Short Stories, Book and Movie Reviews and anything Creative

Spicy Food in Muslim Asia

2010-06-11T11:02:00.000-07:00

As the rain pours outside, I pack my bag. Frustrated, I contemplate to myself why I spent yet another night tossing and turning despite the fact that I was exhausted by the time I lied down to get some rest. Nights like these are becoming much too common for my liking. Was it because I was sleeping on a padded mat on the floor of my friend’s Singapore apartment? Not really as the air conditioning was on and the mat was pretty comfortable. Was it because I drank a lot the night before? No to that too. Who knows, but it will take some caffeine to get me going today. Enthusiasm will help also and I am excited to travel from Singapore to Malacca today before moving onto Kuala Lumpur tomorrow.

Jami and I are in a hurry and it is a mad rush in Singapore as we attempt to make it to the Golden Mile Complex to catch our bus. We arrive 5 minutes late at 10:35 AM and are fortunate that we are still able to board the bus. We got lucky as it doesn’t look like the bus was going to wait one more minute before taking off. The ride to Malacca is pleasant as there are huge green trees flanking the Malaysian highways. Along the way, we make a stop at a café and I order a Malay curry noodle dish. They say Malay curries are the best and I am not disappointed as my curry noodles with tofu, chili and egg is outstanding. The food in Singapore has been wonderful and from the looks of it and from what Jami has told me, Malaysia will surely not disappoint me in this regard.

We arrive in Malacca and it is apparent immediately to me that Malacca is not Singapore. The two hour bus ride has brought me into a completely different environment. The majority of the women I see are dressed in traditional Islamic dress although the faces of most of the women are fully visible and most of the restaurants and shops that I pass by seem to be operated by women. Malaysia is a Muslim country but it is a modern Muslim country that prides itself on the peaceful cohabitation of its Sunni Islamic majority and its significant Chinese and Indian non Muslim populations. While Malacca doesn’t feel poor, the standard of living is significantly different than that of clean, modern and wealthy Singapore. This much is obvious immediately. Malacca Town is the capital city of the Malaysian state of Malacca. The site where the city of Malacca stands today was the capital of the Malaccan Sultanate and was the center of the Malay world in the 15th and the 16th centuries after the Malays moved over from Sumatra, an island in Western Indonesia. While the Dutch, British and Portuguese all took turns passing through and attempting to colonize Malacca, Malacca’s creation of a language, count system and royal lineage has had an undeniable long term affect on the country. However, since the founding of Singapore in 1819, Malacca has been in slow decline as Singapore and Kuala Lumpur have grown. Today, it is a popular tourist spot in Malaysia and has been listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2008.

After settling into our hotel, we walk to the nearby city center to explore Malacca by foot. Jami has a friend in Malacca named Juyang that meets us and welcomes us to her town with warm smiles and laughter. As we walk around, Jami and Juyang converse mostly in Mandarin Chinese while I jump in and out of the conversation occasionally by way of translation with Jami. We are all thirsty so our first stop is for a drink and a snack at a nearby cafe. I immediately make an ass of myself when my bad habit of leaning back on my chair to the point where the legs of the chair are off the ground fails me. To start with, I am the only apparent Westerner here and definite the only one with white skin. This makes my folly all the more noticeable when the leg of my plastic chair gives out and I crash to the ground nearly knocking over a floor fan in the process. Jami and Juyang, in addition to a few other patrons, get a good laugh at my expense while I just want to regroup and get my butt back on the chair. After getting back seated properly, the beer I ordered couldn’t come fast enough. Although the beer can’t wash away my embarrassment, it is refreshing given the heat and humidity. In addition to some drinks, Jami also orders a dish of mee goreng. Mee goreng is a staple dish in Malaysian cuisine that is made with thin yellow noodles that are fried with garlic, onions, chilies, tomatoes and either pork, prawns, beef or chicken. Our dish is prepared with pork and the flavors mesh together perfectly to create something special. I can see how dishes like this can become addictive as I am not even that hungry but end up making sure every last noodle is accounted for. After finishing the mee goreng, Juyang suggests that we order a sweet drink called cendal. It is a stretch to call cendal a drink as it is more like a dessert consisting of thin, green worm like pandan flavored noodles that are topped with palm sugar, coconut milk, red beans and shaved ice. Pandan has a unique taste that is somewhat nutty. It is to Asian cooking what vanilla is to Western cooking. While the dish doesn’t look all that appetizing, it tastes pretty good although it is very sweet. Feeling full, as this snack has turned into a meal, Juyang explains that she needs to leave us to run some errands but will meet us for dinner later this evening.

Jami and I continue exploring the city, walking in and out of many Asian artifact stores selling Malacca’s famous beaded sandals, artwork and jewelry. The shopkeepers and vendors are busy setting up their stalls for the popular night markets that take place on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. These night markets are especially popular with the hordes of Singaporean tourists that love to take weekend getaways to Malacca to shop and eat. We eventually end up at Cheng Hoon Teng Temple. This Taoist temple is the oldest functioning temple in Malaysia. Impressive and extremely colorful, the main hall is dedicated to the Goddess of mercy and is flanked by several smaller prayer quarters. I enjoy sitting down, crossing my legs and immersing myself in the environment. It is hard not to sit down and meditate when you are in such a tranquil environment. It is quiet with many worshippers sitting with their eyes closed, some making a slight humming sound and the scent of burning joss sticks is in the air around us. After a relaxing 15 minutes, I emerge from the temple to find Jami waiting for me. We continue to stroll through the town and it continues to grow on me with its attractive river and smiling people. My initial impression of Malacca is that it reminds me of charming Hoi An in Vietnam as it is small enough that you can get lost while wandering through its charming streets without straying too far from the city center. Eventually we make our way back to our hotel to take a cool, refreshing shower before dinner. Given the dishes I’ve tried already, I am very excited to sink my teeth into more Malaysian cuisine this evening.

Juyang arrives at our hotel to pick us up with her friend Xuan and her husband Edmund. Edmund is a Portuguese Malay while Juyang is Chinese. This is a mixed marriage on all accounts as Edmund is Catholic while Juyang is Buddhist. He has European roots while hers are purely Asian. They seem to be a loving and charming couple. As Edmund drives away from our hotel, Jami whispers to me that Juyang invited her husband to dinner partially because he speaks English well. Apparently, he uses English frequently in his profession as a livestock trader and she thought that he could keep me entertained. I smile when Jami tells me this; Juyang’s thoughtfulness is touching.

Fifteen minutes later, Edmund pulls off the side of the road and drives in the direction of what looks to be an oversized shack with 20-30 plastic tables sitting on a parcel of land under the open air. Upon seeing the restaurant, I start to get excited. As we get out of Edmund’s car, he mentions that this restaurant is known for its fresh seafood. Given Malacca’s close proximity to the Straits of Malacca, it is supposed to be cheap and inexpensive to get high quality fish and seafood here.

As we walk up to the restaurant and look for an open table, it is hard for me to contain my excitement. I just have this feeling, this buzz that this is going to be one of those unforgettable dining experiences you remember forever. Given the fact that we are 15 minutes outside of downtown Malacca, I am pretty sure that there are no tourists in this restaurant besides me and Jami. There is certainly no one that looks like me and none of the other patrons are dressed like anyone in our group in our casual, short and T-shirt and casual dress gear. In fact, everyone at the restaurant except for our party appears to be Muslim based on how they are dressed. As I survey the restaurant and notice the rising smoke that appears to be coming from behind the restaurant, I walk in the direction of the smoke and observe that the food is being cooked in pans on top of a number of grills behind the restaurant. The building in the middle, the restaurant, has washrooms, storage space and preparation kitchen space, but there are no inside tables. There are 20 to 30 open air tables surrounding the building. Needless to say, the restaurant is apparently closed when the showers come as there is no protection from the weather. Near what I would describe as the front of the restaurant, at least that is where we entered the restaurant from, there are large display tanks that are loaded with fresh fish and seafood. I ask Edmund how you are supposed to order and he explains that you approach the person working behind the display tanks, select what you want and tell the person working how you want each selection to be prepared. Everything is cooked to order. All of the women agree that Edmund should choose the dishes that we will share at our table. While I don’t object, I am way too curious to not tag along with Edmund and see how this whole process works.

Edmund and I walk up to the tanks and survey what is available. After a moment or two, Edmund points at a live fish in one of the tanks and says that we would like this fish prepared spicy with chilies. He then selects some crabs and tells the person working that we want these prepared with a sweet and sour sauce. As I observe this process, my eyes grow bigger and I stare in awe at the still alive crabs and fish that will be on our table in 15 or 20 minutes. We move onto the display case next to the tanks which is filled with ice and has an assortment of squid, prawns and octopus laid out atop the ice. Edmund points to the prawns and offers instructions, explaining that we want the prawns fried with mild chilies and butter. The last item he selects is a large squid with the instructions that it should be prepared with hot chilies. As Edmund says this, I wonder to myself “Aren’t all chilies hot?” We walk back to our table and sit down. I waste no time embarrassing myself for the second time today when the waiter asks for my drink order and I ask for a beer. The waiter’s response is a blank stare which turns into a smile and friendly laugh. He doesn’t even need to explain that they don’t serve alcohol as I immediately recognize my mistake. Despite all the signs around me, I haven’t pieced things together and don’t realize that this is a pretty strict Muslim establishment. Just as strict followers of Islam don’t eat pork, they also don’t drink alcohol. In lieu of a cold beer, I order a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. Our drinks arrive shortly and we sit and chat while we wait for our meal to arrive. After a few minutes, my attention begins to wane and I begin to look around at my surroundings. We are sitting outside on the side of the road amongst 50 to 60 people enjoying a Saturday evening dinner with family and friends. Everyone except for our party of 5 is dressed in traditional Muslim clothing. There isn’t a tourist in site. I think to myself, “This is the essence of travelling. This is what makes the long trips and jet lag all worth it.”

The Muslim history of Malaysia is an interesting one. As defined by the constitution of Malaysia, all Malays must be Muslim, regardless of their ethnic heritage; otherwise, legally, they are not Malay. There are associated privileges with being a Malay Muslim with entitlements including affirmative action policies in university admissions and discounts on the purchases of vehicles and real estate. Islam in Malaysia is thus closely associated with the Malay people although not all Malays are Muslim as there are substantial numbers of Indian Muslims and some Chinese Malaysians have also converted to Islam. Interestingly, these non Malay Muslims do not receive the same privileges that the Malays receive due to their status unless they have a Malay parent in addition to some other requirements.

Our meal begins with a basket of nasi lemak. Nasi Lemak is a base accompaniment to many of the entrees served in Malaysian cuisine. In Kuala Lumpur, it is called the national dish, a national heritage of Malaysia. Traditionally, nasi lemak comes wrapped in banana leaves and consists of rice with cucumber slices, small dried anchovies, roasted peanuts, hardboiled egg, and hot spicy sauce or sambal packed into a compact cake. There are 15-20 nasi lemak packages in the basket on our table and each rice cake is wrapped in newspaper. In addition, the server has brought a bamboo container of otak-otak. This dish is another common accompaniment to the main courses consisting of fish paste mixed with coconut milk, chili paste and garlic or shallots. It is then wrapped in a banana leaf and steamed. We can’t wait for the entrees so we taste both of these dishes before the entrees arrive. I’ve had nasi lemak numerous times in Singapore but this is the best rendition I’ve had. The steam makes the nasi lemak sticky so I need to pull chunks of rice off and pop them into my mouth. The combination of sweet coconut and spicy chili paste combat the strong fishy flavor in the otak-otak. While the combination is strange, it has a wonderfully complex flavor. Within minutes, long platters of food begin arriving on our table. First the chili squid arrives, followed by the prawns and the crabs. The last dish to arrive is the whole fish Edmund selected 20 minutes ago when it was still swimming in the tank. Now, it is snuggly tucked into a banana leaf on a platter in front of us. As I look at the feast before my eyes, I begin to form a plan of attack. There are no plates on the table and there are no napkins. The only thing other than the platters and bowls of food are some small bowls of sauces and forks and spoons. I am in unfamiliar territory and need to watch the actions of the others to see how they proceed. It appears that the newspaper that the nasi lemak is wrapped in is supposed to serve as our plate. Following the actions of the others, I unwrap a nasi lemak package and begin to put different piles on my “plate”. A few prawns, a crab, a scoop of fish and some squid. I eat the same way the women eat which is the same way I ate in Singapore. The fork goes in the left hand and the spoon goes in the right. The fork is used to push food onto the spoon which goes directly into my mouth. Bite after bite, my mouth explodes in ecstasy as the intense combination of flavors – chilies, fish paste, sweet and sour, hotter chilies, lime and some kind of onion sauce to be used with the fish – challenge my taste buds like never before. After a few spoonfuls of intense eating, I look around and notice that Edmund is the only person at our table not using utensils. He is eating with his hands. I then look around at some of the other tables and notice that most people seem to be eating with their hands. Edmund explains that it is common for Malay Muslims to eat with their hands. I waste no time in adjusting as I push my silverware to the side and begin to eat like the locals. Edmund notices my adjustment and smiles, indicating approval. The women laugh as they notice the sweat accumulating on my forehead and brow as I feverishly eat chunks of spicy prawns and squid. I look up and smile, order another orange juice and then go back to my meal. The flavors are addictive. I pull off bits of nasi lemak and mash small pieces of fish and squid together with the rice before putting them into my mouth. I pick up a crab and use my teeth to crack the shell before pulling out the sweet flavored meat that is influenced by the tasty sweet and sour sauce. With no signs of a napkin, I lick my fingers to clean them although even my fingers are tingling slightly from the hot chilies. Feeling like I need to wash my hands, I remember that I noticed a line of people earlier that appeared to be waiting in line to wash their hands in a sink next to the washrooms. As I head towards the sink, I think to myself, “This scene must be comical”. Here I am, the only Caucasian in the restaurant dressed in shorts and a T shirt in line behind a bunch of darker skinned Malaysians dressed in traditional Islamic dress, including men with Muslim prayer hats and women with headscarves.

As I wait to wash my hands, I contemplate this experience. Eating with my hands on the side of the road with the most basic tools – tanks, grills, pans – used by the chefs to produce tasty, complex seafood dishes that surpass what you would pay 5 times as much for at a restaurant in the Western world. The key ingredient is the quality of the fresh fish and seafood and the fresh vegetables, chilies and array of spices used to create such intricate flavors. Experiences like these are priceless.

After dinner, Edmund drives us back to central Malacca to Jonker Street to check out the night markets. This is a shoppers’ paradise and hordes of locals and tourists are out tonight. From stalls selling art to jewelry, crafts, clothing and of course food, you can pretty much find anything you need here. We are all stuffed from dinner but the food looks so tasty that I am tempted once or twice, but wisely decide to continue on and listen to my full stomach instead of my curious mind and taste buds. The atmosphere is festive with some music, a lot of people and energy that reverberates throughout this market which only occurs on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. After walking around for 30 minutes, we sit outside at a café and enjoy a drink with our hospitable hosts which are really nice people. I insist on buying a round of drinks after Edmund and Juyang so generously insisted on paying for the entire meal. As we enjoy a beer, Edmund and I have a nice conversation about the strong Portuguese culture in Malacca. We also talk about how Malaysia could serve as a good example to the rest of the world of how different ethnic groups can live together peacefully. Our drink caps a wonderful evening highlighted by great company and an intense, memorable and unforgettable dining experience.

Clam Pizza

2010-06-03T13:38:00.000-07:00

On the corner of Wooster Street and Brown Street in New Haven, Connecticut, there is a small Italian enclave that feels like it is out of the old world. This is the kind of area where retired Italian Americans sit out in front of Italian cafes and pastry shops and talk about the world and what’s happening at Yale over coffee. On this intersection a block off of I 95 North, there are 6-8 different establishments and they are all Italian. There are small restaurants, pastry shops selling everything from Italian cookies and pastries to gelato and Italian ice, a deli making sandwiches with a variety of meats and cheeses and a couple of pizzerias. In particular, there is one pizzeria named Frank Pepe’s and it is because of Frank Pepe’s that I am in New Haven on this beautiful Friday morning in late May.

Sure, Frank Pepe’s is a so called “institution”. It is full of locals and tourists passing through New Haven that have included a stop for a pizza on their agenda after visiting Yale University, which is less than a mile from the corner of Wooster and Brown. However, it is not one of those tourist traps that you visit and feel let down after the experience. In fact, my fear of overhyping a place only to have it fail to meet my high expectations is exactly why I am weary of places like this. Frank Pepe’s is far from that. In fact, it is where I had the best pizza of my life.

It was Memorial Day weekend and my wife and I were driving from Ridgefield, New Jersey right outside of New York to Newport, Rhode Island with her family over the long weekend. Given all of the charming towns to visit on the East Coast, I thought that we could break up the three and a half hour drive to Newport and check out a town in between. To give full disclosure, I vaguely knew where New Haven was and Frank Pepe’s had been on my radar for over 2 years ever since I read about their famous white clam pizza in the excellent food chronicle written by Jeffrey Steingarten, The Man Who Ate Everything. As we planned our trip months ago, I pulled up Newport, Rhode Island on Google Maps and charted out the route from New Jersey. As I followed the line from Ridgefield to Newport, my eyes zeroed in on New Haven which appeared to be almost halfway between Ridgefield and Newport. It seemed that we would have to pass by it if we didn’t pass through it. After doing a bit of research on New Haven, I came to find out that in addition to Frank Pepe’s, New Haven is also home to a famous University that 5 U.S. Presidents and numerous big name actors have graduated from. New Haven is the home to Yale University. After telling my wife that we could visit Yale and Frank Pepe’s on the way to Newport, a stop here was an easy sell to her Mom and Brother.

Departing at nearly 10 AM from New Jersey, we drove for nearly 90 minutes before pulling off of I-95 and making our way into central New Haven. Using our handy Tom-Tom GPS, we made a couple of turns and pulled right in front of Frank Pepe’s. This was almost too easy and there wasn’t even a line to fight through to get inside which I fully expected. We did have one problem though that was somewhat significant. None of us were hungry. We had a 9 AM Korean breakfast of seaweed soup, vegetables and dumplings and at 11:30 AM, we just weren’t ready for lunch yet. Since we did have another reason for visiting New Haven, we decided to walk around celebrated Yale University for an hour or 2 before getting a pie for lunch. As we began our walk through New Haven Green and approached the entrance to Yale, I still had Frank Pepe’s on my mind as I crossed my fingers hoping that we wouldn’t encounter a line extending down the street that would force us to abandon our plans.

New Haven is a pleasant enough town with some nice parks and the area around Yale has many historic buildings that I am sure have been included or imitated in several films and TV shows. This area simply has too much history for that not to be the case. You can feel the collegiate atmosphere walking through these hallowed grounds. While it doesn’t appear that school is in session, there are numerous students working to greet graduates that are in town for alumni reunion weekend. We stopped at the Visitor Center to get a map and I took a walk around to learn a bit more about Yale. While I knew that this was a famous Ivy League University, I didn’t know that 5 U.S. Presidents attended Yale. In addition to George H. and W. Bush, Bill Clinton, William Howard Taft and Gerald Ford all attended Yale at some point during their educational odyssey. Although the University should probably apologize for the fact that Dick Cheney is also a graduate, this aberration is more than made up by the number of successful actors, writers, architects and artists that are graduates of this prestigious University. In addition to the writer Tom Wolfe, Meryl Streep, Edward Norton, Sigourney Weaver, Jodie Foster, Paul Newman and Angela Bassett are amongst some of the most successful Yale graduates to go onto epic careers on the big screen. The list of notable Yale graduates is too long to list but is extremely impressive.

As we meandered about the quads and among Yale’s buildings, I felt a sense of nostalgia from my university days. There is something you can feel in the air as the classic architecture, blooming spring trees and green quads are inspiring. You could spend an afternoon here just lying on the grass with a book soaking it all in. As we made our way back in the direction of Wooster Street with our stomachs beginning to growl, we stopped by Atticus bookstore and café. I enjoyed perusing the shelves and felt compelled to buy a book from my ever growing ‘must read’ list. I hope it brings me back to this place when I read through it.

Continuing on up Chapel Street, we hung a right on Olive Street before taking a left on Wooster. As we approached our destination, I saw exactly what I feared – a line. As we walked closer, I was relieved to see that the line wasn’t terribly long. The waitress told us it was a 20 minute wait which we definitely had time for. As we stood in the hot sun under a sign featuring a caricature of Frank Pepe dressed in an apron and chef hat with a pizza in hand where they have been serving pizzas since 1945 (it actually opened in 1925 but moved here in 1945), I grew anxious. The line moved quickly though and in no time we were walking inside and being seated. I felt like I was walking through a pizza museum as I looked behind the pickup counter at the massive white brick oven that is so large that the cooks need 20 foot pizza spatula’s to place the pizzas in and pull them out of the oven. To the left of the oven, there are 3 people working in unison putting the pies together. One is rolling out dough onto large rectangular aluminum pans that are then handed to the others who layer the dough with the ingredients. Some pizzas just get a layer of tomato sauce, slices of fresh mozzarella and basil leaves. Others get olive oil, clams and garlic while others get loaded with cheese, peppers, sausage and bacon. There is an outdated bar in the front room that is adjacent to the white linoleum pickup counter with a few beers on tap and a sign hanging above the bar that boasts ‘Tomato Pies Made to Order’. This isn’t just any sign though as it must be 50 years old. It is the kind of sign that you need to press plastic letters into plastic ridges in order to spell out the ingredients that are available.

The place is unquestionably old school with many booths, a few tables and old pictures adorning all the walls in the front room and the back room which contains most of the seating. The pictures on the walls are of Frank Pepe, his family and presumably employees from long ago pictured in aprons preparing, cooking or serving pizza pies to their customers. The décor is all green and white with a green ceiling that looks to be original. The place isn’t run down at all as it has been kept up to date but likely with the same colors and style since 1945. This doesn’t look like the kind of place that wants or needs to change much.

Every pizza I see on the tables around us looks fantastic. After sitting down, we don’t waste any time ordering. I have obviously already thought this through and have little trouble swaying the table towards my suggestion to stick with the basics. We order a medium White Clam pizza, a medium Margherita pizza, water and some soft drinks. We sit and wait anxiously until our drinks come before taking turns using the washroom and further surveying the joint. It has only been 15 minute but I see our waitress come around the corner and I am pretty sure she is headed for our table with 2 pans in her hands. She places both of them on our table covering pretty much the entire surface of the table. Any thought of cutting the pizza up with a fork like I typically do is out the window as there is barely enough room to put a plate in front of each of us. The medium pizzas are large and I wonder how we will finish them. I start with a piece of white clam pizza which is pure bliss. The taste of large chunks of clams with nothing else but fresh garlic and olive oil is heavenly. The crust is firm, thin, a light brown color on the outside and can’t be much more than 1/8th of an inch thick. Not weighed down by cheese and sauce, there is a crunch in every bite and the ends of the crusts are especially crispy. After polishing off one piece, I go for a slice of the margherita which only has 3 simple ingredients. A thin layer of tomato sauce, slices of high quality mozzarella and basil leaves. Surprisingly, the crust holds up well to the tomato sauce and cheese as it is almost as crispy as the clam pizza. The flavors are perfect. There isn’t a lot of talking as we take apart both pies piece by piece. I am the ring leader although I try and make sure everyone is getting their fair share. There is hardly a hint of grease in the crust which is extraordinary.

Finished, we look at the carnage in front of us as there is nothing left except 2 large aluminum pans covered with four plates that are empty except for a few end crusts. This is a lunch well done and that is an understatement. Thanks Frank Pepe! I’ll be back. I don’t know when but I can promise you that I will be back.

República Argentina

2010-05-19T07:14:00.000-07:00

It is the 8th largest country by land area in the world and the largest among Spanish speaking nations. It is the 2nd largest country in South America that is famous for its Patagonian ice capped mountains and forests as well as Eva Peron. People across the world pay homage to it when they dance the Tango and others boast of its grass fed feed and increasingly well known wine. Welcome to Argentina!

Nature

I sit perched atop a mountain. I am looking at the mountains surrounding me on every side and at the city of Mendoza below me. I am enjoying the dry heat, fresh air and the silence. I watch one person jump from the mountain and glide like a bird back and forth from left to right under a parachute. This is as close to flying as most people ever come. I wait my turn anxiously, yet appreciate the surrounding beauty and the peace of my present environment as I sit atop the mountain alone. Flying is an intense and exhilarating experience. What I felt most as I soared from side to side was a well needed loss of control. It was obvious, as we glided down from a peak of nearly 2000 feet, that nature was in control. The wind toyed with us and we swayed from one side to another, while my pilot maneuvered the paraglide leading us to an uneventful, gentle and safe landing.

No Andes experience is complete without at least one trekking adventure. Tiptoeing around the Andes from afar is one thing but putting your boots down and climbing through them is another. The mountains here are larger than any mountain range in the world other than the Himalayas in South Asia. The variation in the climate is startling in bone dry Mendoza. It was nearly 100 dry degrees yesterday, but today as we step off the bus and walk towards our base point to begin our trek, it is a breezy 65 degrees Fahrenheit from this vantage point high above the town below. A mere 90 minutes distance and 2500 feet in altitude from the center of Mendoza brings staggering temperature drops. As we push our legs up and through the mountains trails, the beauty is spectacular. We walk among cows that are brought to this area in the spring and summer to graze on the grasses that sprout up in pockets amongst the rocks in this arid mountain landscape. Ivy and I particularly enjoy filling our empty water bottles up time and time again from the streams that trickle down from the mountains and nourish the town of Mendoza below. The scenery amongst the 900 meters we climb (up to 3400 feet) is pure nature complete with mountain streams, ravines and rock formations. As we reach our summit and feel the mist from the clouds that have dampened the hair on our heads, we feel a sense of accomplishment.

Bariloche lives up to its label as the “Argentine Switzerland”. It seems to have endless blue lakes with snow capped mountains in the background amid numerous trees and bright yellow bushes that offer a nice contrast to the blue and green surroundings. It is quiet and refreshing to sleep in this peaceful area. Renting a car in Bariloche proved to be a savior. Without this car, we wouldn’t have experienced half of what we did during a full day’s worth of jumping in and out of the car at numerous stopping points to admire the beauty surrounding us on all angles. At one stop, we took a chair lift up to the Campanario Hill view point. As Ivy and I breathed in the fresh mountain air and stared at the lakes below us in awe, we could find no words to express to each other. The lakes, trees and mountains that stretched out from our eyes spoke to us in a way that only nature can. Arriving at the view point, we see a wider range of these same wonderful views from all angles. We snap pictures and sit quietly, attempting to pay gratitude to the beauty of this area in a way that words can’t.

The Maza River basin that connects Argentina and Chile is white water river rafting country. The base camp where our rafting trip begins could be a Patagonian brochure, complete with green pastures and cows and sheep grazing amongst the trees with mountains looming on all sides. As we make our way down into the river and feel the icy waters of the Maza River chill our bodies through our wet suits, we look around ourselves, admiring the trees and mountains; however, we must keep our eyes on the task at hand – making it through the rapids without flipping our raft. Being in the front of the raft, I experience the full force of the water as it constantly crashes into me, chilling my body to the bone. As we take the rapids head on, I can see up close the gigantic holes in the river that our raft crashes in and out of. It is obvious that despite all our paddling and the shifting of our bodies from side to side to maneuver the raft, we are all just along for the ride as the river toys with our raft despite our attempts to control it.

It’s Christmas Eve and we find ourselves horseback riding through the Andes in 70 degree weather. Our launching point is an estancia (e.g. ranch) 20 minutes outside of central Bariloche. On this ranch nestled in the forest, the owner raises horses and organizes horseback riding trips. After our guide, Martin, explains to us how to control our horses, we begin our trek up and through the mountains. There is beauty on every side as we blaze a trail through endless trees above and below us. The wind blows the colored grasses that our horses stop frequently to munch on. With the smell of refreshing evergreen in the air, we climb higher and higher into the mountains that surround us. Along the way, we make stops and fill up our water bottles from the streams that run down the mountain. My horse, Molly, is a bit aggressive and Martin reminds me that I, not the horse, am in charge. I need to cajole Molly to the left and then to the right and pull the reins with force to stop her on occasion when she begins to move too fast for my liking. Arriving at our peak of 1400 meters, the views below are as complete as we’ve seen with vast blue lakes and mountains in the distance, trees on all sides and valleys below us. I feel fortunate and feel a degree of privilege as I sit atop Molly and majestically trot through the mystical beauty that surrounds me.

Food and Wine

If I chose to use one word to sum up my dining experiences in Argentina, I would use the world asado. An asado is every day Argentine food and is served in every part of the country. When I say every day Argentine food, let me clarify. I mean meat and lots of it! An asado includes almost every interior part of the cow - from liver, kidney and intestine, to the usual tenderloin and strip steak and it is all cooked over a large charcoal or wood fired grill. Temperature is never asked and whatever cut you bite into is always flavorful with juices marinating in each bite. There are other meats and sausages included in an asado as well as the option of including a salad bar. It is a no-frills dining experience with just fresh, hand cut, meat on a plate or wooden platter, along with grilled vegetables. The meat is served with chimichuri which is a sauce, or salsa, which typically comes in a red or green form. The red seems to be a combination of fresh garlic and onion with chili powder and crushed red pepper blended with oil. The green has a variety of fresh herbs along with garlic, onion and oil to give it its verde (green) salsa look. It is designed to be atop meats but is served with nearly everything from bread to empanadas.
My first asado at El Patio de Jesus Maria in Chacras just outside Mendoza is a memorable dining experience. Sitting on a ½ acre grassy lawn surrounded on all sides by tall towering trees and flowering bushes makes for a romantic, serene environment. We started with a salad of mixed vegetables which was a good counterbalance for the onslaught of meat that was to come. One delicate slice after another, the cuts came. Chorizo sausage, blood sausage, ribs, sweetbreads, flank steak, skirt steak and kid goat. It is all wonderful, full of incredible flavor and served in a beautiful setting.

During an 8 hour wine tour through the Mendoza countryside, we see and taste the fruits of our surroundings. We visit spectacular lush green vineyards that are dotted with poplar and olive trees for miles on end with the Andes Mountains acting as the backdrop. At the 1st vineyard we visit, Domaine St. Diego, I learn more about wine than I ever thought I would know. At this small vineyard which doesn’t export, we are able to spend an informative hour touring their vineyards which helps me to better appreciate the scientific aspect of wine making. Make no mistake, wine making is a craft and a process that needs to be mastered. I found the grafting process particularly interesting. During this process, new vines are grafted into older vines in order to sustain, and bolster the older vines with new life. The arid climate around Mendoza makes snow accumulation on the Andes Mountain peaks a well researched and analyzed topic given the importance of the water the mountains produce to the wine growers in this area. With only 10 inches of rain per year in this region, water is a precious and highly regulated resource. We have a long and wonderful day of tasting at 4 vineyards that includes a 5 course lunch highlighted by a tasty steak at Ruca Malen which overlooks the surrounding vineyards. After all that wine and meat, we decide to outdo ourselves later that evening by having dinner at one of Mendoza’s finer restaurants, Francis Malman 1884. We drink more wine and eat hunks of baby goat and wonderful lamb chops that are cooked parilla style over coals on an open air grill located in the restaurants courtyard. This was a day for carnivores!

They eat late in South America. It is no joke and while I thought I would adjust, it is more difficult to do so than I expected, especially as a tourist. Restaurants are just opening their doors and finishing setup at 8 PM. 8:30 PM is really the earliest you want to arrive unless you want to eat alone and with many meals extending for 2-3 hours, it is not uncommon to be finishing a meal at well past 11 or 12. I am not used to this and while I can see how it works for locals whose jobs may start later as part of the local culture, it can be difficult for a traveler who may have activities scheduled for 8 AM the next day.

Our accommodations are bed and breakfasts where fresh fruit and home cooked pastries are served every morning. From fresh made scones and strudels to fresh squeezed orange juice along with homemade breads served with assorted house made marmalades, we begin each day full of energy.

After white water rafting, we have some of the best meat we have on our entire trip. We have an asado cooked in the open air over a wood fire in the middle of the forest. The meal is prepared by a local family that is employed to prepare and serve meals to white water rafting groups. The cooking method seems to fit perfectly with our beautiful surroundings that include patches of grass, cows and sheep grazing, the sound of the river and the surrounding mountains. The meat and chorizo sausage are full of smoky flavor that comes from the wood. We are in the middle of a Patagonian forest feasting on the fruits of the land. This is the way meat is meant to be cooked and devoured!

The empanada is one of the great snack foods in the world. They have some variation of them in every culture whether they call them ravioli’s in Italy, dumplings in Asian cultures or pierogis in Eastern Europe. Fill a pocket of some sort of dough with a bunch of goodies and bake it, fry it, boil it or steam it and then dip it in some sort of sauce. In Argentina, that wrapper is a pastry that is either baked or fried and served with chimichurri sauce. We ate them everywhere, sometimes as a snack and nearly always as an appetizer prior to many dinners and some lunches.

Our last dinner in Buenos Aires is also one of our best and highlights the quality of the wonderful meat that most signifies Argentine cuisine. Whether it was in our guide books or spoken from the mouths of locals we met during the weeks during which we traveled throughout the country, we were instructed to go to Cabrera in the Palermo neighborhood for meat. It was a Sunday, our last full day in Buenos Aires when we hopped into a cab at 2:00 PM and made our way to Cabrera for a main meal lunch. As our taxi driver approached the restaurant, we saw a group of people standing out front who were apparently waiting for a table. It was a pleasant day and we waited out front anxiously for 30 minutes before they called our names. Before I sat down, I had the feeling that this was going to be one of those meals that met and exceeded every expectation one might have. The interior of the restaurant was crowded as was the outdoor patio and everyone’s table was filled with meat displayed on boards, salads and small tapas like bowls that numbered in the teens. We started with chorizo sausage along with a salad to begin our meal. The vegetables in the salad were fresh and the chorizo sausage was the best I had on the entire trip. We tried to order the full portion of sausage, but the waiters’ expression told us we might be overstepping the boundaries that our stomachs wanted to aspire to, so we opted for the half order. When the waiter arrived with half a role of sausage curled up on a platter, we said, “Thanks for the advice.” We cut into one piece after another of the smoky flavorful chorizo that had a hint of paprika in every bite. We used the various sauces provided to dip the sausage into and savored every bite. For our main entrée, we ordered a half barbecued chicken that had nice flavor but the real prize was the bife de chorizo. Bife de chorizo is one of the cuts of meat that is similarly cut the same way elsewhere around the world as in Argentina. It is the same cut as what you may know as top loin, sirloin steak, strip steak and a N.Y. strip. Many consider it be the steak of steaks that is meant for the grill. It is rich, meaty, juicy, and you need a steak knife to cut through it. For these reasons, bife de chorizo acts as a great litmus test for those who care to sample and compare Argentinean beef to the beef they consume in their own locale. I have had bife de chorizo a couple times on the trip and while I have enjoyed it, it hasn’t been amazing for something so talked about. That all changed today! Each bite was so full of juicy wonderful flavor that I can actually say I was lost in the moment, or the meal. My wife and I actually had to barter over the last bite although I won’t say what the loser’s penance was. As I sat back and looked at our table after this feast fit for a king, it was quite a spectacle. A bowl of salad, a hunk of half finished chicken on a platter and at least 20 different small tapas style side dishes holding anything from white beans in a spicy red sauce to sweet potatoes, eggplant, hearts of palm and too many other things to remember.

The City

No visit to Argentina is complete without a stop in Buenos Aires. This is the heartbeat of Argentina and is one of the grandest cities in the entire world. Arriving on Christmas Day, we quickly settle into the neighborhood that will serve as our home for the next week. Upon first glance, Recoleta is full of greenery with many parks, monuments, sidewalk cafés and European Style buildings. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was in one of Europe’s grand cities like Paris or Vienna. To say that Buenos Aires is a significant city is an understatement. When I say significant, I am talking 10 lanes of traffic in one direction dissected by two boulevards big in some areas. This city is much more than just big though. The numerous monuments and grand French, Italian and Spanish style buildings are surrounded by large plazas and extravagant parks that are full of monuments with plenty of green space to relax with a book or picnic with your family.

Buenos Aires is also a city of great food which we experienced fully. Guerrin is a well renowned pizzeria that we read about in our Rough Guide and which was recommended to us by a Buenos Aires local that sat next to us on a flight we took from Mendoza to Bariloche. He was actually quite proud of his suggestion and told us that we would remember him if we went to Guerrin. I still remember him. On our 2nd day in Buenos Aires, I told my wife that I wanted to stroll up Avenida Corrientes on the way back from exploring the city center. Little did she know I had an agenda until we walked into Guerrin. This is what you would call a Buenos Aires institution with stand up counters where locals munch on chunks of mozzarella and a slice of pizza while washing it down with a chopp (draft beer) of Quilmes (the bud of Argentina). The interior is beautifully decorated and family friendly with many smiling families enjoying a Saturday afternoon pizza. My wife and I split a small (chico) pizza that is topped with garlic, tomato and onion. There is a minimal amount of sauce which allows the truly spectacular flavor of the vegetables and high quality mozzarella to stand out. I looked forward to every single bite of one of the best pizzas I have ever had.

Buenos Aires is a great city to run through with its many parks and wide avenues. As we run through the Recoleta neighborhood on a sunny, 75 degree morning, we take advantage of this perfect opportunity to appreciate the monuments and parks that border two of Buenos Aires massive roads that run through this neighborhood, Avenida Del Libertador and Avenida President Figueroa Alcorta. As much as we enjoy jogging, we also enjoy the walking. Thirty minutes in one direction and 45 in another. We move from one neighborhood to another on our feet experiencing the city by means of our legs. For anyone coming to Buenos Aires that doesn’t enjoy walking, they would miss out on many of Buenos Aires charms. Walking down wide tree lined sidewalks through beguiling and charming neighborhoods like Palermo and peering into the NY Soho style shops and great cafes, bars and restaurants in areas like this is so much a part of the experience of enjoying this city. Much of this would be missed if you were passing by in a cab or a bus.

It is a bright Sunday morning and we begin our day by trekking towards Buenos Aires most famous square, Plaza de Mayo, to snap pictures of the Pink Palace where Eva Peron used to address her fans during her reign years ago. Afterwards, we move up and down pedestrian Calle Florida with its endless shops and down Avenida de Mayo, Buenos Aires grandest avenue. Like the Champs Elysees in Paris, Avenida de Mayo is lined with beautiful, large, looming trees in addition to cafes and hotels, many of which are architectural gems. The center of the avenue is one large park for relaxing and meandering at the pace that suits you. Our jaunt down Avenida de Mayo is a slow one that takes well over an hour, eventually ending in the Monserrat and San Telmo neighborhoods that are an extension of the city center. Monserrat and San Telmo are working class neighborhoods known for their impressive old buildings. Today is Sunday though and this area, particularly San Telmo, is quite the place to be. The San Telmo craft market runs up Defensa avenue for nearly ¾ of a mile with both sides of the street lined with vendors selling antiques, belts, wallets, jewelry, clothing, serving trays and anything else you can name. This is one of the top tourist destinations for both Buenos Aires locals and tourists. There is value to be found here as I purchased a decorative leather belt for $9 and my wife bought a pair of earrings for $10. Mixed in between all these tables and blankets full of goods are food vendors. Some are on foot offering empanadas or calzone like filled breads while others have carts where they squeeze oranges and offer glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice. On a day like today with so many locals and tourists dedicating a significant portion of their day to the market and San Telmo, it would be hard to pass by all these tasty treats without sampling something. Ivy and I have a love affair with street food which made it agonizing for us to respond “No Thanks” to 7 or 8 vendors before we stopped to have a refreshing glass of orange juice. We had remained patient in the hopes that there was something special waiting for us ahead until we heard some singing and saw smoke rising from a tiny square on the right about 40 yards ahead of us. We immediately headed in the direction of the smells and sounds coming from this area. As we got closer, we saw 4 huge barrel drum grills where meat sizzled over slowly burning charcoals offering a myriad of wonderful aromas. These large grills have rows of chorizo sausages and huge slabs of pork and beef slowly cooking side by side. We didn’t have to make a decision as our stomachs and senses did that for us. We ordered a bondiola which is a sliced pork sandwich seasoned only with salt and lemon and then located a table to sit at. Ivy sat down and waited while I stood and anxiously watched the cook prepare the meat. He paid close attention to the task at hand, flipping the slabs of pork and beef every minute or two. After a few minutes of watching this, he pulled a slab of pork off the grill and sliced a few generous chunks off the end. He then placed each slice back on the grill and carefully dusted one side with salt and a squeeze of lemon. After about 45 seconds, he flipped the slices and seasoned the other side. After a few salivating minutes for me, he looked in my direction and emerged with a French roll dripping with a bit of grease. I smiled and made a slicing motion and he cut the sandwich in half. Excitedly, I grabbed the sandwich and made my way to the condiment table where I doused the sandwich with herb laden chimichurri sauce and onion and pepper relish. I literally ran over to Ivy and handed her half of the sandwich. The first bite offered flavors that will be instilled in my memory for years, if not decades. Juice from the pork dripped down my cheek as I engrossed myself in the wonderful grilled taste of the pork along with the taste of onion and garlic and the bread which served as a sponge to ensure that nothing escaped. Bite after bite, Ivy and I alternated between looking at each other and at the barrels of charcoal where meat sizzled, knowing that this was a memorable street food experience we were sharing. The word bondiola will always be something that Ivy and I will have between us. Satiated, we moved on to experience more of San Telmo’s charm. This is one of the most charming areas in Buenos Aires with its colonial style shuttered buildings and Plaza Dorrego which is especially charming on non market days with a few vendors selling high quality jewelry, art and leather products around a sprawling square of inviting tables. Some of the stores that house the craft shops in this area look like they should be in a painting as they are tucked away behind the plaza in and among charming exposed inter courtyards. San Telmo is less glamorous than Retiro or Recoleta but feels a bit more representative of the populous of this huge city. They day is winding down on this Sunday and we decide to stop for a beer and relax after a fun filled day. As we sit and relax, I am surprised to see a colorful parade of street performers that begin to make a lot of noise and slowly move in our direction. The performers are dressed in different red, green, blue and yellow colored outfits and most have drums hanging from their necks or held under one arm that they play fastidiously and in unison. Amongst the drummers are dancers who twirl around and dance with passion. As we sit and watch and enjoy the environment around us, we are in full appreciation of the energy and vibrant life that reverberates through San Telmo on a Sunday.

