China, Viet Nam, Thailand,
Hong Kong and Taiwan
Or
Mike and
Marcy Explore the
Orient
Journals written
by
February 17, 1995 to March 13, 1995 Mike
Richards
February 12, 1995
Sunday Los Angeles, California
To begin the
journal now, less than a week before the actual trip begins,
overlooks the
massive preparation that Marcy and I have already done. I
first discussed
my intention to visit the Orient after my trip to Russia
in mid-1994. Marcy said that she'd enjoy going, but had
never backpacked
before.
We talked about
difficulties and perils involving my style of travel and
she was receptive
to trying it. We decided to take a short
trip
somewhere more
locally to test our collective abilities.
Marcy and I
went to a
sporting goods store, REI in Northridge, where she bought a
backpack. She was astounded that she really bought
one. I noticed that
she put the
receipt in a secure place, just in case she would want to
return it prior
to using it.
We did make the
short trip, an adventure in itself, to Cuba.
She
surpassed both
our expectations of her adaptation to a strange
environment. Only one book, published in England, was available on
Cuba, so we had no knowledge of what to
expect. We had a great time and
a wonderful
adventure unfolded before us. She had
proven to herself, and
me, that she
would enjoy this casual style of travel.
Our original plan
was to land in Singapore, about fifty miles north of
the Equator, then
travel north a short distance to Kuala Lumpur and
Phuket or the island of Pei-Pei, which were described as beautiful but
touristy
spots. Then we would go northeast to Bangkok. Cambodia,
although it is
extremely dangerous to go there, holds
the wonders of the
temple complex of
Angkor Wat. I
wanted to get there especially. In
Vietnam we intend to see Ho Chi Minh
City
(Saigon) and Hanoi, its
northern
population center. Then into Hong Kong and China especially
Beijing and other east coast cities. Possibly we'd go to Xian where the
thousands of clay
soldiers were unearthed recently. To
have done all
that would have
been a tremendous undertaking and probably would not have
been possible.
The many books we
bought gave us plenty of ideas and were helpful in
getting overall
ideas about where we should visit and why.
Marcy's
manicurist, a Viet Namese fellow named Andrew, was
most
instrumental in
guiding us to seek advice and tickets from Voyages Saigon
in Little Saigon (Orange County).
Marcy called him and was impressed
favorably with
what he had to say. We drove down to see
him on a
Saturday in early
January. He warned us of the great
dangers of Cambodia
in the same
breath that he spoke of the beauty of Viet Nam (his home).
In mid-December
there was the purchase of a $1,500 video camera -- state
of the art --
which would be much more useful than the huge monster of a
camera I took
with us to Cuba.
The cost of film and batteries are very
expensive, too.
We considered
weather as a major factor as to when we wanted to go. All
books said
December to March were best to avoid because of monsoons in
Viet Nam and the deep chill in China.
My son, Mark, won a trip to Hawaii
(from Financial
Indemnity) so we must return on March 13, 1995 so my
office would get
out of control.
Mr. Ching and Annie at Voyages Saigon called Marcy with a price
of $1,620
per person that
included several flights over areas, which, he felt, were
unsafe to travel
by land. He emphasized the dangers of Cambodia again,
and Marcy made up
her mind at that moment she would not accompany me if I
went to Angkor Wat in Cambodia.
To confirm, for
our own sake, that this was the cheapest way to do it, we
individually
called another travel agency and neither of us was able to
come close to
matching costs. I did read a book that
suggested travel as
a courier that
would cut costs very much, but several inconveniences
would have been
heaped upon us. This just wasn’t for us.
On Saturday,
January 30, 1995,
Marcy and I visited Ching and after a long
while we bought
tickets from him. We took him to lunch
and he gave us
several Asian
travel pointers to think about. None of
which I can
recollect now.
Marcy left her
passport and I left mine at the travel agency because
Ching said we needed visas for China and Viet Nam.
At the time we are
doing this, the
newspapers issue daily reports of closer relations
between Viet Nam and the U.S.
Full diplomatic relations are opened and
the American flag
now flies again in Hanoi.
Today’s newspaper says Los
Angeles' Mayor
Richard Riordan wanted to establish sister cityhood
with
Saigon
but the City Council turned it down.
Other stories in the local
newspapers told
of the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia.
Two Americans were shot
and killed as
they were on their way to Angkor Wat.
Annie advised me
that I had to renew my passport since it would be valid
for only another
three months and China insisted on at least six months.
I went to the Federal Building on Wilshire, as Marcy did three weeks
earlier. I got the passport two days later and
immediately had it sent
next day delivery
to Annie at Voyages so they could get my China visa.
About February
fifth we went to a local doctor who gave us some shots and
pills to prevent
malaria and other ailments very common in Asia.
There
is no turning
back now.
On January 22 the
split with Poucette concluded when I moved out of
Playa
del Rey. I moved in
with Marcy, whom I was spending most of my time
with anyway. Now we have more time together, and we'll be
able to talk
about this day
and night. Each night we discuss our
trip, falling
asleep while
reading about what lays ahead is common for either of us.
Discussion about
the trip was the focus point of most of our conversation
constantly. Mr. Ching called to
tell us he now has our flight plans laid
out and we should
visit him to review or adjust them.
Yesterday, February
11, 1995, we went
out and bought a bunch of stuff for
the trip. Clothing, books, cosmetics. We traveled to many stores under
some ill effects
from the pills or the shots or both.
When we returned
to the condominium, Ross was there to take us to dinner
but we were not
hungry, and he was tired from a hard day of golfing.
The February
12, 1995-edition
of the Los Angeles Times newspaper says the
Exchange Rate is:
Taiwan’s dollar:
.0434 / 23.01 per US dollar
Thailand Baht:
.0448 / 22.29 per US dollar
Voyagers Saigon
99 Bolsa Chica
Westminster
Mr. Ching and Annie (714) 775-
7884
Temperature
C to F = 9/5 x C?
+ 32
F to C = 5(F? -
32)
9
Distance:
1 Mile = 1.61 km
1 KM = .6214 Mile
Centimeters to
inches = .3937
Inches to
centimeters = 2.54
Weight
Lbs. to Kg .37324
Kg to Lbs. 2.2046
NOTES OF THINGS
I'D LIKE TO SEE
• Thailand
• Temple Ruins at Pimai
• Near Nakhon Ratchasima
• Phra Pathom Cheddi in Nakhon
Pathorn
• Pattaya
• Bangkok
PRESCRIPTION FOR
GLASSES
D.V. O.D. - 0.75 - 1.50 X .098
O) - 1.25 - 1.00
X .088
N.V.
O.D. + .50 - 1.50 X 98
O.S. + .25 - 1.00 X 88
TEMPERATURE
Hi/Low Rain
Beijing 45/24 18%
Hong Kong
64/55 18%
Taipei
67/54 23%
February 17, 1995
9:45 P.M. LAX
Tom Bradley
International Terminal Gate 103, China Airlines
This flight is
still on schedule to leave at 11:55 P.M.
Ross, her
brother, drove
Marcy and me to the airport. I'm very
tired. I worked
until 2:30 P.M. then I drove out to Sherman Oaks to pack
the rest of my
stuff. I exchanged cash and traveler checks and put
it in safe places
with a slit in
the belt and other hidden-from-sight places.
I advised Mark
about running the office on his own, but he knows how to
do it. Everybody in my family called to wish to us
a good and safe trip
(except Jessica
and Michele, who hardly ever call anyway).
Mr. Ching
asked us to be at
the airport by 9 P.M., three hours early.
So we ate at
a fancy Italian
restaurant, Spumante, in the Valley, then crawled
across
congested Friday
night freeways to make one stop at Trader Joe's Market.
We bought some
Turkish apricots, English biscuits, American cheese, and
sausage -- all
together costing $9.25. As we left the
market, the time
was 9:05
P.M. The airport was very busy,
especially the Bradley terminal
where it seemed
like ants crawling over other ants. We
were assigned
seats, and then
we walked to the Terminal Gate 103.
I hadn't slept,
except the brief hour rest of last evening, so I fell
asleep while
waiting the three hours before departure.
Marcy woke me at
11:30 P.M., still
15 minutes before the mobbed boarding scene was played
out. This was my first clear observation of “line
cue etiquette,”
oriental-style.
While one of the
stewards attempts some organization of those to board,
another steward
reminds several of the passengers that they have too much
carry-on luggage,
and they will be charged extra. I noted
that the
condition of
"polite" was not especially omnipresent here; the steward
chose passengers
randomly other than the passengers without luggage.
I fell asleep
again quickly, after we put our gear away.
I was awakened
by a pretty,
round-faced stewardess who offered breakfast of
"an omelet
or fried
noodles,” your choice. "Fried
noodles," I replied. I wanted to
get right into
this thing. The noodles had bits of
seafood or chicken --
I wasn't certain
-- but it was good, even though it tasted a bit oily.
My watch is still
set for L.A. time, and, according to it, the time is
now 6:45
a.m. Just sitting, watching the time go
by is a difficult waste
of time.
I am very tired
but, because of conditions here on the plane (less space
per passenger,
most things written in Chinese, etc.) I was a bit
withdrawn, and I
tried to spend as much time as possible sleeping. Most
of the movies
shown were martial arts films. All of
them seemed the
same, and we were
treated to an American movie (subtitled in Chinese)
with Steve Martin
called "Simple Twists of Fate."
It was terrible in the
beginning (I
can't speak of the remainder of the movie because I didn't
watch it
through). We land now in less than five
hours.
They have flashed
an information chart on the movie screen after the
movie was
finished:
Time until Arrival: 3.11 Minutes
The plane is over Japan
now
We have traveled 2,153
Mi.
The Flight Will Last 13
Hrs.
We are traveling at the
speed of 331 KM Per Hour
Still Marcy
sleeps, but when we land in Taipei we have about forty
minutes to catch
the plane to Viet Nam. I wonder how
others who are
doing this
similar trip? The ticket agent had said
seventy per cent of
this full plane
will be going on to Saigon, why are there no direct
flights? Fortunately, we have backpacks to move around
quickly, so we
have no problem
going directly to the connecting flight.
Marcy changed
plans through Mr. Ching, who arranged for first night
hotel
at Dong Ho Hotel
for fifty dollars nightly. Someone
would meet us at
the airport and
take our backpacks and us to the hotel (for twenty bucks
. . . Now that’s
the ole American spirit). Ching confirmed the train
ticket to
Hue. I reminded her that we chose to
take this flight, rather
than an earlier
departure time which was cheaper, so that we'd be
arriving during
daylight and we could handle those details.
February 19,
1995 Sunday Taipei to Ho Chi Minh
City
Looking at my
watch, now reset to local time, it is 9:50 A.M. We should
land soon in
Saigon (also called Ho Chi Minh City). We've been flying
for over twenty
hours now, with only a short pause in between. I have
slept enough to
exist and function normally, but the long night must have
affected my
biological clock in ways yet unbeknownst to me.
This kind of
change takes a
couple of days before it really affects me.
The first hour of
this flight was spent completing a massive compilation
of forms, handed
to us by the stewardess. After reading
advice in the
tour books, the
forms are pretty typical based on what the guidebooks
describe. It's an unusual feeling to stand out as an
obvious minority as
Caucasians do in
this part of the world. We should be
landing soon; I
believe I'm
prepared. The meeting at the airport to
check over the forms
at four different
checkpoints was a little strange.
When we landed in
Taipei we had forty minutes to catch the flight to Ho
Chi Minh City (formerly called Saigon). While waiting in this very clean
airport, I was
amazed that none of the plants are real -- all plastic!
Out of 70 people
waiting for this flight only four other people were not
Oriental. Many were fluent in English. Language has not been any
problem so
far. The food on the plane was different
from what I am used
to, but that is
what I look forward to when I am traveling.
Because of
the frequent time
changes, I ate four breakfasts before arriving in
Saigon. I ate the same thing because every time
because each time a meal
was served the
stewardesses gave me the same choices:
stir-fried noodles
with a shredded
chicken or egg omelet. Unfortunately
each time a few
hours had past
and the passengers were scheduled for a meal we’d always
be in a time zone
that dictated it was time for breakfast.
Since I have
a slight aversion
to eggs, I ate the noodles. Apparently
this is a
common choice for
breakfast. Both flights were on China
Airlines. The
landing of the
second flight in Ho Chi Minh was smooth on the runway,
but
the wait to get
through Customs was slow, tedious, and uncomfortable.
Marcy and I
passed through quickly once we got to the front of the line.
As we left the
airport, all luggage and handbags were X-rayed.
There was
a lot of pushing
and crowding, but we muddled through. I
was surprised
to find the
fellow waiting for us, according to instructions from Mr.
Ching in the U.S. I was amazed that he found us through the
throngs of
people. His name is Mr. Ban. He drove to the hotel somewhere in the
city close to the
Floating Hotel. We are staying at a pleasant-looking
five story
building called Saigon Hotel. While we
are on the fifth
floor, the view
is not anything worth photographing. Old
buildings crowd
around our hotel
to prevent any photo opportunity.
After spending
around forty minutes regrouping and showering, we went to
the hotel lobby
to meet Mr. Ban, who was waiting for us.
