Aren't Massages Supposed To Feel Good?

Over the past 18 months I've traveled over 150,000 miles. I have visited Singapore, Malaysia (Borneo and mainland), Thailand (3 times), Cambodia, Vietnam, Italy, Hawaii, and Wisconsin (ok, that last one doesn't count). In all of these travels, the one place that stands out head above the rest is Koh Samui, Thailand. This small island in the Gulf of Thailand manages to balance just the right amount of development with a unique personal touch and laid back atmosphere.

Koh Samui, in other words, maintains a sense of place, while nearly all other destinations through which I've traveled seem to get carried away in trying to perfect a tourist formula. They strive to create a series of 20-story hotels, gated resorts, set tours, and breakfast buffets rather than a place where people can relax and enjoy the experience. If I wanted tall hotels, brand-named shops and Italian restaurants, I think I might just stay at home. But home does not have what Koh Samui has ... beaches and character.

Landing at the thatch-roofed airport was like a homecoming. It was a place of comfort, smiles and, above all, quietness.

After Vietnam we were ready to relax and soak up some sun, sand good food and Thai Massage. Since western countries have a reputation for being overly-indulgent, I figured we should at least oblige this stereotype and enjoy a long session of pampering at a local health spa. What better way to wind-down from 5 weeks of travel than sitting in a steam bath, enjoying a soothing body massage and ending with a full hour of foot pampering.

What the hell did I get then?

I've never experienced such pain and discomfort in my entire life! It was pure hell. It took every bit of self-restraint I could muster to keep from running out of the spa. I feared for my life ... this guy was trying to kill me by massaging me to death.

If you remember from the last time Susanne and I got massages together, there were a few "signs" that should have turned us away. This time, there were very few. Everyone walking around the spa seemed so relaxed and at peace with themselves. There was calming music playing in the background and the spa was decorated in very delicate Thai-style furniture and fixtures. This place looked like the brochure. Susanne even read some sign in the lobby that said something to the degree of "this is not a brothel." Good sign. Not a good idea to keep taking your girlfriend to brothels. Call it a sixth-sense, but I think I'm right on that one.

Here are the two warning signs:

1. Colonoscopy was on the top of the "menu" of services.
2. A man was going to massage me.

I've never been much of a homophobic person. In fact, some of my best friends are gay (this is the "not that there's anything wrong with it" part of the story). I've just never been massaged by a man before and I was a little uncomfortable with the whole idea. But he was the one that pointed to himself, "I massage him, she massages her." The translation was probably more like, "I'm going to kick your skinny little ass back to the stone ages and leave you in so much pain that you'll never step foot in another massage parlor for the rest of your life."

It was my first time with a man and it hurt!

We opted for a package (there's that word again) that would last a few hours. It included steam bath, sauna, shower, massage and foot session. I think it was 1,500 Baht (US $34) per person ... Susanne treated. We changed into sarongs and were lead to the steam bath. If you've never been in a steam bath before I should tell you that there's not an actual bath in the room, but you do end up soaking wet as if you fell into an actual bathtub. Within 3 seconds of sitting in the steam bath I was dripping. I'm not sure if it was sweat or just the steam condensing on my skin. Whatever it was, my sarong was now soaking wet (this is at the 5 second mark) and I was struggling to breath. One look at Susanne and I thought she had been hit by Anthrax. We coughed, choked, sweated and tried to maintain our composure.

I think I read something once that said steam baths were supposed to be good for something. I don't know what it is, but "good for humans" is not on that list.

Our courage gave out after around 5 minutes. We weren't sure if they would ever come back for us if we didn't make a break for it anyway. Susanne reached for the doorknob and immediately retracted when she touched it. We should have known it would be hot. After all, Satan was wandering around in the room with us. For him it was just like home, for us, it was pure hell ... which I guess would make it Satan's house, huh? Undaunted, Susanne made another attempt only to find that "the steam" combined with "the steam" had made the knob slippery ... impossible to open.

I saw the flash of a CNN headline: "Couple dies in tragic steam room accident. World suspects Taliban Faction."

Eventually, someone must have seen us struggling to get the door open, or maybe it was my dead-awaking shrieking and pounding on the door that alerted them. They finally let us out.

"You wan' to try sauna?"
"Um ... do we have to?"
"Sauna this way."
"Can't I just go home. I'll pay you to let me go. Seriously ..."
"Right this way sir."
"Please, for the love of God, get me out of here ..."

So, we tried the sauna to see if it was any better. It wasn't.

We left Bangkok to get away from the stagnant heat that hovers over the city. This sauna was the greatest re-creation I've ever seen of Bangkok. I kept expecting to hear "you wan' Tuk-Tuk?" The heat was so intense that the protective coat of lacquer started to melt and my hands started to stick to the bench. I turned to Susanne:

"It's like a sauna in here."

Again, the medicinal and healing qualities of placing your body in this situation escape me at the time.

The escape sequence for the sauna was much like the steam bath. Burn hands, pound on door, get let out. If I had looked hard enough, there was probably a button someplace to dispensed doggy treats. As this was clearly a sick and twisted science experience to test human reactions to extreme conditions.

We asked if we could shower. Then we begged them to let us shower. The shower resembled a vertical coffin with the addition a shower head. It had hot water ... wasn't necessary. Despite its small size, I was more than willing to hold-up in this tiny 3x3 box for the rest of our spa package. But maybe, just maybe a soothing massage would erase the scar of the sauna/steam bath experience.

No such luck on switching to the tiny little Thai lady for my massage. The man grabbed me as I crept out of the shower and pulled me into one of the small massage rooms. This was the time I was expecting to be in the same room with Susanne. Sure, at the brothel we get a joint room, but this place decides that we need separate rooms. The room had a leather (pleather) massage table in the middle, nothing else. The room was, how should I say this, like a coffin with the addition of a massage table. [note: death references]

The masseur points the table, "You. Up there!"

I jump up on the table and lay down as instructed. I have only my soaking-wet sarong to cover my goods and nothing under me except the silky-smooth fake leather. I'm hot, still sweating, slightly wet from my shower, lying on a plastic bed. I'm thinking to myself at this point, when does the "spa thing" happen? Before long, the masseur comes in and cracks open the barrel of oil he's about to dump all over me for the next hour. He dumps so much oil on me that I'm afraid a spark will set me off in a blaze. I scan the room for loose wires and shudder whenever he walks by the light switch. When the actual massage starts, I start to understand his motives. He wants to prove to me exactly how masculine a male masseur is. He doesn't want me to doubt for a single second his status as a man. This is no lady-boy.

I can hear Susanne get situated in the room next to me. From the sounds of it, she's in an equally uncomfortable situation. I hear only, "should I have something ... you know ... on top of me?" I feel bad for her, but my thoughts are returned to the vice that has now clamped on my calves. Just earlier in the day we had watched an Animal Planet show about a fox that got his head stuck in a fence and could get out. After they released it they found that it had tried to chew its own tongue off in an attempt to escape. It doesn't seem that smart of a thing to do, but it got me thinking. If I had by leg stuck in a bear trap, I would probably try to chew it off too. At the same time I was trying to think of ways that I could numb out my legs so I wouldn't feel the bear trap that was now moving up and down my legs.

A good masseuse will tell you the purpose of a massage is to push the toxins out of the muscles and help you relax. Most of that is just new age bullshit, but it sounded so appealing at the time when my masseur was trying to push all the bad toxins into my bone marrow. He pinched, squeezed, oiled, pulverized, pulled, crunched, oiled, twisted and pounded my body for an entire hour. The forcefulness was well beyond anything I have ever experienced in my entire life. He was a masseur that decided to go postal on the next westerner that came in through the door. But instead of a semi-automatic weapon he would use Kung Fu to beat them into submission. That westerner just happened to by my skinny little body.

What made matters worse is that he kept pouring on the oil like it had a "born on" date that would cause it to expire if he didn't use it all immediately. Oil ... more oil ... followed by some oil ... then some oil on top of that. It was so thick that it started running off the tips of my fingers. Drip, drip drip. I could hear it hit the floor and I could certainly feel it starting to accumulate on the plastic massage table -- which had now become a slip-and-slide (tm). When he told me to turn over onto my stomach, I welcomed the break in the torture.

This respite was short lived, as he continued to destroy my body with every ounce of force he could muster. It even got to the point where he crawled onto the table so he could use his entire body as leverage. I held on for my dear life as every time he pushed, pulled or gouged my body, I would slip around the table ... just inches away from a fatal crash to the floor. I had a death-grip on the edges of the table keeping me from flying away. Another headline: "Mysterious Body Found Covered in Oil, Tanker Suspected of Sinking."

When the massage was over I should have ran, but I could barely walk. My legs hurt, my arms hurt, my hand hurt. Plus, I was covered in oil and could barely make the 10 meter walk to the shower-coffin. Once in the shower I started to remember my 8th grade science lessons about mixing water and oil. In short, it doesn't work. I was now grateful for the small size of the shower, as it allowed me to hold on for dear life while trying to shower off the oil. How I wished for one of those fancy dish detergents at this point, the ones that make grease disappear. I'd be more than willing to become a spokesperson, anything to get this mess off my body. Shampoo, body soap, foam bath, scrubbing ... still oil. I did the best I could before having to go to the next stage of the package.

