[yawn][stretch]

Well, it’s good to back in the land of the fully awake… I’ve spent the last few days partying hard in Nha Trang, in the company of many many very fun individuals, including one fabulous storyteller known in some circles, apparently, as Pisshead Si – I’d say we all agree that it’s an appropriate moniker. Along with Paul, Liam, Sam and several others whose names I either can’t remember or never knew, it’s a recipe for a serious bender.

The party began two days ago when I went on Mama Hanh’s four-island boat trip. Once we were all on the boat, around 9 a.m., our guide (whose name was Vietnamese for Strong Man) said a few words by way of introduction and welcome, followed by the reading of the rules:

– If you don’t have fun, you don’t go back.
– If you’re not drunk, you don’t go back.
– If you’re not full (of food, and too much of it), you don’t go back.

In any of these cases, we were told, we would be left with a life preserver out in the South China Sea and picked up by him the following day. This concluded the reading of the rules.

I wish I could remember the names of the islands we visited and do it in the proper order, but I don’t. I do, however, remember what happened, which is more important. First stop was snorkeling among some really beautiful and colorful coral and sponge formations. Some of my fellow boaters got sick of wrestling with their masks (which were crappy) and instead floated in life preservers, drinking BGI beer out of cans. Thus, it was about 10 a.m. when the drinking officially began.

Second stop, lunch. We all gorged ourselves while Strong Man reminded us that if we didn’t eat enough we would be left out to sea. After lunch, singing. Strong Man showed off his linguistic prowess (he can apparently sing in 26 languages) by doing a number for every nationality/language on the boat, which made about 10. Then, to make us feel better about our apparent ignorance, he taught us to sing Clementine in Vietnamese. Yes, Clementine. No, I don’t know why.

After singing, more drinking: it was time for the Floating Wine Bar. Strong Man sat in the middle of a strange, UFO looking contraption with a case of mulberry wine, and we all floated around him in life preservers until there was none left.

Two stops, more swimming, drinking and hilarity later, we returned to port around 4 in the afternoon and agreed to meet up at the Sailing Club for Happy Hour. What made us think this would be a good idea is beyond me. Happy hour runs from 6:30 to 10:30 every evening, and means 2-for-1 beers and free shots of vodka/pineapple/orange. Combine that with free pool all night and a gorgeous beachfront location – perfect for watching the moonrise – and you’ve got serious trouble. The plan, of course, is to get you to stay past happy hour. It works. We were there, I think, until about 3 in the morning.

So yesterday was a wash, lounging around on the beach and playing pool and staring blankly at inanimate objects was about all we could bring ourselves to do. That, and listening to Simon’s excellent tales.

And now, 12 hours of sleep later, I’m feeling pretty good. Off to Hoi An tonight, to (according to popular opinion) fend off millions of touts and perhaps have some clothing made, even though I keep telling myself I’m not going to.

I’ve still got stuff to post about the Delta and other things before I arrived bere, but that will have to wait. There’s just one other thing I want to put out there today:

It’s hard for me to find ways to remember and record the sheer volume of beauty I see in this country. The other day on the bus from Muine, I was watching rocky hills rise from the water’s edge, then fall away to enormous vibrant green rice paddies. The sea was a blue jewel off to the east, and ahead of us the rolling green foothills of the central highlands beckoned. Nha Trang lies just at the foot of these hills, and I’ll be passing through them tonight. It was a difficult choice to take a night bus, since I’ll be missing a lot of the scenery, but my hope is that I’ll be able to get enough sleep to make tomorrow a productive day anyway. If not, I’ll take it as a lesson learned and travel by day (or by train, which is comfortable but much more expensive) from now on. It occurs to me that much of this trip will lie dormant in my memory, waiting for moments to surface. It’s hard to accept that there’s no real way to set this down concretely – the beauty, the dozens of little excellent moments every day – but accept it I must.

And now, I’m shutting up. And all of you who read this and never write, I urge you to drop me a line sometime.

No kidding. Not only is it 30 feet from the beach, not only can I hear the waves as I sleep, not only is there a hammock 10 feet from the door, but there’s a disco ball and colored lighting in my room. Don’t ask me why, but there you have it.