He hired a cab,
and we began the
tour of the city at one p.m. local time in Saigon. We
drove along the
very busy, wide avenues of commerce. We
watched
thousands of
merchants transport goods, five feet high, on their rusty
bicycle or
smoke-spewing moped. The random action
of all vehicles meant
constant
near-accidents, at every turn, at every moment.
Watching each
driver maneuver
his or her vehicle through cross traffic was a phenomenon
that exists in
other overpopulated areas of the world, but I don't
understand how
they do it without frequent accidents.
Our guide brought
us to the Palace of Reunification, which is now used as
a memorial to the
Reunification of North and South Viet Nam.
The
President
previously used the Palace. Before him
the King, having it
been rebuilt
numerous times in its spotty history, used it.
I found it
to be less than
interesting. The architecture was bland
and ignoble.
Nobody lives here
except a caretaker. It had no life of
its own despite
a crazy-quilt
history. When I told the guide I had
enough, he was
surprised, but
took us back to the colorful streets of Ho Chi Minh.
Cloth Street,
Cigarette Street, Coconut Street, many
of the streets of
commerce are
entirely devoted to certain product sales.
I had my first
roll of pictures
developed at a photo store. For 6"
x 8" double prints
it cost 160,000
Dong, about $14.50.
We were tired so
at 4:30 p.m., we went back to the hotel.
We planned
to go out to the
Floating Hotel for dinner. Instead, I
laid myself down
for a rest, and
didn't awake until one in the very early morning the next
morning. After writing for twenty minutes, I went
back to sleep for
another five
hours. We got dressed in our small
room. The air
conditioner had
been on all night because of the heat.
I waited for
Marcy to join me,
downstairs, for breakfast.
February 20,
1995, Monday Ho Chi Minh
City, Viet Nam
The restaurant in
the hotel seemed good, even though I overheard a
hostess/waitress
remark to another patron that she was sorry because they
had no napkins
today. I would soon discover that there
were many items
that they just
did not make available, only because they felt that the
item was
superfluous and not important. That list
includes napkins and
knives.
We sat and read
the menu that was printed in English, French, Chinese,
and
Vietnamese. I asked for the fried
chicken with vegetables -- oops!
No chicken yet
today, the waitress said in faltering English.
“Then,” I
said, “bring me
the pork noodle soup.” Marcy ordered an
omelet. During
our light
breakfast the waitress brought a saucer and teacup over which
posed a silvery
device that held coffee grounds and hot water.
Slowly
the boiling water
seeped into the cup. It was very
aromatic, but Marcy's
coffee tastes
better, still, it was a good cup of coffee.
The soup was
passable, so I
ate it, quickly -- I was hungry.
Mr. Bahn, our guide from Voyages Saigon, was there to meet me
at nine
a.m. as
previously agreed. I told him to wait
for a little while, so I
could finish my
meal. Marcy and I had struck up a
conversation with an
American from
Michigan named Duke who was on a honeymoon with his bride.
They were in
Taiwan before this city and really enjoyed it.
Our meal was
charged to the
room. Bahn
brought us to the waiting cab. We drove
out
of the steamy
city. Motorbikes by the thousand, a few
trucks, buses, or
cars and every
remaining open space filled with bicycles or hurried
pedestrian. Lines are painted down the streets for
advisory help, but
few drivers paid
heed to the advice, preferring to cut their own path to
whatever
destination they were headed. No driver
hesitates to head into
oncoming traffic
across the white line if he is certain he’ll be able to
force his way
back into this line at the last possible moment. I’m
sure every driver
must have high blood pressure.
Our cab flew
forward, occasionally having the roof of the vehicle
regularly pounded
by the fist of a cyclist who felt we were too close to
him or her. In the swirling morass of vehicles of every
kind it would be
impossible for
this not to happen. We drove through suburb after suburb
of Saigon. Bahn said the name
of one particularly attractive (in a
primitive way)
village was called Potato Corner. It was
a common sight
to see a cyclist
with a gaggle of ducks or small pigs within a cage
fastened to the
rear of his vehicle.
After a couple of
hours we arrived at Tay Ninh,
a temple for Taoism,
which, according
to Bahn, is now a dying religion because of
governmental
persecution. The ceremony, which, is performed daily was
in process. I
filmed much of
it. The temple and the rites seemed
similar to Buddhist
rites I've
witnessed before. The colors seemed
bright and eclectic, but
totally in
harmony somehow.
The weather has
been warm and moist. The air
conditioning in the car was
great relief from
the heat. Eventually it became too cold
in the car,
and I had to open
a window to escape the cold.
Next stop was a
small village food stand, exactly the kind I was advised
not to go
to. Chicken parts and pork bits were
lying in the cooking area
drawing a great
audience of black flies. There are many
Vietnamese
enjoying lunches
at one of the twenty small round tables provided for
their use. Several patrons stood by the open kitchen,
chatting with the
chef. Bamboo leaves covered a large frame of
robust bamboo poles,
providing shade
for the customers. Bahn
explained this is his favorite
restaurant. The guide, a youthful looking forty-seven
years old,
explained that he
often brings his grandchildren here.
The first course
served to us was a potpourri of local greens and weeds
piled high over
one large platter for communal use by all those at our
table. No dressing, but the flavors from the varied
greens combined in a
uniquely bitter
way. I didn’t like it. Bahn and the
driver were
sitting at a
separate table until we invited them to join us. The next
course followed
smoothly because the plate of greens was refilled. The
procedure
continued, as I eventually saw, to take an assortment of the
indigenous weeds,
lay them orderly on a thin, limpid pancake made of
rice. Then a white radish, two small chunks of
pork, then roll it all
tightly to
resemble an egg roll. This is dunked
into a vinegary fish
sauce and eaten,
by hand, in the same fashion that I would eat a taco.
For four people
it cost 99,000 Dong, which about eight dollars.
Seeing Caucasians
fascinated people. They constantly
stared. I didn’t
have a problem
with their curiosity, however they would come very close.
I think they
sniffed the air around me. It is true
that cultures with a
different diet
will cast an odor that is just as foreign.
The open-
air restaurant
was pleasurable to a measure. I had
certain trepidation
about eating at
an establishment like this. It was
probably ill advised
to do so, but we
did it.
Back into the
refrigerated auto we sat; it was refuge from the oppressive
heat. We had to travel another seventy kilometers
until we got to the Cu
Chi Tunnels. These tunnels were used, successfully, to
kill and harass
American and
French troops who were entrenched in positions around
Saigon. No other Americans were there. The three levels of tunnels were
difficult to
maneuver through because they were made for much smaller
people. I found it hard to carry a camera and bag
with me. Still I
wanted to see it,
more than the problems of mobility I had to deal with
as I scraped through
the narrow corridors, so Marcy and I just stooped
down and did it.
The admission fee
was $3.00 U.S. A film played in English
extolling the
virtues of
several young Vietnamese children-heroes who earned a
military-decoration
stars as great "American killers," a high honor.
About 120 miles
of tunnels to the outskirts of Saigon, all for the
guerilla warfare
tactics around several American bases near the city of
Saigon. I explored, with a guide, many tunnels, each
interconnecting
horizontally and
vertically with other rooms. Without a
guide it would
be easy to get
lost at each turn. Punji
stick traps were dug in many
rooms. These are pits in which long slender
sharpened bamboo poles are
dipped in water
buffalo urine to create an infection if one of them
pierced a man’s
skin. Air vents went to each room from
the surface
above. Camouflaged vents on the surface of the
ground were practically
impossible to
see.
After leaving the
area, we drove back to the city, leaving the tunnels
just before
sunset. We arrived back at the hotel,
exhausted but still
unbitten by any
mosquitoes (my major fear). Since it
was dinnertime, we
needed to find a
good eatery. Next door to the hotel was
a restaurant
that seemed nicer
and offered more interesting cuisine than at the hotel.
For six dollars
Marcy and I shared a large pot of delicious Tom Yun
Goon,
a spicy sour soup
with shrimp and chicken in it. So many
items were in
it for flavor
that I found myself separating the inedible morsels on an
adjacent plate
intended for some other use. Marcy went
back to the room,
totally
exhausted. I let her rest for an hour
then I went out onto the
busy street in
front of the hotel. I hired two cyclocab drivers to
take us to the
main market. Because I speak no
Vietnamese, and they
spoke very little
English, the conversations were strictly limited to
items of high
importance like Stop; Go; Over There; Wait.
Each
instruction I
issued was accompanied with appropriate hand and body
language.
The main
marketplace was closed. Now I understood
what the bicycle cab
drivers were
trying to tell to me. Eventually we
found an open market,
and purchased
goods we needed for tomorrow: crackers,
two boxes, a
toothbrush, and
several other small items, including bottled water.
After returning
to the hotel we found our favorite guide, and I asked to
drive me around
to photograph the nightlife. I purchased
a coconut for
Marcy for fifteen
dong. Marcy had gone to the hotel room,
unable to
continue today
for she was totally spent. The Viet Namese people
frequently buy
immature coconuts for the thirst quenching liquid they
contain. I found myself losing focus and falling
asleep in the open-
air bike
seat. Ten minutes later I was back at
the hotel, and paid Hoa
4,000 dong (about
$3.70). He's a good cyclist and I enjoy
his
enthusiastic
company. I went to the room and
immediately fell asleep.
February 21,
1995 Tuesday Ho Chi Minh
City, Viet Nam
I awoke at four
in the early morning. Hardly a soul, I
observed from the
eighth story
window, was walking the streets. Many
Viet Namese people
were
"camping out," but all were asleep except a street cleaner slowly
and lethargically
sweeping a small section of the trash-strewn street.
It would have
been an impossible task for him to gather all the garbage
on this short
street and put it into the wheeled garbage can that served
as a receptacle
for all he found. An orange-robed monk
and the young
disciple who
accompanied him walked around the corner holding a small
wooden bowl. The Buddhist inhabitants of this city would
put food in the
bowl as a token
of their faith and with the desire that the act would
bring them good
fortune. I walked back to the room
because the
elevator seemed
to be out of service. I wrote in this
journal after
unsuccessfully
trying to sleep another hour.
Eventually Marcy
woke too, and we went downstairs for breakfast.
I had
the chicken soup. At eight o'clock, this morning, we found Hoa, who
brought a friend
to drive the other bicycle-driven rickshaw that Marcy
rode. We packed our gear on the cyclocab
and went to the Saigon Train
Station. Marcy had an uncomfortable experience using
the Turkish toilet
in the
station. She decried the filth and ilk
that cluttered the public
restroom. She vowed never to use such facilities again.
At about 8:40
a.m. we found the proper train car to board.
The train sat
in the station
for another hundred and twenty minutes before departing
for Hue. It started with a metal-twisting lurch, but
then it slowly
built up to its
regular crawl of five miles an hour as it slithered out
of the train
station. There were areas that the train
picked up speed to
fifty mph. As I try to write, the jerky movement of my
pen is not due to
some involuntary
muscle contraction, but the usual side-to-side shifting
of the train as
it tries as best it can to remain on the track. For this
I am
thankful. The track shifting is due to
the initial inadequate
laying of
track. This berth is first class so the
seats convert to beds.
Within our
compartment there are fold out cots with very thin mattresses.
An employee of
the train comes around to provide each occupant with clean
folded bed
linen. Blankets are stored in a
trunk-like compartment built
into the wall of
this unit.
The dark pink
linens have many holes and have been ripped, but every hole
has been patched
and repaired, then crisply ironed. Other
less
comfortable units
include other options like a hard sleeper that provides
a bunk, but no
mattress or blanket. I may elect to
wander into second
or third
class. I can only imagine what hellhole
slime pits they must
be. I was told that a diner exists on this train;
however, a Vietnamese
came around with
a plate filled with numerous lightly browned baked bite-
sized cakes of
varying shapes. Such a tray was happily
purchased and
quickly consumed
by one of the two young Vietnamese men who are our
cellmates on this
locomotive adventure.
Earlier I brought
the video camera to record, for those who are
interested, the
utilitarian value of Turkish-style toilets.
While Marcy
is yet to visit
it (and she will) she did not relish the less than
photogenic images
she viewed with the video camera. She
vowed to neither
eat nor drink
until we exited at our destination.
Unfortunately, even a
yoga expert might
have problems to accomplish that state of suspended
bodily functions
for the duration of this long train trip.
At this point,
it's only three hours into our journey, and I'm ready to
get off this
train. The hot, humid room we are in is
cooled by one small
green fan that
spins around wildly, frequently ceasing when it becomes
dirt
clogged. That has been remedied by a
handyman who comes around to
all compartments
to repair the undulating fan.
Our otherwise
peaceful jaunt through the tree-laden jungles has only been
marred
twice: once by an errant ember of a
"controlled fire." It shot
into the room and
landed on Marcy's bed, but I noticed it immediately and
scraped it to the
floor where it could do little damage.
The second
encounter began
when an inch-long cricket errantly hopped through the
barred window
opening and into the room. Marcy was
immediately drawn
away from this
tiny life form, but I captured it in a teacup and let him
free outside the
train. I now found a new nuisance. One of our roomies
is blissfully
sleeping but has gradually worked a soft sleeping sniff
into a roaring
snore, drowning out the din of the incessant rattles,
rocks, and rolls
as the wooden rail cars are dragged along the track to
Hue.
Eight hours of
this travel has not endeared me to it.
The terrain has,
for the most
part, been thick with trees and brush or flat farmland.