I wanted to cry when he started on my feet. I already had a few pulled muscles from the body massage. Now, it was clear that he wanted to make sure I was crippled for life. Next to me I could see Susanne enjoying her nice little Thai lady, gently massaging up and down her legs. She was in bliss, while I writhed in pain. I wasn't sure if I should hit the masseur or Susanne. I pulled back when he put on too much pressure, but it made him even more dedicated to apply as much force as possible. He would grit his teeth as he plunged his knuckles into every sensory point in my feet. I could see Susanne dozing off at times. How I hated her. How could she be enjoying this when I'm in so much agony!

In the end, Susanne turns to me, in her drunken haze of ecstasy, "should we leave a tip?"

Bitch.

Same Same, But a Different Vietnam Than I Expected

Vietnam was one of the places we sought out for the chance to experience true local culture and to get away from the masses. It was only in the late 1990’s (during the Clinton administration) that the United States formally normalized relations with Vietnam. Up until that time Western influence, tourism, capitalism and modernization was a pretty distant element for much of the country. Given such a short time-frame for development, I had expected the country to be a little rough around the edges, perhaps a bit more of an untapped market for traveling. I had looked forward to experiencing first-hand what a country ruled for 20 years under communist philosophy, would look like in person.

It looks a lot like every other major city, except with more neon signs. I’m not sure what type of socialism they’re practicing these days, but if I had to guess it’s called “capitalism.”

Vietnam was supposed to be a natural and authentic SE Asian country, where traditions took precedence over anything else. What we found was an artificial landscape of shops and motorbikes; honking horns, street vendors and mass consumerism. The communist rule might well have never existed, as the Vietnamese have clearly converted their entire society to capitalism. So much so that nearly every street is filled solely with shops. Anywhere there are tourist attractions, there are vendors. Not that this is any different from Cambodia or Thailand, but we just didn’t expect it in Vietnam. Instead of one postcard vendor there are a hundred … all selling the exact same thing. Shop prices vary between 100% and 500% of what they should be, depending on how much the vendor thinks you can afford. The American Dollar is more widely accepted than the Vietnamese Dong. There are no price tags in most of the stores, and when you ask you most certainly are quoted a price in US Dollars. This alone is not reason to dislike Vietnam, in fact, this is precisely the same thing we saw in Cambodia (note: I did not like Cambodia). It’s the apparent greed that accompanies the shopkeepers and transportation sector that dug at me the most.

There’s a popular phrase in SE Asia right now, with slight variations in each country. In Vietnam, they’ve adopted “Same Same, but Different” as the national slogan (or maybe it’s a mission statement?). If they used their own currency, it would probably read same same, but different somewhere in the same likes as the US uses “In God We Trust.” This is a response to everything. Everywhere, “same same, but different.” In reality, everything is same same, but different. In every new city we traveled same shops, same honking horns, and same tourist-gouging … only with their own little twist.

Vietnam’s big cities (and the small ones) were noisy, polluted, and although we didn’t experience it first-hand, filled with crime. The streets are literally overflowing with 100cc Honda Motorbikes. By that I mean, tire-to-tire, with no room to spare for the casual person trying to cross the street; each driver trying to go 1km faster than the person in front of them. Instead of traffic rules, they have horns. Instead of traffic lights and two-way lanes, they have horns. Instead of the right-of-way or pedestrian cross-walks, they have horns. The drivers are not afraid to use them either. Walking down the sidewalk, one’s ears are assaulted by the litany of horn honking.

Someday I might look back on the experience and view it more as a symphony of noises that represented Vietnam. But for now, I’m just trying to re-gain my hearing.

The situation is so bad that it seems as though every Vietnamese person honks out of sheer habit, as opposed to necessity. I saw (and heard) motorcycle drivers at two o’clock in the morning honking their way down the streets, even though it was obvious that nobody else was there. It could only be perceived as a terrible case of arrogance by each driver, that somehow each one of them is entitled to be in front of the other. Lines, lanes, or pure politeness simply do not exist on the roads of Vietnam. The streets are chaos -- unsafe at any speed. Imagine the busiest sidewalks of New York City, and then imagine each person on a motorcycle; this is Vietnam.

I have a theory that driving rules are the base of every great civilization. Where there are rules in the streets, there is order to daily life. In America (or said in a more sarcastic tone, “In my country…”), we have very strict rules for motor vehicles - which is good, considering that everyone on the road these days drives a 2-ton SUV. Children learn the rules of the road at a young age and those rules are translated to nearly every other aspect of life. Take a look at the shopping malls, grocery stores or sidewalks; everyone walks on the same side of the street as they drive. Without any directions to go by, people naturally gravitate to the rules of the road whenever they move from point A to point B.

Lines form at cash registers, much like at traffic lights. People pass each other only when absolutely necessary, and do so only when there is appropriate space to do so. Although nobody walks in Vietnam, if they did I am sure they would all carry a horn. Instead of saying “excuse me” to get by someone else, a blaring foghorn would be utilized to let someone know you were about to push them to the side. I can’t count the number of times people cut in front of us in airports, immigration/customs, shops, and restaurants. Never did we hear an “Excuse me” or a “May I go first, please?” Instead, there was just a lot of pushing and rolling of the eyes. (This was very reminiscent of our experiences in Malaysia, particularly with Muslim women.) Eventually, we simply gave up walking for the most part, and opted for cyclos instead. Sometimes it’s better to be outright ripped-off by a cyclo driver than risk your life to cross the street. The sidewalks seemed better suited for motorcycle parking and extensions of store inventory than for pedestrians. At least, that’s what they were going to be used for anyway.

As we moved north from Saigon we experienced the same thing (same same) everywhere we went: motorcycles, two-tiered pricing, arrogance, and an overall contempt for Westerners. [I blame the French, really, but that’s another website altogether.] The only difference was that the weather got colder as we moved north. The tourist attractions were pretty limited, as well. There are few places of historical significance in Vietnam, other than war-related museums and monuments. After seeing Thai and Khmer temples, those in Vietnam simply don’t measure up. Even the nicest beach in Vietnam, Nha Trang, was remarkably similar to the New Jersey shore, Atlantic City, paved-over with plenty of bars.

My Hollywood preconception of Vietnam had thick jungles, sandy beaches, snakes, leaches, military uniforms, tanks, cover-fire, and ladies with conical hats riding bikes. At least they have the hat thing down. The rest of it? I’m not sure where it went. Platoon was filmed in the Philippines and the tropical jungle looked more like a series of mountains that had been strip-mined, and then covered with various farming operations.

The one thing I did take away from our trip is that now I know why America lost the Vietnam Conflict/War. If you take a group of soldiers and make them live underground for months at a time, they’re likely to become crazy bastards and kill everything in sight when they come to the surface (see Chu Chi Tunnels story). Although, from the war museums it’s hard to tell that anyone other than the Vietnamese people were killed during the war (they call it the American War, by the way). It’s a good thing that bygones are bygones, and the Dollar is such a popular thing in Vietnam these days.

Leaving Vietnam behind was a tough choice to make. We kept looking for the silver-lining in the clouds. We wanted so much to fall in love with this tragic country. While sitting at a beautiful lake-side park in Hanoi, we were discussing where we should move onto next. In our moment of thought … beep, beep, beep … “you buy postcard” … “come look in my shop” decided Vietnam’s fate for itself.

Koh Samui, Thailand, here we come.

Buy The Book Or The Postcard.

As a traveler, I seek adventure. I desire the road less traveled and aspire to find the perfect undiscovered location not yet tainted by tour buses and mini-marts. The limitation of this traveling philosophy, however, is that nobody seems to want to help drive down that path. Independent traveling is a difficult and costly way to explore the world, but well worth the effort when you actually succeed. While attempting this type of travel you should be prepared to hear this phrase: "Why not join a tour? I think is [sic] much cheaper for you." It becomes a thoroughly disappointing response to hear.

When trying to explain to a travel agent that a "package tour" is not exactly what you are looking for, the language barrier suddenly becomes a larger impediment than you expect. Or maybe the concept of not wanting to share your perfect moment with 40 other tourists doesn't translate very well. I speak slowly, "I don't like large groups. In fact, I don't even like small groups." Or it could be that there are no set commission schedules for independent travelers, and that it takes a bit of extra work to put something together, something beyond just filling out a voucher. Either way, this following quote, which I published in the first Unreal Travels newsletter seems to explain it the best:

"Exploration belongs to the Renaissance, travel to the bourgeois age, tourism to our proletarian moment. ... The explorer seeks the undiscovered, the traveler that which has been discovered by the mind working in history, the tourist that which has been discovered by entrepreneurship and prepared for him by the arts of mass publicity. ... If the explorer moves toward the risks of the formless and the unknown, the tourist moves toward the security of pure clich้. It is between these two poles that the traveler mediates. ... (Paul Fussell - From Exploration to Travel to Tourism -1980)"

I'm not sure if I should blame Lonely Planet, or the millions of tour companies that created the concept of "tourist spots" and "tourist destinations." What they have done is created a series of places that exist only in a vacuum - apart from the communities that surround them. These are the places rich-westerners go to escape their daily lives; they are the places you read about in magazines and see on the Discovery Channel (tm). They are the mass-marketable cities, towns and islands that everyone thinks they need to see in their lifetime. The only question I have about these places is, "where do they hide all the masses of people when they film the commercials and take pictures for the brochures?" Forget about ever trying to re-create a spectacular photo you once saw on a postcard - unless you're really good at airbrushing out hundreds of Japanese tourists standing in front of you.

The problem is that none of the tourist destinations ever represent the true culture or daily lives of the people around them.

