Unfortunately, I am pretty awful at updating here. I feel a bit ashamed that I come here and settle rather infrequently. It almost feels like a favorite coffee house – warm and comforting, cathartic and peaceful. I used to visit every day, but once I had more reason to come and meditate over my experiences – I came more infrequently. It slowed to once a week, and then every other. Soon it became once a month and I forgot the reason why I would come. Perhaps, I would lean over my steaming cup and whisper that I will be back soon, but I know that I will forget again and return next month in a whirlwind of apologies. I will ask that you settle back with a warm cup of coffee and linger until I return.
April has been a flurry of activity. Every weekend has been spent hiking mountains, dangling over cliffs, laying on the beach, or visiting dangerous tourist locations. After all, it is finally spring. I say visiting dangerous tourist attractions casually because I know that makes you more curious. I am apparently an expert at psychology. Marvel at my skills.
A few weeks ago, I headed north to the DMZ (the Demilitarized Zone) – also known as the border with North Korea. (In the above picture, South Korea is in the foreground, and North Korea in the back). Since the only way one can visit the DMZ from the South Korean side is through the military, we were given strict instructions: no shirts with words – it could be used for propaganda, no sandals – it cannot be assumed that westerners cannot afford shoes, and no gesturing - one mustn’t start a war.
Have you ever been told not to bite your fingernails, and then found it absolutely impossible think about anything else afterward? It is the exact same thing when you have been told that to point anywhere could start a war.
“Let me get a photograph. Go stand over there! Crap! I pointed again!” As I am normally permanently attached to my camera, this was an unfortunately common occurrence. I would shrink and glance nervously around at the South Korean cameras and the North Korean guard towers and skulk off quietly, hoping no one noticed me gesturing wildly.
Thankfully, I finally was allowed to see the world largest flag pole maintained by North Korea’s Propaganda Village, though I am sure the military was hesitant to allow me anywhere as I was pursuing a career in conducting at this point. My obsessive need to research anything made me particularly compelled to share every trivial bit of information with my poor friends.
“Do you see that place over there? The place with the gigantic flagpole which I am violently gesturing to with my eyes? No, I am not having a seizure. That place over there – the one that I am not allowed to point to? Shoot. I pointed to it again! Drat, I don’t think I am allowed to say shoot.”
Frankly, I am quite impressed that I wasn’t wrestled away by the military and locked back on our bus. At least now I can say that I have stood with one foot in South Korea and one in North Korea – although, I certainly don’t think I will be allowed back anytime soon. Perhaps I can tape on a mustache and pretend to be someone else – because I am sure that will go over so much better.
Last month, I traveled to Beijing for Lunar New Year.
Ok, perhaps more than a month ago.
Crap. Let’s pretend it was more recent and that I am not so far behind on my entries.
A year after I wrote this entry, I was standing in Tienanmen Square staring up at the iconic picture of Mao Zedong hanging over the entrance of the Forbidden City. Although I have traveled through four different Asian countries, arriving in China invoked something different. It felt almost like arriving in London for the first time.
There is a feeling when you enter a place which has been documented in thousands of books and television shows that is almost mystical. My favorite places (Ethiopia and Lao) are far from well-documented travel destinations, but life starts to feel surreal when you look around and suddenly remember that you are standing on the Great Wall.
For Lunar New Year, the locals go to their local grocery and buy giant firework cannons – the type you see at a special event and operated by trained professionals. They then set several hundred of these cannons in various locations around their yards and rooftops and spend the next several days shooting them off in rapid succession. It becomes all the more delightful at one o’clock in the morning. When you are sitting comfortably inside a house drifting between sleeping and watching a light comedy, your response is heart-stopping and dramatic. I think I dove underneath a table.
Inside, it felt like we were in the middle of a highly dangerous war zone, but when we put on our coats and stood on the roof – it was an entirely different story. As we stood surrounded by a veritable garden of blooming flowers of light, our hearts still stopped every time one burst. With one going off every minute from every rooftop in every direction for over a mile – we were in a constant state of heart palpitations. Our adrenaline high, we were giddy in the light of the most amazing fireworks show we had ever seen.
As a frequent nomad, very few things take my breath away. Most unusual things just become familiar. I think I need to look through the lens of naivete more often. I miss far more than I see.