Nothing
else. Only one hill of any significant
size to break the
monotony until
now. We are traveling north along the
coastline. We just
passed Cameron
Bay. Views of the ocean now have made it
all more
interesting,
until now when we are cutting back inland.
February 22,
1995 Wednesday Saigon to Hue
I've been up
since 5:00 a.m., but the Sun didn't cut through the early
morning fog --
thickly spread over the vast rice paddies.
The sultry air
covered me during
the night, and I slept soundly, from sunset till
morning. I woke to the staccato beat of the clacking
tracks and the
maternal rocking
motion of the train.
I was able to see
the landscape this train bustled through as the rising
Sun pulled aside
the curtain of darkness. It opened not at the beginning
of a scene, but
in the middle of it, appearing suddenly when I had looked
away for two
moments. Through the faintly lit night
people have been
working, starting
their work day without more than what little moonlight
was cast their
way. Row after row of a myriad of
vegetables or edible
weeds each small
household could grow in their backyard plot made a
quilt-like
pattern in each village. Looking out
over the myriad rice
fields, I am not
certain as to why I haven't noticed overseers as the
people labored in
the fields. Everybody is working.
It seems
everybody who has one has the exact same bicycle, the exact same
conical straw
hat, the exact same two buckets suspended from a long
bamboo pole. I cannot imagine a people more close to the
earth (yet I am
certain they must
exist somewhere I have still to discover).
Since morning's
light I have noted attractive variations in the terrain.
To have flown
would have deprived me of this visual feast.
Each movement
I see something
rare or beautiful, but we pass too quickly for me to
capture it with a
camera, but I'll never forget the lush visions I have
been granted . .
. the opportunity to witness late yesterday and
extending through
the night at each stop, regardless of the hour,
Vietnamese
chatter abounded. Many conversations
crossed each other,
blurring one into
the next.
The humid warm
still air was made so much heavier at each stop by the
smell of stale
urine wafting from the primitive train toilets.
At seven a.m. an
attendant brought a bag of food containing a very fresh
French roll,
sugar wafers, and two small triangles of aluminum-wrapped
semi-soft
cheese. Also, I was served a glass
containing instant coffee,
boiling water and
much sugar. Somehow there were coffee
grounds at the
bottom of the
glass, but it was hot and I drank it.
Having to use the
toilet is, in itself, something difficult, but add to
that the
unpredictability of train motion and little to steady myself
save my knees,
made a morning ritual into a test of my agility. For
reasons I choose
not to explain, I could only give myself a "C+."
We stopped in Da Nang at nine a.m. After 30 minutes we pulled out of the
station. A mid-weight metal mesh screen is over the
window that I am
allowed to pull
up when we are not in a station. There
is concern by
workers that the
screens prevent some snatch and run crimes as well as
other crimes they
have associated with "the Mafia."
Regardless, I obey
basic rules of
safety and keep the screen down. I am a
bit tired, but
the balance of
this trip is supposed to be the most pleasurable and
scenic, so I'll
wait to rest later.
Leaving Da Nang the front cars are now
the rear cars. Because of the
overcast sky it
seems like we are headed south. Vast
areas are covered
with white sand
and brown earth speckles are becoming larger and more
common as we get
further from Da Nang. We've stopped just outside the
city. A light mist, not quite rain, is coming down,
and intensifying the
color of the
paved asphalt road. It generally runs parallel to the
tracks. The earth and all greenery have a richer hue,
now that it is
awash with the
dew.
Traveling further
north, the train tracks cut into the hillside
overlooking the
China Sea. The rough-cut boulders
scattered along the
beaches and the
old boats drifting along the waterline distinguish this
area uniquely
from my own Pacific coast. There are
similarities, too,
but the pungent
odor of fish, the indecipherable rhythm of the spoken
word overwhelms
any thoughts of parallels between the two locales.
Finally we arrive
at Hue. A driver held up a sign with our
names on it.
Marcy spotted him
right away. Dirty, tired, and exhausted,
we stepped
down three steep
gray metal steps to disembark from the train.
The
driver, after
making hand sign contact with us, did not pick up any of
the bags we were
burdened with. Instead he beckoned us
to catch up to
him as he moved
through a sea of people who all too closely resembled
him. It required a great deal of single-minded
focus to maintain visual
contact with this
"guide." But we successfully
followed him to the
waiting van,
where he kindly opened the side door to allow us to stow all
gear. He then disappeared into the nearby street.
The driver sat
stoically waiting for all doors to shut, and then he
started to van
and pulled off. The street and buildings
surround the
stations were
layered in a heavy blanket of dust. The
van kicked up a
huge cloud behind
it.
In less than five
minutes we arrived at the hotel. Not a
word of English
was spoken since
our arrival.
The Huong Duong Hotel is not quite finished yet. I believe we are its
sole fare-paying
guests. Very, very new . . . some
things haven't been
worked out
yet. English-speaking hostesses spoke
French -- not English -
- but their smile
was engaging. Few ideas were I able to
transfer from
me to them. The dirty clothes will be washed. No other channel except
the one run by
the government that dealt exclusively with local issues
and events. No world news here.
The room was
large and modern. The bathroom was
attractive; however, the
toilet seems as
though it will overflow with every flush.
And mosquitoes
are sharing this
room with us.
They looked about
this size -----------> O
(Actual Size)
While Marcy used
the bathroom, I "spoke" with the receptionist/hostess.
I tried to
arrange a city tour. She said it would
take about two hours
and cost $25
US. She called, and they told her $25
per person. I
declined to use
them. Instead, I hired two cyclocabs, that were parked
across the street
from the hotel, for $3.50 total for two people for
three hours.
The
English-speaking driver's name was Ben --- he's 47 years old with two
young daughters,
a wife and grandmother at home. He
worked with the
South Vietnamese
Army till captured and brought north to Hue.
He then
stayed around US
Army camps after his release. He wanted
to go to the US
when the US
pulled out of Viet Nam but, as he said it, he was not lucky.
He knows that
many did go to the US and make a lot of money now. The
other driver, Vu,
about 30, was the driver for Marcy. He
also had two
children, and
both found the government oppressive, not even allowing
fireworks for Tet, the Chinese New Year celebration. Ben, especially, is
unhappy to be
here in Viet Nam, but he doesn't have a great chance to get
out. Both drivers acknowledged what I was told
previously. You must
obtain a local
government permit before you can have a baby.
A heavy mist came
down. We headed back to the hotel to get
rain gear,
and then we went
out to dinner at a restaurant within the walls of the
Emperor's
Palace. Before dinner I had my glasses
repaired and put in
another frame for
six dollars. I gave the old frames to
Ben because he
said he liked
them.
For dinner the
foods we enjoyed were beef wrapped in mint leaves, fried
rice Canton
style, the local beer, and spring rolls.
I had chicken
cooked with
ginger, but because the skin and the bones were left intact,
I brought that
meal out to Ben and Vu, who waited outside.
The drizzle
stopped after we
finished dinner, but the moisture from it made the
dining room in
which we are smell strongly of wet dog.
Not altogether
malodorous when
mixed with the wafting fragrances emanating from the
steaming kitchen
here. Later we returned to the hotel.
According to Ben,
the poor people sell outside; the wealthy merchants are
indoors. We saw both.
The items for
sale looked like a "99 Cent Only Store." I filmed much of
this market, both
in and out.
Outside, the
nearby boats that the fishermen had hardly seemed seaworthy,
but they provided
the means for the poor fishermen to eke out a living.
February 23,
1995 Thursday Hue, Viet Nam
I awoke at two
a.m., wrote a bit about yesterday, and then retired again.
The room was very
warm, so the light sheet/blanket provided was very
adequate. An occasional mosquito or other flying insect
buzzed my ear
several times
during the night, but I put on the gray netting over my
head, and fell
asleep quickly without any concern of night attacks. I
arose at seven
p.m. as did Marcy, and prepared to meet Vu and Ben, the
two drivers of
our cyclopedic vehicles.
I was able to
convince the clerk to return one twenty-dollar deposit, so
we were able to
hire Vu's brother to take us up the Perfume River for a
cruise. The cost for a five-hour journey was 110,000
dong, about ten
dollars US. Since
we were the sole fare-paying passengers, we traveled at
our leisure and
left each historic site at our own pace.
After a simple
breakfast outside
a small local coffee/tea stand (five breads, three
coffees, five
cheeses: total cost, $1.60), where we
sat in chairs more
aptly suited for
children in kindergarten. We walked
close by to a spot
where the boat
was waiting for us. We boarded, and then
traveled down
the river for
about a mile to Thien Mu
Pagoda, where there were more
people trying to
sell stuff than there were tourists, and every seller
had at least
three children acting as miniature shills to bring in the
potential buyers
of their wares. I found it difficult to
manipulate
myself through
the throngs of merchants and mini-merchants.
Ultimately,
I gained entrance
to the site. Marcy and I viewed it, but
the boat trip
and the overall
earthy beauty it revealed overshadowed the monument,
which in itself
was truly noteworthy and of beauty.
Making our way
back to the boat through the crowd of hopeful sellers, Ben
and Vu
accompanied us as a team and helped guide me beyond the guard at
the second
monument, the tomb of Minh Mang. It was set, idyllically, by
a corner of the
river that was utilized as a prominent aspect of the
layout of this
site. While I meticulously recorded all
of this adventure
as best I could
on videotape and film, there was no way I could capture
smells and
motion. This was a truly beautiful
cruise.
After some time
we turned the boat back up the river.
The air
temperature
seemed to drop ten degrees immediately.
I spent less time
filming and more
time watching as we traveled back to Hue.
It got still
colder until we
exited the boat at the same spot we had boarded. After
returning to the
Hotel, I left three rolls of exposed film and charged
one battery that
needed charging.
Ben and Vu drove
us to a restaurant that I had pointed out to him. Marcy
said she read
about it, too, in the guidebook. The
owner, a deaf mute,
brought us
upstairs; the downstairs was packed with patrons. We ordered
several dishes,
which we shared: fried rice with meat
bits, shrimp with
rice paste
wrapped in a leaf, some sort of Vietnamese soft taco with
peanut sauce
(extremely oily), and beef strips over crispy rice noodles.
The shrimp in
rice paste was served first. The
proprietor found it
exceptionally
amusing when he returned to find I had tried to eat some of
this dish, but
found the leaf rather tough and somewhat bitter. He
laughed heartily,
and still harder when he saw the chewed piece of leaf I
hadn't the desire
to swallow. He explained the leaf was
not intended for
consumption.
After this $4
dinner we walked along the nearby shops.
I bought a $25
watch, and Marcy
bought a beautiful red jacket for $12.
We had Ben and
Vu drive around a
bit. I bought a few packs of Vietnamese
cigarettes to
take home. Four packs cost $0.60. Ben thought 60 cents was too much,
but I wanted
Vietnamese cigarettes.
At six p.m. I
went to the post office to exchange money, but while there
was only one
person in front of me, after 30 minutes he was still in
front of me and
yet to be served. I left; I will be able to get dong at
the airport
tomorrow. Usually they have the fairest
exchange rate.
Right now 11,037
for a dollar is fair. Ben and Vu cycled
us back to
Huong Duong Hotel, where we started to plan for
our flight to Hanoi and
visit to that
city and outlying Halong Bay. I have a slight cold, but
have lost my
voice partially.
At the hotel I
had a disagreement with the hostess/receptionist as to
whether I paid
for yesterday or not. While I insisted
that I had paid,
she more
vehemently insisted that I didn't. I did
not prevail; she had
four employees in
our room discussing merits of this case, and ultimately
requested another
$30, which I finally paid.
February 24,
1995 Friday Hue, Viet Nam
I woke up at five
a.m. and listened to the soldiers do their morning
exercises
loudly. Yesterday workmen, finishing
construction of this
hotel, got
started by pounding metal strips into shape.
I want to get
coffee and bread
with cheese, but few stores are open yet.
And it is
still not light
enough outside. I arranged for Ben and
Vu to meet us at
nine a.m. to take
us the five kilometers to the airport, but if they
don't show up we
can rent a taxi, all government-run and more expensive
to employ. Ben and Vu were there, right outside the
hotel, waiting,
patiently, for
us.
After a short
trip into the market to buy six conical hats, we were
pedicycled to the airport about five miles
away. After about four and a
half miles, I
switched with Ben and I drove him. He
really thought it
was great fun --
I did, too.
At the airport we
had to pay a port tax of a thousand dong each before
boarding. The flight lasted only about two hours, and
we landed safely.
Because Viet Nam
Air has much smaller planes, we had to check in our
backpacks as
luggage. The conical hats were carried
on board because
they are
fragile. We sat at the very rear of the
plane and we were the
first to exit it.
After recovering
our backpacks, now dirtied and soiled from this trip, we
left the airport
and got on a bus going to downtown Hanoi.
The cost per
person was $4.00
for the forty-minute bus ride. The horn
bleating
resumed, at every
opportunity the driver (or anyone else for that matter)
could imagine.
We exited the bus
and followed a German tourist I had struck up a
conversation
with, to a hotel he was told by his friends that this is a
very good
hotel. After looking at the room which
they wanted thirty
American dollars
for, we decided to try elsewhere.
