Pivo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.