I'd like to introduce something I like to call the "Hawaiian Luau Theory of Tourism."

For those of you who haven't been to Hawaii, luaus are the number one tourist attraction there, besides the beach and volcanoes. However, I suspect very few Hawaiians have ever thrown an actual Luau (other than for the benefit of tourism). In fact, I would be shocked to find one Hawaiian that has the slightest desire to attend a Luau. The food is mediocre, the entertainment is clich้, and by "traditional" they mean "traditional tourist show". Yet, this is what we all imagine the local culture to be like ... and every mega-resort is willing to help you live out this dream for $60 a plate (framed photos and alcoholic beverages extra).

It's quite simple: develop an image, create the tour package, print a glossy brochure, and mass-market it at an affordable rate. It's a financial model more than anything else. For most people this is a perfect way to travel and this mentality has given birth to all-inclusive resorts, ocean cruises, and places like Disney World. It's a very easy way for most people to travel; everything is taken care of for you, and all you need to do is consume it from the silver spoon with which they feed you.

I prefer to suck up the experiences from around me; looking for something new and out of the ordinary. Although, I admit, this isn't always possible. Sometimes it is not viable to take anything other than the beaten path. In some places there just aren't any other roads to choose; what you see in the brochure is often all a place has to offer. In many cases, postcards are a better bargain than actually going to a destination yourself. I hate to admit that, but it becomes more truthful every time I come across one of the so-called "postcard destinations."

Home Again (Susanne)

Well, I made it home safely, but not quite soundly. One would think that with all the vaccinations I received prior to our trip, I would have arrived home in perfect health! Not the case. Lucky for Mike, he is still basking in the sun for another two weeks. I think he decided to go to Koh Lanta for now - another idyllic island in the southern part of Thailand, not too far from Krabi and Ao Nang.

The plane ride home started out okay, well, at least health wise it started out okay. I was able to upgrade my seat to Business Class for the first leg of the flight - Bangkok to Narita, Japan (5 hours). I thought I would get lucky and have an empty seat next to me and be able to sleep. Think again! Lucky me, I got the big guy who loves to brag about his wealth, his yachts, his homes in Bangkok and Miami, blah-blah-blah. Most of my friends are aware that I am an introvert - particularly with persons whom I've just met. Well, I had to sit and listen to this guy for hours. Even after picking up my book to read or putting on my headphones, he still insisted on talking to me. [Sorry, the venting session is now over.]

I made my connection just fine in Japan, but was unsuccessful at upgrading my seat for the second leg of the flight (11 hours) as there were no available seats. Yikes. Oh well, I figured I would just try and sleep the whole way.

Not long after takeoff, I started getting the chills. And the bodyaches. And the nausea. And the stomach pains. This lasted for...oh...roughly eleven hours. Believe me, sitting in coach class is fine for domestic flights or even short overseas trips to Italy or Hawaii. But eleven hours is a bit much for me. And before takeoff (being the nice Minnesotan I am) I gave up my uber-spacious exit-row seat to a woman who wanted to sit with her friends; the seat I received in exchange was far less spacious.

So, after hours of shivering and moaning quietly to myself under a paper-thin Northwest Airlines blanket, I arrived in Minneapolis where the temperature was around freezing. I practically sprinted off the plane -- not only because I was dying to get off that ride, but also because the walkway was freezing! I could see my breath!

Immigration was a breeze, and customs didn't even bat an eye at my massive pile of luggage. My brother-in-law, Nick, picked me up at the airport. As soon as I got home I took my temperature: 101 degrees. My body aches were so bad, it hurt to wear clothes. I took some Tylenol, bundled up in as many warm clothes as I could find (including a winter scarf), and laid down for a nice nap.

The next day I was supposed to return to work, but my fever was still nearly 101 degrees. Time for an appointment with the doctor. She checked me out, took blood and other samples I won't mention here, and told me to rest and continue on the Tylenol. I guess after taking two different kinds of malaria pills there is still a chance of getting a different strain of it, so she had the lab test my blood for that, too. Chances are, I just caught some weird tropical virus or bacteria which will clear itself up in a few days. Until then, I'm going back to bed!

Return to Paradise (Koh Samui, Thailand)

Mike and I spent some time on Koh Samui in April 2002 and absolutely fell in love with the island. It is the perfect size - not too big, not too small. The local people were genuinely friendly, the hotel rates were very reasonable, and the shopping was great. After experiencing the wild Full Moon Party on Koh Pha Ngan, Mike and I decided to return to some familiar ground for my final week of relaxation; I would return to the US on the 26th. It felt good to return to a place we already knew.

We took the ferry from Koh Pha Ngan to Koh Samui on January 21, and then hired a taxi to bring us to beautiful Chaweng Beach. We were a little disappointed to find out that the hotels we had stayed in before had all raised their rates. (Perhaps too many tourists have discovered our little island paradise?) We took it in stride, because we were just happy to be back on Samui. Our cabbie suggested the Montien House (since he gets a commission there), and we approved of the atmosphere - nice garden setting, beach, pool, and restaurant. We immediately put on our swim suits and lay in the sun for awhile, then did some shopping.The next day was much the same. We sunbathed, shopped, walked up and down the beach, and worked on the website. We also went to a spa for a massage and foot treatment, although Mike's masseur was a bit rough on him. This resulted in some bruises and torn muscles. So much for that whole "relaxation" aspect of a massage!

We wanted to visit Ang Thong National Marine Park because we didn’t have a chance to do it back in April. This island grouping is the setting for Alex Garland's novel The Beach, although the movie wasn't actually filmed there. We inquired at several tour companies about going alone, without a big annoying tour group. Apparently there are only three companies that take tour groups to the marine park, and the number of participants ranges anywhere from 15 to 50. Not exactly the private getaway we had imagined. We thought we would splurge and hire a private sailboat or speedboat to take us there, but no one wanted the business. How strange, we thought, to let those boats sit in the water all day instead of renting them out to people like us who prefer smaller groups. We finally realized the only way we were going to see the marine park was with a big tour group, so we picked the one with the biggest boat and the least number of people signed up, Island Safari.

Luckily we made the right decision. Our boat was spacious and there were only about twenty people in the group. It was a good mix of people of different ages from Australia, Ireland, Taiwan, Japan, Germany, and Mike and I from the USA. The journey to the marine park took about two hours and sea was perfectly calm. (In fact, there wouldn’t have been enough wind had we hired a sailboat.) When we arrived at the marine park I was immediately struck by its raw beauty. The park consists of many small, rocky islands. Many of the islands have caves and passages, carved out from years of waves crashing against them. The fact that only three tour groups visit the park in a day has preserved much of their natural beauty.

Mu Ko Ang Thong National Park comprises some 40 islands northwest of Koh Samui and covers 250 squares kilometres. The larger islands have towering cliffs encircled by clear seas, include Mae Ko which has a beautiful beach and an emerald saltwater lake called Thale Nai; Wua Talap, site of park headquarters where accommodation is available for visitors; Sam Sao with an exciting coral reef and huge rock arch, and Phai-Luak. (IslandSafari.net)

We moored alongside the other tour groups’ boats and climbed into our inflatable sea kayaks for the short paddle to shore. Once on dry land, we hiked over the rugged terrain to see the Emerald Lake, a green saltwater lake in the middle of one of the islands. We saw some interesting fish in the lake. Afterwards we swam, and then paddled back to the big boat for a delicious Thai lunch. The multi-level layout of our boat allowed everyone to spread out, so it didn’t feel like a large group at all. After lunch we kayaked around some islands, maneuvered under arches and through narrow passages, and stopped in a secluded cove for some snorkeling. We saw plenty of soft corals and fish, although the visibility was a little poor at times. Next, we kayaked back out through the narrow opening and proceeded around various islands. We stopped in some caves and watched swarms of tiny fish beneath our boats.

Mike and I paddled very well together, keeping a straight course and steady speed. The Aussies and Irishmen had a harder time coordinating, though! We all laughed with them as they zigzagged all over the place and bumped into things. They were paddling so hard, yet barely kept up with the rest of the group. We stopped again for some more snorkeling, this time in more open waters. We saw much larger corals and sponge formations this time, but fewer fish. There was a slight current, so Mike and I swam against the current and then let it carry us back towards our kayak. The water was lukewarm - perfect for a hot, sunny day.

Soon it was time to return to Koh Samui for the last part of the tour - elephant trekking at one of the three elephant camps on the island. As is turned out, it was the same one we had been to back in April. First we fed a mother and baby elephant some fruit (they pick up food with their trunk, and it really tickles!). Then we all mounted the elephants and trekked together through the vegetation. At one point our 'driver' dismounted and let me 'drive' for a while. The elephant’s skin was warm and wrinkly, with black wiry hairs on the top of his head. He flapped his ears every so often, wrapping them around my legs. Later our guide picked a blade of palm leaf and wove a ring for each of us to wear.

After our elephant trek we were dropped off at our hotel. Mike and I had a nice, tasty, inexpensive Thai dinner at the Will Wait Restaurant(another favorite of ours), and then worked on the website. The next morning we flew back to Bangkok on a nice jet, instead of the usual turboprop. It's amazing how fast those things get going for takeoff! The flight was very smooth, too.