A young
18-year-old Hanoi student who was practicing his English pounced
on us as we left
the hotel disappointedly. I talked with
him. He said
there is a much
better hotel nearby which costs half the price of this
one we just
turned down. I boarded a cyclocab to travel with him to the
hotel about 2
miles away. It was better, the Phonog Lan Hotel at 7 Dong
Thai St., fifteen
dollars a night. We checked out the
room. It was fine
with a shower
enclosure -- you could take a shower -- and a European-
style
toilet.
Nobody speaks
English over here, but we were able to communicate with
their limited
English and my total lack of Vietnamese.
The young man who
brought us here
was given 15,000 Dong as a tip, then he brought me by
foot to the Lonely
Planet Cafe, which seems to be a meeting place for
young English
tourists. For $22 x 2 I bought two
tickets for Halong Bay.
This includes
lodging, meals, transportation, everything (it seems). The
people are
supposed to pick us up at six p.m. tomorrow.
The streets were
littered with thousands of small merchants.
At the end
of the day they
all packed all their goods neatly in boxes and brought
everything
home. The wealthier ones had stores that
were securely locked
when they closed
at eight p.m. like almost everyone. I
bought a hand-
embroidered shirt
for three dollars. We were lost and
hungry, so we
hired two cyclocabs to bring us to a restaurant. After ten minutes we
arrived at one
listed in the book. We were taken to the
second floor,
which was bigger
but just as crowded as the first. The
English-speaking
hostess brought
us to a vacant table where fresh herbs and rice noodles
were
provided. Soon a hot pot and charcoal-heated
bucket were placed
before us. The pan contained fish and vegetables and
cooked at our
table. The waitress ignored me often, but the food
was fresh and tasty -
- just not enough
for two people. White fillets of fish
fried yellow and
brown with oils
and local greens.
The "Lonely
Planet" guide for Viet Nam said that Hanoi was slower paced
than Ho Chi Minh City, but from what little I saw it looked quite the
opposite. Several distinct differences . . .
Construction of most small
buildings in Ho
Chi Minh City were of bamboo, fronds, and wood with
roofs
of tin corrugated
sheets or fiberglass sheets. Here most
buildings are
made of varying
types of brick with red brick being the most common.
Much construction
is happening between Hanoi and the airport.
In Ho Chi
Minh it's mainly simple repair to existing
structures. The climate, as
expected, is
colder here than 1,000 miles south in Ho.
Hue is located
between the two
cities, but it resembled Ho Chi Minh in attitude and
demeanor. If my
first day has given me the correct impression of Hanoi,
it is the New York of Viet Nam.
February 25,
1995, Saturday Hanoi, Viet Nam
I woke at three
in the early morning. Because of the
cold weather I
decided not to
shower. There is no heat in this hotel,
but there is
plenty of air
conditioning, so if I want cold I know where to find it.
Another
pronounced difference between Hanoi and Saigon is the infrequency
of finding
someone who speaks English in this northern city. Very few
do, and those
that do are usually very young students seldom over 20
years old. Chinese and Russian used to be very popular,
but now it's
English that is
required in the schools. French is much
more common as a
third language as
befits the tourist trade. In HMC, Hue, and here in
Hanoi the most
frequent tourists are French, followed by Americans. I
find it
astounding that the new growth industry in Viet Nam, tourism, is
fed most heavily
by the two countries that lost wars here.
While I sat,
alone in the cold early morning in the worn lobby of this
small hotel, I
was greeted by the owner's wife, who graciously offered me
coffee and milk,
but most welcomed was her smile and desire to make me
comfortable. Like me, she is dressed warmly; the chill of
the morning
passes through
everything. Though language is a barrier
for many things,
we communicate
effectively with sign language of the international kind.
It is now 5:27
a.m. Since the bus is scheduled to pick
us up at Gam I
must walk up the
three flights of stairs to our room and confirm that
Marcy is on
schedule. Our backpacks should be stowed
downstairs if we
don't want to be
charged for the room tonight. We should
dress warmly
according to the
owner's wife for Ha Long Bay.
For three full
days I have not picked up a pen to diary my adventure
because I was
ill. It's easy to contract one ailment
or another while
traveling, and I
did. I'll attempt my recollection as
follows:
The bus arrived
on schedule and picked us up. It is a
minibus, and I
noticed almost
immediately its lack of shock absorbers.
We were left
with the last two
single seats, located directly over the rear wheel, and
it cut away from
our foot room. The hours stretched out
to their
maximum. Each hour seeming like two or three. Every bump, jolt, or
stop was
immediately telegraphed to us through our spine. We felt each
pebble
differently than each stone. Finally, we
arrive. It was about
one o’clock in
the afternoon.
The town was
experiencing spastic growth; at this moment it seemed
everyone was
building something, all without mechanical aid.
Amazing to
watch the buckets
of being pulled up or the workmen manipulating
their
way through a
system of scaffolding that looked as though boards had been
cast randomly in
a small area. In fact, these boards
hanging diagonally
were what the
sandal-clad workmen used to ascend or descend the building,
regardless of height.
After an
assignment of rooms at the elevatorless hotel (as
were all of
the hotels), we
scurried back down to catch the bus to go to the boat.
Before going to
the boat we were brought to a typical open air
restaurant, but
we were taken, as a group en masse to a rear room and
seated. It was here I began to notice that the
temperature was even
colder than
Hanoi. Hanoi was about 50?, and here it
was about 40?. With
the slight wind
it seemed even colder. The room
sheltered us from the
wind, but not at
all from the cold. We were served
communally: one
baked fish; one
large bowl of rice; one large bowl of cooked greens; one
small bowl of
squid. I enjoyed it.
Back on the bus
to the boat; short two-mile trip, and we were there.
This is apparently
a point where most tourist boats depart to travel out
through Halong Bay. It was
reminiscent of the Inside Passage through
Alaska except
less colorful. A blue haze covered
everything. The
mountains and
peaks protruding out of the ocean were various shades of
blue until we
were less than fifty yards away. Since
the large, main
flat bottom boat
was too heavy, it was necessary to move into a small
flat-bottomed
reed boat, which was tarred to keep it waterproof. One
young man rowed
to shore with slow deliberate shallow strokes. We docked
at an island
mountain to explore a large cave.
Surrounding the island,
the
shell-encrusted reefs were razor sharp to the touch. I soon found
out just how
sharp when I punctured my hand as I clamored over the rocks.
Once inside the
gaping mountainside hole, I saw large
stalactites and
stalagmites growing within the cavernous innards. Our small group had
as the only
source of light being the three flashlights we had among us.
I explored the
singular large room then I climbed back over the rocks,
into the small
dinghy and, when we were grouped together, we were rowed
out to the main
boat.
The air seemed
colder now as we headed back to shore. I
was anxious to
get to a warm
room and have a hot shower. The bus was
waiting for us on
the road above
the shoreline. It brought us back to
the hotel where
there was no hot
water for a shower and there was no heat either. The
floor was marble,
and it was so cold I couldn't stand on it without
shoes. The toilet, while western-style, wasn't able
to flush properly;
yet it somehow
leaked water constantly onto the bathroom floor.
To ward off the
biting cold, the hotel provided each bed with two very
thick, heavy
quilts. Unfortunately, the quilts were
significantly
smaller than the
surface area of the bed. So it took some
geometry
skills to figure
out how to have most body parts kept warm.
Even that
was hardly
enough. Each room had air conditioning
but no heat and there
were no controls
to adjust temperature. The air
conditioning whirred
incessantly. Two separate single beds were provided, we
slept in one,
keeping each
other warm and we could throw the second quilt over us,
somehow we made
it through the night, but my cold had worsened from this
event.
February 26,
1995 Sunday Halong Bay to
Hanoi
We awoke to a
chilly morning, and I dressed quickly without showering or
shaving, only
brushing my teeth. Even that was too
cold to enjoy. The
boat would leave
at one a.m. I dressed as warmly as I
could, expecting
the worst, and I
wasn't disappointed. It was even colder
outside, and,
by touching the
cold water from the faucet that often suggests ground
temperature,
still colder. Our breakfast of
"Laughing Cow" cheese, the
coffee was served
with thickened and sweetened milk-like syrup already
added. Fresh pineapple carved into ornate spiral
slices and orange
wedges. This time, on the boat, we went out for four
hours and went to
a larger
cave. I was very cold, and when we
returned I wanted to go to
the toilet
(because there were none on the boat) and warm up somehow.
Instead, as soon
as we returned, we packed up and left for Hanoi by the
same minibus that
took us here. Fortunately Marcy had
stayed behind and
had chosen to not
go in the boat, so she got us the best seats in the bus
for the long
return trip.
The drive was
just as uncomfortable on the return except that Marcy
assured me, at
all costs, she would never surrender our choice seats
until back in
Hanoi. We were the only two passengers
along with one
Norwegian, and
the driver that stayed on the bus as it floated by ferry
across the river.
The bus entered
the city of Hanoi about six p.m. The
family, Phlon, at
the hotel were
anxious to greet us. Offering us tea and
the hostess'
smile. We hurriedly scampered up the stairs to our
room. We would say
hello tomorrow.
We were happy to be there. We raced to
the bathroom as
though this
toilet was our long-lost friend. Marcy
got it first while I
went down the
hall, with a travel book as reading material, to a communal
toilet.
I had wanted to
get our Lonely Planet tee shirt, but there just wasn't
time. It was included with the price of the
tour. Happily, we had
warm water to
shower, but also no heat in the room. I
was happy to be
back in
Hanoi. We had no dinner tonight, just
small packages of snacks
we had saved
during the trip to Halong Bay.
February 27,
1995 Monday Hanoi, Viet Nam
We woke up a few
minutes after six o’clock and prepared for our trip to
Bangkok
today. I paid fourteen dollars for the
taxi to the hotel owner's
son, who called
to arrange a taxi to meet us at the hotel in ninety
minutes. The cab was there a few minutes early and
patiently waited
until we had
fully prepared to leave. The whole
family except the Father
walked upstairs
to help us bring luggage down. The straw
hats purchased
in Hue were the
only fragile things we had to worry about damaging
because
everything else was securely packed in our backpacks.
The custom of
tipping the help in a hotel is ingrained in me.
Even
owners of small
hotels are not insulted by a gratuity.
The family was
very nice to us
and treated us very well. I gave them
five dollars after
I had paid the
hotel bill. As we left the hotel ten
minutes later the
wife of the
owner, with her young son standing at her side, gave me a
parcel wrapped in
newspaper. It was heavy and already we
had enough
excelsior
gathered to fill the backpacks to their fullest, so there was
no place to put
this unexpected gift. In the taxi we
opened the
package. It contained a one foot tall red plastic,
rectangular vase.
While the thought
was appreciated, the logistics of bringing this bulky
item home would
have been close to impossible.
I watched some of
the videos in the car going to the Noibai
International
Airport. We stopped on a nearby street in the center
of Hanoi so I could
get some more tee
shirts. The prices for many of these
shirts were
terribly low,
often only two dollars, and maybe four for a hand
embroidered
shirts.
The forty-minute
drive in the Russian car was not smooth; for two dollars
more, I could
have gotten an American or Japanese car, but I didn't
realize the
comfort difference at the time in the hotel.
Nothing worked
on the control
panel of this car -- no speedometer or anything. The
doors were held
shut primarily by rusty hinges and twine.
Once at the
airport we had to show our visa to Viet Nam and an
import/export
paper which we didn't have, so I had to pay the Military
Officer ten
dollars twice (for both slips). I paid
an Exit Tax of seven
dollars per
person, but everybody had to pay that.
Now able to board,
the plane
operated efficiently and on schedule. We
took off on time.
On landing in
Bangkok after a comfortable one and a half hour flight,
Marcy had to call
Sarah which she could do on a U.S. credit card.
The
modern airport
was slow to get us through Customs.
Marcy wanted a hotel
with a bank so we
went to the Alpine Hotel, supposedly in the center of
town and near
everything. The hotel touts at the
airport lied about it
being close to
everything. The main part of town was
always a taxi ride
to anywhere we
wanted to go in this huge sprawling city.
The hour taxi
ride cost 100 Baht -- a little over four dollars. The
exchange rate is
24 Baht to the dollar. After bringing
everything into
our room, we left
to go see this city. Many of the
overwhelming number
of vehicles in
this city seem to always be stuck in traffic.
There are
many cars, many
motorcycles and many tuk-tuks. Tuk-tuks are three
wheeled
motorcycle devices with a surrey in back for two passengers. I
tried to find a Tuk-Tuk driver who spoke English since it is not a common
language
here. One young man professed to some
knowledge of English, so
I arranged to use
him to show us around Bangkok for three hours for a
price of 150
Baht, half of what he originally asked.
I wanted to see
the floating market, but he wanted to take us to several
places where he
gets free gasoline. It was a struggle to
see the city --
but I got to
smell it constantly. He insisted on
bringing us to places
that he would get
free gas. He would have been better off
if he had not
taken us. I found him to be remarkably detestable,
struggling at every
turn to pimp us
to some vendor or another. After one
refusal after
another by
me, he brought us to the Floating Market
without mentioning
to us that it is
only open during the early hours of the day --
pimping
us to his boat
owner friend. After we struggled to
avoid a ride on the
boat through the
city we walked along some shops. Both
of us were
amazed that
prices were not much cheaper than a good bargain in L.A.,
which hardly
justified making purchases to be hauled around Asia for a
couple of weeks.