After a long day and nearly 10 miles of walking through San Telmo and Boca and nearly all the way back to Recoleta, our legs are tired. We are thinking of giving into our weary legs and jumping into a cab. After deliberating, we decide to push forward. It is a good idea we do as we are rewarded. As we continue on and look above and all around us, all we see are pieces of paper floating through the air, eventually landing on the ground and the people below. It looks like it is raining paper. It is December 30th, the last work day for many Argentines and we are approaching the downtown center near Calle Florida. To celebrate the end of the working year, it is a Buenos Aires tradition for people to rip the pages off of their 2009 calendars, tear them up and throw them out of their windows, watching them fall to the ground below. However, the people throwing paper out of the window aren’t limited to business workers and the paper isn’t limited to calendars. Everyone seemed to be participating, ripping up any papers they can find and throwing them out their windows contributing to what seems to be an endless paper shower. As we make our way down Buenos Aires huge pedestrian and shopping thoroughfare, Calle Florida, the carnage is evident as many of the street vendors who sell goods by lying them out on blankets have bits of paper intermixed with their merchandise. In fact, there is paper everywhere leaving the sanitation workers with a lot of work ahead of them. With this being the last day of work for so many, there is a sense of a big night ahead. Given that it is close to 5 PM, there are plenty of people filling the bars in the downtown area after work to begin the New Year celebration early. We join the festivities by relaxing at a bar, sitting outside and enjoying a couple of drinks before pushing ourselves to walk another 2 miles home. Ten miles of walking has left us weary making a relaxing night in our apartment sound very appealing.

A Walking Tour of Toronto

2009-10-08T09:30:00.000-07:00

Toronto is a melting pot like I’ve never seen. It is as diverse as any of the world’s capital cities I have visited including New York, London, Singapore, Sydney and Los Angeles. In addition to being diverse, it is well integrated with one neighborhood and its residents seamlessly blending into the next.

Toronto has a vibrant economy, plenty of parks and restaurants, a brilliant lakefront and some of the most interesting ethnic urban neighborhoods in the world. There is a lot to like about Toronto and little to fraught at. It even has a crime rate that is nearly ¼ of that of Chicago despite the fact that it has a population (2.5 million) nearly as big as Chicago’s (2.9 million). Recently, I spent 5 wonderful days in Toronto experiencing the full breadth of what this modern metropolis has to offer. For me and my wife, that meant running along the lakefront and walking up and down College, Carlton, King and Queen Streets to experience every ethnic neighborhood we could find. Our days began with wonderful breakfasts at our B&B in Cabbagetown enjoyed alongside travelers from Detroit, London and Dusseldorf and included trips through St. Lawrence Market, University of Toronto, Kensington Market and one memorable afternoon in Little Italy. Along the way, we accumulated experiences and memories that are encapsulated in my Toronto “diary” below.

Day 1 – Thursday, September 3rd, 2009

• As soon as we get off the short 1 hour and 10 minute flight from Chicago, we meander through Toronto’s modern Pearson International Airport. Quickly, we make our way outside and hop on a shuttle bus headed for downtown Toronto. Driving along the highway into the city, excitement sets in after we catch a glimpse of Toronto’s impressive skyline. After making multiple stops to drop the other passengers at their hotels, we finally arrive at the Chelsea stop which is nearby our Bed and Breakfast in Cabbagetown.

• We make the short walk to our B&B and are greeted warmly by the owner, Tan. Tan is a friendly Singaporean Canadian man a bit on the flamboyant side who is full of suggestions about Toronto. He is very helpful and proud and runs a clean, well organized B&B.

• We check into our pleasant, comfortable room and quickly organize our things before heading out to a nearby restaurant and bar called the House on Parliament. This recommended English style pub near our hotel has good food (I had the fries with garlic mayo and the caprese sandwich) and a lively atmosphere. Of note are the chalkboard menu inside and a nice below ground patio that looks up towards the street. Although I am only a 70 minute flight away from home, I feel like I am somewhere else far away from Chicago. I feel like I am in another country?

Day 2 – Friday, September 4th, 2009

• Today began with a 20 minute walk from Cabbagetown in the direction of the Toronto Harbourfront. As we walk, we pass through a nice park (Allan Gardens) and the St. Lawrence Market where we whet our appetite for lunch while perusing through meat and cheese stalls and various sandwich shops. Continuing on, we pick up our pace and run for an hour (over 6 miles) along the Harbourfront. As we run, we peer out at Lake Ontario in the direction of Toronto’s popular islands and take appreciation in our surroundings. Toronto’s Harbourfront is full of artistically designed walking paths and parks, a small beach and plenty of grassy areas to relax. As we run, we see ferries and sail boats, plenty of high rise lakefront living, playgrounds and parks. The Toronto music garden is especially impressive with intelligent landscaping and chairs strategically placed in a garden that weaves from left to right and rises and falls. The music garden offers free summer concerts on Thursdays and Sundays.

• After a shower back at our B&B, we put our feet back to the pavement in pursuit of the St. Lawrence Market for lunch. On the way to the market, we take in parts of the St. Lawrence neighborhood including an eye catching flat iron building decorated on one side with an illusory mural that depicts large windows and makes me question whether it is actually a painting or a hanging that has been tacked to the wall and is peeling off.

• Hungry and excited, we patrol the market in lookout for something we can sink our teeth into. We take pictures of meat cases and large stock bones for sale and glide through the market from one stall to the next. We make our way through cheese shops, clothing stalls, jewelry shops and many food shops. We decide to order a pork sandwich loaded with grilled onions and peppers from a Portuguese sandwich shop for starters. As good as the sandwich is, we only order one since we want to sample another type of food. After deliberating over a peameal bacon sandwich, eggplant parmigiana or dolmades and in between tasting 6 or 7 of Kozlik’s 35 varieties of mustards, we decide to finish our lunch with a plate of Eastern European goodies from a restaurant located in the basement of the market. We pick from the display on the counter and end up with a combination of meat pierogi, a potato latke and whitefish stuffed with crabmeat. I never would have imagined that this is what I would have had for lunch but Toronto is diverse in more ways than one and that includes dining establishments. The food is excellent and filling and we are now prepared to enjoy the 75 degree weather and see more of Toronto.

• From here, we walk through a string of parks before eventually making our way to the Distillery District. This self described “creative zone” has a warehouse neighborhood feel to it with loft living, numerous art galleries, shops and restaurants and a 14 foot tall sculpture made of 2000 pounds of steel that goes by the name Koilos. The sculpture features a creature in the crouching position that has a head fringed with flames, giving the impression of a monster eager to pounce. The Distillery District hosts many outdoor festivals and events throughout the year including the Toronto Roots Festival, the Toronto Wine and Spirit Festival and on this weekend the Artisans Art Fair. We view some art and photography and I buy a piece of homemade jewelry for Ivy before finishing off an enjoyable few hours in this “hip” area with an organic lager beer at the Mill Street Brewery.

• After more walking and wandering, we pass by the Rex Jazz Club. Recognizing the name and realizing that this is a place we want to visit, we walk inside for some late afternoon jazz over a pre dinner drink. Emerging from the Rex, we move onto Rodney’s Oyster House for dinner.

• At Rodney’s, we take great pleasure in sitting at the bar and watching the barman shuck oysters and clams amongst other items before we ourselves indulge in a combination of oysters, clams and a scrumptious bowl of periwinkles (sea snails) that require the use of toothpicks to coax these tasty critters out of their shells. At this point, it I mid evening and we decide to walk back to Cabbagetown before finishing the night with 1 more drink (and a late night snack) at the House on Parliament.

Day 3 – Saturday, September 5th, 2009

• Today brought another beautiful 75 degree day that fit perfectly with our agenda which includes plenty of walking. We begin by walking straight up Carlton Street and eventually making our way to the University of Toronto. The University of Toronto is one of Canada’s premier universities and this area has an unmistakable collegiate atmosphere. King’s circle is reminiscent of a typical American University “quad” with architecturally impressive University buildings surrounding a large area of green space that is currently being used for an intense soccer match. Queen’s park looms around the outside of the buildings. This well maintained park is full of benches to relax in, trees to read under and paths to jog or walk through. After walking through the park and munching on some sushi for lunch in the high rent Yorkville area, we find the closest subway stop and make our way to Korea town. After walking though Korea town, we stroll through more neighborhoods before finding ourselves back on College Street. We stop at bar for a pint and stare out at a large festival that seems to be monopolizing a ½ mile stretch of College Street. As we enjoy a pint of Guinness in the sun, each of us takes a stroll to get a glimpse of this festival. Impressed, we decide to investigate the party before our eyes a bit further.

• The 6th Annual Firra Festival in Little Italy is one of the best street festivals I’ve ever attended. To indicate just how much we liked this festival, we arrived at 2 PM for a pint of beer and didn’t leave until after 9 arriving back at our B&B at nearly 11 PM. Over the course of 7 hours, we ate a lot and immersed ourselves in an Old World Italian showcase which included:

40-50 different classic Fiat cars in an array of colors lining each side of a section of College street
Street food – lamb sticks, tripa alla calabrese, Indian samosas and barbeque
chicken are some of what we sampled
Outdoor dining and music of all sorts
Lots of people and lots of families
Diversity – This festival may have been Italian, but this is Toronto which means Thai, Indian and Middle Eastern shops and restaurants right next to fabulous, sprawling patios full of locals eating pizza, pasta or stuffed squid at places like Café Diplomatico

Day 4 – Sunday, September 6th, 2009

• After walking up to the Harbourfront with the intention of taking a ferry to the Toronto Islands on another beautiful morning, one look at the line convinces us to reconsider our plans. Instead, we opt to relax and read by the lakefront for a bit before meandering our way up near Chinatown and Kensington Market. This would be a day of many neighborhoods and even more walking. After making our way up Front Street and past the Royal Bank of Canada building I worked in over 6 years ago, we walk past the Canadian Walk of Fame taking in the stars of TV producer Lorne Michaels, Star Trek’s William Shatner, Pamela Anderson and Michael J. Fox amongst others. Approaching Chinatown, we walk past the Art Gallery of Toronto which is flanked on one side by a quaint park that provides a perfect viewpoint from which to appreciate this architectural structure. The gallery was recently renovated by world famous Canadian born architect Frank Gehry with a new glass façade that swells out above the sidewalk and seems to wrap the building and blend into the residential neighborhood that surrounds it.

• Toronto’s Chinatown is around the corner from the art gallery and at first glance, seems to be just a street filled with Chinese shops, restaurants and markets. While many so called “Chinatown” areas have similar shops, I am glad I took a second glance as Toronto’s Chinatown extends and extends along Dundas Street West and Spadina Avenue leading us right into colorful Kensington Market.

• Kensington Market is a pedestrian area mix match of different stores and restaurants a block off of Chinatown. This colorful and lively area has its fair share of hippies, second hand clothing stores and a subculture all its own. There are plenty of shops selling fresh produce, meat, fish and spices right next to others selling fabrics, lace, jewelry and numerous shops selling vintage clothing. In between are a few bars and many restaurants serving up Portuguese, Indian, Fish and Chips, and diner style breakfasts just to name a few. We spend a few hours in this area wandering in and out of stores but end up only buying food and drink. We have a nice Indian lunch, a couple of drinks and a great spicy chicken empanada at a store that sells over 30 different variations of these tasty pastries. One of the variations is filled with kimchi, but even my Korean wife isn’t excited about the prospect of spicy fermented cabbage in a pastry shell.

• After exiting Kensington Market, we decide to continue our Toronto neighborhood tour and give the Greek town area in and around Danforth Street a look. This popular area, which served as the backdrop for the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding (it was imitating Chicago), is full of restaurants, shops and bars and is known for its nightlife. We enjoy walking up and down Danforth Street, peering into the various shops and restaurants and soaking up the culture. We end up popping into a Euro trash bar for a drink that is reminiscent of something you might see in Europe that has a contingent of middle aged Greek men out front loudly philosophizing about the state of Canada, the world, Greece, etc. over what sounds like a few beverages. While this could be annoying, it actually adds to the neighborhood and environment. After a drink, we have dinner at a Greek restaurant nearby and end another enjoyable evening with a walk over a bridge spanning the Don River that takes us through Cabbagetown in route to our Bed and Breakfast.

Day 5 – Monday, September 7th, 2009

• Due to our late afternoon flight, we are fortunate enough to have another five to six hours to soak up more of Toronto’s abundance of culture and atmosphere. After another excellent leisurely breakfast with some travelers from London, one of whom works for a UK film magazine and is in Toronto to cover their well renowned international film festival, we pack our bags and say goodbye. The owner of the B&B, Tan, is a very sweet man. He sits down with us and chats about Toronto and his plight to this city from Singapore amongst other things. His B&B feels more like a home to us than any place we’ve stayed in years and we intend to stay here again on our next visit.

• Blessed with more beautiful weather, we put our feet back to the ground once again began one final romp up Carlton street in the direction of a neighborhood called Little Portugal. After walking for 30 minutes and realizing we still have another couple miles to go, we jump aboard a streetcar to get us closer to our destination. Jumping off of the street car, I feel like I am 12 hours away in a neighborhood in Porto or Lisbon. I have been to Portugal and it is a rather small country, but have never been to a Portuguese neighborhood in a North American city as they usually aren’t advertised due to the rather small number of Portuguese immigrants (not counting those in Brazil). In between Portuguese shops selling day to day goods, meat and produce, there are local bars (nothing trendy here) for those wanting to catch some Portuguese football and more than one Portuguese bakery. We stop at one that looks too good to pass by and order a couple of scrumptious custard tarts that remind us of our time in Portugal in 2007. I didn’t know you could get these things outside of Portugal and savor the gooey, caramel like custard inside a flaky pastry.

• After walking around and soaking up the atmosphere in this area, we continue up College Street once again before finding ourselves in the Little Italy neighborhood. It is lunch time and we still have a few hours to spare so we decide to sun ourselves on Café Diplomatico’s patio over lunch. We have some good bruschetta and a couple of decent pasta dishes along with some beer and the sun. Café Diplomatico was opened in 1968 as a bar where Italian nationals could gather for coffee and conversation in the morning. They were one of the 1st restaurants to offer a large patio for al fresco dining that has now become the standard in this area.

• We finish off our time in Toronto with a nice hour long walk up College Street which turns into Carlton Street before grabbing our bags from the B&B and departing for the airport. While I felt nostalgia immediately on the bus ride to the airport, I also feel that this is the 1st of many trips to a place that just feels right. Ivy and I feel like we belong here and blend in with the fabric of this diverse city. Maybe it is because we are an interracial couple or maybe it is because we are on vacation away from our day to day, but whatever it is, I feel a sense of home here in Toronto that I rarely feel outside of my hometown in Chicago.

Coffee, Ticos and Volcanoes

2009-02-03T13:53:00.000-08:00

Costa Rica is many things to many people. A beautiful country full of natural beauty around every corner and what some consider to be the adventure capital of the world when it comes to outdoor activities like white water rafting, hiking, rappelling and surfing. To others, it is beautiful beaches and relaxation. Others revel in its cities, local food, markets and coffee. Whatever it is, it is something different to each person who visits. For me, it was peaceful yoga followed by wonderful coffee in the mornings. It didn’t end there though. There was adventure and nature at the ranch and beyond that made each day and night of my trip memorable in some way.

Yoga
Yoga, much like life, offers something different to each of those who choose to practice it. For me, it is relaxation, rejuvenation of mind, body and spirit, exercise and peace of mind. I have taken 3-4 different yoga classes over the past 8 years and despite the obvious benefits I saw from practicing yoga, I have never shown the determination to follow through and make it a daily practice. My discovery of yoga started in a studio in a small canal side apartment building in Amsterdam in the year 2000 where I was the only man amongst 9 women and also the only person who needed to have direction given to them in a foreign language. Since I felt uncomfortable about my non-existent Dutch, I did my best to watch every move and realized the unique in the moment presence yoga requires. As I watched intently, studied the moves and crawled across the floor with Dutch women that were bigger than me sitting on my back, I knew I was onto something that would have some kind of impact on my life. There were a few additional yoga classes I took over the next 8 years including one in a room where the temperature exceeded 100 degrees, but it wasn’t until Costa Rica that I began to fully understand the importance of this practice.

As I perused the web site of the ranch we would be staying at, I was excited to find out that they had a riverside yoga and meditation studio and offer free classes every morning as part of the room cost. I figured I would get the added benefit of a couple of yoga sessions while on vacation. It seemed like it would be the perfect place to relax with nature and find even more of myself on that seemingly everlasting search. However, after seeing the tranquility of Rancho Margot and practicing yoga that 1st morning, I immediately knew that I needed to seize this opportunity. For the next 6 days, we woke up every morning at 6:45 AM to stretch our bodies and relax our minds. Our class setting was a studio that is built on stilts like a pagoda, exposed on all sides to nature and which faces a mountain and hovers over a gurgling stream; I felt like I was in a heavenly place. I breathed in the fresh air, heard the birds, the rain and the water and was able to settle into my environment completely. I stretched my body like I never have before and relaxed my mind like I dearly needed to. It was therapeutic and helped bring me close to nature. It is what I needed and it is something I need much more often. I hope that my experience with yoga in Costa Rica at Rancho Margot is one that will continue on many of my remaining days until I know longer have any breaths to give and muscles to stretch.

Coffee and Gallo Pinto
Every morning at our magnificent eco lodge, Rancho Margot, began the same way. Yoga followed by a wonderful breakfast. These breakfasts were memorable ones with the freshest of ingredients. It started with a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and a bowl of fresh papaya, pineapple and watermelon. It continued with organic eggs that come from the chickens raised on the farm, farmers’ cheese made from the milk that comes from the cows grazing a hundred feet away and onions and tomatoes sprinkled with oregano that grow behind the dining hall where we sat and ate. Thick slices of chewy bread that were baked that morning were hard to resist, especially with a little jam. However, no breakfast in Costa Rica could ever be complete without 2 Costa Rican staples: Gallo pinto and Coffee. According to Wikipedia, Gallo pinto is:

Gallo pinto (or gallopinto) is the prototypical traditional dish of Nicaragua and Costa Rica cuisines. It is considered the national dish of both countries, although the two prepare it in a different manner, and is eaten as a part of any meal. Though many variations exist, the dish at its most basic is composed of pre-cooked rice and beans fried together with spices such as cilantro, onion and peppers.

I can certainly attest to that fact that Gallo pinto is extremely popular in Costa Rica. We spent 10 nights in Costa Rica and that meant 10 mornings and 10 breakfasts at 3 different locations. We were served Gallo pinto every single morning. I thought I would get bored of the dish but I really didn’t. I think it was because they didn’t overdue it and it didn’t dominate the meal. I would have felt lost if I didn’t see that small to medium size scoop of grayish rice (colored from cooking with the black beans) speckled with red and yellow bits of pepper and spices on my plate. It has a bit of spice to it but not too much. They say this dish gives Costa Ricans the energy to work hard outside. It gave us some energy and also helped to ensure that we didn’t need to eat lunch due to the significance of our breakfast.

The coffee in Costa Rica is outstanding. Coffee production in Costa Rica began in 1779 in the Meseta Central, an area with near perfect soil and climate conditions for this type of plantation. A native plant to Ethiopia, the blend introduced to Costa Rica had been first cultivated in Saudi Arabia and is therefore known as Arabica. Coffee growing soon surpassed cacao, tobacco, and sugar in importance and by 1829 it had become the major source of foreign revenue for the country. Today, this industry thrives as coffee and bananas are the 2 agricultural goods that dominate Costa Rica. They say that much of the best coffee is exported but my experience doesn’t support those statements. We had wonderful, flavorful coffee with a gorgeous aroma every morning. One cup, 2 cups, three cups… It usually stopped for me there in the attempts to control my caffeine intake but I genuinely looked forward to those few cups every morning. We enjoyed it enough that we went to the Central Market in San Jose on the last day of our holiday, sampled 2 different coffees and bought 12 half pound bags of coffee to bring home with us for ourselves and as gifts for our family and friends. The smell outside that store in the market still sticks in my head and the backpack that I used to carry the coffee home with me still has that wonderful aroma that brings back memories of my fine breakfasts and wonderful coffee that made each morning in Costa Rica something to look forward to.

Adventure and Nature
Above all things, even the beaches, it seems like everyone comes to Costa Rica to experience adventure and get close to nature in one way or another. Whether it be their white water rafting (which I heard was the best in the world over 15 years ago during a trip on the New River in West Virginia), rappelling or hiking through the rainforest, Costa Rica is full of natural wonder. For us, every day had some kind of adventure.

City Life
My first surprise was just arriving in San Jose. Seeing the capital city in any country is always interesting. Seeing one in a Central American country that is so different from the ones in the United States and Western Europe that I am more familiar with is a whole new thing entirely. From the crowded streets to the mix of ramshackle homes, middle class neighborhoods and affluent residences in walking distance from one another, things are decidedly different. Adventure is somewhat in the mind of the beholder but you can feel it just as much in your body as you heart excitedly pounds inside your chest. I felt it as I walked through the crowded streets, sat in local restaurants trying to figure out what I was ordering for lunch (and was surprised with what showed up at times) and especially when I made it to the market. You would absolutely never see something like this in the United States. You can still find your old school market if you look hard enough in a large US city, but you would never see so many disparate things for sale under one roof. At one fish stall, we saw gigantic fish jammed into a plastic barrel waiting for more sales to occur so that they could make their way into the display case. At another, we smelled and tasted wonderful Costa Rican coffee. With 20 different food stalls inside, we sat and enjoyed fresh seafood soup and fruit shakes for lunch one afternoon. I know this isn’t the kind of adventure people think of when they come to Costa Rica, but it is adventure just the same. Many people skip San Jose completely or are too frightened to venture out and around this capital city. My time spent exploring Costa Rica’s capital was exciting and enjoyable.

Driving
Adventure didn’t end in San Jose. In fact, it was just beginning as it continued on the ride from San Jose to La Fortuna which was full of beautiful surprises at every turn. We are surrounded by beautiful mountains on every side and it seems that we are driving through the heart of the country as the road dips and rises allowing us to see beautiful valleys below and small to medium size green mountains on all sides of us. At street level, we encounter intermittent vendors on the side of the road selling home grown guanabana, bananas and vegetables while others have Christmas decorations and bird houses made of corn for sale. There are small businesses and ramshackle homes with rusted sheet metal roofs that have clothes draped over their sides so that they can dry in the sun. While a distant comparison, it reminds me of a nicer version of some of the favelas that I walked through on the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro. It is funny how rural homes, so simple and basic, look much the same whether in Botswana, Brazil, Vietnam, Mexico or Costa Rica. Some of Costa Rica’s wonderful coffee comes from these areas, as we pass by one coffee plantation after another. Some of the plants are young and small while others are ripe and ready to be harvested. In between these plantations, sugar, corn and other crops grow, the sole reason being to provide shade to the coffee plants. We continue driving on amongst cloud covered mountains that stare us in the eyes. There are cows grazing everywhere and we are surrounded by beauty. Finally, we see the Arenal volcano with ominous clouds lurking below its peak. It almost seems that we are driving into a storm. After a long, bumpy road that is covered with potholes that could easily blow out a tire, we finally arrive at Rancho Margot.

Sustainability
Rancho Margot is a revelation! Just 30 minutes from La Fortuna, it feels like we have arrived at an oasis deep in the jungle. This completely sustainable eco lodge has no gas or power lines coming into their 400+ acres of property in the middle of the rainforest and is in full view and in close proximity to the most active volcano in the world. Juan Sostheim is the mastermind of Rancho Margot and he, his family and staff operate the ranch. After a previous career, Juan bought this land and realized his dream. We talked to Juan and his son Frederic at length about this ongoing project and it is obvious that they realize and understand the significance of their undertaking.

The water flowing from the surrounding mountains fills the natural stone pools and feeds a large water turbine that produces the power needed to operate the ranch. If you are pondering what happens during a drought, this is not a concern in the rain forest. They grow their own fruits and vegetables, have a medicinal garden and raise cows, pigs and chickens. They use all waste for composting and produce their own methane gas from the liquid run off from the manure. Currently, they produce their own eggs, cheese, milk and some meat but they are working towards being able to produce everything on site including yogurt and marmalade which will be for sale. Rancho Margot is something to be proud of. Sitting in the middle of the rainforest, it is amazing, refreshing and peaceful.

On one morning, our adventure is in its most basic form. We help out on the ranch by assisting the farmers working in the dairy with milking the cows. It feels strange pulling on the utter as I almost feel like I am doing something inappropriate. However, I soon get over this feeling as it requires focus in order to get any milk to come out of the utter. It also requires forearm, wrist and finger strength and most importantly, rhythm to pull through the utter in a consistent fashion. Compared to Ivy and I, the farmers who do this on a daily basis can get 3-4 times the amount of milk we’ve been able to squeeze in the same amount of time.

On another day, we tour the ranch grounds. It is fascinating to learn about all of the different flowers, medicinal plants, fruits and vegetables that grow at the ranch. The clinical name is listed for all plants and our guide explains the benefits of growing each specific plant. Some of the plants, like the so called “sensitive plant”, we touch. Interestingly, this plants small and sensitive leaves curl up after they are touched. We also learn about animal waste and worm composting which is vital to Rancho Margot since it produces all fertilizer. Juan’s vision for the ranch is astonishing. The range of things that need to be considered, from power lines running to the bungalows to the pipes that transport water throughout the ranch, are vast and varied. Juan and his staff’s venture is one that involves constant trial and error. I am excited to visit again in a few years to see all of his initiatives fully implemented.

Hiking
After settling into our bungalow and relaxing for all of a whole hour, we set out to hike up to the mirador, or viewing point, in the hopes of watching the clouds break so that the Arenal volcano can come into full view. We are accompanied by one of the ranches dogs, a beautiful golden retriever named Acha. As we make our way up the mountain, we see beauty on every side of us. There are bushes, ferns and numerous plants bestowing beautiful tropical flowers. We hike toward the volcano in the distance that stands stoic amongst the clouds and is flanked by green covered mountains. Below us lies a tranquil lake that reaches out, in and around, more greenery in the distance. At our peak, we sit and stare at the volcano. What a rare treat to see nature so naked with so much beauty around us. Acha seems equally engaged and at peace with the surrounding environment.

Our descent brings more wonderful views and some amazing encounters with nature. I come across a white horse grazing leisurely and am able to get close enough to touch him. After running into 4 other horses along the way, night is setting in and I am eager to get back to the ranch. I continue to follow Acha, barely visible in front of me, when I come across 5 horses standing behind each other in a single file line. They also appear to be heading in the direction of the entrance to the ranch. We follow the horses for a bit until they veer off in another direction. We continue on, following Acha, in the direction of the ranch but decide to change course and follow the horses instead. This proves to be a wise decision as we witness an experience only nature can offer. As darkness sets upon us, we stand silently and watch 5 horses cautiously navigate across a river that is running high due to the pulsating rain that has been impacting the region recently. Witnessing something so simple, yet so primitive, is beautiful to me. It is like watching National Geographic, but doing it live. There is real danger for each of these horses and I can sense this in their actions. The river is high and there are no guarantees that these horses will make it across without issue. Each of them moves in a diligent and cautious manner, some more confidently than others. Slowly, all of them make it across the river and quickly disappear, running into the rainforest.

Flying and Rappelling
Another day’s adventure is much different as it includes flying. We participate in sky trekking or canopying. Other than sky diving, this is as close to flying as most people every get. We ascend high up a mountain using a gondola much like you see in ski country and are rewarded with wonderful views of Lake Arenal and the surrounding volcanoes, mountains and the rainforest. We hear the howler monkeys and birds as we slowly soar amongst the mountains to the 1st platform. The distances between platforms range from .1 to .6 miles. Between these platforms, we will fly while strapped into a harness that is attached to an elaborate cable system. We have no choice but to completely trust our guide and the equipment as there is nothing to save us in the case of an equipment failure. I am weary at first prior to my first “flight”. After watching 5 others in my group take their 1st flight, it’s my turn. The guide makes sure I am firmly in the harness and makes eye contact with me, indicating that is time to fly. A few seconds later I am diving head first into the wind with nothing but 2000 feet between me and the earth below. I am flying through the clouds and can’t see a thing for a few frightening seconds before emerging out of the clouds and seeing the lake and rainforest below me and the volcanoes in the distance. I feel a unique sense of freedom as I fly through the air with nothing but air between me and nature.

Rappelling is a much different, exhilarating experience that is full of beauty, peril and surprise at the same time. In order to get to the waterfall we will rappel down, we follow a path leading from the ranch that takes us right into the heart of the rainforest. It is raining slightly and all the rain over the past few days forces us to plod through streams that have grown beyond their means. We lumber through streams and muddy trails trying to keep our balance, all the while encountering trees, flowers, plants and bushes at every turn. Below our feet, the ground is covered with leaves that have fallen from the trees which extend 30-40 feet above our heads. We all stop and turn when we see the most spectacular blue butterfly that flutters to our left, and then to our right. The 5 of us and our companion Acha continue hiking for another 20 minutes before we finally arrive at the first waterfall. It is 60 feet high and from the brackets I can see in the rocks, it appears that we will be hiking up this waterfall. The pulley system we are using would stop us from having a complete free fall to the bottom, though a complete loss of footing or grip would likely result in a collision with the rocks and some kind of injury. I feel a sense of adventure run through my bones as I carefully climb and pull myself up the waterfall, scaling the slippery rocks beneath my feet. Each step requires my fullest attention. After successfully ascending to the top of this waterfall, we continue our hike and make our way to the top of another waterfall.

Here, we peer over the top, but the rain and our inability to get close to the edge prevent us from being able to see the bottom, over 100 feet below us. All we know is that we will somehow be climbing down this waterfall and the thought of that makes all of us a bit nervous. Sensing our uncertainty, Carlos, our guide, reassures us that we need to trust our equipment. No matter what he says, I’m not sure. I completely trust the equipment, because if the pulley system and harness break, we won’t survive. Equipment alone isn’t going to get any of us down the waterfall though. We are. This isn’t canopying where you just strap in and go. It is obvious that we are going to need to pay incredible attention to every step while maneuvering the pulley system to guide ourselves down the waterfall. Making that task even more challenging is the fact that we are all drenched to the bone.

I wearily watch each person before me make their way down. I hold my breath and pray as my fiancé, Ivy, makes her way down. They all do so slowly and without incident. Finally, it’s my turn. I cautiously and fearfully begin my descent. As I look up, water pours into my eyes. This immediately forces me to focus even more so on the moment as all of my attention is now directed at the rocks in front and to the side of me and to my feet below. Slowly, I make my way down, allotting myself more rope using the pulley system as I move down, step by step. Each time I pull on the rope to release additional slack from the bracket, I diligently and cautiously make sure to place my foot as far into the rock’s crevice as possible to avoid hitting an edge and slipping off. It is hard to go down straight as the rocks are all over the place. I find myself veering to the right and hear someone yelling. I look down and realize I am going in the direction of the forest wall on my right and need to make my way back to the center. I slowly attempt to work my way back over. Finally, it feels like I have achieved some sort of groove as my movement is more continuous and I am able to make my way down from the right to the left and towards the bottom. My overconfidence gets the best of me as my next step is not so secure and I feel myself begin to slip. My balance wavers and I am unable to regain it. My foot slips off the rock and my body thrusts back to the right, sways back to the left and bounces back side off of the rocks, before stopping. I can barely hear Ivy screaming, “Oh my God” below. After realizing and fully appreciating that I am still locked in place, I attempt to regain my composure and turn myself back around. I have fully tested the equipment and Carlos was 100% correct as I would have fallen freely without it. My clothes and jacket have absorbed the brunt of the blow and I am ready to continue my descent. I focus much more intently and move down the mountain step by step. As I approach the bottom and see everyone’s face, I feel a sense of exhilaration run through my body. Finally, after what seems like 30 minutes, my feet are securely on the ground. I approach the others and we all look at each other and smile. The looks on our faces speak of pride, accomplishment and a distinct sense of satisfaction. I feel alive. This is one of the most adventurous things I have done in my life.

Water
After dinner one evening, Frederic approaches us and mentions that the ranch may be arranging for a trip to a natural hot spring that is open to the public later that evening. Excited since this is something we want to do, we assure him that we will be prepared whenever the driver is ready. Within 30 minutes, we are boarding a van dressed in our bathing suits with towels in hand. As we make our way down the rocky road that connects Ranch Margot to El Castillo, we can see the Arenal volcano in the distance. We look to the left and right and see many cars parked with both Ticos and tourists standing and watching the volcano from the side of the road. Our driver follows suit and pulls the van to the side of the road. The ten of us climb out of the van, walk over a small hill, stand and gaze at the volcano. This is the first time I have really gotten a clear view of the volcano at night and I can clearly identify molten lava rolling down the side of the mountain. It is bright orange and glowingly beautiful. Days later, I find out that what I was seeing were actually molten lava rocks that were bouncing down the mountain. I am in a bit of an awestruck daze as I stand and watch the power of nature before my eyes. Now and then, I look up at the sky above me, seeing thousands of visible stars. I don’t remember seeing so many stars since I was in Australia in the middle of the outback with no lights for miles and only the stars sparkling above me. For 10-15 minutes, I sit and watch beautiful molten lava rocks tumble down the mountain. I feel like a little boy as I try to locate the little orange dot in the distance and track it as it bounces along and makes its way down the hill. It is almost like natural fireworks as I can see sparks fly as the rocks make their way down the mountain. As I watch the volcano and the lava rocks, I can hear a thunderous rumble as Mother Nature makes me acutely aware of her presence.

We continue on and ten minutes later we are climbing out of the van again. We remove our shoes and climb over some rocks into an inlet where the warm, hot spring waters flow. It feels exciting as there are no guides and no restrictions. I feel like I am going somewhere that is off limits; a place where few tourists venture. One after another, we carefully climb over one last set of rocks until we are knee deep in the water where a quaint pool of natural spring water awaits us.

I let the others go before me, assisting them over the rocks. As I help the others, I start to feel the rapids and eventually the power of the water starts to push me off of my secure setting behind some rocks. I try to resist until I can’t hold on any longer and my fingers begin to painfully slip from the rock I am holding onto. My foot slides out from behind my safe-haven and into the path of the rapids I go. I can feel my heart beat quickly. I have no control and no idea where this will take me. As the water pulls my body along, I look in the direction of 2 men who are still waiting to climb into the lagoon. They look at me and quickly respond, grabbing my leg and arm and pulling me to safety. I am relieved and shaken as I slowly make my way back into the lagoon where the others are relaxing. This time I make sure to stay clear of the rapids and veer to the left to the calm water. After I am finally able to settle down, I enjoy the feeling of the warm, natural thermal water against my skin. We sit and relax and look at the plants around us and the mist coming off of the water. It is a reflective moment as I ponder the environment around me – the stars, volcano, lava rocks and water, the power of which should never be underestimated.

Movie Review - The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

2008-10-18T10:38:00.000-07:00

By Chris Sarcletti

Have you ever considered whether you would want to live or die if your faculties were taken from you? I know I have. But which faculties? What if it was your body and you still had your brain and could speak? What if you had your mind but couldn’t communicate?

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (nominated for 4 Academy awards) is an amazing film about the triumph of human spirit made by Julian Schnabel that challenges us to grapple with the main characters affliction, yet entertains us at the same time.

This is not a depressing movie. I need to stress that because quite surprisingly, it is uplifting. I will admit that when I read the description on my Netflix envelope, I put it aside and it took me nearly a month to get too. Shame on me! This movie touched me like few recent films have and forced me to reflect on my own viewpoints and beliefs.

It tells the story of Elle magazine editor Jean-Dominique Bauby (better known as Jean Do). At the height of fashion and life at the age of 42, he suffers a massive stroke that paralyzes him from head to toe. He wakes up in the hospital and, through his eyes and ours, the movie begins. I am not going to give away too much but this is more than a film of a hospital room window.

It shows how Jean Do is able to communicate through one eye (the other one doesn’t work) by blinking with the outside world. Actually, he does much more than that as he writes an autobiography of his life and experience through a dedicated assistant who you would have to say falls in love with Jean Do, as many fall to the charms of this man.

This is not a story where we are supposed to pity the man in the wheelchair. At 42, he was a person with real problems like all of us. He has 3 children, a wife, mistress and a disabled father. All of these issues are touched on, some more than others. While this all contributes to the story, none of that really matters as it seems that Jean Do was one of those rare people who are admired and loved by many despite their imperfections.

Through Jean Do’s eyes, and more appropriately his memory and imagination (which he so touchingly says are the only parts of him other than his one eye that are not paralyzed), we see his life. We see him eating foods he no longer can, traveling to wonderful spots throughout the world (although the scenery from the hospital balcony he loves so much is spectacular) and enjoying time with friends and family. It is touching to see his friends and family speak to and sing and dance in front of him. Anyone who thinks someone confined to a chair and unable to communicate doesn’t appreciate visitors needs to really reconsider their position. Needless to say, he gets over pitying himself quickly and appreciates their efforts and even their jokes at his expense.

This movie is touching. Of course it is! How could it not be? It is more than that though. It is beautiful in so many ways from images of debonair and attractive Jean Do to the wonderful scenery from the hospital balcony to the gorgeous therapists who help to rehabilitate him.

This movie made me think, made me feel and made me cry. It made me reconsider some of my beliefs about my own existence. Also, it made me realize how selfish I am and how much more I have to learn about life. Life is more than what we see in front of us when we look at our hands. We all have to cherish every part of it.

Now (Poem)

2008-10-10T14:07:00.000-07:00

See the sun shine through the clouds

Feel the cool air of an Autumn day fill
your nose as your stomach expands with
each breath

Observe how your body adjusts to the
change of the season

Don't judge, just feel

Nothing is given, not tomorrow or even
yesterday as our minutes and hours are
all illusions that blend into each other
and contrive what one calls truth and
the other myth

Presence (Poem)

2008-10-10T13:59:00.000-07:00

Relaxing by a calm stream as you lie on your back

and let your thoughts wither into your surroundings

Feeling your heart beat underneath your hand

as you lie peacefully and wait to succumb to one

more night of beautiful sleep

These moments are viewed as a means to an end

in the passage of life, yet they constitute our

existence and deserve every ounce or our attention

A Brief History of the 1980's

2008-10-07T12:55:00.000-07:00

By: Chris Sarcletti

* information and statistics from numerous resources

A 1980’s EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

Political

During this decade, we saw our first black Presidential candidate (Jesse Jackson) in addition to our first woman vice-presidential candidate (Geraldine Ferraro). Our stock market tripled and was able to survive the massive crash of 1987. The sexual revolution encountered a major adversary when Rock Hudson died of AIDS in 1985. Prisons overflowed and violent crime rates continued to climb with the appearance of crack in 1985.

This was also the decade of cocaine as cocaine addiction was up 35% from 1985 to 1990. Nancy Reagan's Just Say No campaign had great influence. Toward the end of the decade, President Bush called for a kinder, gentler nation and volunteerism and contributions reached an all time high.

Families changed drastically during these years. The 80s continued the trends of the 60s and 70s - more divorces, more unmarried couples living together, more single parent families. The two-earner family was even more common than in previous decades. More women earned college and advanced degrees, married, and had fewer children.

Art, Books & Literature

The Eighties were a huge decade for art, art museums, and artists. Influential artists included Jasper Johns, Willem De Kooning, Keith Haring and Roy Lichtenstein. Veterans protested a Chicago Art Institute exhibit that had the flag draped on the floor. Auctions of famous art works brought record prices. Early in the decade Picasso's 'Yo' brought 5.4 million. By 1987, Van Gogh's 'Sunflowers' brought $39.9 million while 'Irises" brought $53.9 million dollars!

American was reading. Popular fiction authors included espionage writers Ken Follett, Robert Ludlum and Tom Clancy. Scott Turow turned the legal thriller around and paved the way for the mega legal thrillers of the 90s, when he wrote Presumed Innocent. Of 13 books which sold over one million copies, Stephen King, Tom Clancy, and Danielle Steele wrote 10 of them. Tom Wolfe, Toni Morrison and John Irving, were among the most popular writers of the decade.

Education

A 1980 study by UCLA and the American Council on Education indicated that college freshmen were more interested in status, power, and money than at any time during the past 15 years. Business Management was the most popular major.
American education came under fire during the 1980s. Liberals cried out against budget cuts and rising student costs. School districts offered teachers exams and exit exams became a part of graduating for Education majors. An attempt was made to improve the teacher quality by raising salaries slightly. Efforts to censor books tripled in the eighties as The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Grapes of Wrath, and Catcher in the Rye were among books banned in New York State. Roget's Thesaurus banned sexist categories: mankind became humankind; countryman became country dweller. Columbia University, the last all male Ivy League school, began accepting women in 1983. President Reagan endorsed a constitutional amendment to permit school prayer. It was defeated.

Fads, Fashion & Lifestyle

Team sports for kids were very popular as Eighties' mothers ran carpools after work to take their kids to cheerleading, baseball, football, soccer, gym, dance, jazz, you name it!
Nerd's became a hot commodity in the 1980s. Wealthy and brainy computer wizards like Stephen Wozniak helped as did movies like Revenge of the Nerds, Lucas and Stand by Me. TV joined the nerd ranks with ABC's hit series Head of the Class. Popular food items of the decade included popular fast food places like Taco Bell and McDonald's which introduced the McDLT and McRib sandwich during this decade. Kids loved Skittles, Nerds, Runts, Hubba Bubba Chewing Gum, and Five Alive.