Koh Pha Ngan & The Infamous Full Moon Party

On January 16 we flew From Hanoi to Bangkok, but missed the last flight to Koh Samui by about 20 minutes. Bummer! That meant we had to spend the night in Bangkok, and then catch the flight to Samui the next morning. We hadn’t been on a beach for weeks; our tans had faded, and we were craving some hot weather, white sand and blue sea. We spent the night at the Ebina House Hotel because it was only 10 minutes from the airport, with free shuttle service to and from the airport. The next morning we left our big box of souvenirs from Hanoi at the hotel for safekeeping, and departed for the airport.

The flight from Bangkok to Koh Samui (an island in the Gulf of Thailand) is just over an hour, and the airplane is a colorfully painted turboprop run by Bangkok Airways. The flight attendants are always beautiful Thai women. When you arrive at the Samui airport, there are no separate gates or anything - only an open-air thatch-roofed hut. There is free internet access, though, which is very helpful for checking flights and hotel info. We caught a taxi to the ferry pier and bought tickets for the 50-minute boat ride north to Koh Pha Ngan, Samui’s little sister island.

We arrived at Hat Rin, the southernmost tip of Koh Pha Ngan (pronounced pan-yan). It was Friday, and the monthly Full Moon Party was that night; the streets were buzzing with excitement. We surmised that the bungalows along the eastern beach of Hat Rin were booked up already, so we found a hotel room on the less popular west side, instead. In addition, we wanted a quiet place to crash in case we didn't stay up all night. Most of the partygoers were high school and college kids who could party like rockstars, and the beach music would be pretty loud. (Are we getting old, or what?)

After unpacking our bags, we set out to get the lay of the land, so to speak. Hat Rin has one main road, only part of which is actually paved. The side roads are rocky dirt roads. As we walked around the neighborhood we saw plenty of restaurants and bars offering bucket drinks and happy hour specials for the pre-party crowd. Every shop and street vendor was selling glow-in-the-dark bracelets and body paint. We walked around the main (eastern) beach and watched the resorts and restaurants set up their sound systems, beach bars, and decorations for the big event. Soon the sun started going down, and we fueled up with some Mexican food at the Frog Bar; it was actually very authentic and delicious - even the tortillas were homemade. As we ate, we watched a stunning full moon rise up over the beach. No wonder they started this party tradition...the moon is amazing here! It literally illuminates the entire beach, it's so bright.

We returned to our hotel room to rest up and watch a movie on Mike's laptop. After that we were ready to party! Now that it was completely dark, the crowds were amassing and the music was thumping from the various places along the beach. The crowds at Full Moon Party can reach upwards of 8000 ravers, although this one was rather small at only 5000 attendees. The party was sponsored by Shark soda (a highly-caffeinated drink, similar to Red Bull) although most people opted for straight booze. There was a variety of music represented, with trance (a genre of electronic dance music) being the most popular. There were also a few chill-out spots with downtempo music, for those who needed a break from dancing. A couple of bars even had mainstream, top-40 songs on tap. We meandered up and down the beach, drinking Shark and taking in the awesome display of partying. We saw people dancing, drinking, making out, stumbling around, climbing up burning scaffolding, peeing into the ocean, passing out. We saw pairs of undercover police officers, usually a scruffy one and a clean-cut one, attempting to catch would-be drug buyers. Luckily we aren't drug users, so we didn't have anything to worry about.

There were several entertainers twirling fire batons or spinning flaming balls on chains. They took turns dancing with the fire props until they burnt out, then soaked them in fuel again for another round. Some of them were amateurs who lacked smooth dance moves; they constantly dropped the baton in the sand, but laughed it off and started again. Others had clearly been practicing their routine for months - or even years - and never missed a beat with their groovy dance moves and fast fire spinning. Mike took many photos of these people using a slow shutter speed to capture the movement of the fire spinning...see the gallery for pictures.

After a few Sharks and plenty of walking around, we settled down on our beach mat and relaxed for awhile while the crowds became rowdier. (We were just glad to have stayed awake past 1am!) We noticed a French girl passing out in the sand, her inebriated boyfriend attempting to revive her by pulling her upright and slapping her face. She was so drunk (and/or drugged) that her legs were like spaghetti. Any attempt to stand her up resulted in an immediate face-plant into the sand. It was hard not to watch the scene -- like a car accident on the freeway, you just couldn't help but stare. Finally we gave them our beach mat so she wouldn’t have to lay face-down in the sand anymore, and we started back towards our hotel. It's too bad that some people just don't know their limits. Luckily there are several small clinics/pharmacies around Hat Rin, so at least those in need had some assistance. In the days following Full Moon Party, we saw all sorts of party-induced injuries; one guy had his arm in a sling, one guy had stitches in his arm, and another guy was on crutches.

We spent a couple more days on Koh Pha Ngan after Full Moon because it was a nice place to chill out and enjoy the beach. Prices were pretty reasonable, although I did some damage shopping at an upscale clothing boutique. We wanted to do some scuba diving, but the wind and choppy waves really limited the visibility; we didn't think we'd see anything underwater. We just took some time to renew our suntans and catch up on our reading. It was the perfect place to recharge for a few days.

Two Quick Days in Hanoi

The weather kept getting colder as we traveled further north through Vietnam. We had heard from some Aussies that the retail prices are much lower in Hanoi than other towns south of there, so we intended to spend some money once we got there.

We arrived in Hanoi psyched up for some power-shopping. We had been admiring all the bamboo lacquerware, silk scarves, and other souvenirs since our arrival in Vietnam. We figured we would get the best prices in Hanoi, so we had waited on many items. Unfortunately the shopkeepers there just really weren't in the mood to bargain!

We tried many different tactics. First, we acted friendly and interested in their wares, asked the price, and then politely counter-offered to get the ball rolling. We were either laughed at or simply told "no". Tough crowd! Every other Vietnamese city had been great for bartering, in fact the locals expected it. For our next approach we tried giving them our offer up front, hoping they would counter-offer with something in the ballpark of what we wanted to pay. But no, they were not interested in coming down in price.

We tried to understand what would make bartering so difficult here compared to other towns. Were there just too many rich European tourists in Hanoi willing to pay the full asking price? Did we look rich in our new custom-made clothes from Hoi An? We tried changing out of our "good" clothes and into something more..."backpackeresque": ratty t-shirt, dirty shorts, cheap flipflops. But alas, this didn't help our cause one bit.

We admitted defeat and walked over to Hoan Kiem Lake for some relaxation from the noisy, crowded streets. The lake is less than 2 miles around, and is quite picturesque. A tiny little temple, Tortoise Pagoda, sits on a islet in the middle of the lake. There is also a larger temple, Ngoc Son (Jade Mountain) in the lake, with a pretty red bridge leading out to it.

The next morning, we got up early and set off in a final attempt to get some bargains. We were in luck! We found a pair of sisters who had just opened up their shop for the day. We were their first customers of the day, so we would bring them good luck for the day. They gave us a 'discount' on everything we wanted, instead of us having to barter them down. It was a relief, and we were able to pick up bamboo dishes and fabrics for reasonable prices. They even offered us tea! How sweet is that? We bought enough to fill a medium-size cardboard box, so they wrapped all the dishes in bubble wrap for us and packed it all up for safe transport. Shopping mission accomplished.

We finished up our brief tour of Hanoi with a satisfying bowl of pho (pronounced fur), Vietnamese noodle soup. It was about 33 cents a bowl and really delicious! It's like fast food, only healthier; you order from the cook, sit down at a tiny sidewalk table to be served your freshly prepared soup, then pay the cashier when you're done. The soup consists of a tasty broth, thin rice noodles, meat and fresh herbs.

That afternoon we headed off to the Hanoi Airport for our 1.5-hour flight to Bangkok. Hot, sunny beaches - here we come!

Shoppin' and Be-boppin' (Hoi An, Vietnam)

You can have clothing custom made for you in Saigon or Hanoi, but in Hoi An the tailoring shops are literally side by side, block after block. As a result, the prices are very competitive with a turnaround of only a few hours. Hoi An is known for many other crafts including colorful silk lanterns, popular with the locals for full moon celebrations. We found it quite easy to spend a few days here, ordering up more custom made clothing than we could fit in our suitcase.

We flew into Da Nang airport on January 12, and then took a cab for the half-hour drive to Hoi An. Once again, we stayed at a hotel recommended to us by our friend Lin at Hotel 127 in Saigon; she had also given us a business card for her sister Kiki’s tailoring shop, Dao Nguyen. We checked into our hotel, Thanh Binh II and immediately set out to explore the town.

"Hoi An is a rich architectural fusion of Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese and European influences dating back to the sixteenth century. In its heyday the port town attracted vessels from the world's great trading nations, and many Chinese merchants stayed on. Somehow the town escaped damage during both the French and American wars and its charming 200-year-old wooden-fronted shop-houses are among its chief tourist sights." (Rough Guide) The streets are lined with tailor shops, art galleries, quaint hotels, and souvenir shops.

Our first stop was Kiki's tailoring shop, Dao Nguyen, where we started by ordering a couple of suits by which to gauge their workmanship. We were given fruit, hot tea and cake; Kiki also invited us to have dinner with them one night during our stay. They even offered the use of their internet connection, free of charge. Later, we wandered through the town's streets and found two more tailoring shops that we liked. We figured this would be a good way to compare prices. One of the tailoring shops, A Dong Silk, was featured in Travel + Leisure Magazine, and tried to charge Mike $150 for a suit, plus $60 for a cotton sport coat - about 3 times more than any other tailor shop in town. He cancelled his order after they told him the price, then had Dao Nguyen do it for a much less money. I had a formal Vietnamese outfit made in an irridescent blue-green color. Later we returned to Kiki’s where Mike ordered more suits and I ordered some silk dresses. I also had some matching shoes made to order at a nearby shop.