For some strange
reason, still unclear to me, we didn't discharge the
Tuk-Tuk driver and find another of the hundreds
that were available, and
possibly one with
more honorable intentions. Instead, we reboarded his
three-wheeled
vehicle and asked to be brought without delay to Siam
Square. He promised . . . but we went to his jeweler
friend (he was on
the way to Siam
Square)-- ”AAUGH!” I said, “NO! SIAM SQUARE!”
Later we
will visit one of
his "over inflated, high-priced merchants." So, when
he realized the
futility of it all, he brought us to Siam Square. We
told him to wait
about thirty minutes while we ate.
Nearby was a
wonderful Thai
restaurant where you could watch into the kitchen as they
prepared the
food.
We ordered some
soup, Thai chicken and cashew seafood, fried rice, and
tea. Dinner took about an hour, but we went back
to look for the driver
who had not yet
been paid for his terrible performance, but he was gone -
- so we waited
about ten minutes before giving up on him, and getting a
regular cab back
to our hotel. The meal was the only good
part of our
visit to this
city so far. The food was just great.
The grit and heat
built a strange waxy coating over my body, which I
blissfully
relieved by some scrubbing and a hot shower.
Sleep came
quickly, although
interrupted frequently by a slight alimentary disorder
I possessed at
the moment.
February 28,
1995 Tuesday Bangkok, Thailand
Yesterday we
arranged the confirmation of a tour through the city and we
wanted to see the
famous Reclining Buddha. The temples
were beautiful.
I recorded the
sights on video and photos extensively.
This would have
made the trip to
Thailand worthwhile itself if this would have been all
we were to
see. Sandy (probably not the real name
of our Thai guide)
spoke English
well and encouraged the tour to continue to The Palace
which we did to
see more spectacular architecture.
I talked with
Sandy about how much more enjoyable this tour is since the
driver yesterday
kept trying to drag us in to see local merchants. She
smiled blithely,
and then the engine of the minivan was turned off. We
were at our next
destination. A jewelry merchant friend
of hers. Marcy
bought some small
items as souvenirs and gifts. I bought
nothing. Back
into the
bus. Our next stop -- some fine Indian
tailors -- other friends
of hers. We stopped for a quick while and walked into
the nearby
wholesale garment
district -- some real bargains on clothing.
I bought
two Thai silk
shirts for eight dollars.
We walked back to
the hotel after changing American Express money orders,
$120 into
Baht. Walking by all the sidewalk food
vendors tempted both of
us greatly, but
so far we've been careful not to buy from such merchants.
Back to Siam
Square by taxi, not Tuk-Tuk. We shopped in Tokyo, a huge
department store
merged with individual merchants selling their wares in
competition with
the store. It was easy to see the high
quality of
merchandise from
the store compared to the smaller vendors’ stuff.
We wandered along
Bangkok's busy streets until we found a nice looking
Thai
Restaurant. Delicious food. Then back outside in the heat and
grime. After an hour we had to struggle to get a
taxi -- unsuccessfully.
But with all the tuk-tuks, we took one of them back and prepared for an
early morning to
the Floating Market outside of town, which (we are
assured) is much
better than that in Bangkok. I feel like
everybody here
is out to skin
every tourist of all they can.
March 1,
1995 Wednesday Bangkok, Thailand
Today is my son,
Mark's birthday, but I must wait to call him till later
because the day
is yet to start back in L.A. I woke
early to meet the
guide, who was to
bring us to the Floating Market. We left
at 6:30 a.m.
on a bus with six
sleepy people and a sleepy guide. The
bus moved
quickly in open
spaces and cut roughly into lanes as is the custom here.
As he does this
lane hopping, edging out the other driver already in that
lane by a
millimeter or so, he holds up his hand as if to say “thanks”
to the other
driver whom he just cut off.
Amazingly the
other driver must decide to stay in the same lane or try to
take the place
that the cutter just vacated. All “good”
drivers do not
show anger as a
"face-saving mechanism.” I am told
this is ingrained in
the inscrutable
Oriental cultures. The (collective) Thai
man must always
act
pleasant. I think even stricter rules
apply to women, who quietly
accept a
subordinate role here. I noticed few
exceptions to these rules.
After three hours
of driving, we arrived at a coconut farm.
This was not
a big
thrill. It might have been a good day
trip for school children,
maybe. I watched as they demonstrated skills at
squashing the coconut
pod and drying
the seed pulp into coconut sugar. It
tasted and looked
like Mexican
sugar candy.
Back on the bus,
we went, for another thirty minutes to the Floating
Market. The reason I elected to take this tour was
that I was
anticipating less
touristy sights. In this quest, I now
realized I was
unsuccessful in
this tour. The parking area was
inundated with buses
filled with one
homogeneous cultural group or another.
Lots of French,
many Brits, but
few Americans.
All the foreign
subjects were funneled like mice into cues to efficiently
and quickly load
them into a waiting yellow longboat resembling a large
canoe. Ours comfortably seated all ten of us,
including the guide and
the boat driver.
The boatman
started his 25 horsepower engine and took off.
We sped
through the
walled river rapidly, pausing only at a close and difficult-
to-maneuver corner. Then the speed resumed, stopping in a quay
where we
were (gently)
plucked out of the boat and taken into a large, covered
market area where
tourists flooded the area. Tee shirts,
hats, huge
hand-painted
fans, and small wooden carvings were offered for sale. Sweet
pineapple
quarters, juicy and speared with a thin bamboo rod were very
good, but not
refreshing, at thirty cents for two speared quarters.
The moist
ninety-degree weather was too hot to travel outside the leaf-
roofed
marketplace, and the merchants knew we were captives and not able
to leave because
we were lost without the aid of our errant guide. If I
touched any
article for sale, the vendor will quickly come over to beckon
me to come
further within his domain. "How
much you want to spend?" I
was asked when I
caught the young apprentice-vendor's eye.
"Nothing," I
said, "I'm
just looking." He looked
puzzled. "NOTHING, I'M JUST
LOOKING!" I
repeated loudly. He came forward still
with the brashness of
youth, intent on
making the biggest sale of the day with me.
Words could
not deter
him. He hung within inches from my face
studying each of my
facial
expressions as I TRIED to browse quietly and unobtrusively.
I decided to use
a tactic I developed in Viet Nam. Out
came the video
recorder, and I
filmed his face until he could no longer stand it, and he
hurried away to
another unfortunate victim. I was able
to quietly look
around without
further disturbance.
The entire
marketplace scene was clearly staged for the benefit of
tourists. Fruit was neatly displayed on open trays,
left uncut until
needed. We gathered our group together to travel to
the next point, a
center for
woodcarving and paper making. Everything
at the center was
for sale. Usually all items were priced in US dollars,
not Baht, so this
is not a shop
that locals would go to.
Back in the bus
and off at a cultural center where Thais performed native
dances (with
Western flourishes), performed an exhibition of crocodile
wrestling, and we
watched an elaborate reenactment of battles where
elephants were
used. We ate lunch there,
buffet-style.
The heat and
humidity were increasing. I drank bottle
after bottle of
water, bloating
myself but not quenching the heat-induced thirst. We
rode the bus back
to Bangkok in two hours and we were delivered to our
hotel. That night at six, we walked through the
downtown area by the
hotel. An accidental turn down a couple of the right
streets brought us
into the middle
of the commercial district. It was tough
to realize that
goods here were
priced fairly for us. I bought two
shirts; Marcy bought
one. We traveled through its five stories of
mostly open shops. No
"Bangkok"
tee shirts -- they all had American logos on them.
We walked through
the supermarket. Again, this was more
than one store.
It was one main
store and fifty or a hundred small merchants all within
the same
compound. Wandering through the endless
aisles, I was
discharged onto
another area of commerce. All this, we
discovered,
within two
kilometers of our hotel.
At eight p.m. we
searched for good Thai food for our last meal in
Bangkok. After walking the broken, dirty, and
vegetable-strewn street,
we came to the
"Rose" restaurant. It looked
friendly and clean. We sat,
and somebody came
immediately to bring water and the menu (written in
Thai and
English). Problems occurred with
ordering the food. I asked
for shrimp --
they didn't have any; ordered a beef dish -- not available
today; ordered
Thai iced coffee -- got hot tea. I can't
recall the other
errors they made,
but it wasn’t a professionally run restaurant, it
seemed that
members of a big family operated this place.
Each of them,
at different
times, spent ten or twenty minutes talking on the phone.
Trying to run the
restaurant seemed to be a burden they couldn't deal
with as a
priority. A Brit was angrily trying to
get them to remove
something he
claimed he hadn't ordered, but ate. The
young manager
smiled and
listened attentively, but refused to remove it from the bill.
We sat at the
table, after ordering, for fifteen minutes.
Only coffee
for me and tea
for Marcy was served. I asked for the
bill, and we were
only charged for
these items.
As I reached into
my pocket for money, the waitress hurried over to bring
us the food she
had forgotten to give us. I ate it after
sitting back
down. We left no extra tip, only paying the
six-dollar charge.
March 2, 1995 Thursday Bangkok to Beijing
I prepared for
the early departure to the airport. The
hotel had not
removed a laundry
charge for my white clothes they turned gray, and I had
to battle with
the manager, who finally contended they shouldn't be that
color. I had to pull them out of my backpack, which
was filled to
capacity now and
it was no easy issue to get them back in the pack.
The driver drove
the one-hour trip for fourteen dollars, leaving us at
the international
section of the airport. We paid the
seven dollars per
person tax to the
Airport Office, and then they gave us a small blue
stamp on our
tickets. Now we went on to Gate
Six. The airport was clean
and efficient,
selling all kinds of goods. , I have
been chocolate
starved, so I
bought some Swiss chocolate. We boarded
amidst the masses
that were pushing
to be first to board and get storage space for their
carry-on. I joined in the melee. It wasn't too tough, being that I'm
twice as tall and
three times heavier than most of the little people I
was in
competition with.
The plane was
about two-thirds full, so everybody was comfortable for the
four-and-a-half
hour flight. I especially enjoyed the
meal, typically
Thai, but there
were several items served that were not edible (to me).
I found a seat on
the plane in the rear smoking area to relax and write.
Quickly the time
passed, and the plane was landing in Beijing (Peking).
Soothingly,
without problems, everybody, including Marcy and me, passed
through
Customs. Before approaching the Customs
official, however, it
was necessary
that five forms be completed.
Fortunately the forms were
written in
Chinese and English.
A local Chinese
spotted me as an American and began talking to me.
Knowing to take
care at the airport for such people did not prevent me
from accepting
his offer to drive Marcy and me twenty-five kilometers
into town to the
hotel. Cost about twenty dollars. A bit overpriced
probably; a fair
price would have been less than ten dollars.
This is
the dilemma faced
by all travelers. So I got ripped a
little more.
We got to the
hotel, checked out the room -- the lobby looked great. It
was fairly priced
at forty-five dollars per night. The
room was on the
top 15th floor
with a view of the main street; unhampered by commercial
overgrowth, north
or south views.
It's chilly,
about 40? F, but the air is clear and crisp.
After putting
our stuff down
and using the bathroom, we left to go out scouting around
town. We also wanted to enjoy a Chinese dinner at a
restaurant suggested
to us by somebody
at the hotel. I hired a cyclocab to take us.
Obviously (it
soon became known) that the cab driver didn’t understand
either he or me
didn't know where the place was. We
drove in the open
air cab for over
an hour until we finally just had him stop at a place
that looked
good. The meal was nothing
noteworthy. We walked a mile
then taxied back
to the Chong Wen Men Hotel.
March 3,
1995 Friday Beijing, China
I woke up at ten
a.m., I dressed leisurely because there was no place we
had to go to, and
it was time we took a day to just enjoy the sights and
smells without
the need to accomplish something.
We went for
breakfast, but we were too late, they had stopped serving
until
lunchtime. I asked for shrimp soup when
I was told they had no
chicken
soup. The coffee we requested came with
milk in it even though
none was
requested. The soup came, but it was
fish soup. I sent it back
again, asking for
the shrimp. The soup was corn chowder with some
minuscule shrimp
in it. Fortunately, it was not expensive
for it wasn't
deserving of a
high price.
We left the
restaurant and went to the lobby to buy air tickets to Guilin
for $320. I had to change dollars into Yuan, the
Chinese monetary unit.
The exchange rate
is 8.24 Yuan per one U.S. dollar. Then
into town to
Tienamen Square.
The day was colder than yesterday and the wind made
everything still colder. I didn't see the main entrance, so we walked
to
an adjacent
marketplace lined with hundreds of small vendors of food and
clothing. There were few other items available
here. It is usual to
find merchants
with similar types of products to gather together. The
vegetable and
meat market was about a mile away, each on a specific
street for their
specific commerce.
I was attracted
by the pleasant odor of cooking meat on a barbecue. I
spotted it
nearby, and it magnetically attracted me.
Once there I
watched as many
people ordered a skewer or two. On
closer observation I
saw what I had
mistaken for meat was actually fattened crickets skewered
head to butt,
three on a stick. The resemblance to a
human embryo made
me ill. I bought a very heavy and warm army-green
jacket for eleven
dollars, gloves
cost five dollars, a lighter was one dollar.