I’m in Muine, which is about halfway between Siagon and Nha Trang for those of you following along at home, relaxing and swimming and reading about diving. I’ll be moving on in a few days, and hope to be in Hanoi before Tet (Chinese New Year), which will cripple the city beginning on February 1.

Before I came up here, I went out to the Mekong Delta for a few days, during which I had no internet access, so to those of you whose email went unanswered, I’m not dead and I’ll write you back soon, promise. Also, I’ve got some thoughts to collect about the Delta, which was a thought-provoking and educational experience. More on that to come. For now, it’s time to sit by the water and drink some vodka, and maybe start a club in my room. I do have both volumes of Lazy Dog…. Woohoo!

All those people who told me the Vietnamese are pushy and rude are on crack. After coping with the tuk-tuk drivers on Khao San Road (and elsewhere in Bangkok), these guys are an absolute dream. Sure, there’s lots of people trying to sell stuff, but everybody will take no for an answer – at least, they did from me. They even smiled and said goodbye – one guy gave me his stool to sit on while I waited for the museum to open. I did give it up and take a ride in a Cyclo – that’s a bicycle-driven rickshaw with the passenger on the front in a wheelbarrow-like contraption – but instead of (as in Bangkok) demanding ridiculous sums of money and then taking me shopping instead of to my destination, this guy cycled me around to about 3 of the places (out of 4) that I wanted to see here and then dropped me off at the 4th, all for under $2. On the way, he played tour guide as well, telling me what we were passing and when things were built. If it hadn’t been for him, I would have missed the grandmama tortoise at the Emperor Jade Pagoda.

Speaking of which, the temples here are very different from those in Thailand and Lao. Emperor Jade Pagoda was built in 1744, and is totally Chinese in style and language. There are roughly 6 chapels and over 12 rooms in total, all housed in a maze-like main building. The Buddha is indeed represented and holds pride of place, but many other Hindu and Buddhist dieties are in residence also, as are what I can only assume are ancient Chinese heroic figures. If I weren’t so woefully undereducated on these mythologies, I could probably go on for a good long time. I would particularly love to know more about the tortoise ponds just outside – all my guide could tell me is they’re special animals. There was one pond that had literally hundreds of little guys in it, and the other just had the big sleepy one. If anyone can enlighten me, please do. As it is, we’ll move on.

There is indeed, for those of you who may have heard, a miniature replica of Notre Dame Cathedral here – it’s about 1/10 of the size, brick, and totally surreal against its surroundings. I was unfortunately not able to enter, so I can’t comment on the stained glass, but the flying buttresses were sadly missing. It was not the highlight of the day.

The highlight was the War Remnants Museum, an oddly if diplomatically named monument to what we call the Vietnam War. It was this that really struck me. We’ve all heard the numbers and the rationale (or lack thereof) associated with the conflict, but gathered together with images and narratives from photographers of all nationalities who died or went missing, an exhibition dedicated to the worldwide protest of the war, and frank accounts of the victims and later repercussions, all made for an absolutely staggering experience. The last time I felt something like this was at the Checkpoint Charlie Museum in Berlin, after which all I could do was wander the city for a few hours, fighting back tears. This was not much different.

What I found most impressive is the complete lack of bitterness with which the war was presented. While it’s true that most of the atrocities shown were those committed by the Americans with the help of their allies, the prison conditions of the Saigon government were also meticulously documented. And although there were no accounts of the tortures visited on nonvietnamese by the Viet Cong, the American anti-war demonstrators were given pride of place in that exhibit. And when you look at the sheer numbers of Vietnamese – particularly civilians – who died, it’s pretty incredible that the tone of the entire place is focused not on persecution but on remembering what happened last time so we don’t do it again.

I couldn’t help but think, as I looked at the photos of Hanoi and other cities in the North, schools and hospitals and residential neighborhoods razed to the ground, of the impact of the Allied bombs on Berlin and other German cities in World War 2, of the impact of American bombs in Afghanistan and perhaps soon in Iraq. It astonishes me that we still think this kind of action can have a sustainable, positive outcome. Punishing the civilians of a country over whose government they have no control is no way to change the behavior of that government. Killing civilians is not the way to influence foreign or domestic policy. That should be abundantly clear by now, especially with the recent killing of civilians on American soil. And yet we persist, again going counter to the wishes and beliefs of most of the rest of the world, including many of our NATO allies, threatening to wage war alone if need be – this time on Iraq, but again, who will suffer more – Hussein or his people? And once war begins, it is not easily ended. Nor is it easy for allies to stand by and watch the bloody outcome without becoming involved.