The next day we were relieved we hadn't signed up for any tours, as we just wanted to relax and go at our own pace. We walked down to the large post office and called our family and friends to tell them we were safe. Next, we picked up some of the completed clothes we had ordered and continued wandering through town. We chartered a large wooden motorboat to cruise on the Thu Bon River for an hour. Our captain was a one-armed man who had probably fought in the war. Along the way we saw large fishing nets set up with homemade bamboo winches to pull them out of the water. We also saw some farmers with loads of white ducks (or were they geese?) paddling around the shore. Our captain pointed to a nice, mid-size house on the riverbank and pantomimed that it was his home (he didn't speak much English).

After our boat ride we walked to the Japanese Covered Bridge, guarded by two dog statues at one end and two monkey statues at the opposite end. The bridge leads to a cute little street filled with souvenir shops, lantern makers, art galleries, woodcarving shops, and embroidery workshops. We met a friendly husband and wife team and ordered over sixty lanterns from them in various sizes, shapes and colors.

Later we returned to Kiki's shop to try on some of our newly completed outfits. We also met a Duchman, Peter, who is the boyfriend of Lin from Hotel 127. Small world! He is a very nice, funny guy, and he is bicycling all over Asia. He teased us about the massive amount of clothes we were ordering, and then ordered a couple suits for himself (he can't carry very much on the back of his bicycle). Kiki wanted him to stay for a few days, but he joked that he would have to get permission from Lin, who missed him dearly. That night we had a nice, quiet dinner with one of the gals from Dao Nguyen and her fiance'้ in honor of his birthday.

The following day (our third day in Hoi An) was filled with trying on clothes, ordering more suits, choosing fabrics, ordering more suits, picking up clothes, etc. You get the picture -- we went overboard and ended up with a huge new wardrobe! Getting all of this back to the States would be an interesting task. Luckily Kiki offered to pack everything up and ship it back for us if we paid the shipping fee. We had already checked shipping prices at the post office so we knew what to expect. We shipped via sea-mail which takes nearly a month but is a fraction of the cost of air-mail.

Kiki invited us to a party that night and we happily accepted. (Traveling is so much fun when you meet wonderful people along the way!) She explained that each craft or trade in Hoi An celebrates its anniversary with a banquet. That night they would honor the ancestors who founded the tailoring trade in Hoi An. The hostess was a nice pregnant woman who had measured me for my traditional Vietnamese outfit at A Dong Silk. She and her husband seemed to be doing quite well by Vietnamese standards; we noticed a beautiful Harley Davidson motorcycle in mint-condition on display in their living room.

The food was served family-style at three round tables outside on the patio. It was fantastic - there were appetizers, noodles, chicken, stew with buns shaped like lotus blossoms, and fruit. The beer was really flowing, too. Everyone was constantly toasting, "mot, hai, ba, YOH!" (one, two, three, yoh!), and our beer glasses were never empty for more than two seconds. Peter (Lin's boyfriend) was also there; the three of us were the only non-Vietnamese people at the party. Nevertheless, we partook in the festivities and had a blast.

After dinner, one of the guys asked me to dance the "be-bop" with him. (He was the birthday guy from the night before.) It took me almost an entire song to realize we were doing the West Coast Swing, so finally I was able to stop stepping on his toes and really starting dancing with some pinache. Soon all the guys wanted to dance with me, and I became the entertainment for the evening. We did the be-bop/swing, slow dances, fast dances and even the cha-cha. Finally we had to leave; we were leaving for Ha Noi the next morning, and all of our new clothes and lanterns had to be dropped off at Kiki's place for packing and shipping. Hoi An was very good to us…and we were very good to Hoi An!

Mr. Miyagi and the Military Jeep (Nha Trang)

On January 10th we took a turboprop airplane an hour north of Saigon, to Nha Trang. The Nha Trang airport is merely an open-air building without any terminals or gates. We had booked a room with a hotel recommended by Hotel 127 in Saigon. Our hotel driver was waiting with a sign that read "Susanne"; he looked strikingly similar to Mr. Miyagi from The Karate Kid.

The driver introduced himself, and said that he used to be a pilot in the Vietnamese Air Force. We could tell already that he was an interesting old man. He grabbed our luggage and led us to the parking lot where his green military jeep was waiting. It was in remarkably good condition, with a soft top and the sides opened up. We drove through central Nha Trang along the main beach, passing all the large hotels, and then passed through a poor neighborhood where the road was all torn up. A brand new bridge had just been built over the Cai River, but the road on either side was not yet paved.

We arrived at La Paloma and checked in while fresh fruit, baguettes and omelets were brought out to us. A woman and her son were already eating their breakfast, and she immediately struck up a conversation with us. We learned that she is originally from the Philippines but moved to Saudi Arabia for work twelve years ago, where she met her husband. Her son, Michael (pronounced Mee-KEL), is about eight-years-old. After a few short years in Saudi Arabia they moved to Sweden and later divorced, sharing custody of their son. She spoke to her son in Swedish, but spoke to us in perfect English.

After breakfast Mike and I went for a nap as we were exhausted from getting up at 4:30 AM that morning. That night we enjoyed a delicious homemade dinner at the hotel, followed by hours of fun conversation with the hotel staff. There was a man who ran the business part of the hotel, and his wife was the chef. There was also Nu, a tiny young woman who managed the staff. Then there were two younger women who went to school and worked part time; they loved chatting with us to practice their English skills.

The following day we took a tour of the area with the Swedish mother and son in the jeep, with Mr. Miyagi driving. First we drove to the nearby Po Nagar Cham towers, built on a hill between the 7th and 12th centuries. Four of the original ten towers remain intact. Our Swedish friend warned us that the beggars had pestered her when she visited the day before. Sure enough, as soon as we started climbing the stairs to the towers we were surrounded by children selling postcards. Our next stop was the White Buddha, built atop a hill on the western edge of Nha Trang. As usual, the postcard sellers latched onto us and provided unwanted commentary on the sights; they cornered us behind the cremation tombs and guilted us into buying their postcards. We relented, buying one packet of postcards so they would just leave us alone. Right next door is the Long Son Pagoda, where we were again hit up for money. There was a very ornate statue of a deity (Buddha or Vishnu?) with 42 arms, and a pretty old reclining Buddha behind the pagoda.

Next we drove out to the picturesque countryside through the emerald green rice paddies. We continued down a pot-holed dirt road with lots of big rocks thrown in for an extra-bumpy ride in the jeep. We eventually came to a dead-end, the park headquarters for a 3-stage waterfall. The four of us trekked up the waterfall, little Michael leading the way as any fearless 8-year-old would do. The hiking trail soon became a series of large boulders and steep slopes. We made it to stages 1 and 2, but couldn’t figure out how to proceed to stage 3 without killing ourselves in the process.

We lingered at stage 2 for a while, people-watching. There was a wealthy Russian family with a knock-out teenage daughter, tall and waif-thin. She posed suggestively in her white string bikini while her older boyfriend snapped photos of her. Her boyfriend looked exactly like my brother-in-law’s (Nick’s) brother, Bill. We tried to snap some photos of the Bill look-alike without getting caught. There was also an older, retired couple at stage 2; the wife was reading while her husband used various picks and tools to investigate the wildlife. We thought perhaps he was a geologist or bug collector; either way, he was breaking the park’s rules by damaging and collecting the wildlife. There were only a handful of local Vietnamese people selling cold beverages along the trail, but thankfully they didn’t bother us.

The final part of our jeep tour was lunch at a deserted beach resort, about 40 minutes north of Nha Trang. It was a huge resort (Doc Let Resort, I think) with a long powdery beach, although it was very windy and the waves were pretty daunting. There were also some tennis courts, accommodations, and a couple of huge restaurants. We were the only ones there, aside from some kids selling postcards. We all climbed back in the jeep for the breezy drive home.

Motorbikes, Tunnels and Sampans (Saigon Sightseeing)

After a good day and a half of shopping in Saigon, we wanted to see some of the city's sights. Our short list included the Reunification Palace, War Remnants Museum, Jade Emperor Pagoda, Cu Chi Tunnels, and Mekong Delta. We did pretty well checking most of these off our list.

First we took a walk to the Reunification Palace, but it was closed for the day. A motorcycle driver was driving slowly along with us, knowing full well that with the Palace closed for the day he was apt to get some business from us. After a couple blocks of being followed by him, we relented and asked how much it would cost to take us back to the hotel. He gave us a fair price, but suggested instead a 1-hour tour of a few sights around town including the Pagoda, so it sounded like a good enough deal. Mike and I both hopped onto the back of his motorbike and off we went. Neither of us had ever been on a motorcycle with 2 other persons before, so it was quite interesting. I was sandwiched in between the two of them; the driver let me rest my feet on the front pegs while Mike got the rear pegs. We made sure we didn't burn our legs on the exhaust pipe.

Our first stop was supposed to be the spectacular Jade Emperor Pagoda on the edge of downtown Saigon, but our driver was sneaky and took us to a different Chinese pagoda nearby. We didn't want to make a fuss, so we explored the small pagoda and took some pictures. Next we visited Notre Dame Cathedral (late-19th-century) near the center of town. Mike snapped a few photos while I got suckered into buying some postcards from a street vendor. We walked across the street to the Central Post Office to buy some stamps for my newly acquired postcards. Our last stop was the Saigon riverside where we snapped photos of boats and explored the docks. Finally the driver took us back to the guesthouse, and asked for much more money than we were willing to pay for the tour. We had been warned about this in the guide books, so we paid him what we thought was a fair price and went inside the hotel, ignoring his protests.