Like most
places in the
world, the merchants were happy to take American dollars
rather than
Chinese Yuan. We returned briefly to the
hotel room, leaving
all newly
acquired things except those that added to our warmth in the
chilly air. We went back to resume shopping in the same
general area.
Marcy had read
that the best shopping and broadest range of goods
available would
be at the government run Friendship Store.
While there
we spoke with the
CIT's Office of Tourism to go to the Great Wall and
Ming's Tomb. We must meet the tour bus at the store
tomorrow at eight
a.m. It will be even colder out there by the Great
Wall, the ticket
agent told
us. I bought a harmonica in the store,
then we took a minibus
to the hotel.
Across the street
was a restaurant that was recommended for its Peking
Duck by the
concierge at our hotel. We walked along
the street for a
while, then into
the restaurant. I noticed that this, as
well as other
restaurants we
have visited (regardless of menu prices), doesn’t find an
overwhelming need
to change tablecloths with anything approaching the
frequency of
eateries in the U.S. and Western Europe.
Along with the
duck, we ordered chicken with chili and peanuts. Tea, the
ordered chicken,
and utensils came very promptly, but the duck took over
thirty minutes to
arrive. We requested the duck, and whole
it was,
including the
head and feet. It was served brown with
a slightly crispy
skin and over a
millimeter of body fat covered the edible meat.
The duck
was carved
entirely by a chef at our table. The
cost for the duck was
forty yuan at 8.22 per dollar, making the duck cost about $4.80
U.S. We
took pieces of
duck meat, scallions and smeared some salty plum sauce
over this
concoction, then wrapped it in a thin crepe-style pancake to
eat it like a
burrito. Too much plum sauce can easily
make the food much
too sweet and
salty.
I am starting to
enjoy tea without sugar. I might as well
get used to it
because that is
how it is served all over Asia. Asking
for sugar will
get me strange
looks from casual observers here. I was
drinking cup
after cup of it.
Since we had to
pay prior to being served, we could leave when it was
convenient for
us. Before we could stand up, we were
served the final
course. Duck soup.
The carcass and head were cooked in a ladle of soup,
all at our
table. The Chinese feel that the soup is
medicinal and will
improve
alimentary digestion, so it is served traditionally last. I had
none because I
was full already and wanted no more. It
was left
untouched. Marcy ate none of the soup either because of
the appearance
of the head was
detractive.
Back across the
street we walked. Our hotel was a warm
relief from the
biting cold of
the streets. Soon it was lights out,
after watching a
little Sherlock
Holmes and America's Funniest Home Videos on Chinese
television -- all
in Chinese, of course. Then, tired as we
were, we
slept soundly
while the city still bustled below.
I awoke at seven
a.m. to leave the hotel a half hour later.
The tour
bus to the Ming
Underground Palace and the Great Wall leaves from the
Beijing
Friendship Store at 8:15 a.m. We took a
motor taxi there,
leaving plenty of
time to waste since stores are not open until 9a.m.
The adjacent
Baskin Robbins store served coffee and pastries, so we went
in. Cappuccino was 6.50 Yuan, and the pastry was
two Yuan. Part of this
store was a minimarket too, so water was purchased for the long
anticipated
journey.
The guide
appeared to take us to the aforementioned sights. After an
hour we arrived
at a plant that makes vases of copper and enamel.
Watching the
steps of manufacture was amazing. First,
a general design
was hand-drawn on
the copper vase, and then a worker would inlay small
narrow strips of
copper, using a special adhesive, along the lines drawn.
Someone else
would, using an eyedropper, fill in certain areas with the
enamel. The overall design would first be noticeable
at that step.
Next, the vase
would be hot-fired in a special oven.
After cooling,
another worker
would buff the base until it was smooth as glass. While
the vase was not
appealing to me before seeing this, afterward I took
great interest in
the intricate designs. I bought some
bracelets which
were made by the
same process. After an hour here, we got back into the
bus and we were
off to the Ming Tombs and Underground Palace about an
hour away on open
well-paved roads.
The Tombs dotted
many locations, starting at the very foot of these
sacred
mountains. Peasants were prohibited from
coming close to the
mountains for
centuries. One of many complex tombs had
been unearthed,
but the remaining
tombs were left intact for future exploration.
The
maze of the tomb
pathways was designed and created to mislead the unwary,
but this tomb was
fully unearthed to allow us, and hundreds of Chinese,
to go down three
levels into the main chamber. Because
scientists have
been exploring
this tomb complex for over twenty years, it has been fully
unearthed and,
they believe, all passages have been discovered. So many
tourists
here! Mostly Oriental tourists, but few
Caucasians -- maybe
five of every
hundred -- swarmed through the widened tunnels.
Throngs of
merchants lined all areas outside the tombs to hawk every kind
of goods to the
tourist, from fur hats to fruit, travel patches to film,
and everything
else I could think of. They were really
persistent if I
stopped to admire
anything in their little wooden kiosk.
Back into the bus
we were herded. After an hour drive we
got off the bus
at the most
significant section of the Great Wall.
Again, the masses of
merchants selling
everything they could think of -- jackets to juice. A
book about the
Great Wall in paperback, silver coins depicting the Great
Wall, were two
often displayed items. Our guide had
moved on but we
knew to meet at
the bus in 1½ hours. Since he wasn't
around to pay our
admission fee, I
had to pay the 60 yuan (30 apiece) to climb the
‘Monument to
Chinese Defense’, as they labeled it.
After awhile
Marcy sat waiting for me to make the climb to the peak of
this Wall. Along the windy passage, domed with snow or
ice I encountered
several
persistent merchants. Especially
noticeable was one who wanted
to sell me a silver
coin. I didn't want it. He persisted for much of my
journey up the
steep area of the Wall. I made care to
think of the
possibility each
time he bumped me of a pickpocket. All
my valuables
were secure under
two layers of clothes in a zippered pouch hanging
around my
neck. Merchants were all over the Wall
trying to sell tee
shirts,
sweatshirts, books, coins, etc. We
finally got off the Wall. It
was very cold up
there; snow still lined the edges of the Wall.
I bought
two fur hats
that, I suspect, are made of dog fur.
Another persistent
merchant sold me
two dark green, heavy sweatshirts that say, "I climbed
the Great
Wall" in Chinese. Next, Marcy
decided, after some insistence
on my part, to
ride the camel. It was necessary that I
continue the
strong
encouragement or Marcy would have changed her mind about getting
atop this
unfriendly creature. It wasn't easy to
climb on his back, but
she did it.
The bus was
waiting for us to return to Beijing. The
two-hour ride back
delivered us to
the Friendship Store. While the
Friendship Stores are
all over Beijing,
and there is always one in all of China's larger cities
and towns, their
prices are usually among the most costly of all stores
or merchants.
We took a taxi
back to the Chong Wen Men
Hotel. We dropped all extra
gear in the hotel
and went out to eat. I bought some
barbecued meat on a
skewer, gave the
seller ten yuan and he waved to me like "OK -
now we are
even." But the posted price indicated only 2.50
Yuan, and I waited for
change that he
reluctantly gave to me. A popcorn
merchant was selling
bags for two
Yuan. I bought one. Marcy wanted another for later. It
didn't taste like
American traditional popcorn. Very
slight sweet taste
and each kernel
was three times as dense as what I am acquainted within
the U.S. I gave him a ten-yuan
note, expecting eight back. Instead, I
had to struggle
with him and insist on money returned. A
crowd gathered;
finally, he gave
me the money. I'll remember to carry
smaller bills for
such
persons. Back to the hotel, after we
stopped at a small restaurant,
and I had bony
chicken parts with extra skin and heavy on the fat. I
thought I was
ordering something else, but this is what came.
The menu
was only in
Chinese, so I told the waiter I wanted to eat what I had seen
on another
patron’s plate. Marcy and I had a good
laugh over this.
Outside the
little restaurant on the cold dark boulevard, I was still
hungry so I
bought two skewers of beef from a street vendor. Marcy ate
nothing.
March 5,
1995 Sunday Beijing, China
I woke up at 10
then sun was already out fully and it was a warm day.
Marcy and I got
dressed quickly. We drove in a cyclocab to the south
gate of the
Forbidden City here in Beijing.
Accidentally, we walked
through the wrong
gate into a separate section that is a child’s park.
After discovering
our error, we left and found the correct entrance just
to the west of
this park. After paying seventy Yuan
each we got an
English tape
version of the Forbidden City, so-called because it was only
for the Emperor's
wife, children, courtesans, and royal slaves.
The
audiotape
explained much of the history of this palace and courtyard from
thirteen points
corresponding to numbered signs posted, to signal a stop.
We walked through
the main portion of this huge graveled arena.
It had
been destroyed
several times and rebuilt each time, using the original
plans, so it
looked like the first.
As we walked
through the courtyard, Marcy pointed out a young child's
clothing outfit
that was common around Beijing. The
pants had no rear so
the two-year-old
boy (in this case) could squat (a technique not yet
perfected by
Marcy) and do what children must do. The
design of the
pants was cut so
there would be no obstruction in the child's performance
of waste
elimination.
After exiting the
courtyard I thought about how impressive the intricate
and
labor-intensive work was. I purchased a
Styrofoam box filled with
eight or ten pot
stickers (pork, I believe) for four Yuan.
They tasted
so good; I went
back for some more, which were being cooked as I watched.
We took the cyclocab to a nearby shopping area with many fancy shops
mixed in with the
not-so-fancy. I bought a silk
casual-wear jacket, as
did Marcy, for
five dollars. They were happy to take
American dollars.
We stopped in at
a McDonald's Hamburger Restaurant, which was terribly
crowded even
though it was very, very big. People
crowded into the line
sideways with
little regard for any order -- except making theirs. With
all the pushing
and shoving I was amazed that I finally got hot coffee
and a chocolate
milkshake for nine Yuan. All the tables
were occupied,
but when I saw
that some people were about to leave, we waited a couple
of minutes for
them to vacate and then we sat.
A cyclocab took us back to the hotel, and then we went out to
buy a few
harmonicas from
the Friendship Store and just look around.
The cab
driver offered to
give me change for an American twenty-dollar bill in
Yuan, which I was
willing to accept. He took the money
from me as we
stood on the
sidewalk and then he just sped away through massive throngs
of people.
We wandered
through a produce section. Most of the fruit
and vegetables
appeared to be
second grade or worse. We bought none,
but we did go into
a wonderful
Szechwan Chinese restaurant. We ordered
spring rolls -- pork
with sizzling
rice, shredded chicken, and beer to drink.
While the food
tasted great, it
was cooked using too much oil. I kept
trying to remove
some of the
grease, but this was no easy task. We walked the short
distance back to
the hotel. The weather today was
especially pleasant
from morning to
night; the temperature was always in the 70's.
I exercise more
caution now with cab drivers that don't want to give
change. I ask for the change first before I give them
the money. This
last cabbie
wanted my money, but then "realized" he had change. So I
gave him 24.80 yuan instead of twenty-five. He would have gladly taken
the thirty yuan and left. Not
again, not to me. I'll be careful.
March 6,1995 Monday
Guilin, China
In the morning we
went to the airport to catch flight to Guilin. I hope
for warmer
weather. However, I have a heavy
eight-dollar coat, good
gloves, and a
warm dog-fur hat -- just in case it's
not warm. I ate
very little on
the plane because I had difficulty in determining which
food groups the little
things on my plate belonged to. We
landed after a
three and
one-half hour flight. A cab ride cost
fifty Yuan to get to the
Hong Kong Hotel
in the heart of the city of Guilin. The drive was about
twenty minutes
through a shabby, but very typical for smaller cities in
China, business
area. Everything was for sale. The hotel was at the
other end of
town, small in comparison to Beijing; probably less than
300,000 people
live in the metropolitan part of the city.
Marcy
successfully negotiated the price from ninety (posted in dollars)
to fifty dollars
by showing the price printed in the Lonely Planet Guide
to China. Our room, on the 14th floor of this circular
hotel, had a view
of construction
to the East. We purchased air tickets to
Canton and a
boat ride down
the River Li, supposedly a very beautiful trip.
We spent
the balance of
the day looking around town. We had
taken a cab to the
Cave of the Seven
Sisters and walked two miles along the
Lake it
followed. Many Chinese scripts were carved into the
caves, which were
dotted with
limestone stalagmites and stalactites.
The path led us by
many barking
vendors, all selling the same merchandise as the vendor next
to him. I only purchased one small cigarette holder
of bone for fifty
cents. We walked toward the general direction of our
hotel, but neither
of us knew
exactly where it was. Fortunately, I had
a business card from
the hotel, so in
the worst case, we’d have to take a taxi back.
Along
the main street
we followed was a post office where I bought several
stamps for
postcards. Marcy called home from the
post office because
that is the only
place in town that we could make an international call.
She found that
Sarah was in the hospital after an hour of talking with
Ross, we left the
post office and resumed our journey toward the hotel.
Immediately as we
exited, we walked through a maze of fruit and vegetable
vendors with most
of their wares spread out on a clearly delineated area
which they marked
well, usually by use of a straw mat or a blanket or
two. The fruits were not ones I could identify
immediately, but with
close inspection
I could tell what fruit they might be related to. I was
surprised to find
that their produce had little in common with the
vegetables and
fruits I am familiar with. Especially
notable was a large
yellow gourd-like
fruit that split apart and was eaten like grapefruit.