Collectibles were big in the 80s. Smurf and E.T. paraphernalia, Cabbage Patch dolls, camcorders, video games (Nintendo, Pac Man, Game Boy), Rubik's Cube, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Barbies (now Hispanic, Black, Asian) were big. Also new to the 1980’s were discount air fares, light foods, aerobics, minivans and talk shows.

Major clothing influences from the 1980’s included Nancy Reagan’s elegance and Princess Diana’s love of fashion. The mini-skirt made a major revival and denim was very popular. Anne Klein, Perry Ellis, Donna Karan, and Calvin Klein were some of the big designers for the 80s. The Flashdance look had young and old in tank tops, tight-fitting pants or torn jeans, and leg-warmers. Teens not wearing designer clothes opted for Michael Jackson's glove or Madonna's fishnet stockings, leather, and chains. Image won over reality and tanning salons thrived. Sneakers were so popular and the price so high that the Los Angeles Police Department accused shoe companies of cashing in on the easy drug money picked up by inner city kids.

During the eighties, Americans continued to travel around their own country - using every mode of transportation. Trips to Colorado for a mountain vacation were popular in summer as well as winter. Traveling was often in RVs.

Music & Media

Cable was born and MTV, originally intended to be promos for albums, had an enormous impact on music and young people. The digital compact disc (CD) revolutionized the music industry. Dances learned on MTV included slam dancing, lambada, and break dancing. Harlem's gay Black and Latino males imitated the beautiful jet set with their (then underground) Vogueing, a 'pose' dance popularized by Madonna incorporating the struts and stances of high fashion models.

Pop, rock, new wave, punk, country, and especially rap or hip hop became popular in the 80s. The 1980’s were undoubtedly a coming of age time period for rap and hip hop music. These types of music had started in prison 20 years earlier by jailed black inmates who, in the absence of instruments, turned poetic meter into musical rhythm and they gained massive popularity during this decade. The early rap heard on ghetto streets was abrasive and laced with hostility toward society. Early important rap artists include Grandmaster Flash, Run-D.M.C, Beastie Boys, L.L. Cool J, Curtis Blow, Ice-T, 2 Live Crew, Eric B. & Rakim, Slick Rick and N.W.A.

Theater, Film and Television

In 1981, VCR sales rose 72% in 12 months. By 1989, 60 percent of American households with televisions received cable service. Huge or memorable movies of the decade included On Golden Pond, Tootsie, Arthur, E.T., The Big Chill, Beverly Hills Cop, Out of Africa, Back to the Future, Cocoon, The Breakfast Club, Platoon, Star Trek, Good Morning Vietnam, Fatal Attraction, Rain Man, and Driving Miss Daisy.

Broadway revivals were important during the 80s. Revival musicals like West Side Story, The Music Man, Anything Goes, Me and My Gal, Brigadoon, Grand Hotel, Gypsy, and The King and I all did well at the box office. Other memorable musicals that were popular in this decade include Andrew Lloyd Webber's mega hits Cats, Starlight Express, Les Miserables, and The Phantom of the Opera. In 1980, the American Ballet Theater turned 40 and Mikhail Baryshnikov became director.

TV innovations and trends included anti-family sitcoms like Roseanne and Married...with Children; tabloid TV with Geraldo, Phil, Sally, and Oprah; stand-up comics included Gary Shandling, Jane Curtin, George Carlin, Jackie Mason, Bill Cosby, Jerry Seinfeld, and Tracy Ullman; info-tainment included Nightline with Ted Koppel, CNN Cable News, and 20/20 with Hugh Downs and Barbara Walters. 60 Minutes which had first aired in 1968 was bigger than ever. It was a media decade with superstars.

GENERAL ECONOMIC FACTS & STATISTICS

President
Jimmy Carter - 1980
Ronald Reagan - 1983
Ronald Reagan - 1986
George Bush - 1989

Population
227,224,681 - 1980
233,791,994 - 1983
240,132,887 - 1986
246,819,230 - 1989

Life Expectancy
73.7 years - 1980
74.6 years - 1983
74.7 years - 1986
75.1 years - 1989

Federal Debt
930 billion - 1980
1,410 billion - 1983
2,125 billion - 1986
2,857 billion - 1989

Inflation
13.5% - 1980
7.6% -1983
1.9% - 1986
4.6% - 1989

Federal Spending
590.95 billion -1980
1371.7 billion - 1983
990.34 billion - 1986
1143.17 billion - 1989

Unemployment
5.8% - 1980
9.7% - 1983
7.2% - 1986
5.5% -1989

Cost of a new Home
$76,400 - 1980
$89,800 -1983
$111,900 - 1986
$148,800 - 1989

Median Household Income
$17,710 - 1980
$20,885 - 1983
$24,897 - 1986
$28,906 - 1989

Cost of a regular gallon of gas
$1.25 - 1980
$1.24 - 1983
$.93 - 1986
$1.12 - 1989

KEY EVENTS FROM EACH YEAR

1980

President Carter authorized the use of government land for the Viet Nam War Memorial.
Secretary of State Cyrus Vance resigned in opposition to a failed mission to rescue American hostages from Iran.

The doctor of the late Elvis Presley was indicted on charges of over-prescribing medication to Presley and Jerry Lee Lewis.

Mt. St. Helens in southwest Washington erupted, killing 62 and spreading thick ash over an area of 250 square miles. A geologist who barely escaped after monitoring the eruption said the blast was hundreds of times more powerful than the nuclear bomb dropped on Hiroshima. The eruption toppled trees and stripped them of their bark in a national forest 20 miles from the explosion.

14 died in race riots in Miami following the acquittal of four white police officers in the beating death of a black man.

Ronald Reagan was nominated as the Republican candidate for U.S. President. Reagan and running mate George Bush soundly defeated Jimmy Carter and Walter Mondale in the November election.

John Lennon was murdered by a deranged fan outside his apartment building on New York's Central Park West.

Dallas was the top TV show and Hill Street Blues debuted on NBC.

1981

After 444 days in captivity, 52 American hostages were released by Iran on the day Ronald Reagan was inaugurated as the 40th president.

John Hinckley, Jr. attempted to assassinate President Reagan with a .22 handgun. The president quickly recovered from a wound to his left lung after surgery, but press secretary James Brady suffered severe brain damage.

The federal minimum wage was raised to $3.35 per hour.

President Reagan lifted a ban on commercial recycling of nuclear fuel, despite fears that the action could put weapons-grade plutonium in the hands of terrorists.

President Reagan issued an executive order giving the CIA its first full authority to conduct domestic covert operations.

The U.S. Navy shot down two Libyan jets that had fired upon them while conducting training exercises in the Gulf of Sidra.

Sandra Day O'Connor became the 1st female member of the U.S. Supreme Court.

Columbia, the nation's first space shuttle, was launched April 12th.

The royal wedding of Prince Charles & Princess Diana drew more Americans to their TV sets than coverage of the assassination attempt on the president.

Walter Cronkite retired from The CBS Evening News.

The top-selling song of the year was Physical by Olivia Newton-John.

1982

San Francisco banned the sale and possession of handguns.

President Reagan reinstituted draft registration for young men aged 18-21.

The president proposed a 26 billion dollar program to develop MX multiple-warhead missiles.

Seven deaths due to cyanide-filled Tylenol capsules led the government to impose new tamper-resistant packaging for over-the-counter drugs.

78 died when an Air Florida jet crashed into a bridge over the Potomac River in D.C.

154 died when a Pan Am jet crashed after takeoff in New Orleans.

22 died in flooding in Arkansas, Illinois and Missouri.

The first successful artificial heart transplant took place at the University of Utah Medical Center.

Comedian John Belushi died of an overdose of cocaine and heroin.

Cats and the musical version of Little Shop of Horrors opened on Broadway.

Cheers debuted on NBC.

Elvis Presley's Memphis home, Graceland, was opened to the public.

1983

The Justice Department launched an investigation of the Reagan presidential campaign's alleged 1980 theft of briefing books from President Jimmy Carter's staff.

General Motors announced a partnership with rival Toyota to produce fuel-efficient cars car for the U.S. market.

President Reagan challenged the country's weapons engineers to create a Star Wars system which would ward off a nuclear attack with armed satellites.

California's strongest earthquake in 12 years caused massive destruction in Coalinga and western Fresno county

250,000 participated in a 20th anniversary recreation of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s civil rights March on Washington.

William Clark replaced Interior Secretary James Watt after Watt joked about minorities at a press briefing.

241 U.S. Navy and Marines personnel were killed in a suicide bombing attack in Beirut. Seven Americans were killed in embassy bomb attacks in Kuwait.

U.S. forces invaded Grenada to guard evacuations of U.S. citizens after a Marxist takeover.

As a crew member of the space shuttle Challenger, Sally Ride became America's first woman in space.

1984

President Reagan ordered the withdrawal of the U.S. Marines from Beirut.

Rev. Jesse Jackson negotiated the release of 22 Americans with Cuban premier Fidel Castro.

During an audio level check prior to his regular radio address, President Reagan joked that the U.S. had launched a nuclear attack on the Soviets. Although the remark was not broadcast on all U.S. radio stations, the Soviet Union went into a brief state of red alert because they were monitoring the White House's communications satellite channel.

For the first time, American astronauts walked un-tethered in space and repaired orbiting satellites during shuttle missions.

Singer Marvin Gaye was shot and killed by his father out of self-defense during a violent argument at the home they shared in Los Angeles. Gaye's last live performance had been his rendition of The Star Spangled Banner at the NBA All Star Game.

The U.S. re-established full diplomatic relations with the Vatican. They had been suspended in 1867.

Former Vice President Walter Mondale named Geraldine Ferraro as his running mate following his Democratic nomination.

In the largest landslide for Republicans in U.S. history, Ronald Reagan and George Bush were re-elected by winning 49 states.

The World Court labeled the U.S. as an aggressor nation as the CIA mined ports in Nicaragua.
25 died when winds raging over 100 miles per hour blew through Montana, North Dakota and Minnesota.

29 perished in 36 inches of blowing snow as fast-moving blizzards swept across Utah and Colorado.

Tornadoes in the Carolinas killed 71 and caused 400 million in damage.

Dow and several other chemical companies established the Agent Orange Fund for Viet Nam vets who had been exposed to the herbicide.

President Reagan dedicated the Viet Nam Memorial, a V-shaped wall of names designed by Yale student Maya Lang Yin.

Disneyland celebrated Donald Duck's 50th birthday.

Popular movies included Indiana Jones In the Temple of Doom and Beverly Hills Cop
Miami Vice debuted on NBC

# 1 Songs included Karma Chameleon by Culture Club, Jump by Van Halen, Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go by Wham!, Like A Virgin by Madonna, When Doves Cry by Prince and What's Love Got To Do With It? by Tina Turner.

1985

Outdoor portions of the Reagan/Bush inauguration were canceled due to extremely cold weather. The bitter cold wave was responsible for at least 40 deaths, with record-breaking low temperatures near -25°F from the east coast to the Midwest.

13 people were charged with spying against the U.S. in the course of the year. Most were past or present members of the CIA, FBI or U.S. Navy.

Newport, Rhode Island millionaire Claus Von Bulow was found not guilty of attempting to murder his wife.

Coca Cola outraged its customers by introducing a reformulated version of the long-popular soft drink. 20 weeks later, the company announced it would bring back the old recipe under the name Coke Classic.

3 died and 300,000 were evacuated when hurricane Gloria ripped through coastal communities from North Carolina to Rhode Island.

Hurricane Juan killed 7 and created a billion dollars worth of damage along the Gulf Coast.

President Reagan and Communist Party Leader Mikhail Gorbachev agreed to work on a plan for strategic arms limitations at a summit meeting in Geneva.

After a long period of denial, Rock Hudson announced he was suffering from AIDS and died October 2nd. Mother Teresa dedicated an AIDS hospice in New York City on Christmas Eve.

Hit movies included Back to the Future and Cocoon.

The Cosby Show became America's #1 TV show.

From a musical perspective, Michael Jackson and Lionel Richie co-wrote We Are The World, which became an all-star performance under the direction of Quincy Jones. The song and its video helped raise millions of dollars for starving children in famine-stricken Africa.

1986

A sad day in our history was January 28, 1986, when space shuttle Challenger exploded 74 seconds after liftoff killing all seven astronauts, including school teacher Christa McAuliffe. The explosion was the result of reduced safety standards in an attempt to speed up the launch date.

Research money allowed for studies and new treatments for heart, cancer, and other diseases.
6 million people participated in Hands Across America, raising money for programs for the country's homeless.

25 died when a plane and helicopter collided over the Grand Canyon.

The celebration of the 100th anniversary of the Statue of Liberty took place on Independence Day. The statue had undergone a massive renovation before the event.

The surviving crewman of a plane shot down over Nicaragua confirmed that the CIA was running weapons to the Contras. Three weeks later, it was disclosed that the U.S. had been secretly selling arms to Iran. After Attorney General Ed Meece admitted that the arms proceeds were being diverted to arming the Contras, President Reagan fired security advisors Admiral John Poindexter and Lt. Col. Oliver North. The president insisted he had no knowledge of the operation.

President Reagan signed a relaxed gun control law which would allow interstate retail sales of rifles. Police associations had lobbied against the revised law. Former press secretary James Brady, who had been critically injured in the assassination attempt against the president in 1981, was appalled that Reagan signed the measure.

By a landslide vote, Republican Clint Eastwood was elected mayor of Carmel, California.

1987

During a visit to the Berlin Wall, President Ronald Reagan challenged Soviet Premier Mikhail Gorbachev to "tear down this wall."

Incorrect track assignments resulted in the crash of an Amtrak passenger train into three Conrail engines in Maryland. 15 were killed and 180 were injured.

A freak blizzard blanketed the entire east coast — from Florida to Maine — with snow. Over 20 inches of snow fell in a 24-hour period in North Carolina. The storm caused 41 deaths.

7 died and 111 were injured when the Los Angeles area was rocked by a 6.1-Richter-Scale earthquake.

The worst Stock Market crash since 1929 took place on October 19th as the Dow slipped 508 points — down nearly 23%.

Congress overrode President Reagan's veto of the Clean Water Act.

The Tower Commission blamed President Reagan for failing to understand the impact of selling arms to Iran and diverting the proceeds to Contra rebels. The commission also laid blame on Chief of Staff Donald Regan, who the president fired the next day. After three months of Iran-Contra hearings conducted by a Congressional committee, Reagan was blamed for failing his constitutional duties as president in allowing aides to carry out the operations, whether or not they did so with his knowledge.

TV Evangelist Jim Bakker, who with his wife Tammy hosted the popular PTL Club, was convicted of 24 counts of fraud and resigned his role as minister within the Assemblies of God church.

28 died and 53 were injured when a Continental passenger jet broke into three pieces attempting to take off during a heavy snowstorm in Denver.

Greg LeMond became the first American to win the Tour De France

Popular movies included Fatal Attraction, Broadcast News, Moonstruck and The Last Emperor
The angst-ridden yuppie drama Thirtysomething debuted on ABC-TV. The Cosby Show was still the number one TV show.

Hit tunes included I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For by U2, Faith by George Michael, At This Moment by Billy Vera & The Beaters (reissued after being featured in an episode of Family Ties) and Open Your Heart by Madonna.

1988

Structural failure was blamed when a hole in the fuselage of a Boeing 737 over Hawaii caused a flight attendant to be sucked out of the jet.

Attorney General Ed Meece resigned after an investigation claimed he had attempted to take a bribe from a company in exchange for defense contracts.

The Puyallup Indians of Washington State were given $162 million in exchange for dropping their claim to the city of Tacoma.

Televangelist Jimmy Swaggart confessed his sins to Jesus on live TV after it was learned he had a tryst with a prostitute. His church banned him from preaching for a year.

The first shuttle since the Challenger exploded, the Discovery, was launched successfully.

John F. Kennedy, Jr. was named Sexiest Man Alive by People Magazine shortly after delivering a charismatic address to the Democratic National Convention. Michael Dukakis and Lloyd Bentsen were nominated to the ticket.

On a platform which included a promise of "no new taxes," George H. Bush won his party's nomination, with running mate Dan Quayle. A tearful Ronald Reagan passed the torch to Bush upon his victory in November.

President Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev signed an agreement to dismantle short-range nuclear missiles in Europe.

Eugene Mariho became the first African American bishop in the Catholic Church.

Top films included Rainman, A Fish Called Wanda and Die Hard.

The Cosby Show was the year's most popular TV show for the fourth straight year. CBS introduced Candice Bergen as Murphy Brown. Roseanne debuted on ABC and shot to number one in the weekly ratings.

Roy Orbison, enjoying a comeback as a member of the Traveling Wilburys and as a solo act, died of a heart attack at 52.

Number one musical hits included Got My Mind Set On You by George Harrison and Don't Worry, Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin.

1989

3,980 were injured and 66 were killed when an earthquake measuring 6.9 shook the San Francisco-Oakland-Santa Cruz area, causing a double-tiered freeway bridge to collapse. The quake struck as the third World Series Game was about to begin at Candlestick Park. Damage to the region was estimated at 10 billion.

President Bush — who had campaigned with the promise of no tax raises — called for an increase in income taxes to help curb the deficit which had begun to snowball during the Reagan administration.

The Exxon Valdez ran aground in Alaska's Prince William Sound, creating the largest domestic oil spill in history. The tanker's captain, Joseph Hazelwood, was accused of drunkenness and negligence.

97% of the buildings in St. Croix were destroyed by Hurricane Hugo. The storm caused billions of dollars in damage to Puerto Rico, the U.S. Virgin Islands and portions of the east coast. Amazingly, only 25 lives were lost.

47 sailors died in an explosion aboard the U.S.S. Iowa.

Washington, D.C. mayor Marion Barry was arrested after being videotaped smoking crack cocaine in a motel room.

23 Americans were killed and over 300 were wounded after President Bush authorized an invasion of Panama in an attempt to arrest General Manuel Noriega. The invasion took place just before Christmas and Noriega surrendered just after the New Year. He was taken to the U.S. to stand trial for drug trafficking.

Baseball superstar Pete Rose was banished from the game for life by the Commissioner of Baseball. Rose had admitted to gambling on professional sports but denied the Commissioner's finding that he had bet on his own team.

Memorable Oscar Winners from the 80’s

Actor
1980 – Robert DeNiro – Raging Bull
1982 – Ben Kingsley – Ghandi
1985 – William Hurt – Kiss of the Spider Woman
1986 – Paul Newman – The Color of Money
1987 – Michael Douglass – Wall Street
1988 – Dustin Hoffman – Rainman

Actress
1981 – Katharine Hepburn – On Golden Pond
1982 – Meryl Streep – Sophie’s Choice
1987 – Cher - Moonstruck
1988 – Jodie Foster – The Accused
1989 – Jessica Tandy – Driving Miss Daisy

Supporting Actor
1980 – Timothy Hutton – Ordinary People
1982 – Louis Gosset Jr. – An Officer and a Gentleman
1983 – Jack Nicholson – Terms of Endearment
1985 – Don Ameche - Cocoon
1987 – Sean Connery – The Untouchables
1989 – Denzel Washington - Glory

Supporting Actress
1982 – Jessica Lange – Tootsie
1985 – Anjelica Huston – Prizzi’s Honor
1986 – Dianne Wiest – Hannah and Her Sisters
1988 – Geena Davis – The Accidental Tourist
1988 – Dustin Hoffman - Rainman

Picture
1980 – Ordinary People (over Raging Bull)
1981 – Chariots of Fire (over Raiders of the Lost Ark)
1982 – Gandhi (over E.T.)
1983 – Terms of Endearment (over The Big Chill and The Right Stuff)
1984 – Amadeus (over The Killing Fields)
1985 – Out of Africa (over The Color Purple)
1986 – Platoon (over Hannah and Her Sisters & Children of a Lesser God)
1987 – The Last Emperor (over Fatal Attraction & Broadcast News)
1988 – Rainman (over Mississippi Burning)
1989 – Driving Miss Daisy (over Born on the 4th of July & Dead Poets Society)

Movie Review - The Departed

2008-09-15T10:34:00.000-07:00

By Chris Sarcletti

A funny thing happened as I sat there, engaged, somewhere near the last quarter of Martin Scorsese’s 150 minute film, The Departed. I thought to myself, this is a really good film. I didn’t say great though. The thing is, how a movie begins and how it ends really defines its “greatness”. That said, I knew I was in for a hell of a film after the first 5 minutes. Actually, the first one. I was engrossed with what I was watching completely after a minute and as soon as I walked out of the film, the first thought that came to my mind was, ‘I can’t wait to see that movie again.’ Actually, that was my 2nd thought. I will get to the first a bit later.

This movie has balls. Plain and simple. Everything about it does. Fortunately you don’t need to have balls to appreciate it. This is a vintage Scorsese film in the same class as Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, Goodfellas and Casino. Marty doesn’t hold back anything, not that you would expect him to. This is the kind of film where you don’t question whether someone is dead when they get shot, you know they are. There won’t be any last words because those words are tough to say when you have a bullet lodged in your brain. Jack Nicholson gives a BIG performance. He is over the top in every conceivable way. Actually, all the performances are over the top and they are all fantastic. Matt Damon and Leonardo DiCaprio show why they can hold stage with a great actor like Nicholson and not give up a fucking inch. While I am on the subject, Alec Baldwin and Mark Wahlberg don’t give up much either and are both very entertaining.

This is a Boston story. Maybe that is why the characters have such big personalities. This is a story of two cops who fall on opposite sides of the law although there is much gray area in the middle. However this is really a story about the mob and revolves around an egotistical, devilish and very entertaining crime boss named Frank Costello, played by Nicholson. Damon and DiCaprio are his protégés/cops and Baldwin, Wahlberg and Martin Sheen also plays cops of one degree or another. There are a lot of cops in this movie and there is a lot of crime and a lot of violence. There is good character development and a relationship between Damon’s character and a psychiatrist who works for the police force to soften the violent undertones of the film but Martin doesn’t really try and soften it too much. If he did, it wouldn’t be a Scorsese film. He doesn’t pull punches and doesn’t hold back anything and that is precisely why those of us who revere him do so much so.

At the beginning of this review, I alluded to my first thoughts after I walked out of the Departed. The Departed is the type of film that makes you feel like a man. The first thing I wanted to do after I exited the theater was walk into a bar, find the first stool available and order a hard drink. A triple whiskey sounds about right. After drinking that in one big gulp, I would slam the glass on the bar. The first jack off that made a comment would prompt me to pick up that glass and break it over his fucking head. After this incident, I would walk out of the bar without looking back to see if the guy got up and was coming after me because I wouldn’t need to. He wasn’t getting up.

Ok, maybe I am angry and maybe that is just me. Fortunately, I didn’t act on my feelings.

Like I said, this movie has balls.

Book Review - Siddhartha by Herman Hesse

2008-09-15T09:23:00.000-07:00

By Chris Sarcletti

Synopsis / Plot

A young man grows up living with his father who is a Brahmin (a concept of God found in Hinduism). He respects his father and his wise lifestyle. However, after realizing that he has learned all he can from his father, he begins to look for more answers regarding the nature of existence. He thirsts for knowledge and decides to leave his father to travel with his best friend Govinda and a group of Samanas (wandering monks). He believes he may find answers to his questions with the Samanas.

He travels with the Samanas, suppressing all bodily desires by fasting, breathing control, and living in poverty. His only truth is the natural world and meditation is practiced regularly. The most valuable lessons he learns during this period of his life are how to think, wait and fast. These lessons benefit him throughout his life. He learns but still searches for answers. He meets Gotama Buddha and learns from the greatest teacher of all but still wishes to understand the world for himself since all teachings have failed to accomplish this for him, even those of the Buddha. Siddhartha wishes to have the enlightenment that Buddha has attained by listening to the voice of his Self instead of denying it. He leaves his childhood friend and the Samanas to explore the world.

He continues to learn something new at every step. He sees life differently now and gives into the desires of the flesh. He meets a beautiful woman, Kamala, and the strong willed Siddartha is determined to learn love from Kamala. He uses the skills he has learned (to wait, fast and think) to get the riches (gifts, money, fine clothing) Kamala tells him he needs to learn from her. Things come easily to Siddhartha and he becomes a successful merchant. Riches in hand, he visits Kamala often and learns the pleasure of sex, gambling, drinking and love. He becomes comfortable in his “easy” lifestyle, but he never takes his career seriously. He sees it as a game and doesn’t get stressed like others. He learns about material possessions, but this doesn’t last forever. Eventually, the soul sickness of the rich creeps over him and his pleasures become a chain and a burden. He realizes that this part of his life is over. Ashamed of his sins, he leaves Kamala and his merchant life, disappearing into the forest.

Siddartha is now in deep despair. He is lost, confused and even seeks death. While resting near a river, he runs into his old friend Govinda who doesn’t even recognize him. Slowly, his despair dissipates. Siddhartha learns from the river and the ferryman Vasudeva who is a great listener. He realizes that only after living a life of self-denial and then experiencing sins for himself has he been able to find the wisdom about the world. Vasudeva teaches him how to listen to the quiet sounds of the river, endlessly flowing, and he realizes that the world is simply a recurring cycle. He realizes that nothing really changes at all and his selfish ego is destroyed. Siddhartha realizes the unimportance of his life alone since his life is a part of the greater unity of things. He realizes that no teacher could have brought him salvation. He finds ultimate peace for many years as he lives with the ferryman in a life of relative solitude.

Siddartha meets Kamala again. She passes away and he feels pain but soon after finds the greatest gift of his life when he meets his son through Kamala. His son lives with him after she passes and Siddhartha feels worldly love deeply to an extent that he has never felt before. However, his son resents him and his kindness and way of life. His son lived a life of luxury before and never wanted to leave that life. He, like Siddhartha, also wants to experience the world. The ferryman explains this to Siddartha and he understands but chooses to continue to try and win his sons love with kindness. Eventually, young Siddhartha (the son) runs away, leaving his father and the ferryman.

Siddartha searches for his son to no avail. He struggles to understand why others (even criminals) can have their child’s love but he cannot. He now is like everyone else. He has succumbed fully to love and is warm, curious and sympathetic to all people. He can relate to them and understand them and they are now all his brothers. He is heartbroken that his son must endure the same trials of sin and depression that he himself has already overcome but realizes that he put his father though the same thing when he was a child long ago and this is part of the cycle of life.

In the end, Siddartha meets his friend Govinda again. Govinda is amazed at Siddhartha's transformation given that he led a life of sin before coming to peace. Two childhood friends meet again; one has progressed and found meaning in life, and the other has spent life stagnating, by blindly following the teachings of another rather than teaching himself by trial and error. It is personal experience, not age, which teaches wisdom.

Importance to me

Siddhartha is about the endless cycle of life. It is full of lessons that anyone can apply to some aspect of their life. Every time I read Siddhartha, I see something different. I think there are lessons in this book for everyone that will help them understand themselves better. In the process, they will become a better human being. They will become more effective in their personal life and will be better able to relate to, work with and understand others.

Here are a few of the nuggets of wisdom in the book:

• “Wisdom is not communicable. The wisdom which a wise man tries to communicate always sounds foolish.”

• “Above all, he learned how to listen, to listen with a still heart, with a waiting, open soul, without passion, without desire, without judgment, without opinions.”

• “Seeking too much can be a problem. A seeker only sees what he is seeking, but doesn’t see what’s under his nose as a seeker can’t absorb anything they come across because they are absorbed with their goal.”

• “Which father, which teacher, could prevent him from living his own life, from soiling himself with life, from loading himself with sin, from swallowing the bitter drink himself, from finding his own path? Do you think, my dear friend, that anybody is spared this path? Perhaps your little son, because you would like to see him spared sorrow and pain and disillusionment? But if you were to die ten times for him, you would not alter his destiny in the slightest.”

However, the true beauty of Siddartha is that everyone learns different lessons depending on where they are at the point in their life when they read this book.

Siddartha is a store about life. It is about understanding life and has many lessons within its pages. However the lessons are different to each reader.

Eternal Bliss (Poem)

2008-06-20T17:32:00.001-07:00

By Chris Sarcletti

Life and death can occur at the same time, in the same breath;
but it's our experiences and failure to experience that bring
upon the end.

While actions and abrupt reactions may lead to horrible crimes,
it is our failure to indulge in both the known and unknown
which allows the fragile lifeline to bend.

The same anger and hate which cause so much pity in the world can
be overcome by other more powerful feelings that reside within all of us.

While these emotions run rampant through the smallest villages
and largest cities, the power of love is what allows us to persevere.

Ciudad de México

2007-06-19T11:18:00.000-07:00

By Chris Sarcletti

City: Mexico City

Mexico City is one of the largest cities in the world. It is an amazing, frenetic and sprawling metropolis of over 20 million people that nearly 1 in 5 Mexican citizens call their home. It isn’t a city as one typically envisions one. There isn’t a city center flanked by some boroughs where life varies drastically from the lives of people who reside in the outer suburban areas. Mexico City encompasses all of these areas -- downtown, surrounding central city districts and outer suburban towns.

Mexico City is a magnificent place with more to offer a visitor than they could ever imagine. It is also more than can be described in one article or one story or one book.

For those who wonder if they will be safe in Mexico City, I say be cautious – as you would be when traveling to any big city -- but have fun with no worries. Just like any large city, there are panhandlers and beggars, but the majority of people who stop you on the street will be doing so to ask if you need any assistance with directions.

For those who think the true jewels of Mexico are on the coast, I beg you to visit Mexico City and see its museums, pyramids, neighborhoods and markets to understand the significance of this city to every other part of Mexico.

For those who wonder if they will get sick from the food, I say to pull up a stool at a stall with the locals at one of the popular kitchens in the central market and indulge and smile as you will be enjoying one of Mexico’s great gifts to the world, their food. You can’t get away from it no matter where you are as the wonderful smell of corn tortillas is seemingly always in the air.

Come to the see the culture and intellect of this smart city and their smiling, helpful and kind people. Most of all, come to see the heart of Mexico. I would be foolish to describe it as anything else. This is the valley of Mexico, surrounded by mountains, and it is at the center of anything and everything that is Mexican. There are many wonderful things to see throughout Mexico but if a traveler wants to know Mexico and feel it in their heart, a visit to Mexico City is compulsory.

People

The smiling faces of children on the metro and in the streets. Many people who work at the vendor stalls and shops lining every street I walk down have their children with them. It is cute to see the children get so excited at the prospect of helping their parents with their daily work. The children seem to understand how hard their parents are working and want to help them in any way that they can.

I encounter kindness and hospitality everywhere. Locals recognize that I am a tourist when they see me standing near the entrance to a metro stop looking at the subway map in my guidebook. I am stopped on multiple occasions each day and asked if I need any assistance in finding my location.

On three different occasions on the same day, Mike and I are stopped by locals who instruct us to watch our bags and cameras as possible bandits are always looking for an unsuspecting tourist or local. I am touched by their genuine concern as they take a few moments out of their day to help a complete stranger.

There are children everywhere. Some cry as they lie in their mother’s or father’s arms on a crowded metro train while others laugh at the adoration lauded onto them by their parents. Whether they are happy or sad, there are lots of them. Mexican people have lots of children. There is no doubt about that.

There are loads of people everywhere. Over 1000 immigrants a day arrive from the rest of the country.

Culture

A zócalo is a central town square or plaza, usually located in Mexican cities. The most
famous zócalo is that of Mexico City, which is formally known as the Plaza de la Constitución. This is the city’s political and religious center.

The Palacio National is located in the zócalo and is home to some of Diego Rivera’s murals. These murals are amazing in their intricate details as well as in their size. I am mesmerized as I stand and look with so many other tourists, identifying specific figures like Karl Marx and Frida Kahlo in the massive painting in front of me. Other murals here tell stories of the Spanish conquest and depict the products like chocolate, maize and tobacco that the world owes to Mexico.

The Holiday Inn Zócalo rooftop bar offers amazing views of the city center below. As I relax with a cold, refreshing Sol in my hand, I take in the captivating views of the Palacio National, the Catedral Metropolitana – the largest church in Latin America - and the vast zócalo below me. It seems that I can see every minute detail as I stand at the edge of this rooftop bar overlooking this vast metropolis. I am particularly captivated by the gigantic Mexican flag that waves in the wind in the middle of the Plaza de la Constitución. It feels powerful, as if it is making a statement that this square is important and substantial to Mexico and to the world. It is also very large as it is the 2nd largest square of this type in the world after Moscow’s Red Square.

You need to experience authentic mariachi music in Plaza Garibaldi to really appreciate it and understand its significance to the people. Hundreds of mariachi band members stand waiting for an opportunity to entertain some tourists or locals for a fee; albeit a small one that is negotiable. The band members are dressed in colorful outfits with vests and hats and they have their instruments by their sides. Sitting in this wonderful square is a great way to salt away an afternoon or evening over a few beers with sounds of mariachi music all around, if not directly in front of you. I am lucky enough to be serenaded by an old man who looks to be about 70. All he has with him is a guitar as he approaches me after spotting me sitting outside at a local bar waiting for my friends to arrive. He walks up and holds his finger out to indicate that he wants to play one song. I shake my head up and down and smile. He sings a tune and plays the guitar for a few minutes. After he completes the first song, he continues on with one more. The music is decent but what I really enjoy is the pride that he has in the music that he creates. He has dignity and passion. After he finishes, I hand him 50 pesos. He smiles and says “Gracias” before walking away. As he walks away, it occurs to me that he is probably heading home as he is headed in the direction that takes you out of the square. I guess he is happy that he got to sing a couple songs and make a little bit of money before calling it an evening.

The beautiful tree lined streets near Polanco are full of unending charm. You can tell that this area is exclusive as you see lush trees, well maintained gardens and children of wealthy parents driving around in small electric cars. Each street seems to be more pleasant than the next making this an ideal spot for a nice stroll. Each restaurant and shop seems to have as much character as the street it sits on.

The Bellas Artes is a magnificent architectural achievement that would feel just as at home if it were sitting on a square in London or Paris or Rome. With a pastel yellow and orange colored dome that catches one’s eye, this marble covered building houses amazing murals amid impressive domes. In addition, the Palacio de Bellas Artes is Mexico City’s premier opera house. As I walk in and make my way up the first set of stairs, I look around at the impressive interior. The lighting and art deco style draws my attention to the marble walls, staircases and flooring. I think there is as much marble inside as there is covering the exterior of the building. As I turn the corner on the staircase to go up another floor, I find myself looking squarely at a massive painting. It is very hard to conceptualize how long it would take someone to paint such a large and detailed painting. As I stare at the painting, thoughts of Picasso’s Guernica -- that I saw years ago at the Reina Sofia museum in Madrid -- run through my head. The 1st and 2nd floor walls are covered in murals by Diego Rivera, Rufino Tamayo, David Alfaro Siqueiros, and José Clemente Orozco. As I walk around alternating my gaze between the domes above and paintings in front of me, I come to a screeching halt when I see Rivera's Man at the Crossroads mural. This mural was originally painted for the Rockefeller Center in New York City. Rivera had finished ⅔ of the mural when the Rockefellers objected to an image of Vladimir Lenin in the mural. The commission was cancelled and the mural was destroyed. Rivera repainted it on a smaller scale at the Palacio in 1934 and renamed it Man, Controller of the Universe. This mural is particularly interesting because the details within it begin to explain Rivera’s theories on the evils of capitalism and virtues of socialism.

I am 25 miles, or one and a half hours northeast of Mexico City, staring at the 3rd largest pyramid in the world. Who would have known that such things existed in any place other than Egypt? Teotihuacan feels much different than any place I have ever visited. As I walk down the Avenue of the Dead and look at the Pyramids of the Sun and Moon, I realize this. The Pyramid of the Sun was built around 100 AD from 3 million tons of stone without the use of metal tools, pack animals or the wheel. Teotihuacán was, at its height in the first half of the 1st millennium, the largest pre-Columbian city in the Americas. The name Teotihuacán is also used to refer to the civilization or culture that this city was the center of, which at its greatest extent included much of central Mexico. As I begin my ascent up to the top of the Pyramid of the Sun, I quickly realize that the best way to tackle such a steep climb is to do so quickly. When I arrive at my destination, I am rewarded with sprawling views of distant mountains and the Pyramid of the Moon. However, the best views are below me as I see a parade of school children on a field trip making their way up the Avenue of the Dead towards the pyramid which I am now on top of. As I watch this parade, I picture a group of natives from Teotihuacán from a time long ago making this same trek.

Food

Karisma Cantina in Polanco is located off of a busy circular turnabout outside the Hotel Intercontinental. They have wonderful traditional dishes like enchiladas with green and red sauce on top of corn tortillas filled with pork and chicken. All of the dishes served here are topped with slices of wonderful avocado that is so perfectly ripe that it is creamy and melts in your mouth like butter. There chips are also very good and they are served with 3 different types of salsa that compliment each other perfectly. The Pico de Gallo has a combination of ripe red tomatoes, small pieces of fresh jalapeno, cilantro and onion. The spicy salsa is a red pureed combination of onions and peppers. The third salsa variation provides a perfect contrast to the other two. This red burgundy colored salsa has a sweet, faintly spicy and slightly smoky flavor. I enjoy combining a little spoonful of each on top of a crispy chip well over a hundred times as I come here specifically for the salsa on three different occasions.

At another restaurant in the Polanco neighborhood, we have wonderful barbacoa. Traditionally, barbacoa is meat that is slowly cooked over an open fire. Today, the meat is sometimes steamed until it is tender instead. The lamb shoulder or shank meat used arrives on our table in a large pile of shredded strands of meat covered with tin foil to keep it warm. The lamb is served with red, green and a very pungent and flavorful chipotle salsa. All of this wonderful goodness is wrapped together into fresh corn tortillas that are being made by a woman working around the corner from our table in the restaurant. She is using a machine that churns tortillas out like little pancakes before they are warmed on a hot griddle. Seconds later they are on our table.

While walking through the market in the Coyoacan neighborhood, we see the UEFA Cup Champions League final playing on a TV next to Tostadas Coyoacan. I see the game but my real focus is on the tantalizing dishes on display at this indoor kitchen in the market. We find a few counter top seats, sit down and gaze in awe at platter after platter of the fresh, scrumptious looking seafood salads. My eyes are fixated on the octopus and shrimp platters. We order 2 tostadas piled high with shrimp and octopus salad with a slice of avocado topping each one. Along with a bottle of coca cola, we indulge in a wonderful afternoon snack.

Jugos Canada is a small restaurant on busy Cinco de Mayo avenue in the zócalo that specializes in tortas and fresh juices. We come here to have a torta roll. The one I select is stuffed with chicken, pork and a host of vegetables. It is all topped with slices of avocado and is held together by cheese. I take it upon myself to provide the rest of condiments in the form of a few scoops of jalapenos and carrots that marinate in the small containers that sit along the counter that surround the exterior of the restaurant. It is at this counter where we sit and enjoy our lunch. As a compliment to my sandwich, I order a fresh juice shake made with water instead of milk. I select a combination of fresh strawberries, pineapple and oranges from the vast array of different fresh fruits on display. The juice is naturally sweet and refreshing. It tastes all the better considering it was made fresh before my eyes.

There is nothing like pulling up a chair at a stall in the central city market to eat with the locals. As I walk about and try to pick one place to enjoy lunch amongst a seemingly endless row of food vendors all serving delicious looking things, I finally find a spot that catches my eye. Mike and I look at each other and smile. Our smiles indicate to each other that this is the place where we will have lunch. We are both drawn to this restaurant after seeing the huge witch size cauldron of chicken stew cooking behind the counter. We pull out 2 stools from the counter and sit down. As we sit down, a few locals make eye contact with us and smile. I look at the bowl in front of the man next to me. It is filled with chunks of chicken and rice amongst broth. He has topped it with chilies from the bowl in front of him and he is using corn tortillas to put it all together. Mike and I both indicate to the man working behind the counter that we want whatever the guy next to us is having. The man behind the counter smiles and within minutes we have a bowl of chicken and rice and garbanzo beans in front of us. We enjoy a simple, yet wonderful lunch sitting in the middle of the most magnificent market I have ever seen. Most importantly, we enjoy it with the locals as there isn’t a tourist in sight.

The street is like one big restaurant. On every street at every corner, there is something for sale. Some of the things look great like a freshly cooked blue corn quesadilla filled with chicken and white cheese topped with green salsa. Others don’t luck so appetizing such as the layers upon layers of tacos in large wicker baskets that look like they have been sitting there for days. The grease tells me as much. There are grocery carts loaded with any beverage you might possibly want and other carts where someone will squeeze you a fresh orange juice right there on the spot on the side of the street. It is not really a matter of whether you will find something that you want to try. It is just a matter of finding a vendor that is serving something you just can’t seem to pass by without stopping.

As we walk through the streets surrounding Plaza Garibaldi, Mike and Melissa decide to buy fresh watermelon from a hawker on the street. The hawker chops it up, puts in a cup and does his usual routine. He puts a couple of shakes of salt on top, squeezes fresh lime juice over the container and then sprinkles chili powder over the top. We are all a bit surprised by the condiments he uses. Mike takes this order and Melissa orders a second one without the chili powder and salt bath. As I watch, I wonder to myself if this would taste good or not. Eventually, I decide that this looks too interesting to pass up and tell the vendor to make me one with pineapple instead of watermelon. He says, “Chili?” as he squeezes a lime over the top and I say, “Si, gracias.” As I walk through the streets and eat one pieces of ripe, sweet pineapple after another, I notice that the chili powder is a nice compliment to the sweetness of the pineapple.