I don’t know what can be done to stop this from happening. It seems protests like those in the late 60s are outdated in the US, and I don’t know if there are enough dissenters to really raise a crowd of 50,000 in DC again anyway. Looking at it all from this side of the world, I just hope it doesn’t happen. The world is more connected now than ever, and I don’t just mean by the Internet – any action will have a much wider effect than those of 40 years ago. I don’t have an answer, just a deep feeling of sorrow and foreboding. I pray it doesn’t happen.

I don’t feel I can end on that depressing note, so I will share with you all a bit of joy in my little traveller’s world: last night I arrived in Saigon and took a room at a recommended guest house. It costs more than I’d like to spend, but that’s generally the case in big cities. The good news is, I’ve got a soft cushy bed, air conditioning, a window that faces a *quiet* alley, hot water in a private bath, and – best of all – a bathtub! I hadn’t seen one of those since I left home, and you can rest assured that I’m going to spend some quality time soaking in it just as soon as I finish my delicious (and free!) dinner.

Over and out.

A bit of truth for those of you who are considering T-Mobile as your wireless carrier: before I left the States, I called to confirm that I could still send and receive SMS without incurringany extra charges while I’m travelling. They assured me that the first 500 messages would still be totally free. Now they are charging me $1.50 each, both incoming and outgoing. As if we didn’t already know, DO NOT TRUST anything these people tell you. I am fighting the charges, and will keep you all posted.

More on the travel – and the new Lord of the Rings movie – when I simmer down. Over and out.

[entry updated on 3. January for corrections and minor additions]

Happy 2003, everybody!

New Year’s Eve on a tropical island can be a lot of fun, especially when you’re hanging out with Divers, some of the craziest people on earth. We all went to a little bar up the street from the Dive Center called Kudeta to start things off – even though things had really been started hours earlier, even before I came back from my afternoon dives. Anyway, at Kudeta everyone proceeded to get as far out of their heads as they could manage, assisted by all manner of chemical and organic compounds, many of which I didn’t even know were there until late on New Year’s Day. By midnight, Nigel (former DJ, current Dive Instructor) was in the booth wearing nothing but his headphones, screaming, “YOU WANNA SEE MY KNOB? YOU WANNA SEE MY KNOB? HERE IT IS!!”, alternating with “IT’S NEW YEAR’S EVE!! EVERYONE NOT DANCING IS A CUNT!! ALL OF YOU, DOWN THAT SIDE OF THE BAR: CUNTS!!!” This, apparently, is standard holiday behavior for Nigel, who was also naked on Christmas Eve and yelling into a microphone. Commented a bystander: “Nigel sure likes to get his kit off, eh?” Yes.

Midnight was great – everyone in the bar knew everyone else so there was an extended period of wandering around hugging everyone you saw, shouting HAPPY NEW YEAR into their ears because you were so deaf from having HAPPY NEW YEAR shouted into your ear by the last 15 people you hugged, and lots of toasting and drink buying and so forth. After the affection subsided, Owen (Divemaster in Training) began rounding people up and putting them in taxis to our next destination, a club on the opposite side of the island. By this time, Owen was quite a sight – sweating profusely, pupils like saucers, eyes rolling, with a heavy list to starboard – but I must grant that he was efficient. With military precision and liberal bullying, he got us all motivated: “YOU. Get in that truck. NOW. Tim, put her on the back of your bike and get going to In Touch. NOW.” [ed. note 03/01/2003: having spoken to many of the people there, not even Owen remembers leaving Kudeta, much less marshalling the troops. Nobody seems to recall much of what happened later on, either. Owen woke up the following afternoon on a bus near the beach, wondering what happened.] The only problem was that by the time we got there, several of us realized that we’d already had plenty to drink and moreover were still pretty tired from the afternoon dives, and really just wanted to go home. So we gamely downed a beer or two an then went back out in search of transportation. I don’t think it would be possible to adequately explain the insanity that is transit on Koh Tao on New Year’s Eve, after 3 solid days of rain, so I won’t try. Let’s just say it took a while and we hung on really tight. In bed by two, I was in excellent shape for an afternoon of diving on New Year’s day. Which brings me to:

Part 2: Happy to Be Here
From the moment we all arrived at the dive center, it was clear that it was going to be an interesting day. I was a bit tired and a bit nervous about my equalization problem, Susan* had lost her bag (passport, Visa card, cash, camera) at a beach party the night before and Pam*‘d had her cash stolen; Cameron (Divemaster) was a little bleary-eyed and hung over, and Marco (Instructor) looked beat.

Now, before I continue, I should probably say a few words about my fellow divers on this particular afternoon. As I may or may not have mentioned, I had some trouble equalizing my sinuses on a previous dive and therefore had to join another group to complete my re-certification. Most of the group was fine, good underwater and knowledgeable about equipment and procedures. Susan (the one who lost her bag) was a bit on the nervous side, but did very well at 18 meters, Lucy and Stefan were very together, and then there was Cindy*. Cindy was nowhere near fine. Cindy couldn’t remember whether to inflate or deflate, couldn’t remember to watch the others in the group and stay with them underwater, couldn’t remember that in order to move she had to kick her legs. She didn’t kick at all, and on every dive I was on she had to be reeled in because she was wandering off in a direction entirely apart from the rest of us.

New Year’s Day was not your average afternoon diving experience. The first dive went very smoothly, right up until the end, when we did a safety stop 5 meters underwater. I was hovering around Marco’s knees, Susan and Pam were drifting up near the surface, and Cameron was struggling to drag Cindy up from the bottom (she wouldn’t kick) when I heard a motor. I looked up just in time to see a dark shadow passing, Marco kicking up and grabbing Susan and Pam and yanking them back down – the boat missed their heads by less than a meter. This boat, confronted with two dive boats on the two pinnacles of the site, with no less than 4 groups of divers underwater (bubbles clearly visible) between the two, had decided to cut straight through the center of the dive site – at speed. This is unheard of, and completely outside the bounds of any sort of common sense. The worst part was that it belonged to another dive school. Marco was furious, Susan was beside herself, and everyone was shaken. Fortunately, everyone was also completely unharmed.

We got back on the boat and headed for the next dive site. Susan decided she was in no shape to get back in the water, so the rest of us went down. It was time for our last exercise – compass navigation. Sound difficult? Not really. You look at the compass to get a bearing, then swim in a straight line for about 20 seconds. Then you turn around and swim straight back. Marco waited at the beginning/end point, and Cameron swam with us. Since visibility was low and Cameron was ahead of me, I kept an eye on Cindy. When I was turning around, so was she. I thought, “Great, she can see me, I can see her, she’ll follow me back and it’ll all be good.” I was grievously mistaken. I swam back, and one by one the other all arrived – except for Cindy. We waited a minute or two and then surfaced, according to the standard PADI procedures. No sign of her. Marco went looking for her in 3 different directions. No sign of her. Pam started to panic. Still no sign. Finally, about 5 minutes later, she surfaced – roughly 100 meters away, back at the boat.

By the time we got back to the dive center we all needed a beer. But the good news is that I’m legal to dive again, and planning to do as much more as possible. I’m going to have to forgo the next round of courses, though, since going up ladders on to boats with full SCUBA and 6 kilos of weights on has not been good for my ankle. So I’ll take it easy for a few days and then head off to lovely Vietnam around the 7th or 8th.

So what did you guys do for New Year’s?

And a big friendly greeting to you all from lovely Koh Tao, one of the best SCUBA destinations in the world! I’m here doing some diving at Buddha View on the south coast, which may be the most idyllic place I’ve ever seen…

Picture the ideal tropical island. Lush, verdant rainforested hillsides rise from perfect blue water, capped here and there with gently sloping rock formations. Scatter bungalows on the hillsides and hammocks along the beach. Add sun shine by day and a lovely breeze at night. picture a large bay with calm, warm water to swim in and subtract all jellyfish, tiger and white shark. Got it? Are you sighing yet? That’s where I am. My bungalow is about 1 minute from the water, 2 minutes from the dive center, and miles and miles from any pollution and bustle. Power is only on from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. and people smile all day long. I can’t wait to see some of the dive sites – which begins tomorrow.