It tasted and
smelled akin to grapefruit as well.
Further north
along the street were the butchers and vendors of fish,
animals and
eggs. Because it was cold today, a
rarity in this city, the
meat looked clean
and untainted, but when the normal heat and humidity
resume, the air
must smell putrid. Dogs and large bamboo
rats, snakes,
all kinds of
living and dead fish, and other water creatures were for
sale.
As we walked
further, two young men with bicycles approached us. They
identified
themselves as teachers at the local college of art, but they
said they were
always looking for a chance to practice English. They
introduced
themselves to us as Lee and Tang. These
two twenty-year-olds
had purchased a
large freshwater fish at the local market and were riding
their bikes home
with the still-gasping live fish in the front basket on
the bike. While Marcy was looking for quiet, the young
teachers
persisted in
talking with me. We began to take a
liking to the two men,
who asked us to
go out to dinner with them -- we pay.
Yes, we accepted.
At eight o'clock
we met them in front of the hotel and exchanged ideas
about our
differences and similarities.
The local
specialty was the local fish, which was served "sweet and
sour," very
solid, tasty meat and easy to pick from the bone. Chicken
was fried. It was snipped into squares about one and
one-half inch, with
the bone, skin,
and everything. The first piece of
chicken I took was,
on close
inspection, the fried head. Tang told me
that the father always
gets the
head. I still declined, opting for more
traditional body parts
to consume. They had given me small samples of other meat
that I wanted
to taste. A square of dark meat that looked smooth with
wide grains
through it was
bamboo rat. I did not like the meat
because it was tough
and sour. Next they gave a piece of meat that was still
on the bone.
This small piece
was bitter, but the meat had good texture.
Tang said
that I had just
eaten dog. They were careful not to
upset Marcy by
explaining what I
had eaten in anything other than very low tones and
whispers. I appreciated this culinary adventure which I
do not intend to
repeat. I had the offer of cat meat, which is a
delicacy here and very
expensive, but
the restaurant owner did not have any now.
I didn’t want
to wait until she
caught one. As we walked by other
restaurants, they
had many
different animals encaged in front of their eatery. Other
creatures that
were there waiting to be eaten were fish, large insects,
snakes, and other
animals for which Lee and Tang could not recall the
names in English.
We returned to
the hotel by way of city bus. One Yuan
per person. The
next morning we
wanted a wake-up call so we could be on time for the
river boat trip.
March 7,
1995 Tuesday Guilin, China
After dressing,
we went upstairs to the revolving restaurant to have dim
sum and coffee
for a light breakfast. We went
downstairs and the bus was
waiting for
us. At eight we boarded the bus going to
the boat, about 5
km. away. The weather was cold, damp, and very
foggy. The boat quickly
engorged itself
to capacity with passengers. It pulled
away from the
dock, and the
engine was locked in gear. Off we were.
The limestone
rock formations around the river were pretty, but because
of the bitter
cold and the light clothing we wore, it was too cold to
really enjoy to
its fullest. The fog misted over the
rocks and cliffs,
which lined both
sides of the river. The farthest field
of view was up
or down the
river. The fog especially gathered over
land and around the
huge rocks.
This trip
finished in Yuangzou at five p.m. We immediately caught a bus,
which traveled
less than enthusiastically to the town of Guilin. The bus
driver stopped
for five minutes so he could buy three grapefruit from his
favorite roadside
vendor.
Once in Guilin the bus straggled past what appeared to be our
hotel. The
bus driver opting
to travel another four miles so that the Japanese
tourists and we
could enjoy a free museum of costumes.
All speaking and
all signs were in
Chinese and Japanese. I couldn’t
understand a word of
what it was all
about. The cold weather and the
drizzling rain were
enough to stop
Marcy from even leaving the bus. We
wanted to get to the
hotel soon
because we were very tired. It didn't appeal to me or Marcy
to even get off
the bus for this episode of pimping us off.
Naturally
there was an
abundance of gift shops -- here, signs were posted in
English here, but
they spoke a limited vocabulary in English.
I began a
conversation with one of the curators of the museum. He showed
me some items
that were owned by this small museum, but will be sold
soon. I asked several items I had an interest
in. Before leaving the
old man, he had
convinced me that a particular mask was an exceptional
buy at two
hundred dollars. I explained that I am
on a very limited
budget . . .
apparently that was enough for the price to drop to fifty
dollars before I
bought the large bamboo mask of the Wise Man of Guilin
-
- a mystical
being.
At seven in the early evening, the driver,
having lost his way once,
finally was able
to deliver us to the hotel. Tang and Lee
were waiting
for us at the
hotel as we had agreed the previous night.
Strangely, they
were both very
reluctant to venture from the darkness close to the lights
from the glassed
hotel lobby. This made me feel uneasy,
as though they
were known
unsavory characters that the hotel wanted kept away from the
guests. We went anyway.
Our first stop
with Tang and Lee was to their professor's house, where we
drank tea and
looked at several water colors he had drawn.
All offered
to us at
one-third what we'd have to pay in a hotel or fancy store. We
didn't buy
anything and felt that we were being pimped again.
The four of us
took a taxi to the local playhouse, where we watched some
acrobatics,
several interpretive vignettes about a marriage ceremony, and
some other scenes
of Chinese life. We were served small
peanuts salted
in the shell, an
apple, and two orange slices for sixty yuan per
person.
After this hour
long bit of local entertainment, we walked through dimly
lit streets to a
local restaurant to enjoy a spicy late dinner.
Later
that night, around
9:30 p.m., we returned by taxi in the cold and damp
weather to our
hotel. Sleep came quickly.
March 8,1995 Wednesday Guilin, China
We had gotten our
tickets for Canton to leave by plane tomorrow morning
at 10 a.m. I had a Chinese breakfast, dim sum, which was
mainly egg
rolls and coffee;
then a taxi to the airport for forty Yuan.
Once at the
airport, we found that the flight was delayed for a long time
because of bad
fog. After three hours now, we are still
waiting for
departure to be
announced. Marcy is getting emotional
about calling
home. Unable to get through, she is meeting with a
great deal of
communication
problems for which I could only suggest she wait till the
large airport at
Canton.
Meanwhile, as I
pen these lines, waiting in the airport terminal,
standing alone
while Marcy futilely attempts to call home, numerous
Chinese -- mainly
older men -- have boldly looked over my shoulder to see
what it is that I
write. I'm certain none have been able
to read a word
yet.
After three
hours, I'm still stuck at the airport, not even able to find
a place to
sit. The time goes so slowly. Because of the heavy fog the
flight may be
canceled, which would further complicate issues of time and
scheduling. Already it seems the best part of the day has
been wasted
here. If the fog is the condition preventing
takeoff, then I would
prefer to wait
for a safe moment before our plane is venturing into the
sky.
Anticipation of
warm weather in Canton almost prompted me to dress
lightly, but good
sense momentarily seized me, and I donned my heavy
jacket. After four hours in the airport, heavy fog
caused every flight
to be
delayed. It should be noted that none of
the flights were
canceled, even
though no flights have left the airport in two days. It
is likely that we
won’t fly out today; the fog is still very heavy. I
brought our
tickets to a service window and was able to get a refund.
For five Yuan we
took a cab to the train station. The cab
left us close
to the train
station, but not too close because the traffic was jammed
and we didn't
exactly know where it was. People were
scurrying around
everywhere.
Eventually, we
traversed the wet and crowded parking lot, but the
doorways were so
jammed that it was very difficult because we were loaded
with
luggage. Rather than fight through it
all, we went to the Hong Kong
Hotel where we
purchased train tickets for tomorrow.
There was little
chance to fly out
tomorrow because the fog seems to thicken with each
passing moment
and the fog is predicted to be heavier tomorrow. We paid
six hundred Yuan
for sleeper booths on the train, and, the travel agent
said it could be
more. She will go to the station to try
to get the
tickets
soon. I am ready to leave this burg and
now.
After stowing all
gear back in a newly assigned room, we drank some hot
tea, then left to
visit the town once again. We walked
about four
miles. During the last two miles a Chinese man who
claimed to be a
librarian at the
University dismounted his bike and walked with us. It
was difficult to
decide if he truly had an interest in us as Americans or
a desire to get a
free meal or some other reward for accompanying us. I
enjoyed the
exchange of ideas, but when we wanted to be left alone he
would not leave,
instead he acted oblivious to Marcy's perturbation.
Admittedly, I was
passive because I enjoy an exchange of thoughts as we
were doing. We walked into a department store for
videotape for the
camcorder. They wanted twenty-six dollars for what would
cost fifteen
dollars in
L.A. I have enough film to last till
Canton or Hong Kong
probably, except
I never know when I should film until the moment is upon
me. We took a cyclo
back to the hotel, and then went upstairs for dinner
in the revolving
restaurant in the Hong Kong Hotel. The
view was
wonderful as we
circled around; able to see most everything in the city .
. . the fog seems
to be lifting. Including two alcoholic
drinks, the
bill was less
than twenty dollars; agood value in a nice
restaurant.
Both of us
enjoyed the food too.
I was tired, so I
went to bed. I turned the TV up rather
loud because
our
"neighbors" were very loud, so I thought this would help get the
message across
quickly to them. Our neighbors had about
six Chinese
women all of them
talking at the same time; each trying to speak louder
than the other
women so they would be heard. The
cackling laugh, coming
from their room,
was the worst I have ever heard.
March 9,
1995 Thursday Guilin, China
Because we had
nothing we had to do except leave Guilin, and the
travel
clerk was unable
to purchase railway tickets, we decided to try to get a
flight. Weather conditions were much better, although
still foggy; it
had lifted above
ground level to about three hundred feet.
With some
good luck we'll
depart on the newly arranged tickets at 9:30 p.m. to
Chenzhan, near Canton.
Rather than spend
the afternoon lounging at the hotel with nothing more
than hope, we'll
be able to fly out today. We went to a
cave located
about twenty
minutes outside of Guilin. Hordes of vendors selling the
traditional chatchkas came down like locusts on a rice field. We
wandered past the
camel chewing his cud, waiting for the moment he must
stand up. An older Chinese woman encouraged us (for
forty Yuan) to ride
her bamboo raft
across a small lake close to the mouth of the cave. The
Reed Flute Cave
cost thirty-four Yuan (but only twelve, if you are
Chinese) per
person to enter the tour of the cave narrated thoroughly
albeit only in
Chinese. The cave and its tunnels were
well paved and
well lit.
The colored lighting dramatized well, the
unusual formations within this
mountainous domed
arena. The taxi driver we hired brought
us back to the
hotel quickly
without stops at his favorite jeweler or anywhere but the
hotel.
Once back, I paid
for the new plane tickets, and we went upstairs,
neither of us was
feeling in the peak of health -- both with aching feet.
Marcy was feeling
overall malaise, probably a cold, but she went
everywhere with
me just the same. She’s a great
traveling companion.
We had some
coffee and tea. I hired a taxi to bring
us to the
department store
to buy some video film that would work well in the video
camera (about 50%
more expensive than in the U.S., and it seems to be
designed for PAL.
systems).
While I slowly walked
through the store, I noticed the wide variety of
goods for
sale. Household appliances -- like
washers, dryers,
refrigerators,
and stoves -- looked like they came out of the fifties.
Still, all sorts
of household goods were for sale and being bought or
inspected by many
patrons. After you select merchandise,
the clerk
issues three
carbon copy tissues that are brought to the cashier then,
after, payment,
two copies are returned to the clerk, who wrote out the
slips. I put the tape in my pocket without a sales
ticket. The cashier
kept both, and I
walked out. Theft doesn't seem to be a
very common
problem. Since guns are outlawed, few vicious crimes
are committed.
I rejoined Marcy
and the cabbie where I had left them, and off we were to
the airport. I wasn't certain the bellboy had properly
advised the
cabbie of our
intention, which was to get us to the airport after the
department
store. He did it without much further
comment from me. The
ride was arranged
to cost fifty yuan, but we gave him sixty since he
was
a good driver,
taking fewer death-defying maneuvers than anyone we had
yet driven with.
It was startling
to note the driving etiquette here.
Remarkably few
vehicles were
damaged from accidents, but all drivers -- regardless of
what vehicle type
-- would inch their vehicle in front of others in cross
traffic. Pedestrians had few rights, followed closely
by bicyclists.
Somehow traffic
constantly continued without any accidents I witnessed,
except one
bicyclist who fell after being brushed by a car that was
trying to squeeze
by him. I didn't witness the cause of
the mishap,
however he just
loaded his gear back onto the bike, didn't even bother
dusting off the
back of his dark blue suit.
At the airport it
seemed we were faced with very similar confusion like
last night. Our flight is delayed, as are all others
because of weather.
What a calamity,
what chaos! The local Traffic Police
must have designed
the airport,
without much thought. When a service
window opens,
everybody pushes
and shoves to the front of the line.
Since only one can
be truly first,
positioning changes each minute.
Location is everything.
The airport
employees change which line should be used for each
destination. Incredible as it seems, we acted in a way
that reflected
Western customs
of cuing in an Eastern world. We
happened to be standing
in the right
place when they opened the line for our flight.