Mexican beers may never win any awards when they are stacked up next to their German, Czech and Belgium counterparts. That said, I can’t remember enjoying having a nice cold cerveza in my hand as much as I did during the week I spent in Mexico City. Enjoying many beers each afternoon and evening, I quickly came to the conclusion that there is no better way to enjoy a sunny afternoon than with a glass filled with cold beer, a few squeezes of fresh lime juice and a shake of salt. Just like the locals do. Whether it be Sol, Victoria, Corona, Pacifico, Dos Equis or Negro Modelo, it is all good.

Colors

The Frida Kahlo Blue House is beautiful in so many ways. The artwork inside is impressive as is the tasteful, colorful décor. The exterior of the house and the courtyard are what really draw me in. As I walk up to the house, it is impossible not to be drawn to the dark blue exterior walls which are perfectly accented by an array of different colors which make this house stand out – whether you are up close or far away. Every other color that meets the blue which prevails leaves a contrast that is hard not to be impressed by. Whether it is the burnt umber colored floors that meet the blue walls or the green painted iron gates covering the windows, the juxtaposition of colors on display in the Blue house is symbolic of much of this colorful city.

The walk from one pleasant and affluent Mexico City borough, San Angel, to another, Coyoacan. The stucco exterior walls, doors and gates all converge in an endless display of tastes in color. Time after time, I pull out my camera to snap shots of a pastel yellow colored building next to an orange or blue one. As I walk on, I can’t help but gaze at the colors of the flowers which protrude from the bright blue pots which sit against brownish red and orange exteriors. One after another, I am pleasantly surprised. It seems that each homeowner has put their best effort forth to outdo their neighbor when they put their last coat of paint on the door, façade or gate of their home. From a lion head door knocker to a weaving rope door handle that opens a wooden gate, creativity is a part of every detail in the homes in this area.

The colors of the market are amazing. There are so many of them and the colors seem to blend together to make for something truly beautiful. As I walk amid the wonder of Mexico’s largest and most famous market, I notice red chili peppers next to even redder ones beside dark green poblano peppers and lighter green tomatillos. There are piles upon piles of orange, green and greenish yellow bell peppers next to each other. In another area, I stare at the array of dried goods in front of me. There is green mole powder next to red chili powder next to white powdered milk. I turn the corner and see what looks to be half of a block worth of watermelon stalls. I don’t think I have ever seen greener watermelon and in front of each stall, the pinkish watermelon flesh is on display. The deep pink color is in great contrast to the glistening green skin of literally hundreds of watermelons which are stacked behind it. In another area, there are bushels upon bushels of garlic and onions next to each other. There is purple garlic next to white garlic and yellow onions and of course the beautiful red onion. Is there anything like the dark purple color of a red onion? It adds such color to a market and such flavor to a dish. There are colorful piñatas of superheroes like Spiderman, Bugs Bunny and famous Mexican wrestlers that fly over my head as I continue to walk on, peering in every direction at the fruits, vegetables and pieces of pink pork and white chicken that are all around me.

Energy

The streets are frenetic with seemingly every avenue constituting some sort of market. One street after another in the zócalo is lined with vendors selling anything and everything. The range of products is endless from batteries to sunglasses to pirated CDs and DVDs. In between, there are stores selling infant and children’s clothes and toys. One stall after another advertises cute dresses and adorable Mexican national soccer team outfits. The sounds and smells of the street are distinctive as the aromas of meat and vegetables grilling on hot coals in the air are easy to pick out amongst the smell of grilled corn tortillas. Walking along, smelling the food, my ears hear the constant hollering of vendors making their pitch to the prospective customers that pass by in an endless stream. People work tirelessly displaying their goods and clamoring to get someone passing by to look at them. If the clouds begin to rumble and the skies open up, they act quickly to close their shop by gathering all of their displayed goods underneath a tarp to protect them from the rain. They work quickly and are quick to accept a fair offer. They are just as quick to reject an unreasonable one made by a local or tourist thinking they can undercut a vendor.

The Metro system is very easy to use and the trains arrive with amazing frequency. Every time I walk up to a platform, a train seems to arrive within a minute of my standing there. Despite the frequency of the trains, none of the cars are empty. There is usually a place to stand but the cars are almost always filled to capacity. The atmosphere on the trains is like nothing I have ever seen. There are entrepreneurs of some sort or another on every train. Some sell chicklet gum packets or different types of candies. There is always a musician amongst the people on the train. A man or woman carries with them a boom box that plays a variety of different tunes. As they walk through the train, they skip from one song to the next to give a sampling of the songs they are offering on the CD’s that they hold in their hand. There are Latin tunes interspersed with cheesy American and British ones like those by the Bee Gees, Village People or a forgotten hip hop artist like Soul II Soul. The music is actually a nice compliment to the doldrums of the subway ride and every vendor I see seems to sell at least a few CDs for 10 to 15 pesos a piece.

The traffic on the street is endless at times. Usually I can find a light with a walk signal. The walk signals have 60 second clocks and a neat picture of a man attempting to walk across the street. Near my hotel in Polanco, there are long stretches between intersections with lights and I often resort to jay walking. This isn’t my first choice but I realize that I could stand here for 10 minutes straight if I don’t make a move. I am careful and sure of foot though as one slip could result in disaster as the oncoming traffic is unforgiving.

Just like the hoards of people and continuous stream of always arriving metro cars and traffic, the energy in Mexico City is never-ending. The surprises are endless too. Mexico City is full of them and I have been fortunate to at least taste some of the Mexican capital’s charms.

Canada's Breadwinner

2007-03-01T17:20:00.000-08:00

By Chris Sarcletti

City: Rome

It was the second to last night on our ten day Italian excursion and we were rearing to go. How we met this guy, who will remain nameless because I don’t remember his name, is beyond me. All I remember is returning from the bathroom in a small Italian bar in Rome and finding Mike conversing with some interesting looking guy. The first thing I wondered is why the hell he wasn’t talking to two of the many gorgeous girls in this dungeonesque bar. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that neither of us spoke Italian. Well, there’s no use in recanting on what might have been. Instead of the company of two Italian beauties, we sat in this dark and dingy pub with a Canadian baker. Yes, this man baked bread and pastries for a living. To be honest, I cannot say I had ever met a baker before. While I did find his profession to be interesting, it was this character’s bold and brash personality that really drew me in. This man (I really wish I knew his name because you will here the term “this man” a lot) had been living in Rome for 12 years and had adopted the entire Roman culture, both good and bad. After a few beers, he proceeded to tell me that he pushes drugs, in addition to bread, outside the back door of his bakery. I really don’t know why he thought he needed to share this with us but I found it interesting and somewhat amusing that he was so frank about revealing his 2^nd profession. It was almost as if I didn’t know whether the slight discomfort I felt was telling me to walk away or ask more questions. I found it even more amusing and surprising that this guy, for some reason I will never understand, thought that I might be able to help him expand his entrepreneurial venture in some way in the United States. I had to laugh to myself when he brought that topic up. I really didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to be assisting anyone anywhere with the drug trade, but I also didn’t want to come off as a ‘high and mighty’ American who was taken back by his overtures. I just acted like I really didn’t understand what he was talking about and moved onto another subject, assuming we would be out of the bar and finished with our conversation soon enough. Well, that didn’t exactly happen. We continued to drink for a couple hours in the company of this gentleman. Actually, he was entertaining and seemed to be a somewhat decent guy. For Mike and I, we were kind of enjoying just hanging out with a local Roman and asking about the city and trying to get an understanding of what it is like to live in Rome. Anyway, we were enjoying ourselves enough that we responded affirmatively when the baker suggested that we head to another bar. I think both Mike and I kind of took a ‘What the Hell?’ approach to the evening and decided to see where the night would take us. I had some reservations about hanging out with this guy but I also think we wanted a bit of an adventure.

What we didn’t know is that we would be driving to the next bar. Given the fact that we had all been drinking for a while and non e of us really had any business driving, things got interesting very quickly. After all, Mike and I were going to be operating any kind of vehicle.

Anyway, we all climbed into this baker’s new car, which he was extremely proud of, and got ready to make the move to another bar. Remember those two words, got ready. We weren’t moving anywhere yet. First, we had to share a joint with the baker. It was his request and obviously his supply. Well, I guess we didn’t have to share the joint, but then again we didn’t want to offend our host. Besides, he was driving and we figured that an Italian joint (half marijuana, half tobacco) wouldn’t harm us too badly. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t a good idea to sit in a parked car smoking pot in a country your visiting and which you definitely don’t speak the language. Who am I kidding? It’s a terrible fucking idea. After about 10 minutes of smoking, the baker told us he was pretty stoked (I’m sure he didn’t use that word but I kind of like it) and asked Mike if he wanted to drive. That was really funny. In fact, it was so funny that I started to laugh to myself like an idiot in the backseat. See, not only did this guy have a brand new car, but Mike didn’t know how to drive stick shift and he was both drunk and stoned. Oh, and I forgot to mention that it’s a big stretch to call the movement of cars on the streets of Rome driving. It’s more like a game of Frogger for everyone involved. Quite dangerous for someone that doesn’t live there. After a brief discussion concerning who would man the wheel, the baker drove. No, neither Mike nor I are stupid enough to get behind the wheel under the influence in another country. I guess we were only stupid enough to let a guy drive whose drunk and stoned and who deals drugs out of a bakery. I guess you only live once.

Watching this maniac navigate the streets of Rome at 3 AM was quite a treat. No recognition of speed limits or pedestrians, bikers or mopeds. I think this guy’s perspective on driving was pretty much “Fuck It”. Somehow we did make it to this bar. Someone’s looking out for us I guess. The bar was quite neat with a relatively friendly bartender. Soon after we ordered our first round of drinks, we struck up a conversation with an American girl who was currently working in the U.S. embassy in Rome. She was very friendly and quite interesting and if I remember, halfway attractive. On second thought, maybe she was only moderately attractive as I did have quite a few drinks in addition to the smoke. Nonetheless, women, beautiful, mildly attractive or not so attractive at all, always appear a bit more attractive to a man who has consumed a few alcoholic beverages. It’s putting it mildly to say that are Canadian friend took a strong interest in this girl. It became quite obvious that he had picked up the very Italian trait of staring at women and pursuing them physically whether they are interested or not. Unquestionably, he was too attentive to this girl. He showed this by touching her hand, shoulder, leg, and arm. Nothing too bad but enough to be distracting to her and make us feel a bit uncomfortable. Needless to say, this guy was a class act. As we found out when the baker took a well timed excursion to the bathroom, this girl had been in Italy for almost 2 years and she was quite used to the “style” of Italian men. She usually told the guys to get lost, but was enjoying our company and he happened to be with us. While he was in the bathroom, she did pose this question, “What the hell are two seemingly nice guys like you doing with this guy?” She was surprised. The first thing that popped into my mind is that maybe were not that nice. Especially if you’re present company is any indication.

Let’s not get too deep. We didn’t know what the hell to do. This guy was driving us and we were in the middle of a huge city that we knew little about. Despite the fact that the baker had more than a few issues, we didn’t want to be ignorant and leave him. Those are probably my thoughts, not Mikes. I don’t know why the hell I should care how some guy I’ll definitely never see again feels but I guess that’s just me. To complicate the situation further, I think this girl was interested in me. After the baker got even more rowdy, the level of uncomfortableness rose to a point I really didn’t hope it would ascend to. Everyone began to get very quiet and even the bartender gave the guy a look indicating that he was out of line. Luckily, the baker got the point and said that he was ready to head home. He didn’t bother asking us if we wanted a ride and neither did we. At that point and after what we’d been through, we figured that was the least of our problems. We decided to stay for another drink and opt for a cab if we could find one at that time of the night (actually morning). To say the least, everyone felt much more comfortable. After another drink, we shared a cab to the embassy first and our hotel second. When we arrived at the embassy, Mike waited in the car and I got out since this girl wanted to give me a more intimate goodbye than the one Mike received. To be honest, Mike and I were both really drunk and getting out of the cab and standing was a chore. I couldn’t say no though.

Standing on a street outside the U.S. embassy in Rome, Italy, this girl put a piece of paper with her phone number on it in my hand and kissed me on the lips. With only 1 day left in Rome, the phone number probably wouldn’t get used. However, a kiss from a girl, any girl, always warms the heart and was a fitting end to a very long, arduous and very interesting night.

Hamams and Bathhouses

2007-01-18T08:36:00.000-08:00

By Chris Sarcletti

Cities: Istanbul and Budapest

Bathing is a part of everyday life in many parts of the world. Some people are more fortunate than others and have the opportunity to take a nice soapy bath in a large tub almost every evening. In stark contrast, others may stand in the banks of a muddy river where crocodiles loom and pour buckets of water over their bare skin. Whatever the form, bathing is undoubtedly a part of every culture. For the more fortunate, bathing takes place privately in a home or apartment. However, in many other cases, bathing takes place in a more public setting, which could be a river, health club gym, fountain or a bath house.

From my perspective, I don’t put a lot of thought into bathing. Typically, I stand under a shower at my health club or at home for about five minutes and do a bit of a scrub down before professing to myself that I am clean. I guess I am one of the lucky ones who take this luxury for granted. Maybe that is part of the reason why I was interested in having a different type of bathing experience when presented with the opportunity while traveling to Istanbul, Turkey.

In ancient times, before running water was plentiful in private homes, bath houses were relatively common and served a useful purpose as a place to go to keep clean and relax. Bath houses were common in many cultures, and to a much lesser degree, still are today. According to the Turkish Daily News, “Going to the hamam once upon a time used to be an outing for the women and young children of the family in Turkey. Dishes such as börek (pastry with various fillings), dolma (stuffed peppers), fruit and sweets would be prepared and then it was off for a day of bathing and massage, eating, singing, dancing and gossiping.”

While some of these venues are still frequented by locals in Istanbul to this day, most of Istanbul’s residents have bathrooms with showers or baths inside their own homes. As a result, many of the still operating hamams are frequented by tourists looking for an “authentic bathing experience” using the same procedure that have been used for centuries.

From the minute I started to research Istanbul in anticipation of my trip there, I was determined to visit a Turkish bath. It sounded like such a unique and interesting experience that I was pretty insistent that this constitute part of one of our days in Istanbul. After doing a bit of research, Martin and I decided to visit the Cemberlitas Hamam, a historic bath house that is thought to have been one of the structures built by the architect Sinan in 1584. We saved this experience for the afternoon of our last day in Istanbul. After a long day of sightseeing, Martin and I were looking as forward to visiting a Turkish bath as our tummies were to having our first shawarma in Istanbul a few days ago. As much as Martin and I thought we were ready for the experience we were about to have as we walked into the hamam, we really had no idea what to expect. We were like young children again getting ready to experience something for the first time.

We walked into the Cemberlitas Hamam and immediately paid the attendant that greeted us. As to what exactly we were paying for, we weren’t sure. In circumstances like these, when you don’t you know anything and are full of nothing but questions, I find that the best approach is to just follow everyone else. We walked into a locker room of sorts and saw both men and women sitting in what appeared to be a waiting room. We looked around and really didn’t know what to do. After surveying the environment for a moment or two, we made the determination that the 4 or 5 hairy, shirtless Turkish men were the people we needed to talk to. After all, who the hell else could it be? They were at least interacting with some of the people who seemed to be waiting for whatever was to come next. They noticed us approaching and tossed Martin and I each a towel, handed us a key and pointed to the staircase that I assumed would take us upstairs to some rooms where we could change our clothes. We walked up the stairs and just looked around, having absolutely no idea where exactly to go. There were rooms to our left and rooms to our right, kind of like a hotel. All we knew was that we had a key to a room and it had a number on it. Eventually, we found our changing cabin. We entered, stripped down and wrapped ourselves in our towels. We were leaving our valuables in the cabin and were hopeful they would be there when we returned. Martin and I looked at each other and smirked as we exited the cabin and nervously went out in search of what was surely going to be a new experience. To be honest, it was great to be so immersed in the moment as we really had no other choice. There was nothing to contemplate or think about since there really was nothing in our past that would prepare us for whatever was about to happen next.

Again, we were pointed in a specific direction towards a door by one of many hairy Turkish men. As we walked towards the door, I was kind of nervous as I really had no idea what was going to happen to me on the other side of the door I was about to open. I opened the door and walked into a steamy room that had piles of towels stacked in a few different spots, bathing attendants engaged in various sorts of activities and fountains with water running through them. Apparently, this was some sort of staging or waiting area because we were then led to another room. I assumed that we were now in the actual “bath” where things would really get going. Through a combination of some broken English and a lot of finger pointing, we were directed to lie down on a circular, heated marble platform in the middle of the room where a bunch of men were already lying. We found a spot, lied down and waited. As I lied there, I leaned up a few times to survey the room. In addition to the hairy Turkish men who seemed to be tapping people on the shoulder (or slapping them on the feet) when they were ready for them, there were many interesting facets to the room. There were small, circular windows all over the domed ceiling that was above me. Through it shined rays of light that reminded me of the light that beams through the windows in a church. In addition, there were small faucets with running water coming out of them around the circular area where I was sitting. It seemed that there were quite a few men using these faucets to bathe parts of their bodies. It appeared that the room I was in was the primary bathing room, but there were many rooms to the left and right that branched off of this room. From what I could see inside these rooms, there were several faucets and small tubs in each room. The floors of the room were broken up by a few large crevices that acted as drains. The water that had flowed over the side of the tub or off of someone’s body onto the floor emptied into these crevices. There was running water everywhere. I saw people come and go from these rooms, always with a bathing attendant. It appeared that part of the bathing experience definitely involved the use of these rooms. One thing I saw inside one of these rooms created a bit of apprehension for me. I saw a man lying on the ground on his stomach. He wasn’t just lying there though, as one of the bathing attendants appeared to be slowly walking across his back. That was all I could see and I am not sure I wanted to see much of anything else. I put my head back down and told myself to just go with the situation and take it all in. I didn’t know what the hell was going to happen next.
As I sat there with Martin and waited, I realized just how hot it was in the room I was in. It was almost like being in a huge steam bath. As Martin and I lied there and waited, we began to move towards the middle of the platform. Our heads were pointing towards the middle of the platform and our legs were sticking out towards the open floor. Everyone else laying there and waiting with us assumed pretty much the same position. It almost seemed like some type of ritual and I certainly didn’t want to be the one screwing it up. One by one, a man was selected and told to come to the outskirts of the platform where he was guided through the next step in the bathing process.

I must admit that it is peculiarly interesting watching hairy, and in most cases large Turkish man with only a towel covering their privates, rub down, douse with water and scrub another man while at the same time attempting to make small talk with their customer. To be honest, after watching this procedure unfold before my eyes again and again, I didn’t know whether to describe it as interesting, strange or disconcerting. In cases where the customer isn’t Turkish, I would imagine that the conversation part can be a bit complicated. In any case, after watching the whole process go on again and again for about 20 minutes, I heard somebody yell something. Since the room was filled with men and I don’t understand a word of Turkish, I really had no idea that this “call” was directed towards me. I found that out quickly enough though when a rather large man walked in my direction and slapped me on the bottom of my feet. It appeared that my time was up.

Nervously, I moved to the end of the platform as I was directed. I was then told to lie down horizontally near the edge of the platform. I lied down as instructed and waited. After a couple minutes, a diminutive Turkish man whose chest could have been mistaken for a rug made eye contact with me and motioned to me to sit up. After I figured out what he wanted me to do, I did just that. Sitting up now, he came at me and dumped a pretty damn hot bucket of water over my head and shoulders. As I sat there stunned, the man walked up to me and guided me back down until I was lying on my back again. He then put on a pair of gloves and began to give me a very thorough rubdown. After several minutes of intense, yet relaxing massage, my personal attendant began to try to talk to me. This was a tough proposition for each of us as he didn’t speak much English and I speak no Turkish. Nonetheless, I was able to understand a few things. Actually, there were two things I could clearly understand. I was able to comprehend that the man rubbing my body’s name was Mimic and I understood that he was interested in negotiating the amount of tip I would give him for his services. For a service like this, I assumed that I would give him a decent tip, but I guess he just wanted to come to terms on an exact number. I just kind of shook my head and smiled but he continued to badger me while he massaged my body until we agreed on a 5 million lira tip. This was the equivalent of 8 USD which is a pretty decent tip on a $13 massage. I didn’t mind though as Mimic was doing a great job and I was hoping that the already established generous gratuity would result in even better things to come in terms of the massage. During the negotiation process, Mimic had indicated that this would be the case. It was a relief to have this issue out of the way and to not have to worry about being badgered anymore during my massage and bath.

Approximately two minutes later, my massage took a drastic turn. I was now lying on my stomach and Mimic was driving his elbow into, and up and down, my back. If I could see the expression on my face at that very moment, I imagine that I would wonder if I was enduring agonizing pain or ecstasy of another kind. Maybe it was a bit of both but it felt good, really good. While it didn’t hurt, it had that deep tissue feel that is somewhere between feeling wonderful and feeling painful. At this point, he stretched my legs and arms out and, one by one, pulled them in the direction of one another until they almost touched. He then went right back at my body and attacked every part of it with great fervor and intensity. He rubbed my arms and legs so hard that every bit of tension inside me must have escaped via my toes and fingers and yes, he massaged those too. Feeling as relaxed as I imagine I would feel after walking out of an opium den, I had time for only a few deep breaths before Mimic told me to turn over onto my back again. I did just that and this is where the bath began.

First, my entire body was doused with warm foamy water. After some tossing and turning from front to back on my part and lots of Mimic’s scrubbing, my soapy body was sitting up again and I was feeling about as clean as I could ever remember. Mimic then came towards me again and doused me with 2 successive buckets of much more comfortable warm water, in contrast to the very hot water that he hit me with earlier. I was pretty sure that this was the end of my bathing experience and I felt clean, relaxed and satisfied. There was only one problem; my Turkish bath and massage was far from complete.

Mimic looked at me and then pointed at one of the adjoining rooms I saw earlier. No words were needed as I knew where I was headed. I walked on cautiously in the direction of the room Mimic pointed towards while he followed behind me, albeit slowly. I was now standing in the room without a clue of what to do. Mimic was talking to someone so I was just standing there waiting for him. Standing in the middle of this room by myself, I felt quite self conscious. This is probably because I knew I should be doing something other than just standing there. Knowing that whatever I did would be wrong without the direction of Mimic, I decided to take things into my own hands. There were small pales of water everywhere so I began to fill the pales and rinse myself. I am sure that anyone with Turkish bathing “experience” who witnessed my actions said to themselves, “What the hell is that guy doing?”

Eventually, Mimic appeared and from the look on his face, it was pretty evident to me that the reason I was in this room was not to pour buckets of water on myself. He pointed to a seating area in the middle of the room to which I walked towards and sat down. He then proceeded to wash my hair and face and then gave me a very thorough scalp massage that felt absolutely wonderful. I was feeling satisfied and was pretty sure that the massage was over. Once again, I was wrong. Mimic pointed to the ground and told me to lie down in the crevice into which the water drained and which also divided the floor. I was pretty sure that I knew what was going to happen next. It must have been close to an hour ago when I saw another man in a similar predicament and for some reason that I cannot quite explain, I was subconsciously hoping to be in this same position. Well, Mimic stepped onto my back and began to walk back and forth. He dug his heels into just the right places and at times made me nearly gasp for a breath of air. As I lied there on my back, it was hard not to laugh. I was half naked in a bath house in Istanbul and there was a Turkish man in a towel walking on my back. Boy, did it feel good though. Mimic instructed me to rise and this time my intuition was right, the bath and massage were over. I thanked Mimic and gave him the tip we agreed upon before heading back to my cabin to meet Martin. After a wonderful glass of fresh orange juice and 15 minutes of “resting” time, we were back on the street. Martin and I recanted our experience and laughed. I felt clean and refreshed and sore. However, it was a good sore, the kind you get when a Turkish man walks on your back.

Let’s imagine that it is over 6 years later and I am in a different city in a different country with a different group of people.

It is September, 2006, and I am in Budapest. The sun is slowly setting and I am strolling up Andrassy ut with my Dad and Uncle. Andrassy ut is another one of Europe’s marvelous boulevards and is Budapest’ grandest avenue. As rays of sun broke through the trees onto the wide sidewalks, we stopped at a gelato shop for a sweet treat. Gelato in hand, we continued on as we had a while to ago before we would arrive at our destination, the Szechenyi Baths. We were all excited to visit one of Budapest’ most famous bath houses for a soak in their thermal waters. Eventually, we walked past the monuments that populate the massive Hero’s Square and then on through Budapest’s City Park. As we entered the park, we looked right at the “Disneyworldesque” castle and then back to the left where we located the green domed bath house that was our destination.

As we tried to figure out which door was the primary entrance, I found myself repeating the same three words, “I don’t know”. That is the response I continued to give to my Uncle Bob as he asked me numerous questions. “What are we supposed to do after we get the ticket?” “Will our clothes and valuables be safe here?” “Which door do we enter through?” “I don’t know” is all I could come up with because for me, just like Bob, this would be my first experience at a Hungarian bath house. After stopping for a moment and watching others enter the bath house, we followed their lead and walked through the entrance to the Szechenyi Baths. The next step was to approach the counter and buy a ticket. While this should be a simple task, nothing is easy when you are full of uncertainty. I decided that it was best to use the tried and tested philosophy of following the lead of others when you don’t know yourself. After all, this is all part of the fun and adventure of traveling.

After paying 2500 forunts (12 USD), we were handed a plastic card that granted us a 3 hour stay in the bath house. With the card in hand, we surveyed the entrances and had our first decision to make. It seemed that everyone was entering through the sign “Noi” as opposed to the sign “Ferfi”. See, Noi means woman and Ferfi means man. I did see a couple people leaving through the Ferfi sign but most people seemed to be entering and exiting through the Noi sign. Knowing that this could turn out to be an embarrassing situation, I reverted back to my inclination to follow the crowd when in another country and we entered through the entrance marked “women”. At least we could feel comfortable knowing that we weren’t the only men walking into the bath house through this entrance.

I have to take a moment to indicate just how much I hate following the crowd just to follow it. That whole philosophy bothers me because, in many cases, the crowd or populous or majority is wrong. In any case, I listened to my better judgment in this instance and that is what he (or she) told me to do. It was a good decision.

We slid our card over the turnstile like you do when entering the gym (actually the attendant did it for me because I couldn’t figure it out) and walked into what seemed to be oblivion. We walked left and then we walked right. Eventually, we went up a flight of stairs and met a serious, but friendly red-haired woman who spoke a little English. It appeared that this was the person we needed to talk to. After a few quick inquiries, we figured out that this was the person that would ensure that we had a private cabin to change in and store our valuables. In addition, she was also the person we needed to pay to rent the towels that we didn’t bring with us. At this point, Bob had additional questions for me regarding the safety of our valuables to which I responded, “I am leaving them in the room like everyone else, but you can do whatever you want.” We handed the woman 700 forunt to rent the towel and she handed us what looked more like a large sheet than a towel and pointed us in the direction of our changing cabins. We quickly changed and walked out back into the hallway to continue the adventure. We looked at each other and smiled. We were all in bathing shorts with the only things in our hands being our towels and the keys to our cabins. My Uncle Bob made sure to ask the woman working if she would double lock the door and we then began moving down the drab, locker room (or prison like) hallway towards the stairs we came up. We went down the staircase since that was the only direction we could go. After reaching the bottom of the stairs, there were many options as we could go straight, right or left. We had no idea what to do. At this point, we were just trying to find a way to get outside to the main, large pools and figured that this couldn’t be too difficult to figure out. Not surprisingly, we were wrong. I walked one way, Bob another and my Dad yet another. After each of us determined individually that we didn’t know where to go, we returned to the place we left from and decided to proceed on as a group. We first headed through a row of showers into an area that had bathrooms. Actually, that came in handy as I needed to use the washroom, but this was not where we needed to be. At this point, the only light that I could see was the light shining through the windows and that was telling me very little regarding my question as to how to get outside. Since I don’t speak Magyar at all and I didn’t really want to berate the people I encountered with questions, I decided I was going to figure this out for myself, no matter how long it took. I don’t know if my Dad and Uncle were in agreement with me regarding this approach, but they followed my lead nonetheless. After weaving in and out of different rooms that had showers, a sauna, steam rooms and hot pools of thermal water that ranged in temperature from 38 to 40 degrees Celsius, we finally found a staircase that proceeded upward to daylight. We went up the stairs and were finally outside. We were rewarded for our efforts as what lied in front of us was quite an impressive site. The pool area in the center of this complex amounts to nothing less than a museum of statues, fountains and domes. After examining the area and taking a few moments to appreciate what our eyes were seeing, we decided to dip into the pool closest to us.

The first pool we entered was the warm pool. With a temperature of 30 C / 86 F, sitting in this pool was extremely comfortable. This was a great place to wade in and relax for an extended period of time. It wasn’t so hot that you were biding your time until you “had” to get out and not too refreshingly brisk, which is nice for a while but doesn’t lend itself to extended periods of slothful behavior. In the middle of this large, circular pool, there is a small pool where the water is moving at a feverish pace as children and adults alike smile and run around in circles creating a whirlpool affect. I joined in the whirlpool for a few minutes before I started to get dizzy and moved on. On the outside of this smaller pool is a large, intricate fountain that is well worthy of a picture. However, there would be no picture as my camera was securely tucked away in my cabin. All I could do was face outward from the fountain and let the water that flowed from the fountain’s many spouts spurt onto the back of my head and neck for a few minutes that seemed like an eternity. I got a wonderful water massage that was much more rewarding than any picture. As I continued to relax in the pool, I looked around in astonishment at the many impressive aspects of the spa that surrounded me. To be honest, the Szechenyi Baths are much more than a bathhouse; they are an impressive architectural masterpiece that would warrant a look even if you never set foot in one pool. The spa construction was completed in 1913 in a neo baroque style and there are Corinthian columns, porticoed walkways and mustard colored walls to keep your eyes as mesmerized as your body surely is. After standing over a water jet that emerged from the bottom of the pool and streamed water between my legs, I was feeling very good. In fact, we were all feeling so good that we decided we’d better move onto the next pool or we would never make it any further.

To be totally accurate, we didn’t move onto the next pool as we decided to skip the cooler pool and let the healthy lap swimmers have the cooler pool to themselves. After all, we didn’t have swimming caps anyway and while it was warm, it wasn’t warm enough for us to feel the need to be refreshed in the brisk waters. Instead, we headed straight for the warmest outdoor pool. The temperature of this pool is 38 C / 100.4 F and this pool is used for seriously relaxation, and what looks to be, some pretty serious chess playing also. As enjoyable as the last 30 minutes had been, I quickly wondered what I had been doing in that “other” pool as I slowly moved into this one. It felt almost like a hot tub but was a bit cooler and therefore much more comfortable. It was comfortable enough that I dove underneath the water and immersed every square inch of my body in the warm, thermal healing waters. That is something I would never consider doing in a hot tub. Within a few minutes, my head, shoulders and neck were relaxing beneath another fountain whose waters numbed me to the point of complete abandonment. I just sat there in a near meditative state staring into oblivion. Actually, it wasn’t really oblivion I was staring into. It was a statue of a woman and a goose with the goose’s long neck curving around the woman’s supine body up to the nipple on one of her breasts. In the cooler lap pool next to us, there are three massive fountains that fill the pool and stun the eye. The sculpture in the middle is particularly tantalizing with a woman in the middle standing proud over two naked women below her. The whole experience is truly a grand one. To be relaxing and wading in thermal waters amongst a setting of domes and statues is like swimming in a museum. The minerals in the water are believed to be effective in healing dermatological problems, gynecological disorders and diseases of the nervous and digestive systems.

There is much more than just pools here though as I can see Magyars lounging with drinks bought from the cafes under the porticoed walkways. Above and behind these cafes are private cabins for deep tissue massages if the water ones weren’t enough. After some more time lounging, we decided to head back inside to the steam baths we had passed before. Bob and my Dad and I scalded ourselves for about 10 minutes in a room so thick with steam that you couldn’t see the person next to you or the walls in front of you. The heat effect from my wet bathing suit on the wooden benches in the steam room was so excessive that I had to stand up. As we exited the steam room and headed for the showers, my uncle said, “Is sitting in a steam room supposed to be fun?” I just laughed as he had a point. Feeling refreshed after exiting the showers, we had a much easier time finding our way back to our changing cabins. Soon, we were back in our “civilian” clothes exiting the spa through the same women’s entrance that we entered through. It is hard to believe that we even got a refund because we stayed for 2 hours and still had another hour that we had paid for. Budapest is undoubtedly a grand city and lounging in the wonderful Szechenyi Baths is one of the grandest of experiences Budapest can offer a visitor. It is a unique experience that I highly recommend to anyone looking to hang with the locals and see swimming and lounging by the pool in a whole different light.

Grand Wien

2007-01-12T13:11:00.000-08:00

By Chris Sarcletti

City: Vienna

After being on the road for 2 weeks and traveling through parts of 5 different countries, it is hard to say what you expect when arriving at the last destination on your itinerary. I have been in this situation before and it is impossible to predict how you feel or how much energy you will have left at the end of a vacation that pushes into its 3rd week. While you still feel good because you are on vacation, you may also feel travel weary and sometimes that weariness can lead to you not enjoying your last stop as much as you wanted to or should have. At least not as much as you enjoyed Dubrovnik a week ago or Budapest just a few days back.

Well, it was 10 AM on a Thursday morning and only an hour ago we were accosted as part of a Hungarian toll way blockade that we encountered after leaving a gas station. After filling up our tank one last expensive time, a man in uniform waved us aside before we were able to make it to the toll way when he noticed that we didn’t have the ‘required’ vignette on our windshield which is required to drive on Hungarian highways. My Dad attempted to deal with a situation that was full of uncertainties. Not only were we asking ourselves ‘What did we do wrong?”, we were also very much wondering, “How and the hell are we going to get out of this?” In addition, my Dad had one other relatively major thing to consider, “How am I going to communicate with this person who is about to ask me questions I probably don’t know the answer to knowing that she will only understand half of my responses?” As my Dad attempted to deal with this tense situation, I had a pointless and short-lived argument with my Uncle. While he maintained that we were being targeted because we were tourists and Americans, I maintained that he had no idea what he was talking about and that there were probably not a whole lot of Americans driving through Hungary. I guess I was just getting tired of the victim mentality he was assuming, but little arguments like these are not uncommon after traveling with the same people for over two weeks. In any case, we paid the attendant 55 EURO for the vignette and were back on the road in about 10 minutes. I must say that my Dad did an excellent job of navigating around a potentially difficult situation. With all of us perturbed, for one reason or another, the car was a bit quiet as we made our way back onto the toll way towards Vienna. We were only a couple hours away at this point and I was hopeful that the excitement that had been a part of our trip to this point wouldn’t extinguish amongst the annoyances that are a part of being around the same people for 2 weeks in addition to the general tiredness you feel after a long trip.

We had rather little trouble meandering into the middle of Vienna as we just followed the ‘Zentrum’ signs to the Ring which is right in the middle of the city. Once we got on the ring, we didn’t have much of a problem finding the Opera House and then Avis which was across the street. Unfortunately, the small self inflicted scrape on our car was noticed by the person examining the cars and while that didn’t mean much right now, it most likely would eventually result in more money when the bill came in the mail. However, for now we were free of our car and ready to explore the city.

Within minutes of exiting Avis, we were immediately thrust into the heart of Vienna as we passed the Opera House and looked for a place to have lunch. We hadn’t even made it to our accommodation yet and still had our bags in hand as we poked around looking for a place where we could satiate ourselves. Walking around and really seeing Vienna for the first time, my mind began to wander as I thought to myself,

‘Well, if Budapest is a grand city, I don’t really know how to describe Vienna. Magnificent, amazing, stunning? Whatever the term, my first impression is that this is one of the most impressive cities I have visited. It belongs in the same class with the big boys and when I say big boys, I mean London, Paris, New York, Sydney, Rio de Janeiro, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Chicago. Yes, Chicago is undoubtedly a great city even if it is my hometown.’

As it was nearly 1 PM, our bellies were grumbling and the first decent looking place
would surely have to suffice for lunch as we would not be carrying these bags around for
long on an empty stomach. Of all places, we ended up at an Australian pub across the
street from the tourist information office near the Opera House. With the fantastic Sacher
and Mozart Cafés within a stone’s throw away, it is actually quite a shame that we ended
up eating hamburgers, French fries and meat pies for our first meal in Vienna. I can’t
even say the fries were frites. That said, we spotted empty seats outside the pub, and as
an added bonus, there was room for us to set out luggage down. This looked like
much less of a challenge than trying to carve out an area at one of the crowed cafes in the
vicinity. After our enjoyable, but mediocre lunch, we hopped a cab and found our way to
GAL apartments. The cab driver made a few quick lefts and rights and passed over a
bridge spanning a small arm of the Danube river when we spotted the Grosse
Moehrengasse street sign. One more left turn and we were in front of our new “home”.
After checking in and enduring the normal minor difficulties one encounters when
checking into a residence in another country, we opened the door to a truly wonderful
apartment. It was clean, efficient and perfect for us. As splendid as the apartment was, it
was not a time for relaxation and we were all aching to get back out into the city center to
take in as much as possible on this beautiful day.

We made our way back out into the city in search of Tram #2. Based on the description of the Tram 2 route in my guidebook, I thought a spin on Tram #2 would offer us a nice introduction to the city since the tram circles the outer ring which encompasses many of Vienna’s major sights. A Viennese appetizer if you will. Well, if this was an appetizer, it was a tasty one as this quick 25 minute tram ride made me very ravenous for more. Seeing one magnificent building after another in addition to a slice of the meticulously maintained City Park will do that to you. I hadn’t been in Vienna for more than two hours, but the grandeur that Vienna is famous for was already plainly obvious to me. The numerous monuments I saw while riding on the tram created a buzz inside me that perforated throughout my entire body. I was just excited to be here and experience the city. It is rare for me to arrive in a city and have that special feeling that is almost hard to describe if you haven’t experienced it yourself. It feels good to have it again. Amazingly, I didn’t feel tired or annoyed anymore. Instead, I actually felt invigorated.

Three hours and lots of walking later, I was sitting in an area that had absolutely the most
magnificent string of cafes I have seen anywhere. I had been walking around the Graben
and Kohlmarkt areas and was enamored with what was going on around me. What else
could I do but sit back and take it all in? Sure, there are overpriced shops and restaurants
in this area where the food costs more than it should but this is to be expected when you
are in ‘the place to be’. As over hyped as these types of areas can sometimes be,
Vienna’s hot spot deserves the hype, and then some. There were various types of street
entertainers, a group of break dancers and ample opportunities to people watch. With one
café after another and ominous, massive St. Stephen’s Cathedral looming over your
shoulder, no matter where you are sitting, you have a good seat. Whether it be afternoon,
morning or night, this is definitely the place to be.

As for St. Stephen’s Cathedral, I guess you could almost describe its Gothic interior as
“Batmanesque”, if that is a word. I was in shorts but decided to bend the rules
and walk inside because I needed to see what was inside of this hulking structure.
As much as I hated acting as if I didn’t see the sign that clearly indicated ‘No Shorts’, my
guilt quickly faded when I saw the impressive interior of the church. The church’s spire
undoubtedly stands out from the skyline from many vantage points throughout the city,
clearly pointing to a spot that is not to be missed. We spent the rest of the evening in this
wonderful area. First there was coffee, then beers, then dinner and then more beers. At
some point, there may have been a gelato also. Sure, there was more to see but we didn’t
feel like seeing it right now. We were content where we were at and were immersed in
what was around us. Between it all, there was much people watching and almost as much
monument gazing. What a place to relax.

At the end of the night, we followed the street to its end until we were but a few blocks
from our apartment. As we approached our apartment, crossing the river, I even saw a
man made beach down a flight of stairs on the banks of the Danube. It looked like they
were setting up a stage for some music over the weekend. Another wonderful Wien
surprise as there seemed to be one around every corner. I could get used to this.

After resting leisurely at another fine café and enjoying a gorgeous berry tart and fine Viennese coffee for breakfast, it was now time to explore more of Vienna’s public transportation system. Oh and that berry tart for breakfast? I couldn’t go on looking at one beautiful pastry after another without biting into one and decided that there was no reason to wait any longer. It was well worth it as this pastry tasted every bit as good as it looked. We had no problem determining where we needed to go as we hopped on the U4 subway line without even having to ask a random person a question and were on our way to the Schonbrunn Palace.

Schonbrunn was the Hapsburg’s summer palace and is one of the most impressive sights I have seen in any European city I have visited.

This museum celebrates the palace's best-known tenant, Emperor Franz Josef I, who lived here for much of his life. Franz Josef was very much loved by the people and had a strong belief in maintaining connection with them. He was not above allowing commoners to come into his quarters to express grievances or offer suggestions for the good of the empire. He was also a believer in the virtue of hard work as it was not uncommon for him to begin his workday at 5:30 AM and end it late at night, only taking Sundays for rest. This is very impressive as many emperors lived a life of luxury and did little to try and strengthen the empire they inherited. This museum also devotes considerable attention to one of Franz Josef's wives, Sissi. She is better known as Queen Elizabeth of Austria. The Schonbrunn museum openly tells the sad story of Sissi's poor mental (and eventually physical) health -- including a 19th century-style eating disorder where her only sustenance during the day was strained raw beet juice. So much for the life of luxury!

The opulence and grandeur that were so obvious in the 40 rooms we toured were, to some degree, expected. I guess what really surprised me was how much style Franz Joseph, Marie Antoinette and Sissi amongst others brought to this magnificent palace. Maybe I expected impressive but boring décor that suited that period of time so long ago. Instead, I found tasteful, imaginative décor in nearly every room. In one room, there were lacquered plaques brought in from China with stories of daily life unfolding within the lacquer they were inlaid in. In many of the rooms, there were enormous, beautiful landscape paintings depicting various facets of nature. In other rooms, my neck started to hurt because I was analyzing the details of the impressive paintings that adorned their ceilings. If you were decorating a palace today, you might want to contact Marie Antoinette for some suggestions. Well, maybe not as she followed her husband to the guillotine at the age of 37, although I don’t think her design preferences had anything to do with that.