The next day we took a minibus tour to the famous Cu Chi Tunnels. There was a cheaper tour of about 30 passengers in a full-size bus, but we opted for the smaller tour (only 7 people) for a slightly higher fee. During the American war, the villages around the district of Cu Chi supported a substantial Viet Cong presence. Faced with American attempts to neutralize them, they literally dug themselves out of harm's way, and the legendary Cu Chi tunnels were the result. The vast, 3-level network of tunnels includes meeting rooms, living quarters, kitchens, dining areas and storage rooms - all underground. Narrow air-holes were drilled down to the tunnels to allow a fresh supply of air; these, along with the tunnel entrances, were cleverly hidden, disguised or boobytrapped. They even constructed underwater portals in the riverbed for emergency entrance or exit. We crawled through a tunnel that had been widened for big, fat Western tourists and it felt a little claustrophobic at times. It was hard to imagine how the VC lived in these tunnels for months at a time without going insane. They only cooked once a day in the morning and diverted the cooking smoke using multi-stage chimneys; from above, the enemy mistook the smoking pile of leaves for morning fog.

One of the most interesting parts of Cu Chi was the black-and-white propaganda film they played prior to the tour. The film starts out with beautiful young Vietnamese maidens going about their daily chores in the village; they are peaceful lambs without a threat in the world. Then the big, nasty devil called America attacks their district, inflicting Terror and Evil on these poor, meek souls. America bad, Vietnam good! This is the underlying message. There is no mention of the other countries involved - like France and Australia, for example. The American tourists in the room felt awkward, guilt-tripped.

Were we really welcome in Vietnam? Or was it just a facade? Prior to the tour, we had asked a cabbie how the Vietnamese felt about American tourists. He had answered, "Vietnam and America used to be very angry before...but now we friendly". I suppose that's just a nice way of saying we bombed the crap out of their country, but now their trade relationship with the US is crucial to their economic growth.

On the way back from Cu Chi, we asked to be dropped off at the War Remnants Museum. It probably wasn't the wisest idea to do two war-related activities in a row, as we soon learned. The War Remnants Museum is crammed with very graphic images of the pain and suffering inflicted on the Vietnamese during the war. There are photos of mine victims, people wounded from shrapnel, piles of dead children, and people whose skin had been burned off by napalm. There were deformed fetuses on display, demonstrating the ill effects of exposure Agent Orange. There is no mention of the fact that 55,000 Americans lost their lives in the war, nor that Australia lost 15,000; it is a one-sided depiction of the war, focusing blame on the USA. It evoked an entire range of emotions in me - anger that our country was involved in the war; contempt that the Vietnamese would convey such a blatant anti-US message in the exhibit; and sadness for the innocent civilians who died. Mike and I decided we had had enough, and departed for our hotel room.

The next day we embarked on a one-day boat tour of the Mekong Delta - a much happier affair than the day previous. Once again, we opted for the smaller tour; as luck would have it, there were only two other people on the tour with us, a fun couple our age from Australia. Nicole and Chris had traveled from the north (Hanoi) to the south (Saigon), so they passed along many tips and suggestions for our upcoming journey north.

Our minibus took us two hours southwest of Saigon to the town of My Tho, where we boarded a wooden motorboat. We motored through narrow canals with tall palms arching overhead, towards the town of Ben Tre. At our first stop we walked through the jungle to a family's home. We tasted a variety of locally-grown tropical fruits, along with sweet rice paper crackers and honey tea. Afterwards we were treated to some live folk music; a woman sang while one man accompanied her on a banjo-type instrument and another played guitar. On the way back to the dock we each tried a shot of homemade Vietnamese rice wine (i.e. moonshine), which was extremely potent! We all donned traditional conical hats and boarded a sampan boat for the short trip back to our motorboat.

Our next stop was to a fruit orchard where we had a simple homemade lunch of noodles and soup. After that we motored across the waterway to a coconut plantation where coconut candy was being produced. We watched as they extracted the juice, cooked it down to a syrupy consistency, and then formed it into individual caramels. We each sampled some, along with another type of candy called soursop.

Finally it was time to depart, so we got back into the boat to motor back to our starting point. When we were almost back to our minibus we were blocked by a very large boat that had run aground in the shallow canal. Our captain turned our boat around and motored to an alternate dock. The minibus picked us up and we chatted with the Aussies on the way home.

Arriving in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam (Saigon)

We had a very bad taste in our mouths from our bad experience in Cambodia - especially after the airport gave us back counterfeit US currency for change, when we paid their exorbitant departure taxes. Oh, by the way, that same airport was built by a bank. This smacked of government-run money laundering scheme. When we arrived in Ho Chi Minh (Saigon) we were bitter, jaded, exhausted, and tired of being bilked. It didn’t help matters that we almost checked into the wrong Riverside Hotel (US $300.00 a night). Luckily they brought our bags over to the cheaper Riverside Hotel around the corner. The room rate was still more than we wanted to pay (US $49.00 a night, after we negotiated a small discount), but we just wanted to crash anyhow and get some rest. I was crabby, and poor Mike was feeling the brunt of it.

After a good night’s rest, we had a fresh perspective. We got up and took a cyclo ride to the backpackers’ end of town in search of cheaper accommodations. Once again, our SE Asia book, The Rough Guide, came through for us. Hotel 127 turned out to be a fantastic place where the food is always free and the staff is always charming. There seemed to be about 4 daughters and maybe a couple cousins, and a mother and maybe an aunt or two. At any rate, they were all lovely ladies and each made us feel like we were part of the family. Each time we came into the lobby we were asked if we’d like some coffee or tea, spring rolls, baguettes, or noodle soup. It was great!

Most of our time in Saigon centered on shopping, because there were some great bargains there. One day we shopped at Ben Thanh Market, which was a large building filled with hundreds of vendors selling everything imaginable. Bargaining is de rigeur. We found that the vendors at this particular market were more aggressive in seeking our business, in fact, they would physically grab my arm and pull me back to their shop if I started walking away. It was loads of fun, especially when Mike had a little Vietnamese lady on each arm pulling him in two different directions. They are very competitive, and the prices reflect this. We bought clothes, embroidered silk bags, sunglasses, postcards and more.

The traffic in Saigon is wonderful and terrifying all at once. Cars are very rare, as are buses. Motorcycles, on the other hand, are a dime a dozen. Crossing the street is treacherous at best, unless you know what you’re doing. At first, we just stood on the sidewalk waiting for a gap to open up so we could cross, but there were no traffic gaps to be found. It was solid motorcycles, scooters, cyclos and bicycles. A cyclo is a type of rickshaw with the passenger in front, facing forward, and the driver behind on a bicycle. Riding in one feels much like being pushed around in a wheel chair, so we felt kind of stupid using them. The best way to cross the street, we found, was to find a local who was about to cross, then follow them across. Once we did this a few times, we noticed that if you maintained a steady pace straight across the street the traffic would pretty much avoid you. Well, except for that one time my food was almost run over - we’re talking millimeters away.

One of the nicest things about Vietnam is the French influence. It can be found in the architecture, language, and even the cuisine. For example, the best baguettes I've ever had were in Saigon - crisp on the outside, light and airy on the inside. You can buy a baguette sandwich at a street vendor for about US 75 cents. Vietnamese expresso is also dynamite, rivaling that of only France or Italy. It's often served with a bit of sweetened condensed milk and some hot water on the side to dilute it a bit -- it's very thick, rich, potent expresso. Other delicious street snacks include fresh fruit, noodle soup, spring rolls, meat skewers, dried fish, and steamed dumplings to name a few.

We found that we loved the hustle-bustle of Saigon, traffic and all. The shopping was great, the street food was tasty, and best of all our guesthouse was fantastic. I can't wait to go back some day.

Leaving Las Vegas

If you’ve ever wanted to take your girlfriend to a brothel and pick up a couple of prostitutes to watch a little BBC World, I highly suggest you think twice about doing it now. As much as I imagined this happening to me, when it actually did it wasn’t quite what I had expected. Maybe it was the lack of porno music soundtrack that took the mystique away. Or maybe it was because there were two actual prostitutes in the room with us. Either way, this was a perfect example of our experience in Cambodia.

One of the guidebooks we read warned visitors about contracting temple burnout. It happens when a person can’t see another temple or they’ll go insane.

Causes: screeching Khmer women, unwanted child tour-gides, honking motobikes, Japanese tourists, burning incense, unpaved roads, more Japanese tourists posing for pictures, steaming hot sun, stinky public toilets and least of which ... the actual temples themselves. The tourist handbook, published by god-knows-who suggested each visitor take some time off each after noon and visit a nice restaurant in town or some of the not-so-fun tourist spots. We figured out a better cure: leaving Siem Reap.

But before I get to the point where we physically go the airport and leave Cambodia (the best part), I have to back-track a little to give some supporting evidence on why we wanted to leave so badly. I feel it’s necessary considering all the other positive stories we read online before we left and even some first-hand testimonials we’ve heard from people along our travels. Strange thing, I suppose, how one person can love a city so much and two other people can despise it so much.

