was my great excitement on Monday. That, and the adventure of finding a place to stay. My previous accommodation held my bags after check-out, and I was not able to retrieve them until after dark. Then, bags in tow, I walked in search of a place. In addition to the people that always ask “taxi? Taxi? You need taxi?” now there were people plying me with “room? Room? You need room?” Some offered both. I declined and forged on, knowing that there was a bounty of guesthouses off the main road. I took a quiet alley and came upon an entrance to two places to stay. A person was coming out of the left side, so I chose that way and found a place to my liking. 

The interior had rattan walls, which gave the feeling of being in an actual Balinese home. It was a modest room, with touchy lightswitches and a one-speed ceiling fan (slow with no A/C to help it along) but I liked it nonetheless. Especially nice was reclining on the porch outside, listening to the family chatter with the music of a gamelan drifting into the compound from a nearby dance. Add in the sound of crickets and a gentle rainfall and it was perfectly lovely. Mama-san’s banana pancake the next morning sealed the deal.

Alas, I was to stay only one night as I had a ticket booked for Sanur the next day. Sanur is a beach town just east of Denpasar, the capitol, from which ferries run to a number of nearby islands. Another girl in the shuttle was going on to Nusa Lembongan, one of said islands, so on a whim I decided to follow suit.

The ferry was built like a Balinese fishing boat, canoe-like in shape with hollow poles stretching out on both side for stability. This was the slow boat, but the trip was lovely. En route I spoke with another passenger, Sylvie, who is from Argentina but has flawless English and teaches the language (in addition to Spanish) in various locales. We got on well and decided to share accommodations upon landing on the island. Like me, she is traveling alone and following whims and the advice of other travelers. A friend of hers recommended Bunga Bungalows, which is where we are staying now.

Today was spent in search of a nice beach. Lembongan does not have stretches of pristine sand. In fact, much of the sand is quite rough with pieces of rock and coral thrown in for good measure. People spend as much time harvesting seaweed as they do catering to tourists, which is a refreshing change.

During our trek to find a decent beach, we met up with two American girls (one of whom is an English teacher at the end of her contract here in Indonesia) and decided to charter a boat for snorkeling. What a splendid idea! The wonder below the water really makes up for the lack thereof at the edge of it. Little pink fingers swayed in the current. Neon green shapes held their ground. Angelfish hung along the bottom in pairs or threesomes, parrotfish nibbled the coral with audible clicks. At the border of the reef and open water a veritable highway of blue fins streamed north. Yellow trumpet fish came quite near, though not near enough to blow. The colors and numbers of fish were amazing.

So perhaps we didn’t find an island paradise, but what a substitute!

And now the sun has set and I am winding around the shacks near the water. Maybe there will be somewhere with ice cream in my path – fingers crossed on that one!

Tomorrow will be another day on the island. Then Friday I will catch a ferry to the mainland (or main island, depending on how you look at it) to spend a few more days near the water before heading out. I haven’t booked anything yet, but chances are good that I will be flying to Kuala Lumpur for a taste of Malaysia before pressing onward. The amount of time it takes to get a visa for Vietnam will determine how long I will stay on the peninsula.

But that is all in the seemingly distant future. For now, ice cream is a more pressing matter.

Lonely Planet

In Singapore, my copy of Lonely Planet’s Pocket Guide to Singapore was invaluable. The maps were excellent and most (but not all – a notable exception was half of the red circle line subway map was missing) of the information was good and up-to-date. I made much use of it. That said, Singapore is a very clean, efficient place. Some parts of it look like what you would see in a model city projected to be complete in 2035 or so but there it is right in front of you, purring along. And the gardens! There are veritable jungles within five minutes walk from certain MRT stops. It was a great place to ease into Asia.

And now I am on my third day in Bali. These computers are dreadfully slow, hence my lack of a post in a few days. But all is well here. I am staying in Ubud, a place that the guidebooks call the cultural capitol of the island. Indeed, I have been witness to a cremation ceremony in town (along with perhaps a hundred other uninvited tourists), seen beautiful carvings and paintings being crafted right before my eyes, and been to a traditional dance. The dance is a tourist show, but it was fascinating nonetheless. I have seen people going about their daily lives, laughing with friends and doing laundry in an irrigation canal outside of their homes. At a far-flung temple I visited yesterday I saw women bathing in the nude in the sacred waters. Offerings of flowers and candy and other small objects are put outside the home at least once daily, as far as I can tell. Offerings on the ground are to appease demons to keep them at bay. Offerings in a ledge or a small shrine are to welcome good spirits. The air itself seems to be perfumed with incense and flowers, especially in the evening. Bali is a lush and beautiful place.

As such, it is overrun with tourists. July and August are the peak months, but already in June there are plenty of other foreigners. Unlike in Singapore, visitors here are given notice. Unfortunately, this notice is of the worst kind. I am constantly hassled by people trying to sell me things (all outrageously priced by local standards – I learned from a fellow traveler, Ruthi, that you should ask for one-third of what they initially say and go from there) and asking if I want “transport? Transport? Where you go? What you country?” It is exhausting, really. The politer ones I dismiss with a smile, the more dogged ones I completely ignore. Usually they get the picture. I have only been followed once so far.

Ubud may have once been the cultural center, but now that culture has been overshadowed by commercialized spirituality. Need to buy “accessories for the soul?” You can get it in Ubud. Don’t worry, they take all major credit cards. There is also a lack of public transportation, which is frustrating. The alternative is to hire a private car, which can get expensive, or take a tourist shuttle, which takes much longer to arrive.