One room I particularly remember had a blue and white design that was exquisite with every intricate detail perfected. Amazingly, the paneled woodwork in this room was of the same blue and white design and color scheme that was present throughout the room. There were probably over a 100 different panels in the room with Asian daily life sketches in the same exact color pattern within each panel. All were unique. Can you even manage how long it would take to do something like this? It is amazing to me.

Every room was fantastic with no expense spared. There was one beautiful painting after another done by artists who were specifically commissioned to please the royalty with their wonderful talents. A young Mozart even performed at this fantastic summer residence at the behest of Maria Theresa and her consort, Francis I.

As impressive as the inside was, I was actually overwhelmed by the palace grounds surrounding the fortress. There are no terms to describe how perfect the grounds are. I was fascinated by the vibrant colors of the beautiful flowers and the thousands of bushes and trees trimmed perfectly, one in the same way as the next. I guess you could call this a museum garden. The colors of the flowers can only be described as robust. In one section, the violet color of the flowers was so vivid that it made me stand and take notice as it almost looked like the pedals had been ground up and poured onto the lush green grass. The paths that intertwine between the maze of trees and gardens seem to be endless. Maybe they are. I can only dream of living in Vienna and making my way to Schonbrunn for a Saturday jog that would continue for hours on stretches of paths that dissect the rows of trees and extend in every direction. For those lucky enough to call Vienna their home, this is actually a reality since the grounds are open to the public and free to enter. This is also an area to sit with a loved one and hold hands as a place this beautiful must be romantic. And it is. The benches on the paths look like they should be part of a portrait that includes a lonely man reading or a loving couple embracing. The paths don’t stop either. Instead, they veer right and left repetitiously until they converge at the magnificent Gloriette war monument. This monument stands tall and proud at the end of a path that a parade of people follow to the top. From afar, it almost looks like a parade of ants making their way up to a forbidden palace. The palace grounds have many other features -- most notably the old Viennese city zoo. I call it old because is has been continuously active since 1852, which means that it made it through two World Wars that both damaged Vienna. There is much more to the palace and the grounds than I have described as this is a place you could really spend all day at. I feel fortunate that I have been able to see and appreciate the magnificence of this inspiring site.

As we rode the U4 metro line back to the Schewedenplatz transportation hub where we began this excursion, I sat quietly as I felt a sense of peace after seeing so much beauty in one place. As I sat, I also salivated quietly in anticipation of a lunch I had been craving. Ever since we arrived yesterday, I have taken special notice of the Doner Kebab stands near each metro station and thoughts of sinking my teeth into one of these gorgeous sandwiches had been ruminating in my head for the last 24 hours. I was ready for and about to indulge in a purely Viennese lunch. Ok, not really. Historically, it would be more like a typical Turkish lunch although there have been slight variations added to the döner kebab to satisfy the tastes of the many countries that now call the “kebap” one of their favorite fast foods. This includes Germany, Austria, UK, Ireland, France, Australia, Finland, Canada and Japan. Unfortunately for me, the US is not included on this list. So, what is a döner kebab? Well, the words döner kebab literally mean “turning roast” and this is the name given to a Turkish dish made from lamb, beef or chicken. In many cases, there is a combination of lamb and beef together. It is essentially the same dish as a shawarma or gyros with slight differences in the type of meat and spices used. Generally, a döner kebab sandwich is served with a salad made from shredded lettuce and includes toppings such as onions, tomatoes, eggplant and maybe some hummus if your lucky. Usually there is a choice between a hot sauce (sambal or a red chili paste based sauce) or a yoghurt sauce containing garlic (like tzatiki sauce) and herbs. In some cases, sheep’s cheese or feta is thrown into the mix. The reality of it is that the döner kebab has become one of the world’s most popular fast foods. It deserves merit alongside the Australian meat pie (which surprisingly I ate yesterday), the American hot dog and the cevapcici sandwiches that seem to be an inherent part of the fast food pyramid in every Central European country I have visited. In addition to the wonderful taste of the sandwich, it is a bit of an “experience” watching the kebab “attendant” carve the meat off of the cone of beef or lamb or chicken. In any case, my lamb and beef sandwich was wonderful as it was packed into a roll with hummus, eggplant, lettuce, onion and spicy red sauce. It really hit the spot.

After lunch, we meandered up Rotenturnstrasse to Graben and then to Kohlmarkt. We took in more of the fabulous café atmosphere in this veritable temple to people watching and shop browsing. Eventually, we strolled up to Michaelerplatz towards the beautiful domed entrance to the Hofburg Palace. As you walk towards the dome, it’s hard not to stop for a minute to really look at and appreciate its beauty and stature. We walked through the palace grounds eventually and continued on until we ended up at the Rathaus. Located in front of the impressive City Hall building, this area has picnic tables in between 2 rows of ethnic food stands selling everything from Mexican taco salads to different kinds of pasta combinations to bratwursts and chicken stir fry. For us, it was a great place to stop and have a large beer in the sun. For the rest of the afternoon, we just savored wonderful Vienna. Inevitably, we ended up enjoying the café culture and wonderful weather as we couldn’t think of a much better way to spend an afternoon.

We spent the evening in a local suburb called Grinzigen where we visited some wine bars, better known as heurigen. So, what is a heuriger? Well…..

Heuriger is the name given to many Austrian wine-drinking locales where patrons can experience the most recent year's wine. A heuriger has legal limitations different from those of a tavern or restaurant. Only its own wine can be served and it can only serve a limited selection of food from a buffet. Additionally, a heuriger can only be open a certain amount of time during each year. In areas like Grinzigen where there are many heurigen, it is usually guaranteed that there will be at least one or more of these wine gardens open. Most heurigen have music which is typically provided by two Heurigensänger who typically play the guitar and accordion. They walk from table to table looking for tips and will perform on request any songs from their limited repertoire for the benefit of all the guests who are present.

Getting to Grinzigen was extremely quick and easy. We took the U4 subway line to the last stop, hopped on tram 38 and hopped off at the Grinzigen stop. I wish public transportation at home in Chicago was this seamless. We jumped off of the tram with a few other nervous tourists wondering if this was the place listed in their tour book with the wine “bars”. I took a chance and told them emphatically that this was Grinzigen to provide them with some relief. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if we were at Grinzigen, but the 3 or 4 successive heurigen I saw to my right as we drove through the village told me that we had a fun place to spend the night, whether it was Grinzigen or not. Well, this was the right place and this town was ripe with charm.

Grinzigen is a small, suburban village that it is full of character. I felt like I was in a town somewhere along the Romantic Road in Germany. It was hard not to be taken in by the winding streets and neat buildings, each one different then the other and possessing its own character. However, the real reason we were here was to visit the wine gardens and that is what we did.

We walked into at least 7 or 8 wine gardens and had a drink or something to eat at 4 of them. Some might say they all look the same. After all, they do all have a large outdoor seating area that is lush with trees and filled with tables and chairs where patrons can enjoy food, drink and each other. From the garden area, all of the patrons can see the backside of the restaurant. The buffets inside the restaurant are overloaded with various cold cuts, salads and cheeses in addition to hot items like pork and beef roast, lamb shank, potatoes and all sorts of vegetables. The violin and guitar music is charming and was even accompanied by some live singing at one of the places we visited.

However, as similar as the heurigen appear to each other at first sight, it didn’t take but a few moments to realize that they all had their own identity. Whether it was the food, music, wine or atmosphere, each place we visited had specific nuances that gave it its own flare. Inevitably, each venue ultimately succeeded in offering a comfortable enough environment to relax in that it would be very easy to spend an entire night in one place eating and drinking without getting up from your seat to go anywhere but the washroom. It would be a drunken night, but a good one at that. I particularly enjoyed being amongst the local population on this evening. There were definitely a few tourists relaxing in the wine gardens we visited, but the majority of the people enjoying conversation, wine and food were locals. It was Friday and they were probably ‘letting go’ a bit after a long week at work. We did our best to blend in and didn’t have much of a problem. We found a seat at a table, plopped down and ordered a glass of wine. Not too difficult, huh? All of the wine is from the region of Austria surrounding Vienna. We stuck with whites and most fell somewhere between a Riesling and a Chardonnay. They were nice and very drinkable. We enjoyed the atmosphere, music, wine and food. At one place, we had a fine cheese plate that hit the spot before settling into some spare ribs at another heuriger we visited. Between anything we ate, there were many glasses of wine. It was about 10 PM and we were feeling a bit tipsy when we decided to make our way back to the tram stop.

Twenty quick minutes later, we had boarded and deboarded the tram, transferred to the metro and were back in the middle of the city. Five minutes later we were standing on the banks of the Danube Canal with a beer in hand listening to a live Latin band and watching people dance in the sand. All of this and we were a 5 minute walk away from our apartment. What else can you ask for? The Viennese use the Danube canal for everything its worth with portable bars, live entertainment and ample opportunity to relax, flirt, talk, dance or gaze into the river. I can’t think of a better way to spend a Friday evening and I can’t think of a better place to spend it in. Every Viennese citizen is very lucky to call this city their home.

It’s my last day in Vienna, a city known for its coffee, cakes and café culture. That meant one more morning sitting at Julius Meinl, Café Mozart or one of a thousand other cafes on the corner of every street enjoying a pastry and a nice flavorful cup of coffee. Instead, I put my head down like a bad boy being scolded, walked into Starbucks and ordered a Venti cup of over roasted bean juice to go. I couldn’t even bring myself to order one of their pastries. You ask why?

Well, although Starbucks isn’t my first choice for a caffeine fix on the way to work, I don’t boycott the place either. It has more to do with ‘giving in’, which is something one has to do when traveling in a pack of three for an extended period of time. After hearing my Uncle Bob talk about the illustrious American cup of coffee that he had been yearning so ravenously for the last 15 days, it would have been impossible for me to just walk by Starbucks and act like I didn’t see it. When I saw Starbucks sitting there, right next to a fine Viennese café I might add, I swallowed and took a deep breath and said, “Do you want to grab a coffee at Starbucks this morning Uncle Bob? I am sure you can get an American cup of coffee there. We can get it to go and walk in the direction of the Museumplatz.” Graciously he said, “If that is what you guys want to do, I am fine with that.” Given the fact that Bob hasn’t made one decision regarding any restaurant, café or sight we have visited in over 2 weeks, he wasn’t about to take a definitive stance regarding the cup of coffee he coveted for what seemed like an eternity. Well, I made it for him and walked into Starbucks.

In all honesty, I was having a difficult time understanding his fascination with an American cup of coffee. We are sitting in fantastic cafes in a city renowned for its coffee and café culture and somehow our discussion constantly turned to American coffee. Actually, it is a bit ironic as American coffee isn’t exactly held in high regard throughout the world. When he asked the servers at a couple places if he could get an American cup of coffee, as if they didn’t know what it was, they would just look at him and say, “What, isn’t it just a coffee with or without milk?” He would say, “Yes, I like it black.” They would respond, “No problem.” I guess my point is that the only thing that makes a cup of coffee American is the fact that it is 2-3 times the size of the normal size cup they bring to the table. In Europe, the size of the cups is usually a bit smaller than the size of the cup of coffee you would get at a typical diner in the United States. By the way, the coffee in Europe is a hell of a lot better because it actually has taste. I guess if Bob wanted 3 cups of coffee, he would have to pay for them.

Starbucks in hand, we began our walk up the street in the direction of the Musuemplatz towards our first destination of the day. We were going to the Kunsthistorisches Museum. This is a world class art museum displaying some of the Hapsburg’s art collection. After another splendid walk, we arrived at the museum quarter, which is impressive in more than a few ways. The natural history museum is directly across from the Kunsthistorisches Museum and is an equally impressive architectural structure. The grounds between the two museums are a fantastic place to lounge, relax, read, kiss and basically enjoy your surroundings. It is another one of Vienna’s fantastic park areas with trees that look so perfect that they must have been trimmed by someone extremely anal and an abundance of people watching opportunities. From the exterior, the museum is a massive, detailed and impressive architectural structure. You know, the kind of building that looks like it has been there for hundreds of years and is meant to make everyone that passes by it stop in their tracks and look while commenting to their friend how impressive it is. Upon buying my ticket and walking into the museum, it quickly became obvious that the paintings and sculptures within the museum are housed within one massive sculpture itself. Looking up at the beautiful dome inside the museum, it seemed I should be in a church instead of an art house. There are beautiful marble pillars spanning from floor to ceiling with intricate details and color patterns that demand your attention for at least few seconds, no matter how much you want to walk by, ‘get on with it’ and see the paintings. See, for someone like me who is not an art historian but just a spectator who appreciates art now and again, you sometimes have this feeling that you ‘have’ to see a certain gallery or museum and you hastily run through it in an effort to “get it over with”. You still appreciate what you see, but not nearly as much as you should. On this day, I didn’t want to do that, didn’t attempt to do that and fortunately didn’t repeat my past errors.

The Kunsthistorisches Museum demanded that I savor the moment and the masterpiece in front of me at nearly every stop I made. I had a similar feeling running through me when I was at the Schonbrunn Palace. It really is a special feeling and not one I experience often. I guess I could give you a quick overall recap and tell you that I was as impressed with what I saw at this museum as I was at any other major art house I have visited in the past including the Louvre, Orsay, Prado or Vatican museums. The collection is truly world class and speaks volumes about the taste of the Hapsburg rulers. However, that would be too broad of a description as this museum deserves more than a paragraph summary.

The half of the museum dedicated to Italian art is fantastic. I was particularly impressed with some of Pablo Veronese’s massive paintings that are startling by their size and presence as well as the stories told within. Mantegna’s 'St. Sebastian' painting of a Christian martyr standing erect, perfect and stoic, despite being needled with arrows, is awesome. The fact that the painting is three dimensional with roads receding into the distance and floor tiles beneath makes it that much more impressive. Parmigianino’s "Self-Portrait” is really a revelation based on its creativity and ingenuity. He paints himself while gazing into a convex mirror and reproduces this pose on a convex piece of wood. The wood appears exactly as Parmigianino did when he was actually staring into the mirror. On the other hand, Raphael’s ‘Madonna of the Meadow’ is absolutely precious. The colors in this painting are so soft and inviting, it feels as if you want to jump into the painting. Almost! I would describe Caravaggio as a man’s painter. I have no idea what he looks like but in my head, I picture a husky cigar smoking, whiskey drinking, well spoken, no-nonsense bastard. Well, whatever he looks like, he holds nothing back in ‘David with the Head of Goliath’ as David holds Goliath’s severed head in his hand and pushes it forward to the front of the painting. The face of Goliath is none other than Caravaggio himself. This is an astounding and strange self-portrait.

As I exited the Italian Renaissance section of the museum, I could have left altogether and been satisfied, but what fun would that be. There would definitely be some contrast in the Northern Renaissance section of the museum, although I was pretty sure I had seen the best of what the Kunsthistorisches Museum had to offer. Well, as is typical in matters of this kind, I was once again wrong. Pieter Bruegel and Peter Paul Rubens had something to say about this. Bruegel’s slice of life scenes tell stories the way only a storyteller can; only instead of using a pen, Bruegel uses his brush to paint images. I particularly liked the stories he told in the ‘Peasant Wedding’ and the ‘Peasant Dance’. In the ‘Peasant Wedding’, the wedding cuisine is much more the focus than the forgotten bride and the ‘Peasant Dance’ portrays some pretty clumsy clogging. There was another painting by an artist that was not familiar to me, Albrecht Durer, which was stunning. His ‘Altarpiece of the Trinity’ is so beautiful, colorful and perfectly geometrical that it deserved 5 minutes of my undivided attention. With Christ forming a triangle framed by clouds that are structured in a triangular landscape and three sided crowds of people, he achieved perfection in describing the Trinity. He didn’t stop there though. He actually painted himself as a small figure standing at the bottom of the painting in the right hand corner holding a plaque pronouncing that this masterpiece was painted by Albrecht Durer in 1511. He is the only mortal in the painting and behind his small figure there are roads that recede into the distance. Durer’s figure stands in a different dimension while the ‘divine’ happening described above takes place in another dimension. He does an excellent of job of separating the divine from the mortal.

I left the museum feeling as content as I’ve ever felt after leaving an art museum. From here, we headed to the Rathaus in front of the City Hall for some lunch. We had a beer here yesterday but I was determined to try the food which looked so scrumptious. With so many dishes calling my name, it was tough to choose what to pick and enjoy in front of the tremendous City Hall building. After much deliberation, I passed on another kebab sandwich and the bratwurst that looked so good and instead chose a fried potato, onion and bacon dish that was served with German style coleslaw. It was fantastic and I washed it down with a half liter of ‘light’ beer. As I enjoyed lunch, I absorbed the activity in this area on this beautiful and busy Saturday. There were kids playing and eating and families and couples laughing and enjoying the weather, food, drink and atmosphere. If you ask me, they looked pretty contented in their environment.

After lunch, we were left again without much of a plan. We wandered around the Ring for a bit, popped into a café for a coffee and eventually found ourselves walking into Vienna’s lush city park. It was no wonder to me that this place was as fantastic as every other part of the city I have seen. Stadtpark has beautifully manicured paths to run or walk on, gardens to stare at, ponds to contemplate over and of course a lot of people watching. You may be saying to yourself, “I have been to a lot of parks that have that.” Very true indeed, but did those parks have live classical musical concerts almost every night the weather permits, a beer garden, a café overhanging the primary garden area, street artists and roaming musicians? I took a moment to absorb the atmosphere with a stein of Spaten in my hand and came to a very simple conclusion. I am in love with Vienna. It has stolen my heart. I am as wrapped up with Vienna as I ever was with Amsterdam or Paris and I never thought I would find a city that impressed me as much as Paris did. I was wrong though. It has taken me far too long to see this wonderful city but I am lucky to be here now.

As we headed back to our apartment to get ready for our final dinner, I looked into the distance and saw what looked like a substantial beach on the banks of the Danube. It looked as if people were relaxing in lawn chairs and enjoying drinks and music. As I got closer, I realized that I wasn’t seeing things and there was a rather large beach area on the banks of the Danube River that had been created. There was a large Strandbar with mellow, funky music that reminded me of Portishead and Morcheeba playing overhead. In addition, there were people relaxing with drinks on lawn chairs spread out onto a nice sandy beach. These are the kind of lawn chairs and the kind of environment that just beg one to sit down and stay for a while and that is exactly what we did. For the next hour or so, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves as we relaxed and chilled. This is one more example of how Vienna utilizes every facet of its gorgeous city to the utmost. Finding this area was just another pleasant surprise hidden within this amazing world class city.

Honestly, there is no reason for me to be taken aback by the treasures I have found around every corner in Vienna. Any guidebook would tell you as much. The real reason I am surprised is because this is my first time visiting Vienna after traveling to so many other places. I guess sometimes you think you’ve gotten to the point where you wonder to yourself what is it that you will see that will continue to stir that travel bug inside of you. Well, after seeing Vienna, it is good to know that the craving and desire to see the world are still alive and well inside of me.

Pivo

2006-12-01T10:53:00.000-08:00

By Chris Sarcletti

City: Prague

Prague is one of the most impressive cities that I’ve visited in my travels. It has wonderful architecture, the amazing Charles Bridge and a gothic feel that is different from any place I remember visiting. Prague also produces some of the world’s best beer. Whether it’s Krusovice, Radegast, Staropramen or Pilsner Urquell, it’s truly fantastic. You only need to peak into a few of Prague’s many bars in order to form the opinion that the Prague locals enjoy their beer on a regular basis. It is probably safe to say that many tourists, like me, may enjoy it a bit too much. On this visit to Prague, saying that I sampled too much beer is definitely an understatement.

After a splendid day walking around the city, we began this evening with a wonderful meal at a hidden restaurant called Peklo, which translates to ‘The Hell’ in the Czech native tongue. In regards to our meal on this evening, you could almost say the experience was a bit spooky. Why? Well, Peklo has a very unique atmosphere as the restaurant is in a wine cellar that only gets as warm as 68 degrees. In addition, the whole feeling of the place, in addition to the look of the host, had a feeling of Hell. The name Peklo originated because the gardens above were called ’In the Paradise’ so everything located under the gardens was thought to be ‘the hell’. Anyway, on my first trip to Prague a few years prior, I spent a significant amount of time looking for this restaurant without success.

On this visit, I had a bit more success, although it definitely wasn’t easy. The only information we had about Peklo was that it is located next to a famous synagogue which holds a well-renowned collection of art. With this abundance of information, Jim and I spent 2 hours walking around and asking random people on the street until we finally struck gold and found the restaurant. Even after finding the restaurant, things were a bit tense as the host originally indicated that there were no tables available for that evening. Fortunately, he was mistaken and we were able to secure a reservation for later that evening. Given the difficulty we had finding the restaurant in the afternoon when it was still light outside, there wasn’t a chance in hell we were going to try and find the restaurant on foot without the benefit of daylight. We decided that showing the address to a taxi driver made much more sense.

In any case, after a fantastic and gluttonous dinner of chateaubriand, we made our way back into the city center to try and find a jazz club we read about that was supposed to be quite good. After entering the club, I really didn’t know if we were in the right place as it looked like a typical bar to me. As it turns out, there is a bar upstairs and the jazz club is in the basement. Over the next few hours, we saw a lot of the bar but very little of the jazz club. To be honest, we didn’t see any of the jazz club and the only music we heard were some faint sounds emanating from the club that penetrated the bathroom walls. Come to think of it, we did spend a lot of time in the bathroom and it is located next to the jazz club, so….. Honestly, our intentions to sit down and enjoy some jazz over a few beers were true when we entered the club. As is the case sometimes though, plans go awry and these plans began to unravel about halfway through our first half liter of beer.

The reason we didn’t head downstairs immediately after entering the venue is because we opted to grab a beer at the bar upstairs as a bit of an appetizer to the music. That was our plan anyway. The only problem is that the beers we were drinking were in half liter glasses that were more like jugs. Obviously, it takes a while to finish one of those things. After I managed to down my first Radegast, Jim had another one waiting for me when I returned from the bathroom. Who was I to argue with the notion of having one more round before we headed downstairs to listen to some music? As I approached the table, I noticed that Jim was engaged in a conversation with a unique looking blond gentleman at the bar. I thought to myself, ‘it’s too bad that he’s not talking to a blond woman’ but quickly got over that, joined into the conversation and proceeded to shake hands with Johan. Johan was from Norway and was visiting Prague for a 5 day holiday. It was his last night in Prague and he didn’t hesitate to inform us that he was up for some hard partying tonight, before he hopped on an 8 AM flight back to Oslo the following morning. He came to Prague with another Norwegian friend, Sven, and they were in the company of a local Czech gentleman whom they met at the bar. One look at these guys and the many empty beer glasses in front of them should have told us all we needed to know about where the night was headed from here. On second thought, maybe it did and we just followed suit.

Our ensuing conversation, accented by many beers, led to discussion about Bill Clinton, the U.S. bigger is better philosophy and Jerry Springer of all people. Our discussions ranged from laughter filled ones to quite tense ones. Many of Johan’s sentences began with “In Norway, “. Johan was unquestionably an interesting and entertaining guy. His friend Sven seemed much more composed. Maybe he was just less drunk. Yet again, maybe he was so hammered that he didn’t know what the fuck was going on because I did notice that his conversation with the Czech gentleman had dissipated. Nonetheless, we began to talk to Sven and he was also quite friendly. At this point, the beer was taking its toll on my bladder and it was time for me to make another trip of many to the washroom.

When I returned from the bathroom this time, I was quite surprised to find out that Sven was extremely interested in arm wrestling me. This was definitely unexpected and I initially declined. Not only did I not want to arm wrestle anyone, but Sven was a lot bigger than me. I’m 5’10 and he was at least 6’3. I weigh 170 pounds and my guess is that Sven was closer to 220. I figured he just wanted to make an American look like an idiot and I was pretty sure he would. I declined numerous times and tried to change the subject, but seemed to be getting nowhere as Sven was very insistent. I finally accepted the fact that my efforts to change the subject were not working and that Sven, while being pretty good natured about the whole thing, also wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Since I wasn’t ready to leave the bar I was quite comfy at just yet, and I didn’t have too many other options, I agreed to arm wrestle Sven even though I expected to get crushed and look like a fool in the process.

After I agreed to arm wrestle Sven, Jim got a good laugh and he, Johan and the Czech gentleman quickly cleared the glasses from the table. Sven and I then squared off, locked hands and began to arm wrestle. I surprisingly managed to hold my own for about 60 seconds. However, given Sven’s weight advantage and apparent strength advantage, I began to falter quickly. To put it bluntly, I knew I was going down and I was just hoping to hold off enough so that I didn’t get my ass flipped to the ground with a resounding thud and look like even more of a fool. Luckily for me, that didn’t happen. Who knows, maybe Sven held back before he finished me off calmly, as there wasn’t even a loud thud when my arm hit the table. Fortunately, there were no hard feelings and this little episode managed to erode any tension that may have existed prior to this “lock up”. It wasn’t more than a few moments later that an animated Sven and Johan were laughing and slapping me on the back as the bartender placed 5 glasses of absinthe in front of us at Jim’s behest. Jim and I had both sampled absinthe before and were interested drinking it “the correct way”, whatever that was. Based on our observations of others, we believed it had something to do with a spoon, fire and sugar. It appeared that Jim and I were the only people in our group with an interest in the details of properly drinking absinthe as the other three glasses in front of us disappeared quickly. I am not sure if the Norwegians realized that they were drinking a liqueur that is illegal in most countries due to its potency, but they downed it like a shot of tequila. I am sure their Czech friend knew the implications, yet he also downed the absinthe in one large gulp. In any case, the coughing episode I saw the three of them go through wasn’t pretty. Actually, it was painful to watch but those guys were so drunk that they really didn’t care what kind of a scene they were creating.

At the same time, Jim and I were fumbling with the utensils in front of us to try and figure this absinthe puzzle out. We scooped a bit of absinthe into the spoons which already had sugar sitting in them. The next step was to heat the absinthe and sugar mixture until it burned down to a residue. The last step is to stir the residue into the glass and then sip, not slam, the drink. Well, we, actually I, fucked that up pretty good. I inadvertently spilled some of the still lit sugar absinthe mixture into the glass and the whole glass went up in flames. I’m lucky my hand and arm didn’t go up in flames with it. Feeling embarrassed and a bit like I wanted to laugh at myself, I tried to avoid looking like a complete fool and minimize the scene I was creating by grabbing the glass, blowing the fire out and ‘shooting’ the absinthe just like the others had. The absinthe hit me the same way it always hits me. My eyes filled with water and I’m sure anyone who saw my face sure as hell wouldn’t talk to me in this state. Despite the fact that I was very drunk, my nod to Jim was all the indication he needed to order another round. I needed a beer to wash down that hellacious drink.

As we delved back into conversation with our new found friends, we found out that Sven was married and Johan had a 2 year old son with his girlfriend. It was nice, even in my drunken state, to hear Johan talk about his child and the wonder of being a father. It made me wonder a bit and laugh to myself when Johan and Sven revealed to us how incredibly proud of themselves they were that they didn’t indulge in any physical contact with any of the beautiful Czech women they encountered during their trip. Jim and I then began to tease Johan and Sven about their early flight. Johan didn’t hesitate to give me a solid, but joking “Fuck You.” At least he felt comfortable enough with me to say that, I guess. I think the absinthe did the Norwegians in and actually made them think a bit more about the fact that they had to get up for an early flight, because it wasn’t long before they were donning their coats and heading for the door. We gave each other some raucous goodbyes highlighted by some hearty handshakes.

Jim and I looked at each other and laughed as they left the bar, before turning to our Czech comrade and continuing on with the night. We may have had another beer or two left in us, but there would be no more absinthe and we never did listen to any jazz.

Eastern Charm

2006-11-15T12:15:00.000-08:00

By Chris Sarcletti

Cities: Prague and Budapest

When arriving in a Central European country, it is easy to feel a bit overwhelmed. The difference betweens the Western world of North America, Australia and Western Europe and the so called “East” begin to become quite evident here. Granted, cities like Prague, Budapest and Warsaw are some of the more “Western” Central European cities, but they are still much different from the romantic streets and canals of Paris and Amsterdam that I am used to. Given the fact that many of these countries have broken free from the shackles of communism over the last 10 to 15 years, this is far from a surprise. It takes years for the changes from communism to a free market society to manifest in society and become obvious to those who haven’t actually lived through them. The depressing “project” like apartment buildings are still present and are hard to miss as you move about these large cities. Many of these buildings look like they could use a serious facelift. However, after arriving in areas closer to the city center, your opinions may tend to shift quickly based on what you see. Not only is the architecture in cities like Prague and Budapest impressive, but the stunning pastel colors of many of the buildings is something I have never seen on such a large scale. However, the beauty of these cities stretches far beyond buildings, monuments, city squares and winding streets. In fact, it unquestionably pervades from the women present throughout these towns.

When I think of some of my experiences in this part of the world, it’s hard for me to forget the unassuming innocence I noticed in so many of the women I saw. What the innocence said to me initially is that these women have no idea how magnificent they really are. Is it because every woman is so stunning? As gorgeous as many of the women are, I cannot say that I believe this to be the reason for their behavior. That said, it is refreshing to see women who can make this kind of impression on men without seemingly being overly concerned about how much makeup they are wearing or checking the state of their outfit every few minutes. In my experiences, many of these women were, in my words, “on display as they truly are”. Their beauty and gracefulness was that much more attractive because they didn’t seem to know they had it. That makes quite an impression upon a man, at least on this one it did. Whether I was ducking into a small wine shop on a charming street or eating in a traditional local Hungarian restaurant, I continued to see things pleasing to the eye. You could say that I became an aficionado of these experiences in a very short time.

Once, while enjoying a pastry at a small bakery in Budapest, it became literally impossible for me to take my eyes off of the women working in the bakery. Keep in mind that I do understand and accept the fact that staring is not socially acceptable, but I had no choice. Granted, I don’t understand why three people were working the counter in a place that couldn’t seat more than 12 people, but I am not one to complain. All of these women were tall, 5’7 or 5’8, with reddish brown hair that is tough to come by in the streets of Chicago. They were slender, firm, gorgeous and unassuming. In addition, they had voluptuous, womanly figures; not the ones of someone who has spent too many or much too few hours in the gym. A smile from one of these women as I exited the bakery was all the encouragement I needed to become quite upbeat for the remainder of the day and evening. Given the imaginary state of my love life at that point in time, a smile from a beautiful woman was more than welcome.

On that same evening, we dined at a very special Hungarian restaurant in Budapest called Bagolyvar. In addition to a truly wonderful meal, I had another “inspirational” experience. To start with, this restaurant specializes in Hungarian cuisine and is staffed entirely by hard working women who prepare and cook the food and service the customers. The waitress that worked our table appeared to be in her early to mid 20’s and she was absolutely stunning. She had reddish brown hair, a beautiful complexion and an innocent smile. As was the case earlier in the day, I had much trouble keeping my eyes off of this woman, and as a direct result I managed to spill some wine on the dinner table. While my face wore the look of one who had made a boyish mistake, her laughter made my humility vanish quickly.

These are only a few examples of many. Once, while in Prague, my friend Andy and I were walking in the area of Wenceslas Square when we ran into a gorgeous Czech girl from a suburb outside of Prague. She needed 10 to 15 dollars worth of Koruna to pay for a train ticket home. She said her purse was snatched and by the looks of it, seemed to be telling the truth. Frankly, Andy and I really didn’t care whether she was telling the truth or not. We were just happy to have a bit more interaction with someone so pleasant to look at and talk to. After prolonging the conversation as long as we could, we gave her the money she requested. She insisted on getting our address because she wanted to pay us back. We declined her offer but both lamented that decision later over a beer as we both had grandiose and unrealistic thoughts ruminating through our heads at this point in time about starting a relationship with one of the many gorgeous women who call Prague there home. Maybe we could write her? Maybe she would come visit? I think we both knew that this was not going to happen but it is fun to dream sometimes.

I know I have rambled too much about this topic. If something can be taken from this “story”, it would be to be prepared and eager, when visiting this part of the world, for what you will see an experience. One other thing, keep your eyes open because there is more to see than architecture.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 18

2006-08-19T11:25:00.000-07:00

As I have my last breakfast here in Hanoi and my last meal in Vietnam, I am full of so many thoughts. One more stroll down one of Hanoi’s pleasant avenues is all I have time for now. I said my goodbyes to my fellow travelers and we promised to meet in the future in Australia, the United States or somewhere in between. I lamented having to say goodbye to Anh, my Vietnamese friend and tour guide. I grew to call Anh a friend and the hug he gave me when we said goodbye indicated to me that he felt the same way. It felt good inside.

It seems impossible at this time for me to think about what I will remember most about my time in Vietnam. My mind is full of so many experiences that have helped me grow so much in such a short period of time. However, when it comes down to it, it is pretty simple. It is the people.

Vietnam is a beautiful and special country but it is the people that I will remember the most. There was Twuy, the woman and her son that befriended me at the Internet shop in Hoi An, Mimi in Hue and the woman on the boat in Halong Bay. There was Quien and Ly and a host of others in Saigon including my cyclo driver. I will remember the smiling children on the side of the road outside of the floating fishing village we visited and will not soon forget the smile and wicked laugh of the “mad monk” in Dalat.

There is one unified Vietnam but there are two very different regions within this country. There is the North and the vastly different South. Regardless, the people throughout the country are extremely hard working. They do an excellent job of farming every portion of land that hints at having any fertility whatsoever and they do it proudly.

Vietnam is a poor country that was held back due to the fact that it was caught in the middle of a capitalist – communist show of strength by superpower countries that had no real concern for the welfare of the country or its people. Whether it was France, the United States, the Soviet Union or China, none of these countries had any real concern for Vietnam or its people. Their interests in the region at that time simply happened to coincide perfectly with finding a nation that was divided and ripe to be used as a tool to propagate their views. They all used Vietnam and they will always be indebted to it in some way.

When I left for my trip to Vietnam, I didn’t know what to expect or whether I would like or understand the things I would see and experience. Now as I prepare to depart back to my home, I look forward to returning some day to recapture past memories but mostly to see the changes this welcoming and rapidly evolving country will undoubtedly continue to undergo.

I will never forget my first trip to Asia, and it will not be my last. I almost feel like someone has dissected my brain, shaken it really hard and placed it back inside my head. The pictures of people working in rice fields with water buffalos or using the street for every conceivable type of business will remain vivid and will hopefully never fade. They are engrained in my memory. Driving through the country allowed me to see things I never would have witnessed if I flew or took trains. I learned much from my travel companions, and as a result, I can now truly say that I have friends to visit in the ‘Land Down Under’.

I definitely learned a thing or two about life from 75 year old Sebastian and 79 year old Claire. I hope to follow the script they provided me with when I am older and retired some day. People assume that you can’t do things but in reality you can do anything you want. It is all about your perspective.

Live it. Enjoy it. See the world. Don’t wait to die.

I will use what I have learned from them in my life. I don’t have a choice because that is the only way that I know how to live. The smiling faces of the Vietnamese and the contentment they have are another life lesson that I will take with me.

Be happy with what you have instead of always focusing on what you think you need.

And smile because you are alive.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 17

2006-08-19T11:24:00.000-07:00

I wake up this morning refreshed, but also a bit depressed. It isn’t the disturbing images from last night, but the reality that this is my last full day in Vietnam. After 16 days, I have grown quite used to everything about this place. Whether it be the people and their incessant questions, the rice I eat 3 times a day, or the unrelenting heat, none of it seems that strange anymore. While part of me is ready to get back to the familiar surroundings of my apartment in Amsterdam, the reality is I have become so engrossed in the culture around me that I am still yearning for more.

During our early morning drive back to Hanoi, I experience one more monsoon type rainstorm for my memory. Seeing the rain come down and the people operate, almost uninterrupted by the storm, is strangely refreshing. Like most of my days in Vietnam, I expect my last one in Hanoi to be pleasant, fascinating and hectic at the same time. Knowing that tomorrow at this time I will be aboard a plane which will take me far away, I plan to savor every moment that I spend walking around Hanoi today.

As with each day in most of our lives, frustration has a tendency to set in at some point. Today, it is related to my poor cash management and impulsive spending. After buying a beautiful handmade wooden box depicting scenes of Vietnamese culture for 25 USD, my pockets are empty. I planned to use my remaining dong notes on dinner this evening, not a decorative box. This means that I will need to make one more trip to the ATM. After 2 hours of walking and looking for an ATM that will accept my card, I arrive back in a place I know well; the promenade surrounding Hoan Kiem Lake. I know that this ATM will accept my card because I have used it before. However, there is a sign posted on the machine stating that it will be inoperable for the next 30 minutes for scheduled maintenance. Annoyed, I attempt to take this inconvenience in stride. I sit down on a bench overlooking Hoan Kiem Lake and relax; there aren’t many more beautiful places in the city to absorb your surroundings. As I sit and wait, I am approached by a Hanoi college student who strikes up a conversation with me in the hopes of practicing his English. After 10 minutes, our conversation is interrupted by a loud and angry French man who has apparently decided that making conversation and relaxing by the lake until the ATM is open for business is not on his agenda. He refuses to accept the fact that ‘scheduled maintenance’ means ‘scheduled maintenance’ and not one more transaction. Instead, he tries to force his will. As he futilely attempts to jam his card into the non functioning machine, he nearly gets physical with the stunned bank employee and the guard eventually has to come over to warn the man to stop his behavior. Realizing that he may have crossed the line, he finally walks away to the approval of the many bystanders who witness the altercation. I would have liked to see the guard give the man a shove as incidents like these give every Westerner a bad name.

On my way back to the hotel, I get one last glimpse of the Opera House and Hilton Hotel, which fit together much like a glass of wine and savory piece of cheese. After resting for a bit in my room, I head down to the hotel lobby to meet my travel companions for one last meal together. Tonight, we are heading to Hanoi’s French quarter for dinner.

We have one last wonderful meal together at a romantic French bistro named the Au Lac Café. The experiences we have shared have taken us from being complete strangers to the point where we feel comfortable sharing our inner thoughts on sometimes challenging and controversial subjects. We are all travelers and we have learned from each other and grown as individuals based on our interactions and the experiences we have shared. There is a certain mindset of those who have a passion to travel that makes them, in some cases, one in the same. They are junkies for experiences and culture. When they are able to unleash their passion for travel with others who also get excited about the thought of walking through a market or visiting a hidden temple, the world becomes a much smaller and more manageable place. Distant, fantasy lands like Timbuktu no longer seem to be unattainable. Places like Sri Lanka and Tierra Del Fuego which represent the corners of the world don’t seem to be a galaxy away. My head is full of ideas and places that I want to visit while I still have legs that move and eyes and a mind that can appreciate the world around me. Traveling helps keep a body young and the mind open to experiences that are just waiting to be had.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 16

2006-08-16T15:21:00.000-07:00

My wake up time this morning felt even earlier than the numbers 5:30 that stared at me from the portable alarm clock sitting on the night stand next to my bed. As excited as I am about another scenic drive to Halong Bay, I wouldn’t object to another hour of sleep.

Making our way out of Hanoi, the highlands surrounding us on every side make for a lot of head turning. The well maintained roads also make for a much quicker and more relaxing ride than the bumpy ones I have grown accustomed too. If the state of the roads we are driving on was as bad as those in the South of the country, this trip would probably take us at least double the two and a half hours it has taken us to get to Halong Bay this morning. Arriving in Halong Bay, I am pleasantly surprised by our accommodations. They are a bit more luxurious than usual as we have a romantic villa with wonderful views of the Gulf of Tonkin.

We have 30 minutes to unpack and get settled before we are off and running again. However, this time our mode of transportation will be a boat since the sea is the only vantage point from which we will be able to truly appreciate and realize the beauty of the mostly forsaken and unquestionably gorgeous Gulf of Tonkin.

It is easy to see why people are drawn to Halong Bay. The scenery and environment feels mystical. The channels have a feeling of secrecy and if you are fortunate enough to know of them, you will then witness thousands of limestone islands that jet out of the sea as you meander along on your vessel. These islands represent the beauty that only Mother Nature can deliver and she does so emphatically. Island after island, there are a myriad of different shapes that grasp the gaze of the passerby and refuse to let it go. You cannot design anything this stunning. It just is. Halong Bay is sometimes referred to as the 8th wonder of the world and it is easy to understand why it earns that designation. I can only say that the beauty I have encountered here has helped to bring me closer to, and more at peace with, nature.

During our trip on the gulf, we make stops to climb through a cave located inside one of the islands and also take time to enjoy the warm waters of the Gulf of Tonkin at a small beach off of one of the larger islands. It feels nice to linger in the water and relax with the other visitors to this area. The beautiful surroundings make it easy to understand why Regis Wargnier chose this setting as the backdrop for his film, Indochine.

For lunch, we have a wonderful seafood buffet on board highlighted by fresh squid, fish and shrimp along with rice and vegetables. I am full and satisfied as I sit back and enjoy the ride back into shore. During the ride, I have a nice conversation with the girl on board who cooked us lunch and who is also attempting to sell us some homemade jewelry that I presume she made. I buy a black coral ring from her and enjoy talking to her. Her name is Dung. She is a 28 year old woman from Halong City and she is very interested to find out about my life and career in the United States. Dung tells me that she is learning English and that she works on the boats in addition to helping her family farm the land that they own.

After a prolonged rest in our villa, we head into Halong City for an evening seafood meal. Eating anything else in this area would be almost criminal. I have crab soup and sweet and sour shrimp. Most of the restaurants in this area are filled with tourists, which results in an influx of beggars. Despite what I have seen and experienced in other parts of the country, some of the things I see leave me a bit unsettled.