My only fear at this point is I’ll never leave here. I’ve still got all of Vietnam and a lot remaining in Thailand and Lao to see. Odds, anyone? I guess it all depends on how badly sunburnt I get and whether I wind up with the bends…

Well, it’s Christmas. Although I must admit it’s hard to get into the Christmas spirit – aside from the bartenders at Gulliver’s all decked out in Santa hats with chasing LED lights and the (really a little bit creepy) Christmas music in the all-Thai department store down the street, it’s not really looking or feeling a lot like Christmas here. Hey, what do you expect from a country where (a) 90% of the population is Buddhist, (b) Hallmark has no foothold, (c) everybody’s pretty much nice all the time and (d) there are no Douglas Fir trees?

I, however, am feeling perky and oddly like wearing a nice wool sweater, despite the fact that it’s typically hot and sticky in Bangkok today. I suppose the biggest difficulty stems from not being around most of the people I love, which is normally the way I spend this holiday. I miss you all, and will raise a toast (or several) to you this fine evening.

And what do we have planned for the holiday? An extravagant dinner tonight at a swank new place in town, followed by present opening and much festivity. Tomorrow, it’s the traditional Christmas Day activities: hangover recovery, TV watching, and eating. It promises to be a fabulous few days.

So Happy Christmas, Merry Christmas, Happy Channuka, Happy Holidays, whichever greeting you prefer – may your days be merry and bright, even if all your Christmases aren’t white.

I have returned from the mountains of the north, with a sprained ankle and a boyfriend with a head cold, new friends and excellent memories. Leave it to me to skid down a hillside and twist my ankle painfully only 15 minutes from our first night’s host village – I have decided that I’m still all good on water, but total crap on land. The mountains of Northern Thailand are spectacular, though, and I was able to enjoy (in lieu of Day 2’s 4 hour hike) an exhilarating 90 minute motorcycle ride through what I would have been certain was unpassable terrain for any motor vehicle. The kid driving me must have been using some kind of magic jungle force, swerving around rocks and ravines, roaring up 60 degree inclines and twisting through even steeper downhills, crossing streams and dodging rocks, negotiating hairpin curves without skidding fatally into ravines. It was like the best rollercoaster ride ever, complete with impending doom at every turn. Most of all, it was a real challenge to my newfound philosophy of not worrying about things I can’t help. I actually found myself looking around at the gorgeousness of the land as we rode (while hanging on for dear life, mind you), and I got off the bike with a grin on my face. Might be the best 200 baht I’ve spent yet (around $4.50)

Anyway, a few other things about trekking: first, if you’re going in the winter and they tell you it’s going to be cold, do not scoff (as we did), think “how cold can it be?” and just bring a long-sleeved t-shirt. They are not kidding. Since our group was very small (only 6 people) we were able to use the extra blankets provided by the villagers (Lahu) at our first stop for the usual group of 10-12. This meant 5 blankets apiece instead of the usual 2, and we all went to bed wearing at least 2 layers of clothing. Most of us still didn’t sleep, and those who did woke up far too soon, shivering and wishing for down duvets.

By the end of the second day, we were at a lower elevation and when we arrived at our second (Lisu) village, it was hot and sunny and pleasant. We dried off from our rafting adventure (over a waterfall!) in no time and happily speculated that it probably wouln’t be as cold that night. We were sorely mistaken. After a high of 30 degrees Celcius, the temperature dropped to an overnight low of 5. That’s right, only 5 degrees from freezing. We each had 6 blankets this time, and I think everyone got at least a few hours of sleep. I woke up around 2:30 in the morning needing to pee, and after waking Stephen and rooting around for flashlight and paper, I started limping toward the door. On the way, I lost my footing and staggered crazily, almost falling on top of poor Shelly, who had the mat closest to the door. When we discussed the event the following day, we decided it was really a good thing I hadn’t, since we all would have been laughing too hard to get me off of her before she suffocated and died.