Today I had a first-hand experience with a variety of transportation options on the island. It started with a pre-arranged tourist shuttle that picked me up where I am staying at 7 am. It was bound for a place on the east coast called Candi Dasa. I picked it at the tourist office for no reason other than “Candi” (pronounced chan-di) looks like “candy” and it appeared to be on the water. So this morning off I went and, after one shuttle transfer, I was there. I was dropped off on a street near the water that was lined with restaurants, hotels, and men with motorcycles offering me transport. There was no beach to speak of, just a seawall with rocks at the base. I walked. After a spell, a bemo, or minibus with the backseats replaced by two parallel benches, offered to drive me to the beach for 50,000 rupiahs ($5). I got him down to 20,000 rupiahs ($2) and know that I still over-payed. In any case, he picked up a few more people along the way before stopping and pointing to a sign saying that there was a beach 1 km away. It pointed down a local road (I would say narrow but all Balinese roads are narrow, oftentimes frighteningly so) and off I went. From the openings in the trees around the rice paddies ahead, it seemed that I was perpetually nearing the beach. Then the road would turn and cut back on itself. After a mile or so, I determined that there likely was no beach at the end of the road. Either that, or I had taken a wrong turn, which was unlikely. Precisely then, an old man pulled up on a beater of a scooter and desperately offered me transport. He came at the right time, so I haggled for a fairer price and climbed on, going back over the rocky and pot-holed road I had just walked. The fifteen minute ride was a breath-holder, that’s for sure. People here dart in and out of traffic whether they are on a motorbike or in a car. Everyone honks at each other as a way of saying “I’m coming through so get out of the way!” Stop lights are rare and often unheeded. No way would I drive here. And yet I have not seen any fatalities. It seems to flow, somehow.

Long story short, my beach day was a bust and required a number of transfers between modes of transportation to arrive back in Ubud. It could have been a waste-of-time ordeal, but since I got myself into it I took the opportunity to observe local life and get started on reading Jules Verne’s Around the World in Eighty Days.

Perhaps I may find some parallels with this book because I, too, am on a journey around the world. Due to modern transportation I am more able to enjoy the sites than Phileas Fogg was even while covering a comparable amount of territory in a comparable amount of time. In the very least, it is a fun notion to entertain. 

And now, I have an update regarding my travel plans. I was tempted to have a separate blog post beginning with “I have a confession,” though doing so would imply that I have done something wrong in a case where I have not. But the update is that I have been and will be traveling alone this summer. The original intention was to stay in Bali and rent a house for the summer with my partner, Jim. Two days before we were to fly to Singapore, he found that he would be detained from leaving until at least three days after the scheduled flight, maybe later. Since I had no reason to stay in Tampa, I decided to fly over on the scheduled day and meet him here in Asia. However, due to unfortunate circumstances, he will not be able to join me at all this summer.

At first I was terrified. He did much of the planning for this trip and I felt wildly unprepared to be on my own for such an extended period of time. I made pro-con lists for whether I should return to the U.S. or continue to travel. I thought a lot. Made lists. Talked to other travelers. And the verdict was a resounding “carry on, mate!” So here I am, alone in Bali and plotting my next move. The adventure of it is enormously exciting (so much so that sometimes I have trouble sleeping) and it seems ludicrous that just a week ago I was thinking of aborting this travel!

In bars, hostels, and on the street I am meeting many other travelers. They give great advice and the majority travel alone, which is heartening. There will be good days and there will be bad days, but isn’t that just how life is? Yesterday I met Ruthi, a Canadian-Israeli, who is traveling in Indonesia and has spent years on the road besides. We met at a cremation and then decided to rent a car together to check out some temples and then attended the dance together. We may do a trip to the south on Sunday. It is nice to have company, especially with someone like her. Plus, as she says in her blog, “Bali is no place for the solo budget traveler.” Things aren’t so bad if you share, and she is a ruthless bargainer. This doesn’t have to be a lonely planet if you open yourself up to it.

And who knows what other fascinating people I will meet on this trip? Or where I will go, for that matter. At the moment I do not have a flight out of Bali, though I am not inclined to hang around here. There is a 99% chance that my next destination will be Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia as that is a major hub for flights out of Denpasar, Bali. After that I am thinking of flying into Vietnam (already working on the visa) and checking out Laos and Cambodia since I did not do that during my year abroad.

I am almost ashamed to admit that I was balking at visiting my most wonderful and loving host family in Thailand while I am here. I can’t really explain the reasoning behind it, only that I feel guilty for my bad communication and am afraid to sully the memory of a most amazing year. But I have been shown the light by none other than two passionate AFS volunteers I met who were here to attend their host daughter’s wedding in Jakarta. They had some amazing AFS stories and put my head on straight. So it is official, Ms Kelly is going home! Now I just have to let them know.

So, just to recap, I am in Bali and plan on staying in Malaysia for a spell en route to Vietnam, Laos, Thailand and Cambodia. This I expect will take a few weeks. Then I hope to go to Myanmar, which I heard is a fascinating place to see (but with complicated visa regulations) where I hope to spend at least a week (but no more than 28 days). This will bring me into mid-July. And then… India? I have a visa already and a couple contacts, so I figure it is a natural step. No comment on when or where or what I will do there, but if I do go I want to stay at least a month.

And that’s enough planning for now, yeah? At the very least I have a few more days in Bali and then it is on to… somewhere else!