The friendliest people we encountered while in Cambodia were the two prostitutes Susanne and I picked up after our first day of temple viewing. In nearly every country we have visited together over the past few years we’ve been able to meet local people willing to tell us a little about their cultures, customs, history and a few words of their language to get by (hello, thank you, goodbye, etc). In Cambodia we learned that everyone spoke pretty good English. Here are a few popular Cambodian greetings and phrases:

English Phrase - Cambodian Translation:

Hello - Give me a dollar!
Good Morning - You buy something?
Where are you from? - You buy something?
You want Buffet? - That’ll be $10 each + extra for drinks.
You want Guest House or Hotel? - How rich are you and how much commission can I make off of you?
When did you arrive? - Have you had a chance to figure out the real prices yet?

Nearly every conversation in Cambodia started with “where are you from?” This is a nearly universal phrase, but in Cambodia is merely a means to determine spending power. For the record, America is the wrong answer. Poland, Sri Lanka, South Africa and Tangalaskinazia (made up) all seem to put the script on hold for a few seconds.

I don’t mind giving money to a few lesser-privileged people, nor do I mind overpaying for some items I buy as long as the person I’m buying them from are somewhat genuine in their intentions. I suppose it goes back to when we arrived at the airport. We might as well had “Rich American Tourist” stamped on our foreheads. The problem is that we didn’t want any of the tourist trinkets, nor did we want to buy postcards from every woman and child in Cambodia. We simply wanted to be left alone to enjoy the temples in as much peace as possible.

Here’s how it all began. On the first morning of scheduled temple visits we had arranged a car for $20 a day, which would take us to any temples we wanted to and drive us anywhere in the city we needed. It was $20 for an air-con car, driver and all the petrol we needed. Simple contract. It was slightly changed when the driver we had arranged the night before “suddenly” had to do something else. Fortunately he called our hotel to inform them he wouldn’t be able to make it. Lucky for us, the hotel had their very own car! I hope my skepticism came through there ... We’re not positive, of course, but we’re pretty sure our original driver did not pass on the $20 fare between the hours of midnight and 6:00 am on his own. Either way, we still had the same deal in place; the only difference was that we got a much newer stolen Toyota Camry.

While eating breakfast we were approached by a Punky Brewster look-a-alike that asked us what we were paying for our transportation. She was pretty curious considering her and her travel companion had just arranged a moto-taxi (essentially a Honda motorcycle pulling a rickshaw) for 3 days for $80. Let me write that again, just so you don’t miss it: We’re paying $20 a day for a new air-con car with driver. They were being asked to pay $80 for 3 days to ride on the back of a motorcycle. Lonely Planet, Rough Guide and the local tourist publication list the moto-taxi at $6-8 a day (including driver). Not to forget that foreigners are forbidden to drive themselves to the temples. This serves two purposes: gives the local Mafia (did I write that?) more control over transportation and it ensures that everyone pays the inflated entrance fees.

The argument got worse once the young couple had additional ammunition to confront their con-artist moto-driver. It got pretty ugly, to be honest. Their driver was screaming about how he wouldn’t be able to eat and that we were “Killing Cambodia.” He even tried to claim it was $6-8 a person for the moto-taxi (which was clearly not the case). We offered to have the couple come with us for the day, since we had a pretty big car anyway and were heading to the same location. After the four of us sat waiting for 10 minutes inside the car, while the discussions continued outside, we were informed that our driver and hotel didn’t want to make the other moto drivers mad (bad for business, I guess) and that the other couple would have to find other transportation. Not wanting to argue, they got out and went to find a different moto-taxi.

We left for the temples on our own and the other couple, we would find out later, got a moto-taxi for $8 a day, including the distant temples. Since Susanne already wrote about the temples themselves, I’ll skip that part.

I’ll even skip the part where we went to a restaurant in what is referred to as “old market” or something like that. Since there really wasn’t a “new market” part of town I’m not sure where the name came from. What I could tell is that pretty much everything in Siem Reap was associated with tourism. The shops all sold the same things, you could get a foot massage three times on the same block and you could scarcely walk 10 feet without being asked to buy something.

When we found a restaurant that looked like it could serve humans, the food was all western and the prices were exactly what we would pay in America. $3-4 for a hamburger, slightly less for fried rice or noodles. The water you could buy in Bangkok for $.05 a bottle was now $1.00; a can of soda was suddenly $.75. This is either the brilliant bi-product of a tourist town or a country that lacks the production skills to make any goods themselves. Most things are “imported” from Thailand or Vietnam ... then marked-up accordingly. It didn’t matter where we ate, actually. The menus were all the same, with the exception of the buffet we were taken to on the second day ... that place cost us $20 for lunch. Flashback: our meals in Thailand ran around $5 total, including banana shakes and deserts.

Needless to say, we were disappointed.

In order to recharge ourselves at the end of a very long first day of temple visits, we decided to get a nice long massage someplace in the main town center. We pulled out the tourist guide our hotel had given us the first night and paged through the various listings. Knowing that there are “massage parlors” and “massage parlors” in Cambodia, we wanted to make sure we went to a legitimate one and not one of the “special” ones single male travelers seem to visit at night.

We picked an advertisement that showed a fairly respectable business that advertised something like “EVERYTHING you need to relax after a long day visiting temples.” I suppose we should have been tipped off by the all-caps lettering in everything (I’m going to try and scan the ad to post to the site). It really did look like the real deal. To be honest we weren’t really thinking about the ‘other stuff’ when we walked in, or we might have noticed the place was down a long alley and seemed to have unnecessarily dark tinted windows. The black lights in the lobby and the room full of young women behind a one-way glass window would have been some important items to note, as well.

We talked to the male-host at the front desk and told him that we wanted two traditional massages. He asked us, “one room, two beds?” We said yes. He grabbed a key from behind the counter and walked us up the stairs to a room at the end of a dark hallway. It was much like any guest house room we had stayed in previously. Two beds, tile floor, TV, air-con, bathroom with shower. This was the kind of place that went for around $15-20 a night in Bangkok, actually. It seemed pretty clean, but the lack of massage beds was kind of strange. I guess the traditional Khmer Massage can be performed anywhere, so why not a pair of full-sized beds? We were pretty curious why he needed to turn on the TV for us, however. The volume was rather loud and pretty much made it difficult to hear anything that would be happening in our room, or the rooms next to us. Perhaps he thought we might accidentally fall asleep during the massage and start to snore. It’s not like we were going to be making any loud noises, like screaming, jumping around or moaning.

To be continued ...

Counterfit Money

Our original itinerary had us staying in Siem Reap for between 4 and 5 days, ultimately heading south to Phnom Penh and then into Vietnam.

http://www.bootsnall.com/cgi-bin/gt/travelstories/asia/jan02cambodia.shtml

All about Angkor: DAY 1

We each purchased a three-day pass to the Angkor Heritage Site at the main entrance gates. They issue you a photo I.D. card, which must be shown each time you enter the park. It's very official-looking, and keeps people from sneaking in without paying.

On the first day we went directly to Angkor Wat, the most famous of the Angkor Heritage Site. It was constructed in the early to mid 12th century in the form of a massive temple mountain dedicated to the Hindu god, Vishnu. As soon as we got out of the car, we were bombarded with people selling souvenirs, drinks, postcards and t-shirts. We promptly turned away from the noise and started down the long stone walkway leading to the temple entrance. There were several Cambodian weddings taking place while we were there, and the traditional wedding costumes were wonderfully ornate.

The visual impact of Angkor Wat is stunning and it's in amazing condition, although they were repairing the walkway at the main entrance. The temple itself is 1km square, with a moat and exterior wall around the compound. Nearly every surface (both inside and out) is covered with beautiful bas-reliefs and carvings that tell stories. The building consists of three levels, surmounted by a central tower. The top level of the central tower houses four Buddha images, each facing a different cardinal point. The temple has served as a Buddhist temple since Theravada Buddhism became Cambodia's dominant religion in the 14th century. There are many areas to explore; at one point, we wandered down a dirt road towards the outer wall and were pestered by Khmer people selling postcards and trinkets. (At this point we made a mental note to avoid isolated areas where we could be cornered by locals and goaded into buying their wares.)

The second part of our day was spent at the sprawling Angkor Thom. This compound was built just after Angkor Wat in the late 12th to early 13th century (although some components were built earlier than that). Angkor Thom is a 3km square walled and moated royal city, and was the last capital of the Angkorian empire. Our first stop, and our favorite, was the Bayon state-temple. This is located in the middle of Angkor Thom. Giant faces are carved into nearly every surface - particularly towers and gateways. There are 37 standing towers, most of which have four faces oriented to the four cardinal points. These wonderful Khmer faces have inspired many copies and miniature replicas, sold at souvenir shops all over Asia. Who the faces represent is a matter of debate but they may be Loksvara, Mahayana Buddhism's compassionate Bodhisattva, or perhaps a combination of Buddha and Jayavarman VII.

The massive compound of Angkor Thom is interspersed with wooded areas, hiding some of the smaller temples from all the big tourbus groups. We found ourselves wandering through the woods for this very reason - to escape the crowds. We visited Baphuon (mid 11th century), which is mostly collapsed but undergoing restoration. Next we wandered over to Phimeanakas (late 10th to early 11th century), a very tall temple. We also found the Terrace of the Leper King, named for the statue that sits at the top (it was only a replica, as the original is housed safely in a museum). Our walk through the woods also brought us to Preah Palilay, a sandstone and laterite tower in a cool, shaded forest setting. We also stumbled upon the very early Tep Pranam (9th century), a long walkway with a Buddha figure at the far end. We passed by the Terrace of the Elephants, an impressive 2.5m wall spanning the heart of Angkor Thom. Elephants and garudas (giant bird-men) are carved into the full length of the wall.