Id: Obviously, I lied again. Blast.
Superego: Once a blog-liar, always a blog liar.
Id: But, I had reasons! I arrived back from China only to find that a friend had passed away. My time has since been filled with funerals, classes, broken computers, and preparations for parent-teacher conferences!
Superego: Are you feeling guilty yet?
Id: …
Superego: How many months ago did you return from Cambodia? How long ago did you travel to China?
Id: GAH! Stop already! *Brain explodes*.
Superego: You’d think you’d learn to stop making empty promises to an invisible audience on the internet. It only results in spontaneous brain combustion.
Sam and I spent our final four days touring Angkor Wat (Wat meaning temple), one of UNESCO’s World Heritage Sites. The millions of breathtaking sites and sizzling heat exhausted us to the point of comatose. Although we wished to see more, we were quite ready to return to frigid Korea. New Year’s Day, we reluctantly packed our backpacks with our stale clothes and far-too-large souvenirs, preparing to travel by boat to Phnom Penh. It was too early and we, bleary-eyed, stumbled into the new year’s dim light and laid on the dirt by the road. After an hour of dozing in-and-out of consciousness as people herded about their daily habits, our ride to the small fishing village where our boat was to leave still hadn’t arrived. If we were more awake, we might have been nervous as our departure time drew closer.
The sun rose higher and I blinked and stretched as a miniature truck loaded with people chugged by. This is not an uncommon sight in Southeast Asia – workers off to their labours herded into a space too small for transportation. The cultural perception of using all the space possible. I had taken many pictures of this phenomenon throughout our travels, but this vehicle was smaller – a low riding pickup – and there was something else slightly off. I looked a bit closer as it slowed to a stop. A person sitting on the roof – no, not unusual. Blur of bodies piled in the back – nothing out of the ordinary. Luggage squeezed in empty spaces – slightly unexpected. Foreign faces – crap. This was our transportation.
A small man hopped out of the driver’s side and swiped our bags, desperately trying to explain in Cambodian that there was still room. He stuffed our bags between two strangers who moaned as they were forced to find space. He then turned to us expectantly. I turned to Sam, “Which one of us do you think he is going to try to toss on top?” I asked, genuinely curious to know at this point. We counted eleven people and their luggage before Sam was slowly maneuvered atop luggage at the truck, her body the only thing preventing bags from tumbling out at every bump and turn. I was hesitantly led to the cab where I noticed various limbs sticking out at odd angles through the windows. I peeped my head in cautiously.
The moment I looked through the window, a chorus of warm laughs greeted me. A cheerful Malaysian man called out through the tangled bodies, “Welcome to the party! You are now number eight!” As a small middle-aged woman crawled out, I took a closer look inside. Four people crammed across the back seat, a woman sitting on the stick shift, and the diminutive lady who had just climbed out to make room for me. With prayers in gratefulness that I am not claustrophobic, I squeezed myself into the remaining space. The driver then placed the smaller lady on my lap before rounding to the right-side to shove himself in. After a few minutes of bumping down the rickety streets, I discovered the woman on my lap was from Singapore. Forgive my social graces, but despite the fact that she was very kind and a fluent English speaker, I wasn’t completely sure of the proper protocol for conversing with a complete stranger sitting on your lap. The woman next to me who was wrapped around the stick shift kept nervously patting the ceiling, uttering prayers for her husband perched on the roof. I looked through the rear-view mirror to catch a glimpse of Sam, but the bodies were so densely packed, I couldn’t have a hope of finding her. The cheerful man laughed again, “How is your friend?” I shrugged to convey the fruitlessness of my endeavor. “Regardless how she is, I think she is certainly better off than you are at the moment!”
Surprisingly, despite all these character building experiences, I am still afraid that I do not know the proper protocol for conversing with a complete stranger sitting on your lap. That skill is not usually something that is taught in charm school.
Goodness, it’s February and I am still not done discussing my Christmas travels! As bizarre as it feels to type this on a Tuesday, I am leaving for Beijing tomorrow for Chinese New Year and I need to finish this crazy story! The general plan is to continue when I return on Sunday with Cambodia, and then next week recap the trip to China. Thanks for being patient! I am afraid I have lost several readers with my sporadic, at best, updates. I hope to improve!
Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.