One man that I give some money too is missing both an arm and a leg. I also see a young teenage boy pull a horribly disfigured woman, possibly his mother, through the streets on a cart in the hopes of earning a few dong notes. Both of her arms and legs are disfigured to the point that it would be impossible for her to walk or stand up on her own. I also see a girl, who is probably no more than 5 years old, with a baby girl on her back. The baby looks to be seriously ill. I look into the baby’s eyes and can sense the gravity of the situation. I feel helpless as all I can do is hand these people a few dong notes before moving on.

In a place like Halong Bay that is amid so much natural beauty, it is ironic but fitting that my last images of this place are those of the poor, disfigured and destitute. All things have their place in this world and in no instance is something absolutely good or bad or beautiful or ugly. There are no absolutes. There is only reality.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 15

2006-08-16T15:20:00.000-07:00

Hanoi and Ho Chi Mihn City may be rival cities, but they are also very different ones at that. This is becoming apparent to me the more I see of Hanoi. Based on my understanding of the history of Vietnam, I can’t say that this is unexpected but it is eye opening nonetheless. While the country has gone through the process of unification, it would be foolish to claim that there is solidarity throughout the country based on what I’ve seen.

This day begins with a trip to Ho Chi Mihn’s mausoleum. This is one of the most sacred sites in all of Vietnam. The line of people waiting to visit Uncle Ho, as he is often referred to, is amazing. For some reason, the foreign tourists are allowed to move immediately to the front of the long line of Vietnamese people waiting to see Uncle Ho. I feel uncomfortable as I am escorted to the front of the line but also feel that I have no choice but to graciously accept this gesture. Part of the reason for the long lines is that in addition to Ho Chi Mihn being a national hero, it is also some sort of patronage for every Vietnamese person to visit Ho Chi Mihn’s mausoleum at some point during their lifetime.

The mausoleum is located in Ba Dinh Square, which is the nation’s ceremonial epicenter. This square has a long and significant history. Ho Chi Mihn read the Declaration of Independence to 500,000 people here on September 2, 1945 and it is here that independence is commemorated each National Day with military parades. The west side of Ba Dinh Square is dominated by massive, grey concrete buildings that exhibit typical Communist architectural styles. Everything looks perfectly symmetrical and imposing. The perfection almost makes one wonder if the person who designed these buildings was overly anal or suffers from severe obsessive compulsive disorder. While these buildings are in some way creative, it is hard to pick that up from looking at them. They are impressive due to their mass and foreboding presence and for the fact that they were designed to be built a specific way. The people who constructed them did not deviate from the plans that were provided to them. These buildings reflect the Communist manifesto - the government makes the decisions and issues the orders and the people follow them for the greater good of all.

In the tradition of all great communist leaders, Ho Chi Mihn’s body was embalmed in 1969 upon his passing, although it was not put on public display until 1975. I find it hard not to respect Ho Chi Mihn. He went to great lengths to bring independence to his country. This included enduring countless hardships, many years in exile, and imprisonment based on his beliefs. I have never seen an embalmed body but I must admit that Ho Chi Mihn looks very good after 30 plus years since his passing. I guess the yearly upkeep is working. The atmosphere surrounding the mausoleum is more holy than somber. I feel like I am paying my respects to a revered martyr or saint who deserves the admiration of each and every person who visits the place where they now rest. I am impressed by the devotion of the many people who travel from far away and wait in long lines to show their admiration for the man who brought independence to their country. Vietnam fought long and hard against many enemies to gain their independence and Ho Chi Mihn will always be remembered for his pivotal role in that movement. It is rare to see this kind of devotion at home in my own country.

Exiting the mausoleum, we walk out into Ba Dinh Square. I feel like an ant amidst a wall of concrete. This square is massive, at least the size of two 100 yard American football fields. I am not sure that public squares of this size and scale even exist in the United States. In terms of the size of this square, I am reminded of the Great Square in Brussels and the magnificent Piazza Navona in Rome. In terms of style, the only thing that comes to mind is the massive square in central Munich that I walked through many years ago and which the Nazi’s marched though during WWII. Ba Dinh Square itself is populated with numerous government buildings with the National Assembly Hall standing prominently at one end of the square.

Eventually we make our way out of Ba Dinh Square and move onto the Presidential Palace. This beautiful pastille yellow building built in French style with sweeping stairways, louvered shutters and ornate wrought iron gates was built in 1901. Given the grandeur of this gorgeous building, it is only fitting that it is currently used to receive visiting heads of state. Before arriving in Hanoi, I never would have expected to see such a beautiful building in this city. This building is as impressive as any I have seen in some time.

From the Presidential Palace, we make our way to and through Ho Chi Mihn’s rather modest quarters. As most people’s home says something about them, this is also the case with Ho. Being the leader and hero of a large country, I expected a massive, jaw dropping home. This is not the case though as Ho Chi Mihn’s home was built in traditional stilt house style. It is nice but is not overwhelming and quite modest. I am impressed for those reasons.

Moving on back through the crowds of tourists waiting to enter Ho’s mausoleum, we are now headed in the direction of Vietnam’s principal Confucian sanctuary and its historical center of learning, the Temple of Literature. This temple’s ground plan is modeled after Confucius’s birthplace in Qufu, China and consists of a succession of 5 walled courtyards. With manicured gardens that would make any gardener - including my father - cry, the numerous gates, halls and sanctuaries in this temple make for an ideal education and learning environment. The temple’s most valuable relics are in the form of 82 stone stelae, or gravestones, that are mounted on concrete tortoises. They are mounted on tortoises due to the significance the tortoise symbol holds in Vietnamese culture - the tortoise is believed to live ten thousand years and is the symbol of longevity and perfection. On these stelae, biographical details of successful candidates who passed the exam to become a mandarin between the years 1442 and 1779 are recorded. Becoming a mandarin is an incredibly difficult achievement and an honor that is more or less unsurpassed in Vietnam. Only 2313 mandarins have been allowed entry to the civil service over the span of 713 years.

Exiting the Temple of Literature, I take advantage of one final opportunity to let my eyes feast on the magnificent, aesthetically pleasing gardens and courtyards. They are unsurpassed in the painstaking attention that has obviously been paid to their maintenance. I have been fortunate enough to see some wonderful botanical areas during my travels. Particularly, the Luxembourg and Jardin Tulierres in Paris, Frognerpark in Oslo and the Botanical Gardens in Sydney come to mind. However, as beautiful and tranquil as those parks are, the Temple of Literature surpasses them all.

With lunch on the horizon, we make one last stop at the Hoa Lo Prison. The Hoa Lo Prison is better known to some as the “Hanoi Hilton” as it was nicknamed by American POWs. This is the prison where former Republican presidential candidate and Senator John McCain was held during his captivity. The history represented today is mostly related to the pre-1954 colonial period when the French incarcerated many nationalist leaders here. This prison was built by the French and there are many French weapons of torture on display here, including the frequently used French guillotine. One of the unique and cruel torture procedures on display involves wrapping a victim in a bag and tickling him or her until they either passed out or vomited blood. The French were unbelievably brutal here. It is amazing that they were still using some of the cruel and primitive torture methods that are on display in the 1950’s.

Hearing a grumble in my stomach, I am off in the direction of the Old Quarter on a bit of hunger driven mission. My quest is to find a restaurant serving the Hanoi delicacy Bun Cha. Luck strikes quickly after 10 minutes or so when smells emanating from a sidewalk grill topped with pork burgers lure me into this “chef’s” local establishment. Upon taking a seat on a very small bench and noticing the friendly stares from the crowd, it becomes quite obvious to me that I am the only foreigner in the restaurant. After getting settled, I tell my server that I would like an order of Bun Cha. She looks at me attentively, seemingly understanding what I am saying and nods to confirm her understanding. Hoping that my guidebook doesn’t lead me astray based on their description of the dish I just ordered, I sit and wait for 10 minutes before my server arrives with a plate of greens and a bowl of rice noodles. A couple moments later she brings the last component to Bun Cha, a bowl of pork burgers. The pork burgers are floating atop a sizzling bowl of broth along with green vegetables that look like cucumbers. I have no idea how I am supposed to put this all together. I start by combining a bit of the greens, noodles, pork burgers and sauce together on a corner of the plate that the greens were served on. I then use my chop sticks to gather as much of this combination of different elements together that will fit between my chopsticks and force it into my mouth. The sauce that the pork burgers were served in is sweet and tangy and succulent. In addition, the green vegetable I was wondering about is refreshing and crisp and has much more flavor than I would expect from a cucumber. I would later find out from one of my travel companions that the vegetable I was eating was actually green papaya. After about 10 minutes of enjoying my lunch and watching others do the same, I realize that I am the only person in the restaurant eating my Bun Cha from a pile on the corner of their plate. Everything is supposed to be combined in the bowl, not on the plate. I guess the way I had been assembling things never felt right in the first place. I quickly transfer the pile of goodies on my plate into the bowl and continue to enjoy my wonderful lunch. This dining experience is one of my best in Vietnam. Not only is the food wonderful, but I feel a real sense of satisfaction knowing that I am the only non local in the restaurant. As a traveler, experiences like these tell me that I am doing something right. In addition, they help me to understand on a much deeper level, that it is for experiences like these that I am willing to travel to the ends of the world.

Getting completely lost in the Old Quarter is the next item on my agenda. This well preserved ancient merchant’s quarter is one of Hanoi’s most charming areas. It has a romantic aura to it with its tree lined streets that are populated with all types of different shops and restaurants. Many people are riding along on their bicycles taking in the ambience of this area. The wide foot paths offer plenty of space to walk side by side and chat with your friend or loved one. Without much of a plan, I meander about the streets of the Old Quarter, albeit alone. Eventually, my relaxing stroll is met with a bit of resistance in the form of a rainstorm. There is nothing I can do to shield myself from the rain as there was no indication from the skies above that they were about to erupt in such a fashion. Fortunately, I do have my umbrella and decide that my best course of action is to continue walking. I’m actually glad I encountered the storm as the raindrops look beautiful as they drip from the branches of the enormous trees.

It appears that I share the local’s philosophy of not allowing a brief shower to impede their plans as they continue to make their journeys, unfettered by the storm. As I continue on, I walk in and out of many different shops. In some, traditional handicrafts and ornate chopsticks are for sale while in others, I find cheap CD’s and DVD’s. I snap photos of the buildings, taking particular notice of the elaborate plaster work and Art Deco style that was popular during the French colonial period and is still evident today. I pass through the Dong Xuan market and also see the area’s oldest place of worship, the Bach Ma Temple. Somehow, I manage to find my way to a tiny, hidden mosque that serves Hanoi’s very small population of 100 or so Muslims. As I approach the temple, a few smiling and disillusioned gentleman gesture in my direction as they pass an opium pipe back and forth between them. The Bach Ma Temple was founded in the ninth century and has a pair of charismatic, red-cloaked guardians in front of the altar who flaunt a strangely impressive array of lacquered gold dentures. I spend a few silent moments here contemplating my last few hours. Getting lost in this charming slice of Hanoi has been a perfect way to spend an afternoon.

Making my way out of the Old Quarter, I find myself staring at the alluring waters of Hoan Kiem Lake. The water is the only quaint part of this area as the environment around the lake is quite active. Despite all of the activity though, there is a relaxing feel to this pleasant area in the middle of Hanoi. As I stroll around Hoan Kiem Lake, it is hard not to be impressed by the beautiful gardens and walking paths that make up the wide border that surrounds the entire lake. The walkers, joggers and tai chi enthusiasts at work and play could almost fool me into thinking that I in a wealthy city in a Western country. The gardens are pristine and impeccably maintained.

I can’t imagine seeing something like this in Ho Chi Mihn City. In addition to it not fitting in Saigon, the government definitely wouldn’t invest the amount of money that would be required to make something look so perfect, at least not in the South of the country. Feeling lost amid the beauty of this area, the reality that I am in Vietnam and not in San Francisco or Paris becomes apparent when I encounter a few of the many vendors that work this area. It is only a matter of time before I am approached by one person and then another and then another. Reality smacks me in the face as I realize that this area is only potentially relaxing for a tourist. While there are so many nice spots to throw a blanket down, sprawl out on your stomach or back and crack open a book, it appears that the only people able to actually engage in this type of activity are locals that are able to avoid the relentless harem of vendors. Off in the distance, I notice some familiar faces. It is Sebastian and Claire. I quickly walk in their direction, away from at least some of the hawkers.

It appears that they are being hotly pursued by a 20ish looking girl who is attempting to sell Sebastian a green Viet Cong hat. She is quite persistent as she continues to follow behind an obviously annoyed Sebastian. Claire just plods along next to Sebastian, chuckling to himself, while Seby does his best to play along. He jokes with the young girl and even models the hat for her at one point. However, after 20 minutes of her incessant attempts to get Sebastian to buy the hat, frustration sets in and Sebastian decides that he has had enough. She is refusing to take ‘No’ for an answer and Sebastian has no intention of buying the hat. Fortunately for everyone, she finally accepts his rejection and decides to move on and look for another target. The whole situation was pretty amusing though, particularly when the girl kept placing the hat on Sebastian’s head and he kept taking it off and handing it back to her.

Walking along together now with Sebastian and Claire, I notice a few kids to my right. I reach into my pocket and pull out a pack of gum I purchased earlier in the day. I have about 10 sticks of gum left and figure that I will give some to the three or four kids to my right. It seems like a nice gesture that shouldn’t create much of a scene. What a horrible assessment of the situation that was! I am quickly surrounded by 15 aggressive youths who nearly rip the gum out of my hand until it is gone, and then stand around waiting for me to pull out more. I become tense as I don’t have any more gum and really don’t know how to communicate this information to the group of kids surrounding me. I do what first comes to mind and pull my pockets out of my shorts to show that they are empty and shrug my shoulders, mouthing the words sorry. As Sebastian and Claire watch on and wait for me, they notice my dilemma and motion towards the Hotel Sofitel Metropole that they begin to walk towards. I say goodbye to the group of youths, ignoring their pleas, and follow my friends into the grandest of Hanoi’s hotels. This is a very expensive and exclusive hotel as evidenced by the beautiful bar where we enjoy a couple of 3 dollar beers. The woman behind the bar is every bit as exclusive as the venue she is serving drinks in. I have a tough time keeping my eyes off of her. I am finding many of the women in the North, while still slender, to be more well-rounded and voluptuous than the women in the South. I have been having trouble putting my finger on the reason why but my guess is that it has something to do with the North being wealthier than the South, resulting in a more nutritious and healthy diet.

This evening we have a mediocre, unmemorable dinner before attending a performance at the Water Puppets Theatre. Fortunately, the performance is much better than the meal. Vietnamese Water Puppet shows have garnered world wide acclaim based on the touring shows that visit many countries throughout the world. During these shows, which are choreographed to the sounds of live traditional Vietnamese music, water puppets swim, dance, and act out a variety of Vietnamese rituals and scenes from daily life. Anyone with even a passing interest in Vietnamese culture would at least find this interesting, while real enthusiasts would run to see it again. I enjoy the show very much. The acts imitating the daily activities typical to Vietnam's rural areas really strike home after what I have seen over the last two weeks. Given the importance of rice and fishing to Vietnamese culture, I am especially intrigued by the rice farming and fishing scenes that are so vividly portrayed.

On the way back from the theater to the hotel, I walk past two buildings that clamor for my attention. My senses hear their pleas, so I stop in my tracks and give them my undivided adoration. The Hanoi Opera House is a remarkable building. Built in stunning French style, it is illuminated under flood lights and is a feast for the eye’s of anyone who appreciates architecture. I snap numerous photographs of the building from different angles even though it is doubtful that the pictures will clearly develop at this time of the evening. Directly next to the Opera House is the Hanoi Hilton which is another fine architectural gem. It was built to match the Opera House and is nearly as impressive. The building’s exterior is as aesthetically pleasing as any hotel I can remember seeing.

We continue on towards our hotel, but stop at a quaint, inviting café that lures us inside. Well lit and screaming France, this Parisian like cafe has all the wonderful pastries and drinks you would expect if you were sitting on a relaxed street in Paris, Reims or Montreal. We enjoy pastries, coffees and glasses of desert wine, perfectly capping a wonderful evening.

Exiting the café, we make our way back towards the hotel. As I walk along, my thoughts once again turn to Hanoi and Saigon and the vast differences between Northern and Southern Vietnam. Visiting both cities in such a short timeframe, it is as if I have visited 2 different worlds within the same country. While everyone seems to be trying to make a buck in the South and the people seem willing to go to incredible lengths to make a sale, I can’t say the same is true in the North. The people still try hard to sell things but they are sometimes willing to take a ‘No’ for a ‘No’. The impressive legacy left by the French, in addition to the ample funds spent by the government here, make Hanoi a city to remember. From the roads in and out of the city to the parks and infrastructure within, Hanoi feels much like a Western European city. My initial impression of Hanoi is that it is attempting to scream out to the visitor, “We are the North and we are different than the South. Our city is more developed than Saigon and we are more affluent.” Whether this is true, I don’t know; but I do believe that the investment in Hanoi at the expense of Ho Chi Mihn City is a form of punishment that still emanates from the Vietnam War. It is a statement from the stronghold in the North that they won the war and a remembrance to the South that they lost.

Whether the investment in Hanoi is a form of a sanction or is simply an effort to beautify a country’s capital city, it does strike me as strange that the differences between these 2 prominent cities are so vast. To truly appreciate the strong Vietnamese culture, one needs to visit Hanoi and Saigon. While I have enjoyed both cities, I truly believe that the heartbeat of the country lies in the South. It is funny to me that the Vietnamese people deny a divide between the North and the South when that divide is so obvious. I guess they probably realize that as the gap in that divide becomes smaller and smaller, the country overall will benefit.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 14

2006-08-02T10:54:00.000-07:00

I got a few good sound hours of sleep last evening but not nearly enough. At 5 AM, the noise started and it didn’t stop. There is news blaring out of the speakers. I am not sure why but after conferring with some others, I find out that the government provides news to those people who have no other news outlet. This reminds me of stories I have read about from the former Soviet Union and the sheltering of the people from what is going on in the outside world. I am reminded that I am in a communist country. Soon after the news ends, a woman “formally” wakes us up at 5:15 AM with coffee and breakfast. There is no reason to attempt to sleep any more so I just join in and eat my roll and drink my coffee. I have enjoyed my experience on the train but it has been a long trip and I have read all I can about Hanoi. I am now ready to experience Vietnam’s capital city.

After a couple hours of walking around Hanoi, my first impression of Hanoi is a positive one. Hanoi seems to be more laid back then Saigon. It is also a well maintained city as the streets are tree lined and clean in comparison to Saigon. It is quite obvious that Hanoi, being the capital, has had much more money invested into its infrastructure and into the beautification of the city. This is the case despite the fact that Ho Chi Mihn City is the real economic hub of the country due to its market structure, which is much more free and open.

Tonight, I finally succumbed to eating Western food. I guess I can’t resist forever as it has been nearly 2 weeks since I have had any food of this type. My meal also has Western prices attached to it. I paid 13 USD which is more than I have paid for any meal on this trip to date. I received an enormous portion of food, quickly reminding me why we Westerners carry significantly more weight than the average Vietnamese person. I have a rib meat, onion and jalapeno pepper pizza that is drowned in BBQ sauce. In addition, we split a mass of onion rings that we ordered as an appetizer. The food is pretty good and this is a nice change from the strictly Vietnamese diet I have been adhering to. The restaurant, Al Fresco’s, is run by a 6’8 Australian man whose business seems to be thriving due to tourism. There is not one Vietnamese person in the restaurant. With the high prices, I suspect that this is usually the case. The pizza I managed to nearly finish myself would take care of 3 meals for the average Vietnamese person and would be equivalent cost wise to around 10 Vietnamese meals. I enjoyed my meal, but I also feel like a bit of a trader. No more pizza and onion ring meals on this trip for me, especially when I am surrounded by so much wonderful French inspired Vietnamese food in Hanoi.

It is actually kind of funny how we ended up at Al Fresco’s on this evening. Initially, we were in search of a French/Vietnamese restaurant that is run by employing underprivileged kids, with all proceeds going back into community programs. The restaurant is called Koto Gourmet and it was my idea to try this restaurant. As a result, I pulled out my map and tried to guide us to the restaurant. I did my best despite the fact that navigation and map reading have never been strengths of mine. We walked and walked and eventually ended up in a dead end that was full of nothing but residential homes. We were lost and felt out of place since the typical Vietnamese home has every door and window open, making it very easy for those inside to see everything going on outside. So here we are, 6 tourists standing at a dead end staring at people who are sitting in their homes and trying to focus on the TV in front of them instead of the white people who are standing outside. Feeling as though we were intruding, we contemplated what to do and I eventually attempted to speak to someone who was sitting on their porch. We exchanged very little information as the language barrier proved to be too great. At this point, we decided that our best decision was to abort the mission and find somewhere else to eat. Koto Gourmet sounded wonderful, but it wasn’t going to happen on this evening.

As we walk back to our hotel after dinner and I pass by so many attractive buildings, it is obvious to me that Hanoi’s reputation as a city where the French left a nice legacy is well deserved. Hanoi has a French European feel to it with tree lined streets and many small, intimate cafes that give certain parts of the city a romantic charm.

The American Tour Group

2006-07-21T11:57:00.000-07:00

By Chris Sarcletti

City: Florence

Living in Amsterdam at the time, I was quite excited to see my parents since it had been several months since our last meeting. The fact that we would be meeting in Florence of all places made things all the more interesting. They were traveling as part of a tour group through Italy for 10 days. We decided that Florence would be a good meeting point since they would be spending 3 days there. They had enrolled in this tour 10 months earlier right before I made the decision to accept a position in Amsterdam and move there. As a result, there trip to Amsterdam would have to wait and Italy would be the first destination either my Mom or Dad would experience in Europe.

I am actually very close to my parents but had only been able to spend approximately 8 days with them over the past 8 months. That was a bit difficult but is not uncommon for those working across the country or overseas. As our impending visit got closer and closer, I grew a bit nervous about our meeting. I certainly wasn’t nervous about seeing my parents but was a bit nervous about the setting. It was my parents first time in Europe and my mother had already planned for me to have dinner with their entire tour group on a couple of different occasions. That was fine with me. However, I wasn’t going to be alone. My Irish friend and colleague from Dublin, Antony, would be with me also. Antony is a great guy and is very easy going. However, I didn’t know how he would take to some of the people on the tour and some of the potential comments he might hear. Comments like “Look how small their cars are!”, “Why are the houses like that?”, “That’s stupid!” and “God, I’m glad it’s not that way in the States!” See, many of the people on the tour were first time visitors to Europe, and in some cases might not understand that certain comments made could be perceived by others to be culturally insensitive, if not downright offensive. Personally, I find comments like these to be annoying and amusing at the same time. As you can imagine, hearing these types of things could be much more offensive to those people who make their home and life in a European Union country as Antony does. However, I did try and calm my nerves a bit and prepare Antony as I told him that he shouldn’t be surprised by what he hears.

The manner in which I met up with my parents in Florence was quite interesting. All I had was an address for their hotel. We had no phone numbers to exchange or anything. The last time I talked to them, I just told them I would meet them at their hotel at a specified time. I left Antony in our room and began to navigate the streets to find the Jolly Hotel where my parents were staying. Florence is a pretty easy city to navigate actually. Even I, with my poor sense of direction, am able to walk around the city with the confidence that I will actually be able to find what I am looking for. As I made my way to their hotel, which didn’t look too far away according to the map, I was surprised to find out just how close it was. In fact, it was less than a ten minute walk from the pension we were staying at. By the way, the pension Antony and I found had a fantastic view of the beginning of the Tuscan countryside that we had recently driven through. As I walked down the street towards the Jolly hotel, I looked up and saw my Dad walking down the street. I yelled and he turned around and we ran to each other and embraced. I must admit that it was a bit movie like.

In any case, over the next 30 minutes, I saw my parents hotel room, met their friends Laurie and Reggie, who they were traveling with, and was introduced to 10 other people from the tour group who seemed to know quite a bit about me and Antony. In addition, I met the tour guide operator, Julia, who made quite an impression on me. My parents informed me that I had an hour to get back to my room, shower, and return with Antony so that we could board a tour bus that would leave from my parents hotel and take us to dinner. Off I went. Despite the hurried state, I did manage to stop for an espresso in a coffee bar on the way back to my room.

Believe it or not, an hour later we were boarding the tour bus. My parents met Antony and being the friendly people they all are, they hit it off well. As Antony and I boarded the bus, their seemed to be a state of pandemonium as everyone wanted to meet me and even more people wanted to meet Antony. Many of these people acted as if they had never actually met and spoke to someone who is from another country. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. Many of them probably hadn’t. They absolutely loved Antony’s accent. I heard more than one person say, “Isn’t his accent cool?” I do think that there were some women who would have liked to have seen a little more of Antony, if you know what I mean. Maybe there is some credence to the saying, ‘American girls are suckers for accents.’ The bus ride was interesting, to say the least.

One highlight of the bus ride for me was watching Julia, the very Italian and very attractive tour operator, speak with her sexy accent and explain to the tour group, as if they were school age children, the logistics for the night and the next day. Maybe, American guys are suckers for accents also.

We had a very nice dinner. The three course meal we enjoyed was very good and we washed it all down with quite a bit of wine. Like I said earlier, I warned Antony about ignorant comments. Keeping that in mind, a 65 year old woman from Ohio at our table on her first trip to Europe said to me and Antony, “You guys were able to make it over here with the war?” We looked at each other, perplexed, and said, “What war?” As it turns out, she was referring to the Kosovo War. We discussed the topic for a minute, explaining that cancelling a trip to Italy because of a war in Kosovo is paramount to cancelling a trip to Wisconsin because there are riots going on in Los Angeles. After making that analogy, she understood where we were coming from. She was a nice woman and we had a nice chat.

After dinner, a group of us walked over to a bar near the Duomo off of Via Cerretani where we had a couple drinks. My Dad was especially enthusiastic about breaking from the confines of the tour and going to have a drink at one of the neat bars that line the streets of Florence. Joining us were my parents friends Reggie and Laurie and a group of four women from the East Coast who were vacationing without their husbands. They were labeled, “The girls” by my mother and were the wild group of the bunch. They were old high school friends near the age of 40 who decided to take a break away from the family. From the sounds of it, they had been doing their fair bit of drinking and partying on the trip. I have to say that they were extremely open regarding just about everything in their life. We found out just how open on the following evening.

The next day we met my parents in front of the Duomo in the afternoon. They had four hours of planned tour events that morning. After seeing the Academia and Duomo, they went to a leather and jewelry factory where they supposedly had the best deals to buy leather, gold and silver. Fortunately, my parents didn’t buy anything because the best deals are certainly not in some warehouse on the outskirts of town. For those deals, you need to peruse the leather market and associated shops in the San Lorenzo area. For jewelry, why would you ever stray from the litany of stores that are spread across one of the worlds most beautiful bridges, the Ponte Vecchio. I am not that naive to think these tours are not about making money. However, much of the charm of shopping in a city like Florence can be found while walking through some of the wonderful parts of the city where many of the shops are located.

In any case, I was going to make sure that my parents and Antony were not deprived of seeing what Florence has to offer. At least I was going to try. We first made our way to the Santa Croce church. Everyone was impressed by the church, not to mention the sight of the tombs of Galileo Galilie and Michelangelo as this is where their remains are buried. Since I was in the area, I had no choice but to show Antony and my parents another old favorite of mine that I knew they would enjoy. Actually, anyone with functioning taste buds would enjoy a visit to our next stop. We visited the famous Vivoli gelateria. The best gelateria in town? No doubt. The best in Italy? Who knows, but they do boast that they have the best ice cream in the world. Whether it is truly the best is only for those that visit this wonderful spot to decide, but I certainly do not doubt their claim. The creamy chocolate, coconut, amaretto and coffee flavored gelato’s we sampled were amazing. In fact, they were so amazing that Antony and I legged back to Vivoli’s on the following day to sample a few more flavors.

After visiting the church and having our sweet snack, my parents were ready for a bit of shopping. Antony and I took my parents to the San Lorenzo leather market. I felt that the man that Antony and I had both purchased leather coats from the day prior might be willing to give my parents a good deal on some jackets. After watching a dynamite Mexican girl model a leather coat that I was thinking of making my sister’s Christmas gift, I was sold. Yes, I am a complete pushover when it comes to attractive women. It was a nice coat though. Something my sister would like. I also gave the girl my card with our room information if she wanted to meet up for a drink later that evening. Go ahead and laugh to yourself, but I really did think she might call. Yes, I am a fool and apparently I am naive.

In any case, our Iranian leather vendor did give my Mom and Dad good deals on some leather jackets. The grand total was four coats that were purchased by my family and we were treated with genuine class, sharing some nice glasses of wine with the merchant as we completed the transaction. I must say that I never before envisioned myself with a robust glass of red wine in my hand in a leather market in Florence over a nice chat with a guy from Iran who just sold my family four leather jackets. I guess you never know how things pan out. The afternoon slowly crept away as we went back to our rooms and got ready for another tour group dinner.

Another bus ride was on the horizon for me and Antony. I’m sure Antony and his parents will enjoy laughing about his stories on a bus with an American tour group. On this evening, we were having dinner at a small Florentine palace. There was also entertainment with a band, and of course, dancing. The palace was absolutely brilliant in every sense of the word. It looked as if it would have been a fantastic place for a wedding. In addition, everything was first class. There was champagne and appetizers being passed before dinner and wine on the tables. We enjoyed dinner and had some great conversations. My mom, trying to be social and what not, told the 4 women traveling without their spouses to split up and sit by Antony and I. They were more than willing to take her up on that request. I really don’t know what good my Mom thought would come of having 4 women, who were traveling outside of the country without their spouses, getting to know two 27 year old guys better. Not to mention the fact that I have a history of having older women show interest in me. In any case, I danced with my Mom and one of these women and Antony did the same.

However, soon after the dancing began, my attention started to wane. It started to wane because it was being redirected, along with my stares, towards Julia, my parent’s tour operator. She was standing near our table talking to a couple of people. We made eye contact and whether she wanted to talk to me or not, I got up and approached her.

Julia is ravishing. She’s a blond Italian woman from just outside Rome. She’s around 35 and is sexy in more than one way. We talked for a few minutes but it was hard for us to hear what each other were saying because we were near the band. She took control by grabbing my arm and said that we should go to the back to talk so that we could better understand each other. I just followed her. The dancing would have to wait. There was a lounge like seating area behind the dining room that looked like a good place for a more intimate chat. We talked for a few minutes and then I presented her with a question which she definitely didn’t expect. Especially from an American. I asked her how it is to constantly be around American tourists, most of who had never been to Italy before. I was interested to see if she was impacted by some of the insensitive comments and took them at all personally. She was very frank with me. I told her to be. I wanted to hear how she really felt. First, she said it was part of her job and that it was something that she found innocent and a bit humorous. However, she also said that she found it interesting that many of these people had no idea how much they could offend a typical Italian person with some of their comments. She was very surprised by my openness. I have to say that sitting on the couch next to her was almost intimidating. As we talked, she stared directly into my eyes with a confidence that is uncommon with most women I have encountered. I stared right back. After about 15 or 20 minutes, one of the women from our dinner table came back and said I was wanted on the dance floor. I kind of shunned her and said “In a minute” and bought ten more minutes with Julia. Unfortunately, Julia and I had to finish our conversation and head to the exit because the night was about to end. I did get pulled into one more dance but it unfortunately wasn’t with Julia.

The night did carry on at the hotel bar and it did get more interesting. Julia did make sure to say goodnight to me, giving me a customary kiss on each cheek before she retired to bed. Wishing I was in the elevator heading up to her room with her, I decided that I needed to redirect my attention to the present and reality.

We were having drinks with about 15 different people from the tour in the Jolly Hotel bar. We ordered a couple bottles of wines, smoked a few cigarettes and chatted pretty freely about whatever came to mind. At this point, everyone was getting a bit tipsy, if not full blown inebriated. As time continued to pass, one by one people retired to their rooms to get some rest. Eventually, my parents said there goodbyes to me and Antony and made their way to bed. Morning would come early for them tomorrow as they had a 7 AM bus ride to Venice.

At this point, it was about 1 AM and the only people left at the bar were Antony and I, and 2 of the 4 girls from the East Coast. While we had all had a fair bit to drink, one woman, Cheryl, was extremely drunk. As we continued to talk, these women began to share more and more of their lives with Antony and I. After a while, Cheryl was in tears telling us about her best friend’s suicide that was the end result of many years in a manic depressive state. The suicide had happened years ago but she was recanting. We found it to be a bit sobering as we clutched our glasses of wine and just listened. I guess we really didn’t expect to get into a conversation of this type with people we barely knew at this point in the evening. Before long, the other woman, Erin, who was much less drunk, was sharing her suicide story. Her deceased husband also fought manic depression for years before finally succumbing to the disease and taking his own life. At this point, the only thing going through my mind was “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I was glad to listen to their stories and enjoyed their company. I guess I was just surprised.

We did continue talking and Cheryl shared a more light hearted and entertaining story involving her making out with a guy she works with in the back seat of a limousine. Supposedly, he decided he needed to loosen his zipper and pull out his “member” to see if Cheryl was interested. As Cheryl put it, “I laughed at him and told him that my husband has a lot more than that inside his pants.” Not surprisingly, Cheryl also revealed that her marriage, while not being an open marriage, certainly wouldn’t end as the result of a little infidelity. It was getting a bit heated at the table as is the case after many drinks had brought us to the point of listening to a 40 year old women talk about sex with two 27 year old guys, in the presence of her best friend. I am pretty sure the night could have taken us in a few different directions but I decided to end it at the ‘interesting conversation’ point and head back to our humble abode for some much needed rest.

The next day Antony and I made another stop at Vivoli’s and saw a few more sights. Oh, and we bought some shoes. And suits. And ties. What are we, fucking women?

Back to the shoes. What was I thinking? Obviously, I wasn’t thinking rationally. We passed by a shoe store not far from the Ponte Vecchio. It was hard not to notice the gorgeous shoes they had in the display case. They had that wonderful Italian style with such intricate details. I loved the shoes in this store and felt I had to go inside. I was greeted by an absolutely gorgeous sales associate. As I found out later, she was from Vienna and she was quite the Austrian beauty. I pointed out the shoes that I liked and she brought some pairs out for me to try on. At this point, I was more interested in the girl than the shoes as was obvious to anyone watching my eyes follow her every move. I tried to play it cool but it didn’t really work. As nice as the shoes were and as much as I did like them, they were red. I tried to convince myself that they were maroon and I would get a lot of use out of them but the bottom line was they were red shoes and it is difficult for a male to get away with wearing red dress shoes to work. However, all it took was a look, smile and a few words from the girl helping me to sway my thinking. She said, “The thing about these shoes is that you will always have a story about them.” Needless to say, I bought the shoes. God, I wish there was more to the story so that I could have more entertaining details to reveal when someone asks where I found those shoes at. In any case, this beautiful girl made my day in addition to adding to my wardrobe.

On my last night in Florence, I had the pleasure to enjoy a meal with my friend Antony and my parents alone. It was so great to be with my parents in Italy. My Dad was looking forward to getting away from his tour and doing his own thing for dinner. He loved it. We had traditional Tuscan cuisine in a small trattoria on a secluded street. Our dinner was highlighted by a free glass of wine and dose of limoncello courtesy of the restaurant in celebration of Italy’s World Cup qualifying soccer victory. The traditional Italian food brought back memories to my Dad from his childhood and the simplistic, yet wonderful aromas and flavors that come from a true Italian kitchen. I must say that this meal capped a wonderful trip to Italy and specifically to Florence. Having the opportunity to share this time with my close friend and my family made the experience that much more memorable.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 13

2006-07-13T18:47:00.000-07:00

It is an early 6 AM rise this morning as we are partaking in an early morning river cruise down the Perfume River. After a quick shower and an even quicker breakfast, we make our way down to the river. Our boat cruises out from the shore and we immediately pass many boats, loaded with vegetables and being rowed in the direction of the Dong Ba market. These boats are used as transportation vehicles for produce and also serve as the primary living residences for many of the people who work on them. The scenery around the river is impressive, particularly the views of the mountains in the distance. I am running on about 4 hours of sleep and a relaxing morning like this is just what I need. As our boat pulls up to the Thien Mu Pagoda, I seem to be coming out of my shell as I am feeling more awake and refreshed. The Thien Mu pagoda is also known as the Pagoda of the Celestial Lady and it stands on the site of an ancient Cham temple. This pagoda is a popular tourist site and is situated right on the banks of the Perfume River. This pagoda also has a long history.

During the 1930’s and 40’s, the Thien Mu Pagoda was already renowned for being at the center of the Buddhist opposition to colonialism movement. However, the pagoda gained instant notoriety when one of the pagoda’s most revered monks burned himself to death at a busy Saigon intersection on June 11, 1963. The venerable monk, Thich Quang Duc, drove down from Thien Mu in a powder blue Austin car, exited the car and meditated in the lotus position. As he meditated, he was doused in petrol by fellow monks and willfully set on fire. His act of self-immolation was a form of protest against the way the administration of President Ngô Đình Diệm, who was a Catholic, was oppressing the Buddhist religion. More specifically, his act was intended as a symbolic attempt to represent the way in which all Vietnamese were killing themselves by fighting against each other.

David Halberstam, a New York Times reporter, witnessed the act and had this to say:

“I was to see that sight again, but once was enough. lames were coming from a human being; his body was slowly withering and shriveling up, his head blackening and charring. In the air was the smell of burning human flesh; human beings burn surprisingly quickly. Behind me I could hear the sobbing of the Vietnamese who were now gathering. I was too shocked to cry, too confused to take notes or ask questions, too bewildered to even think.... As he burned he never moved a muscle, never uttered a sound, his outward composure in sharp contrast to the wailing people around him.”

After visiting Thien Mu, we return to the boat and venture out again, this time in the direction of the royal mausoleum of Tu Duc. Tu Duc, a romantic poet who was independent Vietnam’s last emperor, tried to rule Vietnam in the mid 1800s at a time when the Western world challenged the country’s independence. He is most well known for the fact that he had 104 wives, countless concubines and was known to partake in 50 course meals. Despite all the presumed sexual activity you would think that a man with 104 wives and numerous concubines would have had, Tu Duc never fathered a child. This is believed to be attributed to smallpox.

The mausoleum itself is spectacular with different buildings for hosting operas and other forms of entertainment in addition to more than a few buildings to house Tu Duc’s wives and concubines. The highlight of the mausoleum is an idyllic pond located between some of the buildings covered with lotus plants and water lilies; a perfect example of peace and serenity.

The 2 kilometer trek from our docked boat to the mausoleum is a memorable experience. There are many people selling incense, rain ponchos and refreshments on the red clay road that leads us towards our destination. A monsoon hits during our trek and continues to pour rain down for the better part of the next 3 hours. The power of the downpour is unbelievable. It is easy to understand how dangerous floods can come about quickly in these areas after witnessing a storm like this one. While the rain continues to pour, we enjoy a nice lunch under a covered pavilion.

I spend most of the afternoon meandering around the city on a cyclo. There is no better way to see a Vietnamese city. With only open air surrounding me, I am able to take in the sights, sounds and smells of Hue. I see barbers and tailors at work in their shops and also see the so-called “boat people” of Hue. My cyclo driver stops and lets me off so that I can get a closer view of what appears to be two different families who live on the small boat in front of me. I am surprised to find TV antennas wired to the boat. It seems that even in the most modest of homes, television seems is a necessity. Leaving this area, we drive through other parts of Hue and see more of the Vietnamese marketplace that is otherwise known as the street. As in the other towns I have visited, everything from grilling corn to selling gum to shining shoes seems to be taking place somewhere along the streets I am riding on. We eventually make our way to the primary market in town for a stroll through the market. I continue to be fascinated by the multitude and variety of products and services that are available. If you can’t find what you need at the market, you aren’t finding it anywhere. Today, my focus is on watching the people prepare and display the meat that is for sale. While the meat looks fresh, it is fully exposed to the open air and with the open air comes fumes, dust particles and insects. While a hot grill will cook off any detrimental affects that are the result of the surrounding environment, I can understand why some Westerners might see one market and decide that they will refrain from eating meat until they are back in the comforts of their own homes. However, they would also be missing out as eating like a local is one of the best parts of traveling.

As I walk through the market, I am incessantly badgered for some time until I am forced to make an active attempt to lose a woman whose eyes are unflinching as she follows me through the market. Apparently, she wants me to look at the merchandise in her clothing stall. Her persistence finally pays off, as I have no choice but to stop and see what she is selling after I buy some bananas from a fruit booth that is directly across the aisle from her stall.

The woman’s name is Mimi. While her persistence is definitely one factor that draws me into her stall, it isn’t the only one. I am drawn to her because of her endless reservoir of energy and I am impressed with her ability to switch from speaking English to Spanish to French as she attempts to communicate with prospective clients that she hopes to lure into her stall. She has a feisty, smartass attitude that I have rarely encountered in my interactions with Vietnamese women. She is also very cute. I browse at the items in her stall and chat with Mimi for a bit. I find out that she is 19 years old and she makes sure that I don’t walk away empty handed. I buy a red T-shirt that has an emblem of the large yellow communist star of Vietnam on the front. On the back, it says Saigon, Vietnam. After paying Mimi, I ask her which direction I need to head in order to get back to my hotel. She grabs me by the hand and leads me out of the market to give me the kind of directions I understand the best – ones that involve pointing. We chat and joke with each other as we walk along. Mimi and I have some of the best riff-raff that I have had with any girl I’ve met in Vietnam. Mimi is a darling girl with so much potential. Our chance meeting has made my day a much brighter one.