We crossed the dirt road and continued our walk through the Preah Pithu Group. This consists of five temples set in a nice, quiet area. Well, it was quiet until the seven-year-old boy started giving us unsolicited commentary on the ruins, and then begged us for money until we caved in. These temples are in relatively rough shape, but are peaceful and secluded with jungle behind them. This concluded our day, as we were exhausted.

All about Angkor: DAY 2

On the second day we wanted to visit some of the more overgrown temples, east of where we had been the day previous. Our driver took us past Angkor Wat, down the main road through Angkor Thom, then proceeded east through the Victory Gate. We drove over the Siem Reap River and saw several small chapels and temples along the way. Finally we arrived at Ta Prohm and parked the car near the food stalls and souvenir shops.

As usual, the minute we arrived we were bombarded by women and children hawking souvenirs, drinks, postcards and t-shirts. Only this time, they were extremely frantic, as if their life depended on selling one bottle of water to us. Unfortunately we had forgotten to bring our own water that morning, so we had no choice but to face the music. As soon as they saw that we were actually going to buy something, they became increasingly competitive with one another, screaming "I saw you first!" "No, I saw you first!" We bought a bottle of water for US$1.00, knowing full well that it would have only been 5 cents in Thailand.

We passed through the stone entrance and proceeded down the long dirt road leading to Ta Prohm (mid 12th to early 13th century). This quiet, sprawling monastic complex is only partially cleared of jungle overgrowth. The massive buildings are matched in scale by the huge trees growing over, through, and on top of them. One particularly large tree growing on top of a building served as the focal point for an entire busload of Japanese tourists. Each person stood next to the tree as his or her friend took their picture in precisely the same spot as the previous person. One by one, they each had the exact same picture taken. It was all very funny to watch; Mike and I prefer to take photos of the sites, rather than of ourselves posing next to something. We watched for a while, then sought out a quieter area.

Our guide book said that French archeologists intentionally restored only parts of the temple, but we're pretty sure they were just being lazy. Typical French, you know. The jungle atmosphere is quite nice, and we enjoyed meandering through the compound at our own pace. At one point we were passing through a rather short doorway, and as I followed Mike through I whacked my forehead on the top of the doorframe. Imagine that! In a place full of short doorways, it's the 5'2" girl who knocks her head instead of the 6'1" guy! Go figure. So for the remainder of the day I was blessed with a beautiful dent at the top of my forehead, followed by an equally stunning goose egg bump. For the second part of the day we visited the nearby Banteay Kdei (late 12th to early 13th century). This was a sprawling, largely unrestored, monastic complex in much the same style as Ta Prohm.

By the afternoon we were exhausted. We decided that we had seen plenty of the beautiful temple ruins, and the pushy vendors and beggars were really starting to wear us down. Furthermore the blatant corruption, obvious illegal activity, and lack of customer service were really driving us mad. We decided to forego our third day of temple exploration and leave the country immediately. That night, we got on a plane to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam (Saigon). What a relief to be out of Siem Reap!

Cambodia is what Cambodia does

Most budget travelers come to SE Asia because it gives them the opportunity to see a large piece of the world on a small budget. Backpackers have created a well-worn trail throughout SE Asia the past 30 years, and even with the few exceptions of Singapore and parts of Bangkok, the entire region is still very affordable. When you're preparing to enter a country such as Cambodia where the average annual income is less than US$300, you brace yourself for sub-par sanitation, ramshackle houses, sickness and filth. Cambodia lived up to some of these expectations, but there were also a few big surprises...

We decided it was time we sought out some real adventure on our trip. We looked at our options and decided to go directly to Siem Reap, Cambodia, home to the ancient temples of Angkor. To save me from having to re-write what has already been written a million times before, I will quote fellow cyber-traveler-journalist at Vagabonding.com:

"Between 802 and 1432 AD, a succession of Khmer kings funneled the enormous wealth of their kingdoms into a series of monumental building projects. Growing successively grander and more elaborate, the Buddhist and Hindu temples of Angkor stand as the apex of ancient Khmer architectural and cultural achievements. The great city of Angkor gradually fell into decline in the early 1400's after repeated attacks and encroachment by the Thais. The Western world first heard about the temples in the 1860's, when they were discovered by a Frenchman named Henri Mouhot."

There are some pretty important history lessons in this quote ... more on that later.

In deciding to embark on this journey we opted for the fastest, easiest and probably most expensive route possible: we booked a plane ticket on Bangkok Airways directly to Siem Reap, Cambodia. We paid a little more money, but given the alternative we decided it was best. Our cab driver perfectly summed up our mentality at this point in our trip: "You can always make more money, but you can never make more time."

The traditional backpackers' route to Siem Reap would have taken us overland across the somewhat daring roads of Cambodia (roads being a relatively loose term). It would have been a cheap, albeit uncomfortable, way to travel. It also would have taken us over 14 hours. But for around US$15 per person, the overland bus route was a bargain compared to the US$150 we each paid for our ‘one-way’ airline ticket (BKK to REP). With the cramped buses, drivers cranked-up on smack, bumpy roads, un-bathed backpackers, midnight border crossings, and no potty breaks, I’ll take the plane ticket any day. If we had known then what we know now, that ‘one-way’ plane ticket would have been ‘one-way’ in the opposite direction.

Splurging a little for plane tickets proved to be only the beginning of "paying a little more" throughout our entire stay in Cambodia.

Most budget travelers come to SE Asia because it gives them the opportunity to see a large piece of the world on a small budget. Asia is home to some of the poorest countries on the planet. Backpackers have created a well-worn trail throughout SE Asia the past 30 years, and even with the few exceptions of Singapore and parts of Bangkok, the entire region is still very affordable. When you’re preparing to enter a country such as Cambodia where the average annual income is less than US$300, you brace yourself for sub-par sanitation, ramshackle houses, sickness and filth. Any reasonable person would also expect things to be exceptionally cheap. Furthermore, with such a distressing history of violence and bloodshed, you expect there might also be a few uncomfortable elements to face. Cambodia lived up to some of these expectations, but there were also a few big surprises...

Let me start by saying both of us were really looking forward to our trip to Cambodia. Several friends back in the States who had visited a few years ago said it was the highlight of their trip. They couldn’t stop raving about it. They spoke of friendly people, cheap accommodations and spectacular views of Angkor. I won’t mention Jennifer Bers’ real name here, as she might get mad at me. It’s not like I’m blaming her for everything that went wrong. I just think that since she was the biggest proponent of our trek to Angkor in the first place, some mention of her is necessary. So, in order to protect her identity we will call her something completely different than her real name. Instead, we shall call her, "Jennifer".

"Jennifer" sent me an email a few weeks before my trip that gave me a list of places we would definitely have to see in Cambodia. It was a good overview of temples and the names of a few guides that made her trek to Cambodia so exceptional. After reading her emails and having talked to her about it over the past year, I was really charged-up and ready to view what sounded like the greatest archeological discovery in modern history.

But in order to view the ancient temples of Angkor you are obligated to follow a path that takes you through the sleepy Cambodian town of Siem Reap, which roughly translates to, "rip-off-and-try-to-con-as-many-foreigners-as-you-can-possibly-do in-a-day-without-giving-them-one-ounce-of-personal-space-and or-opportunity-to-enjoy-the-very-sights-that-they-came-to-this-place-to-see." We dubbed the town See-um Rape ... as in, "See ‘em rape the tourists".

This is the part where I get into the details of my trip to Cambodia and what I found to be so exceptional (exceptional being used in a negative manner). I’ll go in chorological order, so as not to miss any of the fleecing, err ... events that took place.

We arrived at the newly-built airport only to face utter chaos. Dozens of immigration officers sat stoically behind a counter with a big English sign above their heads that read:

Tourist Visa: $20 US
Business Visa: $25 US

There were no signs instructing what forms to fill out, where to go first, or how to form an appropriate line - if such a thing existed. Only the price tag to enter Cambodia was posted, as if it were an entrance fee to Disney World or something less sinister than it really was. Susanne and I huddled with the rest of the people from our flight in a tight mass of confusion. The next staging area for persons with visas was just as crowded, so none of us were in any big hurry anyway.

After a few minutes everyone seemed to pick-up on the process. First, you must pay $20 in US currency (regardless of your nationality) before an immigration officer will even touch your Visa Application. You don’t pay $20, you can’t even get one of the immigration officers to sneeze at you. So pay $20, give up passport, and go to the next line to wait. When your passport is held up slightly above the counter, it is your duty to figure out if it is your picture or not. No words exchanged. None. Not even in response to a million questions posed by the bodies standing in line. I could have had 20 kilos of dope strapped to my chest with a big neon sign that said "terrorist," but as long as I paid the $20, I’m pretty sure I could have gotten past this phase of Immigration.

Running total: $300 for tickets, $40 for Visas = $340.

We went through three more lines of customs and immigration officers carefully sizing us up as if we were alien creatures, before we finally made it through the airport. I’m pretty sure the tour group from Hong Kong had to pay a "special" tax to the customs inspector to recover the items that were "forbidden" in The Kingdom of Cambodia. And as for the dumb Australian woman who repeatedly announced to the world her possession of US$1,000 in cash: I wish for your safety, but