When I got back from the toilet, I found my blankets in a tangled mess on my sleeping mat, and was for some time totally unable to figure out how to get them all on straight again. True to form, cold and cranky and with a throbbing ankle, I started bitching at Stephen. “I can’t get my blankets on!” I hissed, as if he could do anything about it. “I’m going to freeze to death in fucking Thailand!”

Sources, I hear, have issued heightened terrorism warnings in Thailand, specifically for the Full Moon Party on Ko Pagnan, which is just about the biggest and best collection of drunken, drugged, oversexed, underdressed, debauched Westerners an Islamic militant could possibly wish for. I am pleased to announce that I will not be in attendance – not really because of the terrorism warnings, per se (although that does provide another very good reason) but rather because it just doesn’t sound like all that much fun. Instead, I will be trekking around Northwestern Thailand for the next 3 days, then living in the lap of luxury in Bangkok for Christmas, and once Stephen heads back to the States (no luck extending the trip), it’s off to Ko Tao for some quiet time with the fishies. Worry not, ye terrorist-fearing friends! Ko Tao, although a lovely idyllic island, is known for its excellent SCUBA diving and not, mercifully, for the biggest parties this side of pretty much anywhere.

Feel better? Me too.

So here I am, back in Bangkok. Apologies for the long lapse in posts – when I’m having fun, I have a hard time sitting in Internet cafes for an extended period of time, and when I’m not having fun (i.e. bored), there’s nothing much to say. You understand.

Vientiane was so lame that I really wished I’d stayed in Vang Vieng for another day or even two. It was expensive, there wasn’t much of anything to see, and it was kind of dingy and depressing. I splurged on a posh room and spent two and a half days catching up with world events courtesy of BBC World News. Then I came back to Bangkok a day early, to scare the crap out of Stephen by knocking on the door to his room at 5 in the morning when he’d just arrived 3 hours before. He says he thought it was the police. I wonder if there’s something I should know about.

But Stephen has indeed arrived safely in Bangkok, and he and I are having a ball. He is, naturally, still exhausted from the flight, but being a trooper and keeping up with me and my 50 Baht cocktail sprees. We’re trying to figure out where to go next, and whether to leave the country. We’ve heard really good things from fellow travellers about Cambodia, so Ankgor and Siem Riep are sounding like possibilities, and of course I would have no trouble at all going back to Vang Vieng for, say, New Year’s Eve or something. I’ll keep you all posted, of course.

But before I go to the National Museum, I’ve got to mention a few unrelated events, to add to the ever-growing body of evidence that the world is not as big as it looks.

Yesterday morning, we were walking over to Boots to pick up a few things when I caught the eye of a young Thai woman. She looked familiar. At first, I thought she might just be someone I’ve seen around locally (in Bangkok), but then something in the back of my head clicked. I turned around as she passed me and we pointed at each other. I had met her at a bar in Chang Mai, where she was drinking with a friend of a friend of a friend (American, as it happens). Now she’s in Bangkok.

Later on, in the afternoon, walking back from Wat Pho, I spotted a couple of guys talking to a streetside vendor. I thought, “No, it can’t be…” but it was. Christof and Axel, from the slow boat in Lao. I hadn’t even realized they were coming back to Bangkok, but they go back to Germany from here on Sunday. Hopefully – they called the airline yesterday, and were told they’re not on the passenger list…

Around 11:30 last night, after chatting with an Aussie/Brit couple for an hour or two over way too many cocktails, we were meandering down Soi Rambuttri when someone called my name. It was Martiyn Blom, another slow boat acquaintance. I last saw him in Vang Vieng, and likewise hadn’t known he was going to be back in Bangkok. He was sitting with Christof and Axel, whom he’d just run into himself, drinking Vodka/Red Bulls at a bar van run by three gorgeous ladyboys. We had a few toasts to see him off – he goes back to Holland this evening.

It is a small world, indeed. Maybe it’s not as odd as I think, maybe it’s that I’ve been following, for the past week or two, the easiest and therefore most travelled routes, but either way it’s both heartening and a little odd to think that one can walk down the street in the biggest city in Southeast Asia and run into people one knows. Kind of like home, except I still only know one bartender. Sigh…