After leaving Mimi to head to my hotel, I encounter a group of children playing on the street. I attempt to walk by them but they refuse to leave me alone until I stop and play with them for a few minutes, and let them stare at and touch me. As we kick a soccer ball back and forth amongst us, I buy some candy for them from a street vendor passing by. After 15 minutes, I decide that I have done enough playing and that it is time for me to get back to the hotel. Apparently, these children do not agree as they put up a form of protest. They stop their informal game of soccer and follow me, and follow me and follow me. For at least 10 minutes, I see them walking behind me every time I look over my shoulder. I feel bad but know that if I give in, my night will be over as I will be here for hours. Eventually, they do give up but I am impressed by their determined efforts.

Tonight, we have a simple dinner since we have an overnight train to Hanoi to catch in a few hours. We pick up some takeout Indian food from a nearby restaurant and walk across the street to the DMZ bar so that we can have a couple beers with our meal. The food is average but it is a welcome change from the strict Vietnamese diet I have been adhering to. After dinner, we walk over to Hue’s central station to catch our overnight train. A train ride in Vietnam is much different that any other train related experience I have ever had. The schedule means NOTHING. Our train is already an hour delayed and there is no indication of when the train will arrive or when we will depart. I am tired and my eyes want to shut but the only way I can ensure that I will get on the train is if I pay close attention to whatever message is being broadcast overheard. After another hour, I become restless and tell one my fellow travelers that I am going to walk outside and take a stroll around the area surrounding the train station.

It is 11 PM on a Friday night and there are a lot of people in cafes enjoying late night meals and drinks. Others seem to be enjoying a movie screened in a bar while still others are enjoying meals that are being prepared in one of Hue’s many street kitchens. This particular street kitchen has 8 to 10 tables surrounding a portable kitchen that is located somewhere between the area where the street ends and the sidewalk begins. I love street kitchens. It’s the outdoor dining areas we love, but it’s not just the dining that takes place outside. Everything is outside including the pots, pans, tables, grill stove and chopping boards. Under a canopy, men and women prepare and cook the food and then hand it to a server who delivers it to the surrounding tables. Amid the chaos and activity of the street, it is nice to know that you can enjoy a fresh and tasty meal without anyone involved with any aspect of preparing or eating the meal even setting foot inside a restaurant.

I continue to walk around this area and see a woman sleeping on the street with her child. This is real poverty before my eyes and it impacts me. The woman tries to coddle her son from the elements of the street and they try to sleep through the loud and frequent clatter that surrounds them on every side. I don’t know how someone gets in this situation. Life is unfair and there is not enough for everyone. As I watch this woman and her son, holding a train ticket in my hand that cost me a sum of money that would feed them both for at least a few days if not a few weeks, I realize just how unfair the world really is.

Our train finally leaves after midnight, but due to our late departure we won’t be arriving in Hanoi until approximately 5 PM tomorrow. This is going to be one hell of a long train ride. I have no idea what to expect as I board the train and make my way to the sleeper car I am sharing with 3 of my other travel companions. I have done much train travel in Europe but this is definitely not Europe. Not expecting much, despite the fact that we are traveling first class, I am actually pleasantly surprised. This train is very similar to the European trains I have taken in the past except that it isn’t as clean. Our sleeping couchette has an air conditioner within it and it is cool enough that I shouldn’t have a problem falling asleep. Unfortunately, I don’t have any kind of a sleeping sheet or pillowcase with me and I am skeptical as to whether the sheets and pillow cases that are already in place are clean. I lie down and read until past 1 and then try and fall sleep. The sheet situation doesn’t sit well with me but I try to shut my eyes and forget about it. I doze off for about an hour before waking up with my bladder rumbling. I climb down from my top bunk and make it out to the hallway to find the bathroom.

The bathroom isn’t very clean but I have used worse. I am just glad I bothered putting my sandals on as I would not feel good about walking with bare feet on this bathroom floor. After using the washroom, my interests are piqued and I decide to walk through the sliding doors at the end of the hall and into the second class area. I want to see what this area is like because this is the area I would typically be sitting in.

What I see is utter chaos. The second class area is not compartmentalized with sleeping carriages, but is open seating like on most trains. Unlike many trains I have traveled on though, it is unbearably hot with no air conditioning. One man is actually lying in the middle aisle which divides the two columns of seats with his shirt off. There are three people sitting and attempting to sleep in seats made for two. Can you imagine trying to sit and sleep for 15 + hours shoulder to shoulder with another person in 90 degree heat and humidity? After witnessing this, I just thank God that I have a sleeping couchette as it would be nearly impossible for me to sleep in these conditions. While I do like train travel generally, the one thing I don’t like about over night train travel is the frequent interruptions and noise because for me, those interruptions severely impact my sleep. With that mind, I head back to my sleeping car and try to get back to sleep.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 12

2006-07-07T11:38:00.000-07:00

I depart Hoi An with mixed feelings. While I am ready to leave and explore another part of Vietnam, the people of Hoi An and the charm of this town have quickly grabbed hold of me. Before departing, I make my way over to the shop where I did emailing to say goodbye to Than and her son. Than offers me breakfast but time does not permit a meal as I will be boarding the bus that will take me away in a few moments. Our exchange of goodbyes includes the exchange of our email addresses.

Today, we are headed in the direction of Danang to the Marble Mountains. Impressive from afar, the views from the mountain’s peak are supposed to give a good overview of the surrounding areas.

The climb up the mountains and in and out of the mountains caves is quite a workout. As I walk in and out of pagoda’s that were somehow constructed in and around these caves, I ponder to myself how the people who built these pagodas were able to get the needed materials up the mountain. Later, I relax and take a moment to myself in front of a secluded pagoda to absorb the peaceful environment. The setting is serene. I walk around the corner and find a huge marble smiling Buddha in my path. After looking behind me and confirming that I am alone, I kneel down, bow and pay homage for a couple moments. I feel at peace. Before heading back down the mountain, I take one more stroll and come to an overlook point which offers a spectacular view of the famous China Beach below us. China Beach was a very popular rest and relaxation spot for American GI’s during the Vietnam War. Given the tumultuous history of this beach, I am surprised to find how clean and untouched it appears, at least from afar.

I descend back down the mountain and out onto China Beach. Walking on the break where the sand meets the sea, I feel the water run through my toes. The water is clear and the warm water has a perfect temperature. I swim out about 20 feet to where Erin and Michael are and begin to body surf with them. The water is refreshing on this hot day and it feels good to just crash into the water and enjoy the sea like I did as a child. Eventually, I end up in the bamboo pavilion on the beach and munch on a sandwich while I watch some Vietnamese teenage boys play a passionate soccer game.

After lunch, we walk back to the bus to continue our journey towards Danang. I decide to shift my seating position and move up to the passenger seat so that I can sit next to our driver, Qui. Qui is a friendly chap. His seat is covered with an American flag that he says a tourist gave him years ago. With his limited English, he tells me that he is Catholic and managers to make a few Viet Cong jokes. The reason that I moved up front is because I wanted to get closer to the action and get another in depth view of the rough roads we are driving on.

The size of the potholes in the road continues to amaze me. These craters are large enough to easily cause a blowout. A car or truck that didn’t have its weight distributed evenly across the vehicle could literally flip if it hit one of these potholes. I see some overturned cars and trucks where this appears to have been the case. The road has approximately 1.25 lanes of traffic. This has meant constant beeping, stopping and starting as Qui competes with people, bikes, motorbikes, cyclos, rickshaws, cars, trucks and busses that vie for what they perceive to be their piece of the road. Amid this chaos, many people are carrying bundles of wood, sheet metal and even curtains on their bikes or rickshaws. I see one man riding a cyclo loaded with wood and being followed by another man driving a motorbike. The amount of wood loaded onto the cyclo makes it impossible for him to even attempt to reach the pedals to propel himself forward. Even if he could reach the pedals, the weight of the load is much too heavy for him to move the cyclo forward using only the power of his legs. That is where the man on the motorbike comes into the picture as he has his foot placed on the back of the cyclo. The engine on his motorbike is providing enough power to propel the cyclo and its large load forward, albeit slowly. As I watch this with my own two eyes, I have to try and remember to myself that Qui is competing with vehicles like these for a section of the road.

As we drive along, I keep waiting to hit a barren, remote area where there are no palm trees, vast expanses of water, hills or beaches to gaze at, but I continue to be pleasantly surprised by what I am seeing. This wonderful scenery continues precisely until we arrive in Danang. While Danang is the 4th largest city in Vietnam with a population of over 400,000, it is not a city that is know for it’s beauty. It is a big city but at first glance it appears to be drab and unimpressive. Danang experienced rapid growth and development during the Vietnam War when the neighboring air base spawned the greatest concentration of US military personnel in South Vietnam. Given the fact that we are passing through Danang to get to Hue, I can only presume that this is not an overly popular tourist destination.

Eventually, we arrive in Hue and it is immediately apparent that the reason we quickly pushed through Danang to get here has more to do with Hue itself and less to do with the inadequacies of Danang. Hue is the former capital of Vietnam. It held that title until 1945 and was the sight of many intense battles during the Vietnam War since Hue marked the point where the control of the South Vietnamese Army ended.

We exit the bus and head to the check in counter at the Huong Ciang Hotel. I am impressed with the design of the hotel as well as the excellent views of the Perfume River from the outdoor bar surrounding the hotel. After spending a half hour lying on my bed in my room and listening to my stomach growl, I head downstairs for dinner. We walk over to a local backpacker restaurant where the food is supposedly decent and cheap. This is the kind of restaurant that serves Vietnamese food in addition to hamburgers, hot dogs and pancakes. I am not too excited.

The portions are large though and food always seems to taste better when the quantities are large and the cost is small. I have a local Hue specialty called ‘bahn it’ along with broiled pork, a banana pancake and a couple of beers. It is a strange combination of different types of foods but the highlight is definitely the ‘bahn it’. Bahn it consists of a rice and vegetable mixture made into a pancake that is dressed with peanut sauce. While the food is decent, the atmosphere in the restaurant is much too touristy for me. There are more tourists at this restaurant than at any other restaurant I’ve dined at on this trip. Nonetheless, you cannot beat the value as I left with a bit of a buzz and a full stomach for 3 dollars.

After dinner, a few of us walk over to the nearby DMZ Bar. It is easy to see why this venue had the reputation of being a place to come during the Vietnam War for prostitutes, drugs and any other type of activity that falls into that general category. It is a dingy place with a good juke box belting out American and British classic rock and pop songs and everyone seems to be on their 3rd or 4th drink. The DMZ bar is loaded with tourists although I am sure that a few prostitutes still manage to use this venue as a place of operation. This is a Western traveler’s paradise if he or she wants to limit their interaction with locals to staff only. I spend most of my time chatting with Sebastian and Claire. Given our ages, I find it both funny and peculiar that these two men seem to be most like the friends I have at home that are my age. That includes the discussions we have about women and drinking and the sick sense of humor that I and many of the people I tend to associate myself with seem to have. I guess we are all dirty old men when it comes down to it, no matter the age. Claire and I joke with Sebastian about the boat ride he took in Hoi An and the extra services that “may” have been a part of that excursion. It seems that Seby has been waiting for an opportunity to share his story and he doesn’t hesitate to give it to us straight.

Sebastian’s adventure started with a boat ride that he took with a woman he met on the street in Hoi An. Actually, the boat ride turned out to be a pretty short one as it amounted to paddling about a quarter of a mile until they were behind a large ship in a secluded area. After Seby rowed the boat behind the ship, the boat ride took a much different twist. Sebastian told us that the woman performed oral sex on him right there in the open. He said that the woman told him that it was $2 for the boat ride but nothing for the additional services. I cannot stop laughing in shock, and disturbing awe, as Sebastian graces us with the information that he slipped the woman a $5 dollar bill and gave her a kiss on the cheek at the end of his interesting boat ride. I joke with Claire about him getting involved in these types of endeavors but he makes it quite clear that while he finds Sebastian’s stories humorous, he does not like to participate in any activities of this sort. I don’t think he is kidding either as he is the resolute, conservative type.

I find Sebastian’s story to be sad and entertaining at the same time. I find it distressing because many of the women working in the prostitution industry are working to support their children and survive. With no other opportunities to make a living, the harsh truth is that human services pay a livable wage that many other jobs do not. Yet, I also find his story to be compelling. Why? Because these types of situations are very bizarre, and until this point in my life I have never really been exposed firsthand to prostitution. I am also torn as my Western upbringing is trying to tell me that I should classify these women as disgusting and repugnant because of their profession, but I can’t. They are human beings and deserve to be treated with respect and dignity, no matter what their profession is. I guess I don’t find prostitutes any more unethical than anyone else, including myself. Different circumstances call for different responses and in many cases the women working as prostitutes have not been blessed with the opportunities many of us take for granted. The reality of it is that they need to make a living and support their families and are able to achieve this end by providing this service.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 11

2006-06-16T09:16:00.000-07:00

I had a deep and much needed sleep last evening. I feel like a new man and owe many thanks to my friend Cary who offered me the sleeping pill. After a quick shower, I gobble down a banana and some tea before making my way to the My My Tailor shop to pick up the clothes I was fit for yesterday. I am giddy with excitement as I have never had any article of clothing specifically tailored for me. Extravagances like these are typically reserved for those much wealthier than I.

The whole situation in the tailor shop is entertaining to say the least. I am in the back room of the shop changing from the clothes I have on into the clothes I am purchasing to make sure they fit. While I am changing, the employees of the shop and the other customers are parading in and out of the room I am in. One person walks in and my pants are off. Another and my pants are on. I have no control over the situation and it appears that I am the only person that seems to be even slightly bothered by the situation. My clothes fit perfectly. I am particularly happy about how the shirt made from the black and white material highlighted with crimson flowers turned out. It is fantastic and I can’t wait to put it on.

I walk to the counter to pay for my two pairs of wool pants and two silk shirts. After exchanging smiles with a woman who takes my $30, I pick up my bags and walk towards the door. Apparently, I act too quickly as I am approached by two women who remind me that I agreed to have lunch with them. I did remember their invitation but didn’t want to bring up the subject because I wanted to make sure their invitation was sincere. It is only 10:30 AM but I am not about to decline their offer as opportunities to eat home cooked food with locals in a foreign country are few and far in between. One of the women I have worked with and who has invited me to have lunch is quite attractive. Her name is Twuy and she leads me back to the fitting room and points to a couch for me to sit on.

First, Twuy serves me a bowl of a popular local dish called Cao Lau. Cao Lau consists of bean sprouts, noodles, chicken, pork rind and broth. It is very tasty. I also have some steamed dumplings and a piece of fruit that looks and tastes a bit like an orange and a bit like a lime. It has a green exterior, orange interior and a slightly tart, slightly sweet flavor. Eating food that comes out of a local kitchen on a couch in the back of a tailor shop undoubtedly violates most precautionary measures that are suggested to those hoping to avoid becoming ill. However, when asked by these gracious and sweet women whether I would have lunch with them, it didn’t even enter into my mind that I was just now feeling better after the stomach issues I have had the last few days. The only thing I wanted to know is where they wanted me to sit and what we were having for lunch. Experiences like these are exactly why I travel in the first place. This is probably my best dining experience in Vietnam to date. Not only have I been able to eat the same dishes that these women eat in their own homes, I have also been able to interact with local people from Hoi An. Sitting down and getting to know a local resident over a meal is a much higher level of cultural immersion than most tourists are fortunate enough to have. It has allowed me to remove my tourist mask and they, their local one. The conversations are no longer about buying clothes or seeing sites, they are about what each of us hold close and dear to our hearts.

After this splendid lunch, I walk back towards the town center and wander around aimlessly in the blistering, hot sun. Along the way, I walk in and out of many art stores and ponder over many different pieces of regional art. I am looking for a piece that, for me, captures the essence of Hoi An. After about ninety minutes of browsing, I think I am ready to make a decision. Now it is time to figure out how to negotiate a price for the piece I have selected. The small gallery I am in is a simple 14 X 18 room with paintings hanging on every wall. There is a woman working and the ladder that connects the main floor to the opening above tells me that there is an attic upstairs. I speak to the woman working and ask her if she is the artist. She tells me that her brother is the artist but he is unavailable because he is napping in his quarters up above. I would like to talk to the artist to find out more about the painting but it does not appear that this is an option. Instead, I negotiate with his sister in broken English while he naps above. She quotes me a fair price and explains that the painting represents different aspects of Vietnamese culture including conical hats, baskets, people and fish. The conical hats, people and baskets represent the hard working Vietnamese people who farm the land, fish and sell goods in baskets in the market under their protective conical hats. The blue fish represent the main form of sustenance for many Vietnamese people. The yellow skinned people in orange hats, green fish on a blue background and variations of different colored hanging baskets make for a complex and beautiful painting.

Walking the old streets of Hoi An with my newly purchased piece of art, I see 2 of my travel companions, Sebastian and Claire. Sebastian waves at me as he boards a small boat, leaving Claire behind. These guys make me laugh every time I see them. Claire walks towards me and tells me that Sebastian is taking a boat ride with a woman he met. He makes sure to let me know that Sebastian needed to exchange some money prior to embarking on this trip. This is his subtle way of letting me know that there could be some kind of sexual nuance to Sebastian’s boat ride. In another not so subtle message from Claire regarding Sebastian’s adventures, he tells me that Seby went to get a massage last evening but later came back to the room to get more money for what Sebastian called “some extras”. Apparently, Sebastian was frustrated that he did not bring more money with him and that he had to return to the room.

Over the time I have spent with Sebastian and Claire, they have shared one entertaining story after another with me. At 75 and 80, they have years of experience and many stories to share. They have recounted stories of them drinking whiskey from Mylanta bottles -- since alcohol was not allowed on the bus -- during a 7 week trip through Central America. Sebastian also has more massage stories from Guatemala and Honduras. He probably has them from many other places also. Meeting people like this is one of the most enthralling things about traveling.

I have walked by the tailor shop I went to earlier in the day many times today and always seem to find Twuy smiling in my direction. As I pass by for what may be the last time, I make a bold decision and decide to drop in and ask Twuy if she’d like to have a drink with me later this evening. I guess I am up for another adventure. I walk in and smile at Twuy, and she smiles back and says “Hello.” Nervous and fumbling over my worlds, I still manage to indicate to her that I would like for her to have a drink with me later this evening. She excitedly responds “Yes” without hesitation and tells me to come by the shop at 8 PM.

Feeling energized, I continue to walk around charming Hoi An as the afternoon winds down. It is uncomfortably humid outside but Hoi An’s tile-roofed houses, narrow streets and pleasant river push me to continue on until I have seen as much of this town as I can. Eventually, I do make my way back to my hotel and take a refreshing dip in the pool. I jump in the water and my sweat covered body immediately cools as I submerge myself in the water. I dip my head under the water and it feels good. I don’t have any thoughts in my head at all as I stand in the pool and let my body relax. This well needed break only lasts for about 20 minutes before I return to my room to take a shower before dinner. We are taking a boat ride up the Thu Bon River to the Hoi An resort for dinner.

The boat ride offered me a much better perspective from which to view the involved process of fishing a river. There are people knee deep in the dirty river water farming for oysters as the sun sets. At the same time, there are other fishermen on boats working with large fishing nets. Gigantic, orange fishing nets are lowered down into the water and are then periodically pulled out of the river by the men and women aboard the boats using a crank that is turned manually. The nets emerge from the water with only a few fish at their bottom. This is only half the battle as the fisherman must then fight the birds that swoop down into the net and attempt to steal the catch away. This process continues hour after hour until the trawlers have made the determination that their catch is significant enough to feed them and their families, while leaving some additional fish that can later be sold to the market. In some cases, frustration mounts as the hours pass and the fishermen realize that they will never come to the determination that their catch is adequate enough to suit their needs. On these days, they head home and decide to test their luck again tomorrow.

Seeing these fishermen up close provides more evidence to me of the incredible resourcefulness of the people. They draw any fish they can out of any body of water that they can find. They farm almost any type of crop on any plot of land that has some promise of fertility. They eat fish most people in Western countries wouldn’t touch and manage to use their magical spices and cooking talent to make them taste wonderful. This is definitely something I can attest to. Seeing these people at work helps to make me realize just how spoiled I am and gives me a better picture of what is real and what is not. The bottom line is that most of these people work to survive and they seem to be quite content doing so.

After returning from dinner, I walk over to the My My Tailor Shop for my date with Thuy. She greets me warmly and we spend the next 15 minutes sitting and talking inside the tailor shop. We do our best to communicate with each other as we sit in the front area of the shop that I walked in yesterday. It is obvious to me, and understandable, that our 15 minute discussion in the tailor shop is a screening process. Twuy and her friends – who peer at us from the living area in the rear of the store where I ate lunch today - probably want to make sure that I am not some psycho off of the street. I certainly don’t blame them and find some sort of innocent romanticism in the whole situation. After Twuy feels more comfortable with me, she walks towards her bike, indicating to me that we can now leave the store. We make our way out of the store to a bar nearby. She rides her bike slowly and I walk next to her. I tell her that we can go wherever she wants to go and she tells me that she wants to go to a place nearby that one of her friends told her was very expensive. After a few minutes, we approach a Western style bar. We walk inside and find a table to sit at. I order a beer and Twuy orders a fruit shake. Like most Vietnamese women I have encountered, Twuy does not drink alcohol. By Vietnamese standards, the drinks are expensive. The beer and fruit shake cost a dollar each. We enjoy our drinks and conversation and laugh often as we discuss American and Vietnamese culture. The physical attraction is obvious as Thuy and I exchange touches to enhance our ability to communicate. This seems to be another common trait of the Vietnamese as I have been touched on the arm and shoulder many times during my trip. This kind of touchiness would make some Westerners feel uncomfortable, but I just see it as another sign of the warmth of the Vietnamese. Twuy tells me that I have a nice smile and I tell her the same. I ask her to take down her beautiful black hair and show me just how long it is. She resists but finally does let her hair down and it extends nearly to her butt. With her hair down, she looks beautiful.

After our drink, we walk outside and take a romantic stroll around town. Twuy asks me many questions about my life in Chicago and in Amsterdam. I asks her about her life in Hoi An and about her family and friends. We exchange a lot in our short meeting. Eventually, we make our way back to the bar to pick up her bike from where we left it. We continue to walk on together up to the point where our common path ends and then say goodbye to each other. We smile at each other and say that we hope we can see each other again. I could have promised to write but I didn’t want to make any promises I can’t keep. I kiss Twuy on the cheek and end a perfect evening and a perfect date.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 10

2006-06-12T20:54:00.000-07:00

Rising early, I have a nice breakfast this morning before making my way to the small village of My Lai to tour an area where one of the most tragic and well publicized Vietnam War atrocities took place. This was the site of the My Lai Massacre.

504 people were murdered here on March 16, 1968, by the infamous Charlie Company. 504 unarmed people from the My Lai village were massacred. The villagers did not have one gun amongst them. The majority of the people murdered were children and elders over 60 who were either too young or too old to fight. Seventeen of the women murdered were pregnant. The photos are horrifying. If I had been so cursed to be a part of Charlie Company on that fateful day, I don’t know if I would have been able to refrain from using my weapon on my own Lieutenant, if not myself. This was the mission of Lieutenant William Calley and the records show that he was personally responsible for 104 casualties. The history books may describe them as casualties, but what they really were was executions. As I stand and look at the mass grave where Calley’s victims lie, I can almost picture him gunning an elderly woman down as she runs out of her burning home.

I have read about My Lai and know some of the details but it is much different to actually walk through the area where tragic history unfolded so long ago. The impact is much greater.

It is hard to believe, but this operation was actually deemed a success and medals were awarded to those who participated in the attack. Needless to say, the facts were perused over in search of that one nugget of information that would somehow justify what was done in the interests of being optimistic and looking for the positives. That proved to be much easier than looking for the real truth and its consequences.

Well, it took time but the truth did come out and it hurt. It hurt badly.

It was suggested that the village of Son My, where the My Lai Massacre took place, was harboring some Viet Cong soldiers from the 48th battalion who participated in the Tet Offensive. However, the information that Charlie Company had was incorrect. Son My was filled with only civilians; civilians that would suffer horribly. I think that Neil Sheehan’s description in the book “A Bright Shining Lie” gives an accurate portrayal of what happened at Son My:

“The American soldiers and junior officers shot old men, women, boys, girls and babies. One soldier missed a baby lying on the ground twice with a .45 pistol as his comrades laughed at his marksmanship. He stood over the child and fired a third time. The soldiers beat women with rifle butts and raped some and sodomized others before shooting them. They shot the water buffalos, the pigs and the chickens. They threw the dead animals into the wells to poison the water. They tossed the satchel charges into the bomb shelters under the houses. A lot of the inhabitants had fled into the shelters. Those who leaped out to escape the explosives were gunned down. All of the houses were put to torch.”

One can only hope that they would be able to maintain some semblance of reason and humanity in a situation like the one described above instead of losing oneself in the moment like some of these soldiers did. One GI, actually the only GI that was injured in the battle, shot himself in the foot deliberately because he couldn’t bring himself to participate in the murderous orgy that was going on around him.

In the end, the 48th battalion never materialized and Son My merely offered a killing field for the frustrated Charlie Company. The soldiers were frustrated in their elusive search for the 48th battalion and were tired of facing injuries and casualties at the hands of snipers, booby traps and enemies they were rarely able to encounter face to face. This frustration led to anger and this anger led to the catastrophe that took place on March 16, 1968.

The military chain of command was able to suppress reports of the massacre and some publications, including the army newspaper Stars and Stripes and The New York Times, branded the mission a success. The awful truth didn’t come to light until November, 1969, through the efforts of a former GI, an investigative journalist and an army photographer. The grand total of the punishment for the 25 men charged with murder in this massacre amounted to 3 days of hard labor, only for Calley. Why 3 days? Because after 3 days, Richard Nixon intervened and commuted his sentence to 3 years of house arrest after which Calley was paroled. It sickens me deeply to think that Calley served a measly 3 years of house arrest when he was responsible for killing so many innocent people, many of them being children and babies and all of them having literally no means to defend themselves.

It is far too easy to dismiss Charlie Company as a freak occurrence. However, in reality, a situation like this was inevitable. The US war effort in Vietnam was based on unselective napalm and rocket attacks that were anything but accurate and did little to avoid civilians. Body counts were used as a barometer of US war success and this created a climate in which Vietnamese life was cheapened to such an extent that Vietnamese lives were valued not much more than that of a domestic house cat. In the end, if indiscriminate killing from the air was deemed acceptable, then random killing at close quarters was only taking this methodology one step further. Seeing this up close with my own eyes makes it even more disheartening to me when I hear the ridiculous false beliefs that many Americans hold to be true regarding the Vietnam War. With very few accurate historical contexts available and easily accessible, most of what people think happened is based on movies, albeit good ones, that really depict the Vietnamese as animals. Most of these films are told from a suffering American’s perspective when the suffering, by and large, was so much greater on the Vietnamese side. The reality is -- America eventually realized that they couldn’t win the war and they pulled out. Yes, they lost and that is a hard thing for many of my fellow comrades to accept. ‘Forgive, but don’t forget’ is a phrase that is listed in front of every holocaust memorial. It seems to me that this is how most Vietnamese people remember their war with America.

After leaving My Lai, we board the bus to make our short journey to Hoi An. As I sit on the bus silently and absorb the things I have just seen, I feel uncomfortable. My mind and body both feel unsettled. My mind is consumed with the horror of the My Lai massacre but my stomach is having a whole set of different issues. I have felt like shit since I woke up this morning. When I have encountered stomach problems in the past, the problems are usually related to too much system outflow. That hasn’t been the case in this instance though. I am constipated. In fact, I am constipated to the point where I no longer have the desire to eat. I have to combat things some way so I am now being stubborn about putting much of anything other than water into my body until something starts leaving it.

We are finally in Hoi An. The town seems a bit touristy but looks like a great spot for a well needed, relaxing break. After all, this town is considered to be one of Vietnam’s charms. It also appears to be shopping galore here with many shops offering tailoring services, lacquer ware and art.

Feeling the need to stretch my legs, my first agenda item is to walk down Tran Phu, one of the main streets in town and take in the atmosphere of this busy street. Employees of many of the shops that populate each side of this main thoroughfare walk out onto the street and ask me to come in and look at their merchandise. I can’t resist for long and soon find myself walking into one of many tailor shops, indiscriminate from each other, in this area. Perusing the shop looking at the different fabrics and materials that are available, I am assisted by a cute Vietnamese woman. She helps me select some designs and fabrics. One is a silk fabric I have picked with a summer shirt in mind, although the fabric appears to be more suited to a woman’s dress. Regardless, the black and white design with tiny crimson budding flowers is appealing to me. Fabrics in hand, the shop attendant and I sit down and look at a magazine that shows the different pant and shirt styles available. I am fitted for 2 short sleeve shirts and 2 pairs of pants. The women assisting me tend to my every need and tell me that they want me to join them for lunch tomorrow when I come back to pick up my clothes. These women are adorable and they endure themselves to me even more when they tell me that I am beautiful. I find it amusing that they use this term so freely.

As the day winds down, I walk back towards my hotel. Noticing an internet café and tour booking center nearby, I decide to check my email. I buy a bottle of water, sit down and log into a computer. As I check my email and do a bit of net surfing, the woman working in the shop begins to ask me some questions. She wants to know if I am interested in any tours and wants to know where I am from. We have a nice conversation and her 5 to 6 year old son takes much interest in me. He excitedly runs up to me and jumps on the chair next to me. This must be his usual spot as he seems comfortable. He begins playing a computer game. Eventually, he ends up on my lap as I try to teach him a few English words and phrases. We count to 30 together and he exhibits a strong command of some basic English words and phrases. It is obvious that he is being schooled in English. This woman and her son are kind, warm people.

I return to my room, still feeling less than ideal. Walking around in the hot sun and sweating like a pig hasn’t made me feel much better. It is a shame that I am not feeling well because tonight offers a fantastic opportunity to both cook and eat. We are having dinner at a restaurant where the patrons cook fresh food with the chef and then serve it to their entire dinner party.

The night is a fun one anyway. The cooking takes place in full view of the table in an open air environment. Despite the fact that my eating is restricted to one bite tastes, I walk away with some excellent Vietnamese recipes. I really enjoy making fresh spring rolls, cuttlefish salad, fish wrapped in banana leaves and baked bananas. I participate and make the most of the evening despite the way I am feeling.

Before bed, one of my travel companions hands me a supposedly “strong” sleeping pill. I am hopeful that this will help me get a good night of rest.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 9

2006-06-10T09:33:00.000-07:00

With a long day on the road ahead of me, I had a tough time shutting my eyes and didn’t sleep particularly well last evening. I can’t understand why I would have any anxiety, but sometimes your body makes decisions that your mind cannot comprehend. Maybe its excitement about the surprises I expect to encounter as we drive through the long stretches of countryside connecting one city to another. I never know what I will see, but always come away with insight into a whole new world that didn’t exist to me a couple weeks ago. Today, we are traveling from Nha Trang to Quang Ngai. Quang Ngai will be a stopping point for us before we continue on to Hoi An.

The majority of the day is spent aboard the bus peering out at vast amounts of farmland, livestock and rice patties as we drive through one rural area after another. I see many farmers working the rice patties under the hot sun. Their conical hat is their only protection as they toil away with the most basic of farming tools for 10 to 12 hours a day. With such physically demanding jobs and a diet that is heavy on rice and low on nutrients, it is easy to understand why many rural Vietnamese people are thin and frail looking. On one occasion, I see a farmer and his wife plowing their plot of land with only a water buffalo and one simple plow. The water buffalo pulls the plow and the man maneuvers it from behind while his wife plants rice.

As time passes and we drive along, I eventually doze off. I am awakened suddenly when I feel the bus come to a dead stop. Usually, it starts moving again in a moment or two but nothing is happening. I open my eyes, stand and walk to the front of the bus. I see a herd of ducks in front of me. They are veering out across a large section of the road, almost like the blade of a fan. They are slowly crossing the street behind a girl in a conical hat who can’t be more than 10 years old. She is doing her best to keep the herd in some semblance of order. This is a somewhat typical traffic delay in rural Vietnam. It is much more than that to me though. As I stand and watch life unfold in front of my eyes, I realize that this is one of those rare, special moments that you need to fully immerse yourself in to really appreciate. I take a deep breath and feel my body numb, immersing myself in the moment.

At midday, we stop at Qui Nhon, a mid-sized seaport, for lunch. Overlooking a beautiful beach, I have what has become a typical lunch for me – an avocado, tomato and onion sandwich on a French roll. The avocado is as ripe as can be. The more I eat avocado, the more I seem to like it. It is becoming addictive.

As we continue our drive up the South Central coast, the mountains surrounding us highlight the beauty of the environment. It is amazing to see how lush the land is in this area given the stress it went through during the wars of the past.

Over the course of our long day of driving, some conversation ensued regarding Vietnam’s relations with China. Historically, Vietnam has had poor relations with China. In fact, despite their close proximity, the history they share and the fact that they are both communist countries in the same region, Vietnam is more closely aligned with Russia than China. The relationship between Vietnam and China has slowly improved, but the Vietnamese still greatly fear the Chinese due to their size, power and close proximity -- they are bordering countries. This is most likely a positive step as the downfall of communism in Russia has left Vietnam without a powerful ally that could assist them if a conflict with China were to arise.

It would be an understatement to describe the roads we are driving on as ‘in need of upkeep’. They are incredibly bumpy and Qui is doing one hell of a job making sure we stay upright. After a couple hours of driving, I decide to move up to the “cockpit” and sit in the front with Qui so that I can get a bird’s eye view of everything that he encounters on the road.

Wow! Some of the potholes we encounter are frighteningly large. Failing to avoid these crater size potholes would undoubtedly result in a blowout, at the very least. There are horribly overcrowded buses that erroneously navigate between 2 lanes of traffic, providing more hazards for Qui to avoid. Throw into the mix scooters, bikes and an occasional cyclo and I feel like we are playing a real live game of Frogger. The roads aren’t very wide either so there is very little room for error. I find it amusing that some of the people on the bus act surprised when we hit a large bump in the road that gives them a jolt. It makes me wonder if they have been seeing the same things I have for the last week. As we drive along amid the chaos surrounding us, I look out the window to my left and see a half naked man urinating off of a mound of clay that divides 2 lanes of traffic. I am shocked and surprised. Seeing a man standing between two lanes of traffic is surprising enough, but the fact that he is urinating onto the road is astounding.

We arrive at the hotel at 7 PM, and quickly head downstairs to the hotel restaurant for dinner. As much as I despise eating at hotels, we are all tired and no one feels like venturing off of the premises. As I expect, my meal is average. I have a cuttlefish and vegetable dish that is nothing special. It isn’t the first time I have had cuttlefish and I have definitely had better.

Rumor has is that this hotel is well known for having an excellent massage parlor. I have been ruminating about this subject for many days now and my discussions with Sebastian, while entertaining, have also made the topic of massage one that is never far from my thoughts. I do want to get a rub down and feel foolish for making such a big deal about it, but I also know about the ‘extras’ that are frequently offered in these massage parlors. I am conflicted because I don’t know what I really want. Maybe I want to be with an attractive Vietnamese woman who fawns over me and perhaps I want to be with her regardless of whether I am paying her for her services or not. On the other hand, I have never paid a woman to spend intimate time with me and have never had any reason to think that I would want or need to. What I do know is that I am attracted to Vietnamese women and this attraction seems to grow every day when I meet random women who seem to be drawn to me. After all, if a woman shows attraction towards you, your attraction towards her usually rises incrementally. Being alone and single, I am forced to ask myself if I have the desire and will power to fight off a persistent, sweet and attractive woman that massages my body and then insists on taking the massage a bit further for 5 or 10 extra dollars. For now, I am making the decision to delay having a massage until I am in a better state of mind. Hopefully, that state of mind will come.

With a couple of hours to spare and nothing to do, I sit down on a chair in the lobby and attempt to read. I read a few pages in my book but can’t concentrate. I am antsy and feel the need to walk around. I walk around the hotel and eventually find myself outside the entrance to the massage parlor. I look inside and walk on, wondering if any of my fellow travelers are inside. I walk back and forth and linger around the massage parlor entrance like a child, just looking for a reason to enter the shop. Finally, my pacing outside the parlor entrance gets the best of me. I think to myself, “What the fuck am I doing?” At this point, I open the door and walk inside. I approach the counter and look at the menu of services offered. After a minute or two, one of the women directs me towards a barber chair and tells me to sit down. I haven’t asked for anything at this point and am wondering what will happen next. Another woman approaches me with a pair of scissors in her hands and begins trimming my hair. I don’t want or need a haircut, but at this point it would be more difficult for me to try and explain to her that I don’t want a haircut than it is for me to just let her cut my hair. Eventually, three women are attending to me at the same time. I feel special, very special. The way these women look at me and treat me with such care makes me feel like a movie star. It is highly doubtful that I will ever know what it felt like to be Al Pacino in the 70s or Tom Cruise in the 90s, but I am at least getting a glimpse into that lifestyle tonight. I am flattered as these three women smile at me, touch me with adoration, and try to find out as much about my life as they can. They giggle as they all move around me in a circle at times, each attending to different things. I laugh, I smile and I feel completely relaxed. I am in the moment completely, fully realizing that I may never be privy to treatment like this again. One of the women tells me that I am a beautiful boy.

Quiang is the girl who tells me that I am beautiful. She is also the girl who entices me into accepting a scalp massage. Quiang is one of the most attractive girls I have met in Vietnam. She has a nice figure, a beautiful complexion and long, straight black hair. Not much enticing was needed. She is so affectionate and genuine with her touch towards me. Her sincere attempts to find out about my life with the use of her limited English make my heart melt. I don’t know what the circumstances are in this parlor regarding propositions for other services and am a bit nervous about being put in this type of situation. As a result, I answer ‘Yes’ to the staple question I seem to encounter every day, “Do you have a girlfriend?” I lie.

After I answer Quiang’s question with a lie, my mind is flooded with a litany of questions. I am not entirely sure why I decided to lie to her. ‘Did she ask me that question for business purposes to build relations or does she like me?’ ‘Does she want something to happen between us?’ ‘Does she want me to pay her?’ I guess I am not ready to take life as it comes and deal with the consequences that are part of the decisions one chooses or does not choose to make. Instead, I avoid the situation. Actually, that is a lie too because if I really wanted to avoid the situation, I would be lying in my bed in my room.

As Quiang continues to caress my face and scalp, I crumble and tell her that I think she is beautiful. Quiang gets very shy very quickly. I don’t why I made this comment or where I expect it will take me. We even get out a notepad at one point, thinking that writing may heighten our level of communication. There are many thoughts going through my head. My mind drifts away into fantasy land and I imagine me abandoning my travel group and spending the coming days with Quiang.

I don’t know if Quiang sleeps with men for money and to be honest, I don’t care if she does. I can make no presumption as to how I would live my life if I was in her shoes and will not even attempt to act like I understand. As hard as it is, I do manage to eventually pull myself off of the table where Quiang massaged my scalp so gently and do make my way back to my room. I am alone. I would like to say that I did this because I am a good and honorable man who did the right thing, but by claiming that I would only be trying to make myself feel good.

All I do know is that I left a small piece of my heart with Quiang in this beauty parlor on this evening.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 8

2006-05-27T18:47:00.001-07:00

After an early rise, I make my way directly to the water. Today will be spent at sea boating and snorkeling.

I walk across the dock to get to the boat through a mini market filled with people selling everything from water to fruit to fishing bait. There is adequate opportunity here for every boater to equip themselves with the supplies needed for a day on the open water. Two women accompany us on the boat for the sole purpose of giving us manicures, pedicures and massages. The cost is 1$ per service. This is a pleasant, yet peculiar surprise.

As we make our way out from the shore, I am immediately drawn to the water and its aquamarine color. Glancing up from the water, the beauty in the horizon is all the more stunning as our boat moves farther and farther away from shore and the surrounding hills come in full view. As I sit and stare into the abyss, Sebastian taps me on the shoulder and asks me what I think about the girls on the boat. I smirk and say, “It is nice having women on the boat to give us massages.” He nods and laughs, and says “Chris, I got a massage last night that was absolutely wonderful. You really need to get one at some point during the trip.” Sebastian rises, chuckles and slaps me on the back as he walks away, remarking “Whatever the price is, if you want some extras, tip them at least 5 dollars.” I laugh to myself and wonder whether Sebastian’s remark is based on hearsay or firsthand experience. If I was a betting man, I would go with the latter.

After 45 minutes cruising out to sea, we arrive at some fluorescent green patches of coral. The captain tosses out the anchor, indicating to us that we will be snorkeling in this area. I am not really a man of the sea, but there would have been no reason for me to board this boat if I wasn’t going to get in the water and take a gander at what was floating around. I put on my fins, mask and snorkel and jump in the water. During the hour that I linger in the warm water, I see many colorful fish in addition to pretty blue coral. One of the fish is long and yellow and has the shape of a ruler with a pointy ending. The visibility is good as the water is very clear. The only thing I haven’t enjoyed is the rather large gulp of seawater I swallowed. It is easy to see how a few mouthfuls of seawater could result in a distressing and potentially fatal ending.

Upon returning to the boat, I sit down and relax while perusing through my guidebook. One of the women seems to be looking at me intently and smiling every time I glance in her direction. She asks me repeatedly if I am interested in a massage. After being asked numerous times, I decide to take her up on her offer. However, instead of a massage, I opt for a pedicure and manicure. I would like a massage but decide against getting one in such a small, public setting in full view of everyone else on the boat. I don’t want to tempt myself and don’t entirely trust myself either. After she finishes with the manicure and pedicure, it is time for lunch. I am all the more famished as I have been staring squarely at the captain cutting up all sorts of fresh seafood while my hands and feet were being attended to.