I love Vietnam, but Vietnam will lovingly entice you with its charm before breaking your poor, trusting heart. Yes, the country of Vietnam with shamelessly lie to you.
When we landed in Hanoi at the beginning of our trip, we asked immigration about our single entry visas. We were told, by uniformed government officials, that we could receive another visa at the airport in Saigon. This, my dear readers, is a lie. I was not aware of this falsehood and discovered it in a rather unfortunate way.
We arrived at the airport in Lao like the circumspect, experienced travelers we are, about two hours before our flight was scheduled to depart. We proceeded to check-in and continued our well-practiced ritual of foreign flying. Sam received her ticket, baggage checked, before they moved on to me.
I hope you know what is coming. I certainly did not.
The attendant’s eyebrows raised, looked up at me, and announced, “You cannot go to Vietnam. You have to figure something out.” Before relieving my friend of her plane ticket, we were told to stand aside and wait for the airline official – whom she failed to call.
After begging for several minutes, the official finally arrived and explained the situation: “Oh! This happens all the time! You need to go find a taxi, go to the Vietnamese Embassy, get a new visa, and arrive back in time for your flight! Simple!” He smiled benignly.
Sam and I looked at each other in disbelief and fair amount of panic: “Can we make it back in time?”
He opened his phone and muttered a word into his receiver before smiling again. “Yes. I think. You go now. You are wasting time. No more flights today.”
We that, we took off running like contestants on The Amazing Race, perhaps harming some innocent bystanders in the process. We ran through the airport, caught a taxi, and took a twenty minute, winding ride through the city of Vietienne to the Embassy. As our documents were being processed, we slowly chanted: “Our plane leaves in an hour and a half. Holy Crap.”
When our documents were handed off to us, we treated it as the passing of the baton in a relay and took off furiously again. We arrived back at the airport panting heavily, but with an hour to spare. The original official smiled at us when we checked in, replying: “Just remember, Vietnam lie to you, not us. Have a nice day!”
I can now die content in the knowledge that you can obtain a visa in less than 15 and that I can run faster than an Amazing Racecontestant. Although Ho Chi Minh City has its charms, nothing quite endures like that knowledge.
That, and an underlying suspicion of Vietnam.
On Christmas Eve, my friend Sam and I took a three hour, mountainous bus ride up to the city of Vang Vieng, Lao. This little town boasts the reputation of being the location for backpackers in southeast Asia. Being the adventurous backpackers were were, we trekked off to another location.
Vang Vieng sits alongside the Namsong river. The main reason tourist stop over is to tube down the river a few hours before continuing on their way. And that is how I spent my Christmas Eve – tubing down a river in the mountains of Lao. The truth is, though, this river truly deserves its role as a backpackers haven as it has about thirty bars set along the banks amidst sleepy villages and water buffalo. Sounds of rap music and trekkers swinging off twenty foot platforms and belly-flopping drunkenly echo through the normally peaceful valley. It was here that my flip flop got sucked into the current, making me walk back to town barefoot and embarrassed.
On Christmas Day, we hopped a bus again to head back to the capital. The bus had difficulty starting up before struggling around hills and bends in the road. About forty miles from the city, the bus weaved a bit before rolling to a complete stop. People started flooding off the bus and hitching rides back to the city when it became abundantly clear that we had no chance of getting the bus fixed. I, on the other hand, figured that they may just figure it out, and spent three hours of Christmas sitting on a bus and reading October Sky before catching a ride on the city bus.
One attraction in Lao is the Mekong River with Thailand on the opposite banks. Since my only knowledge of the Mekong stems from Discovery Channel commercials with deep booming voices, Sam and I decided to explore. We reached the river before realizing that we had to cross a beach to stick our feet in the water. What started off seemingly a simple walk down a sandy beach turned into a half mile walk in ninety-degree heat across a vast sandy desert. I imagined tying a shirt around my head, dragging myself by my fingernails, and bleating pitifully for water.
Young boys followed us and started kicking sand at me. By the time we reached the Mekong, I was sweaty with bits of sand sticking to my face. I am convinced that the whole of southeast Asia remembers the sunburned, sand-covered foreigner raving about water and Lawrence of Arabia.
When adjusting to other countries, it is generally recommended to make a good impression and put your best foot forward. I am slightly concerned about the footprints I left behind.