After so many meals in Vietnam, there is no reason for me to be surprised by the amazing creations one can make with two small mounds of charcoal and a few woks. Yet, I am still amazed. The captain, who also serves as the chef, and another cook dressed in nothing but bikini shorts stir fry fresh prawns, cuttlefish, and various different types of whitefish and vegetables to my delight. The fresh prawns are delicious and the vegetable and cuttlefish stir fry makes everyone very happy. Other things we enjoy include a fish stew cooked in tomato sauce, a fresh green bean salad, French bread and fresh fruit.

Our boat captain is an energetic, unique character. His constant joking seems to bother a few people, but it has made the trip more enjoyable. He seems to have an affinity for my things as he had my watch on earlier and now has my shoes on. He is really enamored with my aqua socks that he has on his feet. I would like to offer them to him as a gift but I think I will need them again in the coming days.

We arrive back in Nha Trang in the mid-afternoon. Fortunately, there is still enough time for me to explore the city. Rather than head back towards the hotel for a rest in my room or by the hotel pool, I decide that a tour of the city sounds more exciting to me. I see the cyclo driver that I was approached by yesterday on the street in front of our hotel. He recognizes me as I walk up and minutes later, I am climbing aboard his cyclo. As we speed away in the direction of the Long Son Pagoda, I think to myself that the cyclo drivers and street hawkers seem to be a lot less persistent the farther we move away from Saigon.

The huge White Buddha seated on the hillside above the Long Son pagoda in the northwest of town is Nha Trang's major landmark. It was built in 1963 to symbolize the Buddhist struggle against the repressive Diem regime, and around its lotus-shaped pedestal are carved images of the monks and nuns that set fire to themselves in protest.

Stone gate-posts topped by white orchids mark the entrance to the pagoda. Inside the pagoda, an impressive 700 hundred kilogram bronze Buddha stands at the head of the altar. After paying homage to the Buddha inside the pagoda, I walk around the outside of the pagoda to find the 152 step staircase that ends at the White Buddha. I stretch my legs and climb up all 152 steps accompanied by two 16 year old girls who use their excellent English to joke and flirt with me. Of course, this means that I have to buy some post cards from them, but their company is worth a few dong. They, like many male and female Vietnamese that I meet, are interested in my dating status. These two girls tell me that I should come back to Nha Trang for my honeymoon.

Returning from the pagoda to my cyclo driver, I encounter a mother holding her infant child out to me and offering a coke for sale. I don’t know what to do. I buy a coke from her and in return she offers me her child to hold. Both of the girls with me, in addition to the mother, seem to take delight in seeing me hold the child. All I feel is uncomfortable. While the child is cute, I don’t know why I was handed the baby in the first place. The child is hanging onto my Rough Guide to Vietnam book as tightly as I am clutching onto her. After handing the baby back to her mother, I jump back on my cyclo.

The last stop on this short tour is the impressive Nha Trang Cathedral. Mass is in session when I arrive and I am lucky enough to hear the entire congregation chanting what I believe to be the “Our Father” in Vietnamese. Given all of the Buddhist temples I have seen over the last few days, it is almost weird to see a Catholic mass, which I am much familiar with, in session.

I have more seafood for dinner as I eat beachside with some of my fellow travelers. The food, beer and scenery all create a relaxing atmosphere. One of my fellow travelers, Michael, is talked into buying a t-shirt off of a quick-thinking woman who engages in conversation with us. This talkative woman gives new definition to the term hard-working.

After Michael shows interest in a particular T-shirt, she goes through her bag and realizes that she does not have the extra large size that he has requested. She tells him that she will be back in a few minutes with a shirt that will fit him perfectly. It must have been nearly a mile that she ran as she was gone for over 20 minutes. When she arrives back with the T-shirt in hand, she is breathing heavily. At this point, it is impossible for Michael to decline purchasing the shirt after seeing the hard work this woman was willing to put in to make a sale.

Over the course of our conversation with this woman, she is able to answer some questions regarding a topic that has puzzled me for some time. Ever since I arrived in Vietnam, I have noticed sealed plastic bags full of water on almost every table that I sit at. Now, I finally understand why they are there. It seems that many people use a plastic bag full of water as a deterrent against pesky flies. When a fly encounters a bag of water, it sees its own reflection and flies away in fear. While a plastic bag of water isn’t the most attractive centerpiece, it is cost effective and necessary, as the heat and humidity brings many insects with it.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 7

2006-05-27T18:47:00.000-07:00

Today, I endure another long and interesting drive as we move closer to the central part of Vietnam. There is not better way to appreciate the beauty of a country then to drive through the heart of it.

Along the way, we stop in Phan Rang and visit the Pol Klong Garai Cham Towers. These towers are as ancient as they are beautiful. Dating back to the turn of the 14th century and the rule of King Jaya Simharvarman III, they are part of the remaining legacy of the Kingdom of Champa, an Indianized empire that ruled parts of central and southern Vietnam for over 14 centuries. Walking around this area, I feel like I am an archaeologist doing research for a paper. The puppet-like statue of the Cham King Po Klong Garai reminds me of something from a film like Raiders of the Lost Ark.

We move on to a quaint area and enjoy a peaceful, enjoyable and satisfying lunch. With scrumptious French rolls, vegetables and fruit to choose from, there isn’t anything else I need. I grab a roll and stuff it full of ripe avocado, onion, tomato and cucumber and sprinkle salt and pepper over the top. I also have a piece of dragon fruit and 2 small bananas. I am content in every sense of the word as I peer at a patch of palm trees while walking back onto the bus.

We are now in route to Nha Trang but the clouds look threatening and it seems that a storm is imminent. Given the roughshod state of the roads, I am interested to see how our driver will handle the terrain during a storm. The storm passes though and the rains never come. I am a bit disappointed as I would like to see Qui, our driver, try and navigate us through a heavy tropical storm.

It is a couple hours later now and we have finally arrived in Nha Trang. It feels great to be off of the bus and at our next destination. I am excited so I quickly check into the hotel, toss my bags into the corner of the room and make my way out to Nha Trang’s Municipal Beach for a stroll. The mountain backdrop and distant islands in the background offer a beautiful setting for a walk down the beach. There are packs of Vietnamese children, many of which are probably on vacation with their families, playing in the sand and in the sea. The children seem to find me and my pale, white skin particularly interesting as they stare, smile and wave at me. I take a brief swim in the South China Sea’s warm water near a father and his young daughter that are playing in the water near me. The friendliness of the Vietnamese people continues to amaze me. I have conversations with 4 different people who approach me, wanting to know where I come from and what I think of their country. One man from Saigon who I converse with for nearly 15 minutes on the beach tells me that he could introduce me to a beautiful woman in Saigon who would like me very much. I laugh and tell him that I wish I would have met him while I was in Saigon, as the thought of meeting a beautiful Vietnamese woman is becoming more enticing to me as each day passes.

As I float and relax in the sea, I begin a discussion with a Vietnamese man named Henry. We speak for quite a while about Vietnam and reveal a bit about our lives to each other. As we speak, two things stand out to me about Henry. First, he is fluent in English with a very faint accent. The second thing that stands out to me is his name. I think to myself, “Henry is not a Vietnamese name.” I probe a bit more and he confesses that Henry is the English name that he adopted when he moved to Cicero, Illinois. Cicero! This town is less that 10 miles from the last apartment I rented in Chicago a couple years back. I am shocked to have such a random meeting on a beach in Nha Trang with a man who lives in such close proximity to my hometown in Chicago. Henry explains that he is in Vietnam to visit extended family in Saigon and his wife’s immediate family, who still live in Nha Trang. His son is with him and he is enjoying scooping sand with a small shovel. Henry is 38 and he spent the first 21 years of his life in Saigon. He has some good stories for me, with one of them being his profession. He is a magician.

On this evening, I am lucky enough to see a real storm while sitting seaside. The monsoon comes and goes quickly but it is a storm of immense power. Even though we eat dinner under a covered terrace, we still get a bit wet due to the powerful, blowing rain. Seeing a storm from this vantage point gives me a unique opportunity to see real, natural beauty. It is a different kind of beauty than a sunset or a green pasture, but it is one that is just as impressive in its own right. The sound of thunder and the sight of lightning over the South China Sea in the distance keep me fixated on all that is going on around me as I finish one final 333 beer before I am called to bed by my exhausted body.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 6

2006-05-27T18:46:00.000-07:00

Last evening, I had a regrettable dinner at a local hotel. The food wasn’t terrible but it felt like the restaurant was trying to make tourists happy with Vietnamese food that was a bit less than authentic. As a result, our meal was pretty average. That means a lot coming from me as I am one of those foodies who is complimentary of almost anything that is put in front of me. Nonetheless, the meal was not a complete loss as I had an extremely interesting conversation with Sebastian, my 74 year old traveling companion from Adelaide. As we shared a bottle of wine, he shared with me his thoughts on Vietnamese women. Sebastian’s strong curiosity in this subject is becoming more apparent to me as each day passes.

After dinner, I went out for a few beers with my fellow travelers Andy, Carol, Michael and Erin. Andy is the most relaxed person that I think I have ever met. He doesn’t say much, but has a gentle and approachable disposition. He just seems to be taking it all in with a philosophy of “If it has already been said, there is no need to say it again.” Andy and Carol are a couple from Australia in their 40’s who have been working in the Middle East in Oman for the last 7 years. It seems that the tax benefits of working in Oman make this a great professional option if you like to take home exactly what you earn. Andy is a helicopter mechanic and Carol is a physical therapist. Erin and Michael are a couple in their late 20’s from Melbourne who love to travel. They were big independent travelers until they met and now they travel as a couple. Michael is a forklift operator at one of Melbourne’s primary breweries, Carlton, and Erin is a travel agent. We shared some good stories over quite a few drinks.

As for this day, I did my very best to experience as much of Dalat as possible. We are leaving tomorrow and have only one full day in the city after arriving last evening. This day of exploration began with a trip to the Lat village which is approximately 30 miles outside of Dalat.

The Lat people are village people in every sense of the word. Interestingly enough, they are not Vietnamese as their origin is not really known. They have their own language, and make a living primarily by growing rice and vegetables and weaving blankets, bags and other apparel that they sell, primarily to the tourists who visit their village.

After arriving in the village, we are immediately approached by a group of children, their hands filled with bags, blanket and rugs that were woven by their mother’s, sisters and aunts. In particular, 3 children seemed to be drawn to me. My intuition proved to be correct as these 3 children followed me, never too far behind, for the entire 90 minutes that I walked through their village. I did purchase a bag and blanket from them, but they continued to follow behind anyway. At some point, I just became numb to their presence.

The majority of the village residents live in thatch roofed stilt houses that are not equipped with power. Their modest homes would be merely shacks in a more developed country. The people I met were very open to outsiders as they allowed us to walk through their yards and in some cases, into their homes. I feel like a voyeur as I walk through someone’s home with my primary objective being to see how they live. Although I feel like I am imposing on them, the homeowners are warm and genuine and make me feel as if I am an old friend visiting after a long time apart. There doesn’t seem to be any cynicism or distrust as I am here to visit their village and see how they live and they are here to welcome me as their guests. As we walk through the backyard of a home, a group of children smiles at us. They seem interested, yet confused as to why this group of strangers is walking though their yard while they play with their siblings. Their parents are cooking food over an open fire and what I perceive to be their blind grandfather is washing his clothing. As I walk by this old man, he drops the bar of soap he is using to wash his clothes. No one is paying attention to him. I stop for a moment and watch him as he reaches down to locate the bar of soap, grasping at the air nowhere near the soap. Our group begins to move on, but I stop to offer my assistance. I pick up the soap and put it in his hand so that he can continue washing his clothing before catching up with my group.

We move on towards a larger building which houses the two most important public areas in the village. This is where the church and the school reside. I walk into this building and a wave of interested eyes turn in my direction. There are 60 to 70 children preparing for a church study group that is about to begin. There is a lot of chatter and laughter amongst the children before things suddenly get quiet and the class begins.

After spending 10 minutes touring the church and school, we exit the building and continue on. We only make it a few steps before the priest comes running out of the church to catch up with our group. He insists that we need to spend some time chatting with him in his quarters. It doesn’t really feel like we have any choice but to oblige him so we follow him back into the church and into his room. The priests command of English is surprisingly good so we are able to easily converse with him. He is a very friendly and proud man. He speaks with passion and uses many expressions as he explains how the Lat people have persevered. His focus moves from a history of the Lat people to the barrel of rice wine sitting in the corner of the room. He is insistent that each of us drink from the cask of homemade wine that he assures us is wonderful. It is only 10 AM in the morning but it is almost impossible to say no in these circumstances. The barrel of wine is soon passed in my direction. I grab hold of it and raise it to my lips. The wine is strong but the taste is sweet, a bit like Cointreau. The priest doesn’t seem to want anyone to put the barrel down as he makes sure that it continues to be passed from one person to another. It seems that this little session is coming to an end as the other people I am with begin to gather their things together. However, the priest hands the barrel back to me for another drink. The rest of the group rises and walks towards the door. I nod in their direction before taking one last long sip from the barrel. The priest smiles and encourages me to take another. I smile back but realize that this could be an all day session that I don’t have the luxury of partaking in. I grab my water bottle, exchange goodbyes and quickly catch up with the rest of the group.

We walk along, but don’t make it very far before we are greeted by another man who invites us into his home to explain to us some of the customs of the Lat people. We follow him into his extremely basic home which has no furniture, but blankets on the ground that function as beds for him and his family members. The three children inside stare at us like we are aliens when we enter their home; they rarely witness white people sitting in their home. Our host talks in great detail, through a translator, about the significance of the water buffalo to the Lat people. He tells us that during the New Year’s celebration, a water buffalo is sacrificed as part of the biggest party and celebration of the year.

My visit to the Lat village is very intriguing. The curious, interested and smiling faces of the people I encountered made me feel comfortable as they proudly opened their homes and explained their unique culture and customs. The thing that struck me the most is that nearly everyone I encountered had a smile on their face and seemed to be sincerely happy and in great appreciation for what they had. There is a lesson to be learned from this as Western culture is much too focused on the next day or the next purchase in lieu of appreciating the present. The priest we met called us his friends this morning and I believe that he meant what he said. I feel that his words and actions are a good representation of the people of his village.

We return to Dalat for lunch. Dalat is well known throughout Vietnam and others parts of Southeast Asia for its wonderful vegetables. We visited their gigantic vegetable market for lunch. This fantastic market has 2 floors of vegetable counters and stalls filled with a colorful and vast selection of vegetables that are sold to local families, restaurant proprietors and smaller markets that purchase vegetables for resale. As I walk through the market, I see many vegetables that I have never seen, much less eaten. There are green and yellow and orange colored vegetables with protruding spikes and bumps covering them. The avocados and mangoes have a dark deep green color. The smells in the air are as different and interesting as the assortment of vegetables around me.

After inspecting the market for a bit, we make our way upstairs to the second floor where the lunch stalls are located. We order an assortment of different dishes to pass for lunch. Since I am sitting on the other side of the table and am uninvolved in the ordering process, I have no idea what is on the platters that are being placed in front of us. All I know is that there is no meat on any of them. The funny thing is that some of the items on the platters look very much like meat. Some even taste like meat. After eating something that looks and tastes like shrimp, I am pretty convinced that not everything is vegetarian. However, our server assures me that everything is meatless. As it turns out, many of the items that look like meat and seafood are actually tofu formed into the shapes of shrimp and meatballs. They are then fried and cooked with a combination of sauces and vegetables. In some cases, this leaves the tofu with a flavor that can fool you into thinking that what you are eating is actually what you think you it is.

After finishing lunch, we leave the market. I walk out of the market and pass one vendor after another selling fresh mangoes, avocados, flowers and fish in the area surrounding the entrance to the market. I am amazed by all of the live seafood for sale. There are numerous kinds of different fish in buckets and live frogs and eels. This is the grocery store, specialty store and convenience store encompassed within one massive group of stalls that cover an area that is half the size of a city block.

My mind is still buzzing from the activity of the market, but I am ready to see more of the city. A few of us venture off to locate a tour office that I noticed earlier in the day which was advertising scooter tours of the areas surrounding the city. We enter the office and haggle over the price of the tour. I don’t haggle much though as 8 dollars sounds like a very fair price for a 4 hour tour of the city. It is only a few minutes later before I am clutching onto the back of my guide as he speeds away on his motorbike. My driver speaks a bit of English which is more than I can say for the guides of the two other people who have accompanied me on this tour.

Our first stop is at the Lam Ty Ni pagoda. This is where the so called “mad monk”of Dalat lives. This monk who lives here, Vien Thuc, is a monk of all trades. He is a self proclaimed poet, gardener, builder and artist. However, his proudest achievement is his painting. He entered this pagoda at the age of 10 and began his auspicious career as an artist with some finger daubing on the walls. His studio behind the pagoda now has over 100,000 pieces of some very common, and some very unique pieces of art. Vien Thuc offers us a guided tour of the pagoda pointing out many aspects of his home and studio.

As I follow Vien Thuc around the pagoda, I find his behavior to be peculiar. At numerous points during our tour, he stops, thinking he has made a humorous point, and break outs into the type of wicked laughter that might scare a timid person. He is quite a character. I purchase a simple canvas that catches my eye. It features two bamboo stalks in the midst of some nice hues of brown, tan and green. He signs the painting on the spot and pulls his Polaroid camera out to snap two photos of the piece of art I purchased for his next album. I follow suit and snap a picture of the artist himself.

We can hear the rain pour as we gather our backpacks and rolled up paintings together. My driver, sensing my apprehension to walk into this monsoon, gives me an inquisitive look as if he is wondering if I want to wait until the storm passes before continuing on. Since he is dressed in a rain poncho and prepared for the rain, I make a hasty decision and lead us out into the storm towards our scooters. We jump on and he speeds away into the heavy rain in pursuit of Bao Dai’s Summer Palace. I turn my head and look back into the rain, barely able to recognize the two scooters following behind us. Just then, it occurs to me that I have made the decision that everyone in our group will get wet as we continue on through the storm. The rain doesn’t last long; I assume that my driver anticipated only a brief, passing shower. It doesn’t matter though as the rain is heavy enough to drench us all by the time we arrive at the palace.

Bao Dai was the last emperor of Vietnam and this was his summer palace. There are hordes of Vietnamese tourists at the palace and their children run around creating a completely chaotic, but fun family environment. It is great. I definitely stick out amongst the crowd as I am one of only 3 other non Asian, and most likely non Vietnamese, people outside of our group. Small children shout “Hello” at me constantly as I pass by. As I make my way through the working, reception and festivities rooms in the palace, I notice that I am being followed by a small contingent of young teenage girls. It is a bit strange. After checking myself in a mirror and confirming that my zipper is in fact pulled up and that I don’t have any other glaring issues with my dress, I decide that the only rationale for their behavior is that they must find me attractive. With that thought in mind, I walk on feeling pretty good about myself. It is also possible that my eyes deceived me when I looked in that mirror to check my appearance because a group of teenage boys laugh to themselves after they look at me as I exit the building. Maybe they thought I was attractive too. In any case, I don’t mind being the center of someone’s attention for a few moments.

Continuing on, my driver juts up and over many hilly roads. The views are awe inspiring as I can see one field after another. The green colors of the crops growing here are offset by the colors of dark red clay. I ask my driver to stop for a moment so that I can relax and appreciate the beauty. After snapping a few photos, I hop back on the motorbike and we proceed on towards our last major site of the tour, the Linh Phuoc Pagoda.

What makes this pagoda interesting is the fact that it was constructed from pieces of broken porcelain and china. The idyllic courtyard outside the pagoda houses a startling dragon that was built from 12,000 carefully broken beer bottles. The artwork inside the pagoda is more intricate, with mosaic dragons entwining themselves around the main hall’s pillars. After entering the pagoda, I follow the lead of the worshippers and kneel down and pray for a few moments. Later, as I walk around the pagoda, I am followed by two young Vietnamese boys vacationing with their family. Their constant stares make me feel much like the foreigner that I am. My white skin seems to be drawing their attention. Eventually, we exchange smiles and hellos and I decide to give them the friendship bracelets I purchased earlier in the day from one of the children in the Lat village. As I prepare to leave the pagoda and begin to make my way back towards the scooters, I am approached by an affectionate, newly married couple. They make a gesture towards me, indicating that they want me to snap a picture of them in front of the pagoda. I am more than happy to snap a photo of two people so clearly in loving adoration of each other.

The last stretch of the trip is leisurely and scenic as we slowly cruise around the lake and make our way back to our hotel. Along the way, we stop briefly to see Dalat’s train station where I sample some of the strawberry wine and sugared strawberries which Dalat is famous for. Both are delicious. I see more than I ever expected to see during my Dalat motorbike excursion and decide to give my driver a generous tip and a warm handshake before retiring to my room for a shower.

Tonight, it is my turn to pick a restaurant and I turn to my trusty Rough Guide for some advice. My choice proves to be a good, if not lucky one as we have one of our better meals to date. I have spring rolls, boiled rice and a grill up that consists of beef, tomato, onion and a fried egg. The dishes are accompanied by soy and fish sauce as you can never have a true Vietnamese meal without these condiments. The total price is 5 dollars and that includes 2 large beers. This meal more than makes up for the not so special meal we had on the previous evening.

During dinner, I sit by my friends, Claire and Sebastian. These guys are classic! As I begin to eat my meal, Sebastian points out that my potted rice has a crusty top to it. He tells me that he thinks the crusty top might be good in his soup. I look at him, a bit surprised by his overtures towards my meal, and tell him that he can have it. I sense that he is also peering at the mountain of spring rolls that I have on my plate and tell him to take some of those also as I could never eat the entire portion. There is something about these two old men that I really enjoy and I seem to be spending more and more time with them.

A few of the people I am traveling with have come down with some stomach problems. One in particular, Len, has been horribly sick ever since the meal we shared a few days ago in Saigon. He hasn’t eaten much the last few days and had an embarrassing middle of the night accident the previous evening that he doesn’t seem to really want to discuss. All he said is that he owes whoever cleaned his room an apology and a large tip. I am lucky and very happy that I am not having these types of problems. After eating those spring rolls in the Cholon market in Saigon and given the fact that I have started to take ice in my drinks the last few days, this would not be a surprise. Some might say I am taking unnecessary risks but the reality is, warm pop doesn’t do much to quench your thirst on a 90 to 100 degree day.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 5

2006-05-23T13:37:00.000-07:00

My last morning in Saigon! As I prepare to leave, I have mixed feelings -- sentimental on one hand and excited on the other.

Before I leave, I have a few final encounters with girls and boys trying to hawk post cards, stamps, fans and anything else a tourist doesn’t need. I buy some post cards from an adorable teenage girl. Smart, sassy and speaking excellent English, she seems to have a retort for me every time I respond with ‘I already have those cards’ or ‘I already have a scented fan’. According to her, there is surely some reason why I need to buy something that she is selling. Whether it is for my non existent girlfriend or wife or my friend or sister, she has all the answers. I tell her that she speaks excellent English and she tells me that she went to school for it. Wanting to remember our encounter, I ask her if I can take a picture of her. She poses outside my hotel and I snap a photo. We chat for a bit longer and have a nice conversation during which she tells me that she hopes to work in a hotel or restaurant after she completes her schooling in English and computers. Her name is Ly, and her spirit and endearing personality are contagious.

Across the road, I recognize the cyclo driver that I have come to know quite well over the past few days. We approach each other, shake hands and say our goodbyes as if we are old friends. It feels strange as I act as if I am saying goodbye to a friend who I will see again soon, yet reality says that I will most likely never see my friend’s face again.

It is hard to fully describe the depth of the impact that my experiences in Saigon have had on me. I guess my eyes, heart and instincts know the best.

What I will remember most though is the people and their smiles.

Finally departing from Saigon, we begin a long day of traveling in route to Dalat. Located in the Southern Highlands, Dalat is Vietnam’s premier hill town. Dalat served as a mountain retreat for the French during their occupation and attempted colonization of Vietnam during the period of 1948-1954. These days, it is popular as a honeymoon and tourist destination, primarily for the Vietnamese.

The journey to Dalat is not a direct one though. It is filled with many stops along the way. I am hopeful that this ride is just as enjoyable and educational as the one to Cu Chi a couple days earlier.

Our first stop is at a floating fishing village. The people that live in this village all work as fishermen. They make a living by fishing from the freshwater river that they literally live on top of. The water flows into the river down from the highlands and it is startlingly dark. I use the term startling because the fish that come from the river are the main form of sustenance for the villagers. There are numerous floating huts on the river that function as the very basic homes of the families that live in this area. Bad weather can be catastrophic to these modest residences. It is interesting to get a view into the lives of the people living here. Men and women paddle the river in small canoe-like boats with fishing nets in hand. They propel the boats with oars that are powered by their feet instead of their arms. By propelling the oars with their legs, much like a cyclist does on their bike, this leaves one’s arms free to manage the net and assist with catching fish. Moving their hands quickly and fastidiously, the net is pulled out of and pushed into the water at a rapid, machine like pace. This process continues until there is enough fish to feed the family and make some modest sales at a nearby market. Fishing is an integral part of Vietnamese culture and fish are one of the staples of the Vietnamese diet. The Vietnamese people are experts at fishing any body of water available to them, including streams, rivers, lakes and the sea, for anything they can find.

As we head back toward the bus to continue our trek onward, I make eye contact with two innocent and adorable children that are playing in the water that their parents are trawling from. A boy and a girl that appear to be siblings by their appearance and familiarity with each other approach me with glowing smiles shouting “Hello, Hello” to indicate to me that they speak at least a few words of English. I respond with “Chao”, indicating that I also speak “some” Vietnamese. We continue to exchange waves and smiles and they follow me all the way back to the bus. As I approach the bus, I contemplate what to do. I would like to give them some sort of small gift but don’t have anything in my pockets. I decide to run on the bus and see what I have in my day pack. As I rummage through my bag in the bus, I look up and can see the two children waving at me from the window. I smile at them and wave back. I am unable to find anything gift worthy in my bag but do find some small bottles of shampoo that I took from the hotel for my own use. Admittedly, these aren’t the greatest gifts but they will have to do. As I emerge from the bus with my hands full of small bottles, I can see the excitement in the children’s faces. I unscrew the cap on one of the bottles and try to get them to smell the shampoo as I hold the bottle up to my nose and then hold the bottle up to the girls’ nose for her to smell. Her perplexed look tells me that she has no idea what I am talking about. I hold the bottle up to her nose again and this time also rub the head of her brother to indicate to them that the soap is for their hair. They smile excitedly indicating to me that they understand and say, “Thank you.” Using more sign language, I suggest to them that I would like them to pose for a picture for me. They nod and smile and pose for me before I snap a shot that will be a memoir of our encounter.

Soon after leaving the fishing village, we make another stop at a rubber tree plantation. I see farmers hard at work harvesting latex from a few of the hundreds of rubber trees on the plantation. It is an interesting process as the trees that are being harvested have a dish that is attached to their base. The fresh latex drips into the dish after the bark is peeled back. Vietnam is one of the largest producers of rubber in the world. This stop was particularly enlightening to me since, naively, I didn’t know where rubber came from and had no idea that rubber trees even existed.

Continuing on, our next stop is for lunch at a small waterfall. Upon arrival, my first impression is that this looks like a quaint and pleasant place to relax for a bit. The waterfall is surrounded by a path that is lined with cultivated flowers and shrubs. Remembering my time in the mountains of Switzerland some years back, I remove my shirt and douse my head and upper torso into the cool, refreshing water that runs from the surrounding hills. We have a simple, healthy lunch consisting of fresh fruit, vegetables and French bread. The cucumbers, onions, avocado and tomatoes are beautiful and the pineapple, mango and dragon fruit satisfy my sweet tooth. This is a welcome change from the food I have been eating the past few days. While the food has been scrumptious, I am slowly but surely finding out that eating rice 3 times a day can have quite a shock on your digestive system.

Over lunch, I converse with Claire, a 79 year-old Aussie from Adelaide. Claire has always been an avid traveler and used to love taking adventurous trips all over the world with his wife prior to her passing a few years back. Nonetheless, Claire has continued his travels alone and now takes a yearly 6-8 week trip with his friend Sebastian, whom he met on a trip some years ago. These two single grandfathers are now globetrotting travel buddies. During our conversation, Claire confessed that he misses his wife dearly but feels fortunate that he has been able to find a friend who shares his profound interest in travel. Claire is inspiring. His life and his experiences are a breath of fresh air to me. He has 3 sons and has incurred 3 heart attacks and 4 bypasses but he continues to live his life like a young man as he makes his away across the world from Southeast Asia to South America. His joy of life is evident in the fact that he is on this trip. I sincerely hope that I am blessed with the health and opportunity to continue to explore the world when I am Claire’s age. However, health and opportunity aside, the most important aspect of really living is your mind frame and outlook.

Our next stop on the road to Dalat is a quick and caffeinated one. We stop at a coffee and teahouse to sample 2 of Vietnam’s biggest exports. It is surprising to me to find out that Vietnam harvests and produces vast quantities of supposedly well respected tea and coffee. One thing I can definitely attest to is that the coffee is very strong. It was suggested to me that I drink my coffee with lots of sugar. After one sip of coffee, I understand why. You need to put something in the cup to overcome the bitterness and strength of the coffee. I add more sugar. The sesame cookies offered go well with the coffee and the lotus and jasmine teas are both very good. I prefer the lighter taste of the tea to the harsh taste of the coffee though. Despite the 90-degree weather, I find these hot beverages to be refreshing, although I could be mistaking all the caffeine pumping through my veins for a refreshed feeling. As we enjoy this nice break from the road, we are told that we will have one more stop at a waterfall before arriving in Dalat.

DambRi Waterfall is not an easy spot to get to. This was mentioned to us but as we begin to travel and I continue to look at my watch, I wonder if going two hours out of our way to see a waterfall is really worth it. It has been well over 8 hours since we left Saigon and I am feeling travel weary and tired. My thoughts fail to take into account that the journey is part of the experience, not just the end destination. The roads we are traveling on are surrounded by coffee and mulberry plantations in addition to cottage silk farms. The smell of raspberries is also in the air as they also grow in this area. Amidst all this beauty, nothing can match the surreal scene of a group of children directing a herd of water buffalo that is blocking the path of our bus. As I stand and watch what is unfolding before me, I don’t even have time to think. Our bus is stopped and I have de-boarded the bus onto the road. In front of our bus, two girls who look to be between the ages of 8 and 10 are attempting to guide a large herd of 20-30 water buffalo across the red clay road that we are driving on. Our bus driver has no choice but to stop because this huge herd is moving very slowly. I snap one photo after another as I stand in the hot sun. I realize how lucky I am to be in this very place at this particular moment. The setting is something out of this world with the children, water buffalo, red clay road and greenery surrounding us. These are the moments that I travel so far and long to experience. I am not sure that a non traveler can understand the significance of seeing something so simple, but special at the same time. However, anyone who has passed through a small village or local community and experienced a culture that operates so vastly differently than the one that they are accustomed to or even knew existed can surely understand.

Eventually, the herd passes and we move onto the waterfall. I did not expect to encounter a 25-meter waterfall in Vietnam. Maybe in Jamaica or Hawaii, but Vietnam? This is a welcome surprise and a great place to take some pictures and have a quick rest. I cool off under a nice stream of water and enjoy a moment of much needed silence while watching a local man and his daughter enjoy the natural surroundings.

The amount of beauty and hidden treasures that this country possesses is remarkable. I am beginning to believe that the concept of Vietnam being a huge jungle was invented by the American movie industry. Undoubtedly, there is much jungle terrain in Vietnam, but there is much more than just that. In fact, the country is very mountainous.

As we move into the Southern hill town of Dalat, the holiday charm of this town is immediately apparent. Dalat is a Vietnamese vacation and honeymoon spot, so this is not a surprise. Given the French connection to this town and the mini Eiffel Tower that was built here, Dalat is sometimes called the Paris of the East. While I doubt I will agree with that assessment, Dalat does appear to be quite nice based on first impressions. The Vietnamese themselves have high expectations for Dalat. They expect more and more visitors and are considering building an airport nearby. My initial thoughts are that this will be a nice change of pace from the last couple days. Our hotel is situated at the base of a quaint lake. I am excited.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 4

2006-05-15T12:48:00.000-07:00

“The U.S. expeditionary forces have gone so far as to consider the Vietnamese people as low-class creatures and that the fact of killing them didn’t constitute a crime – just like the spray of DDT poisonous substances to destroy the insects. They can’t enjoy any right whatsoever, even the right of ownership and the right to live.”

- Reporter Richard Hammer in his book entitled “Un Matin dans la guerre” Fayard, 1970, 102

“Yet we were wrong, terribly wrong. We owe it to our future generations to explain why. It was that mistake that has caused severe results toward the country and people of Vietnam.”

- Robert S. McNamara, former US Defense Secretary (In Retrospect – The Tragedy and Lessons of Vietnam)

These are quotes and excerpts from books that I wrote down while visiting the War Remnants Museum in Saigon today. This museum definitely uses shock tactics by displaying horrific photographs depicting ill treatment of Vietnamese citizens by U.S. forces. However, to discard what is on display at this museum as purely propaganda would not only be foolish, it would be a lie. I am appalled and in a state of disbelief at what I am seeing because these photographs are not fabricated, they are real. They are very real. Most Americans know very little about the Vietnam War. This chapter of American history is one of our best kept secrets. All we really know is how many American soldiers died and how many Vietnamese soldiers we killed. My high school history class told me nothing of the reality of this war. Then again, American high school history books are not written to tell the truth, as they are a form of propaganda themselves. To this day, it seems to me that Vietnam is a topic that the United States government prefers to avoid. I think many government officials who know the real facts surrounding this war would rather wait until seemingly no one remembers this calamity than to revisit our failures and attempt to learn from the mistakes of our past. Although Vietnam is an entirely different situation, I would be surprised to find many Germans who beam up with excitement when the subject of World War II comes up.

The first objects I encounter in the museum are a tank, 2 fighter jets and a large anti aircraft machine gun. I have never seen anything like this other than on TV. The size of one of the bombs on display leaves me in absolute awe. I can’t even imagine the size of the area that a bomb this size would destroy. My father would have found the UH-1 Huey Helicopter interesting since he worked on these models when he was stationed in Vietnam (in Plei Ku). However, the physical war remnants only keep my interest for so long. A strong sensation inside me is telling me that there is much more waiting for me in the wing of the museum that is inside the building surrounded by this courtyard. I listen to my intuition and walk inside.

I walk through the museum and see some truly horrible and disgusting photographs, deformed fetuses in jars and statistics that give me a better indication of just how catastrophic the Vietnam War was, especially for the Vietnamese. One particularly harrowing picture depicts a unit of American soldiers posing with the severed head of a VC soldier. Some of the American soldiers are smiling as if they are embarrassed while others pose with a cool, tough looking expression on their face.

As I walk around the museum and view the different exhibits, one thought in my mind blends into another. I think that I know more than the average American about the Vietnam War but I am starting to realize that I really know nothing at all. My knowledge is based on what I have read in some books that I think gave an objective account of what happened during the war. I am confused, very confused. The hardest thing for me to understand about the Vietnam War is why my country resorted to chemical warfare. We used Agent Orange, napalm and phosphorous on the people and countryside in mass quantities. While I do understand that huge ground sweeps of chemical warfare are theoretically a quick and easy way to pound an enemy into oblivion, isn’t there more thought that goes into making a decision of this magnitude? Is there an objective look at the costs of making this type of decision and the repercussions of making it? What about the costs to future societies, the environment and unborn children? What about the ethical costs?

Many people claim that the Vietnamese would have also used these chemicals if they had them at their disposal. I disagree with those who believe this to be the case. I do not believe that the Vietnamese would use this inhumane form of warfare on their own land knowing that it would result in decades of detrimental affects on the environment and many generations of people. I think about the world I live in today and our never-ending concern that the so called “rogue nations” may get their hands on chemical weapons. I think about all the news publications that talk of the imminent threat of terrorists and rogue nations detonating a bomb loaded with chemical weapons in a subway station, sports stadium or during a battle against ground soldiers in their own country. I think about Iraq and I think about Iran. Finally, I think about the United States. After all, the United States was the first country to use chemical weapons on a massive scale during the Vietnam War decades ago. This is a fact that too many people seem to want to forget. I am left with a sense of irony and a great sense of hypocrisy.

Chemical warfare has horrible short-term and long-term effects that can literally set back a society for decades. Vietnamese citizens and Vietnamese and American soldiers can certainly attest to this. As citizens of the world, we can only hope that these weapons are never used again on the scale that they were used in Vietnam. Visiting this museum has been an emotional, eye-opening and interesting experience. I am sure I am not the only person for whom the experience evoked pain, tears, sorrow and a certain degree of guilt. I can see the damage that was done to this country and being an American, I feel that I will always be indebted to Vietnam in some way. There is no retribution for the damage inflicted and I sincerely believe that those willing to take an objective look at the facts will come to the same conclusion.

In quite contrast, I walk over to the Notre Dame Cathedral immediately after exiting the War Remnants Museum. In the northern reach of Dong Khoi, the 19th century Notre Dame Cathedral stands in the middle of Saigon, almost as if it is naked. The Cathedral is impressive and is an extremely popular place for tourists, beggars, cyclo drivers and worshippers. After leaving the cathedral, I decide to visit the Jade Emperor Pagoda. This is a place of worship for a much different religion. Upon entering the pagoda, I see fantastic statues that hold burning incense sticks which contribute to a very serene environment. This pagoda was built by the city’s Cantonese community around the turn of the century and is still considered to be Saigon’s most captivating pagoda. From the outside, the pagoda appears to be rather ordinary until one draws closer bringing into view the huge mustaches on the gigantic, imposing statues that stand in front of the pagoda’s entrance. Again, I am left with the impression that Buddhism is a relaxed religion as the symbols, music and general atmosphere in and around the temple make for a tranquil environment.

From here, I hop aboard a cyclo and ask the driver to take me to the Reunification Palace. This seems to be a fitting place to be my last major sight in Saigon as it is considered by many to be the most striking and historically significant building in the city. On April 30th, 1975, North and South Vietnam were reunified here as the South Vietnamese army finally fell after a long, hard fight. Technically, the war ended on that day. In reality, the war continued for many years in the form of torture, discrimination and prejudice against the South Vietnamese. Some of these elements still exist today. Entering the palace, it is hard not to notice the distinctive 70’s feel of the decor. Many of the rooms are drab and feel antiquated but the reception room upstairs looks like it could be the setting for the shooting of a Neil Diamond video, including the tacky beverage refrigerator in the corner of the room. The grounds surrounding the palace are beautifully manicured and maintained with precision by a government that is very proud.

After a short and much needed rest back at the hotel, I head out for dinner with my fellow traveler Len. Len is a 55 year-old Australian psychologist who has been teaching English as part of the Australian Volunteers Association in Laos for the last 2 years. On holiday in Vietnam, Len earns local wages -- which amount to approximately 30 dollars per month -- teaching English in Laos. He is the only foreigner working at a huge school that includes 300 teachers and 30 English teachers. I am particularly intrigued by a story Len shares with me involving an accident he had on his bike that resulted in a severe head wound which caused him to miss 2 weeks of work. He recounts stories of students and fellow teachers who showed up at his home with home-cooked meals in hand for him. His colleagues and students shared what little they had with Len and their generosity has had a lasting effect on him. This is one of the reasons he is still in Laos. It is interesting to find out that Lao’s strict Communist government prohibits Len from receiving any additional compensation for tutoring students during off hours at his home. As a result, his students and others seeking additional instruction in English bring him humble gifts to show their gratitude. In some cases, they bring him 1 bottle of beer or enough coffee grounds for 2 cups of coffee. Len lives a very basic life that is in great contrast to the life he lived in Australia. However, it seems that the challenge of living on such meager means, along with the gratitude he receives from helping the Laotian people he describes as ‘harmless and wonderful’ have brought peace to him and given him the motivation he needs to continue on his plight.

Len’s life is fascinating to me. I cherish meeting people like Len and hearing about their experiences. It makes me think long and hard about my life and what I can do to give back to the world. Helping others is an amazing thing and what you give and receive from having life experiences like Len’s is difficult to comprehend if you haven’t been in a similar environment or had similar experiences.

Regarding the restaurant Len and I dined at this evening; I was especially interested in the restaurant’s kitchen. At one point, I actually walked through the kitchen to get to the bathroom, which was at the far end of the kitchen. This walk rewarded me with an up close and personal view of the extremely basic kitchen that is common to so many Vietnamese restaurants. It is amazing to me that the cooks are able to create such wonderful smells and flavors in such a simple, bare bones environment. There is a countertop with two people chopping meat, fish and vegetables with bottles of sauce and bunches of fresh herbs scattered across the counter. The actual cooking takes place on 3 woks which sit atop piles of glowing charcoal that sit directly on the ground. You can’t buy views like this. Staring in awe at what I see in front of me, it occurs to me that creating a meal is a special, almost holy experience that I take for granted almost every day.

After dinner, I stroll off by myself in the direction of the Caravelle Hotel. The hotel bar at the Caravelle purportedly offers the best views of Saigon in the city and this sounds like a fitting place for me to enjoy a drink on my last night in Saigon. The Caravelle is five star quality all the way. At a cost of 3$ for a local Vietnamese beer, this is one of the most expensive places to buy a drink in the city. The people staying and drinking at the Caravelle are among the more wealthy tourists visiting Saigon. By the looks of them, my guess is that most of these tourists are either Japanese or Korean. The women serving drinks have traditional Vietnamese dresses on and are very attractive. Feeling that I have been glancing in their direction a bit too often, I decide to leave after one beer and retire to my room for one last night of rest in Saigon.

As I lie in bed waiting to fall asleep, I feel a bit sad knowing that I will be leaving Saigon tomorrow. My first experiences in Asia have been in this wonderful city. I am not sure what is ahead of me in the following weeks, but I feel that Saigon will always have a special place in my heart. I have felt the charm of this city and its people and while I am excited to see more of Vietnam, I am also sad to leave. Saigon, the beating heart of Vietnam, has been very, very good to me.