We were
first. Within a few minutes a tour guide leading
thirty Chinese put her
luggage right up
front before ours. Part of the rules in
China is that
if one person in
your group is in line that entitles you to get in line
with them. Often people push and squeeze their way even
if it means
pushing someone
aside. When the leader of that group
reached over to put
her luggage
before ours, I could see that Marcy was going to do
SOMETHING. I'll admit to standing by idly while Marcy,
single-mindedly
of purpose (i.e.,
getting out of Guilin), would not allow any obstacle
to
stand in her
way. First, she didn't let language
become a communication
barrier. She advised the line cutter that she can't
get in front of her.
She said it with
such determination that it transcended any possible
misunderstanding
anybody nearby might have had. She moved
our luggage
right up front
before the stunned tour guide.
After a brief
wait while others tried to manipulate a more favorable line
position, Marcy
firmly guarded her position, body blocking any of these
smaller people
that wished for a luckier spot in line.
The big surprise
was when the mass Marcy led, suddenly ran crazily
elsewhere to
another counter with their luggage, climbing over people was
permitted for
this migration. When Marcy saw this, she
bolted to the
head of the new
mass “line” and summoned me with the luggage.
Somehow
she made it,
herself, to the front of this new line.
I think it no
accident or
coincidence she was there. I dodge and
bang a few hapless
souls who stood
between Marcy getting our tickets and luggage posted to
the flight. I was visibly impressed by her
determination. She lost much
face in Guilin, but I don't think she would have cared if she lost
all of
it.
Finally through
the pushing and shoving in a new line farther into the
boarding process
with less than aplomb we found our seats and placed the
straw Vietnamese
hats safely in an overhead compartment.
Well, we
thought safely --
we had to fight other patrons to prevent another bag
being jammed into
the space. The tightly packed plane is
uncomfortable
because of
limited space and the varied fragrances that waft my way.
Chinese often
carry a glass jar filled with some fluid Oriental.
Next stop in
forty-five minutes should be Shenzhen near Canton if all
goes well. The cabin is flooded with loud Chinese work
songs to get us
all in the proper
spirit. After midnight we arrived at a
hotel at least
thirty miles from
the airport in Shenzhen. As we rode
through the city,
I saw that this
is no minor burg. Plenty of large
hotels, all very new.
Flashy lights on
numerous buildings somewhat reminiscent of Las Vegas
(Chinese
style). Few signs were posted in
English. If we would have
taken a taxi, it
would have cost over 200 yuan, but the bus into the
city
cost for both of
us forty-eight Yuan.
The driver's
assistant dropped off everybody but us, and took us right to
a very nice
hotel. Cost: fifty dollars, but they
wanted Hong Kong
dollars, not
Yuan. The driver’s assistant helped
bring all the luggage
in and would not
accept a generous tip which I felt he certainly
deserved. I gave him my business card. I was very tired and worn out.
I hobbled up to
our suite on the 19th floor of a 24-story building. Took
a couple pills
for my feet, then I went to bed. Marcy
was already
asleep.
March 10,
1995 Friday Shenzhen, China to
Hong Kong
After a late
rising, we checked out of the suite that overlooked the
railroad
station. The fact that we were only a
quarter mile from the
station didn't
prevent the taxi driver from taking forty-five minutes to
get there in his
metered cab. Traffic was thick during
this ten-dollar
drive. This was the same procedure to move through
the many lines as we
have experienced
previously. Pushing, shoving, and edging
into the front
of the line by
large Chinese families was too common.
Rather than a
straight line,
Orientals obviously prefer the semicircle huddle.
Customs, passport
control, tickets . . . each was a new line.
Finally,
at the train it
was comfortable, modern, quiet, and cheap.
Off at the
tenth stop, Kowloon. Without a
hotel we hoped to explore with a
knowledgeable taxi
driver. After a fifteen-minute wait in the line for
taxis, we were
rewarded with a taxi driver who had little intent to help.
It seemed he
wanted to just leave us off anywhere without any interest in
our welfare. He was rewarded by being shortchanged, he got
forty Hong
Kong dollars from
us. We were lost in Hong Kong. We had to figure out
where to go from
here.
I wanted to go to
a nearby Center for Tourists six doors up the street in
the center of the
Kowloon district.
Instead, Marcy spoke with a clerk in
a nearby clothing
store. She suggested to Marcy the hotel
across the
street -- Park
Hotel at $150 a night; way too much. But
she wanted to
check in, so we
did. After discussing the issue of
"no rooms right now"
we left our bags
and went to check out the shopping Mecca we both had
heard so much
about. Electronics and fake watches were
bargains, but
little else.
We walked about
four miles before we found a Chinese restaurant that
seemed good. While expensive (a small bowl of soup cost
$30 HK), the
whole meal was
$170 HK. We got a little lost on the way
back but
eventually found
the way after two stops -- once to buy a tee shirt, once
to buy a
ten-dollar Chinese watch.
We walked around
the Kowloon business for a couple of hours. The warm
night air was
perfumed with a myriad of competing smells.
Fish frying,
vegetables,
cooking, onions, mystical unidentified fragrances were
seeping into my
nostrils at every turn. Oceans of odors
drifting by--not
all of them
pleasant. A Chinese man was stirring
chestnuts which were
roasting in a
large black wok heated by a thick smoky charcoal fire. I
bought a bag and
we shared the sweet, soft, wonderfully tasty delicacy.
Back to the hotel
to sleep. The walk through this
beautifully lit city
was charming.
March 11,
1995 Saturday Hong Kong
I awoke by
wake-up call from the concierge at six in the morning. I
slowly dressed
and showered. The efforts are thicker and more deliberate.
The long journey
is taking its toll on me. I am ready to
end the trip
and I am anxious
to go home. Today is Saturday, but it
is Friday in LA
would mean that
Mark has already left for Hawaii. I'm
certain he
deserves it after
the long period he had to run it by himself.
Enough
thought as to
what awaits me with family and friends.
I have grave
concern for Sarah
who is ill now, and I easily can sense the effect on
Marcy. Today in Hong Kong we toured the city by boat
with its harbors,
bays and delicate
canals intricately decorated with hand crafted Chinese
junk that have
seen finer years of service. Hot food is
cooking in a
blackened metal
wok over a charcoal filled buckets. The
wok looks as
though it had
been passed through several generations being the central
point where a
poor Chinese boat family has found warmth and food, day
after day.
At nine a.m. we
boarded the boat, not certain if this will be interesting
and reveal
another side to Hong Kong we haven't felt yet.
So far Hong
Kong seems to be
the New York of the Orient. Big and
brutal with a
fancy, expensive
sheen covering a hard currency mentality.
Too
sophisticated for
most visitors and certainly so for China.
The oceans
of people drawn
to the supposed "great deals" are to be disappointed.
All the deceit
and malice found in every metropolis can be found here.
An enormous
number of skyscraping architecturally elite monoliths wear
the neon hats which
proclaim the name of their owner.
We watch the city
through the fog-shrouded sky. All things
look gray,
save an
occasional blue, green, or red fluorescent billboard. The hurried
growth that this
city is paining to digest with each new building does
little to add to
the vapid business flair of this megalopolis.
Instead
it makes Hong
Kong assume character found in every other large city
throughout the
world. Each building is straining to out
do the others in
its attempt for
some elusive architectural haute cuisine.
The
competition is
sniffling and totally overbearing. The
streets are filled
with smaller
merchants who have decided the best way to sell their wares
would be to not
post prices but to field the inquiry of every prospect.
The elusive
prices had to be plied from the vendor after he asked me how
much I would
spend for an item. As we wandered
through the littered
streets, we
stopped at places, looking for nothing in particular and
everything in
general. Throngs of Chinese and Japanese
holding glossy
paper bags
emblazoned with logos like Chanel or Gucci and
such.
I fought my way
upstream along the cracked and stained sidewalk
struggling to
maintain a moving motion against the yellow hordes coming
toward me. Here,
in this city, there were many white people.
Being of
white skin
quickly identified me as not a native, because Hong Kong
residents are
overwhelmingly Han in their roots.
At noon the ferry
we are passengers upon, arrived at a small island that
is named Cheng
Chen still used as a safe harbor during typhoons and heavy
storms. The Chinese junks were docked here in droves,
at least two
hundred from
where I stood. A splash of every color
could be seen on
each boat. The layers of cheap paint peeling off the
vessels in one-foot
sheets. The boats were never painted with the same
color as the current
layer. Each coat of paint is to be in contrast with
the last. The
motley foray was
treated with veneration, for it indicated somehow the
agedness of the
family water bound vehicle. And age is
revered
throughout
Oriental cultures. The geriatric
inhabitants of this
particular island
outnumbered, overwhelmingly, post WWII members of this
community. Most of the items for sale were in one way
or another tied
to the
ocean. Many sellers of the fruits of the
sea dotted the narrow
walkway along the
dock, often displaying such creatures, alive and well.
As a small group
of ten we followed the guide to an ancient Hindu temple
that is still in
use. Delicate carvings quickly
identified the type of
religious worship
I expected within its small interior, which is slightly
larger than a
one-room house.
In front of this
sacred temple, the townspeople were constructing a large
dome like structure
of which I watched some laborers assemble and cut the
frame from large
sections of dried or wet bamboo. Dry
bamboo was used
for straight
walls and ceilings. Wet bamboo was used
for the domed roof
frame and bent
into shape.
We walked back to
the boat and sped over choppy water to the Queens Pier
on Hong Kong
Island, then the pier in Kowloon where we were the
sole
passengers on the
vessel to exit. Back to the hotel, it
was late in the
afternoon. I left all photo gear in the room and walked
around the
local shops for
two hours. Back now to the boat we went,
to spend four
hours on an
evening cruise that promises to show us the evening light
show of all the
buildings in Hong Kong. Few were easily
visible through
the fog (which
hadn't lifted all day), but the water scenes I saw were
akin to New
York’s most famous borough, Manhattan.
Seas were
choppy. Our vessel docked along side a
very well lit ship
claiming to be
the largest floating diner in Hong Kong with four floors
available to
patrons. They offered a free visit to a
"seafood
exhibition"
with numerous types of fish and other denizens of the sea.
All either living
(or recently deceased and yet undiscovered by the men
who tended these
creatures). Since we had eaten earlier
at a Korean
restaurant prior
to getting aboard, we weren't too hungry.
All drinks
were free aboard
the boat but I only drank soda. The
desire for peanuts
that were also
offered aboard came over Marcy. With the aid of my
flashlight, I
prowled through the unattended dank rear quarters of the
boat the first
can I shook when opened revealed about twenty dollars in
bills and
change. I left this poorly disguised
hiding place for an
unopened can of
nuts that I retrieved and brought to Marcy.
We wanted a
snack, not a
meal.
I had some too
while we waited for those who paid to dine there. Those
who I spoke with
who had eaten there described it as a uniquely
disgusting
meal. I inwardly felt gratified that I
elected to not include
the meal with the
tour. During the stop Marcy and I sat on
the upper
deck with four
people on holiday from India. They were
not very happy
with Hong
Kong. They found it, as I did,
overpriced and not easy to find
good value
here. We spoke for quite sometime. Two of them, a married
couple intend to
travel across the U.S. in August. We
went back into the
pier in Kowloon.
After a thirteen
HK$ ($1.70) ride back to the hotel we walked around the
block to a
Japanese restaurant. We ate some meat
filled pastries. Back
to Park Hotel and
asleep quickly.
March 12,
1995 Sunday Hong Kong
to Taiwan
The next morning
we ate breakfast in the hotel then left for the airport.
Traffic was heavy
especially since today is Sunday.
Several hours were
spent in the
modern busy Hong Kong Airport. We got on
the plane and
within an hour or
so we landed in foggy Chang Kai Shek Airport in Taiwan
-- Taipei. We talked about the meal on the plane coming
here. It
included a peanut
porridge and other unfamiliar items.
While I tried
most everything,
one taste was enough. I was not
satisfied with this.
It was difficult
to arrange the hour drive into Taipei that is about
thirty miles from
the airport on vehicle-clogged streets.
The room is
$85, but with a
van to pick up and deliver us to the airport the price
changed to
$150.00 US, which we paid. The Hotel
China was downtown and
central to many
things, including shopping. We walked
around for a while
then, back at the
hotel, we ate a buffet style dinner for $350 Taiwan or
$14 US. The exchange rate is currently 25 Taiwanese
dollars for one US
dollar. About half of the items offered were
recognizable but I tried
most of what was
offered.
Walking during
the early dark hours through the ancient city of Taipei
was chilly and
wet. Prices were similar to Hong Kong,
but quite often
they were
posted. Very few medicine shops
here. Thinking back about it
the Chinese had
innumerable medicinal stores offering an endless array of
ginseng and
antler horn. Tiger Balm and other
western style cures were
available as were
acupuncture tools and books. This was a
sharp contrast
to the
western-style drugstore.
In Taipei we
found many vegetarian restaurants; often they were decorated
with a swastika
for good luck. Probably Hindi spots with
much of the
huge menus
offering only fruits or vegetables, no meat.
I bought a
skewer of pork
slices from a street vendor who was barbecuing sticks of
this delicious smelling
meat. He was marinating the meat then
after five
minutes it would
be pulled from the smoldering fire and delivered to me.
I also had some
very large mushrooms skewered, basted with butter then
laid close to the
red embers of charcoal. He sprinkled
paprika or black
pepper (or some
other spice I could not identify), then gave the
mushrooms a final
searing grilling and handed me the wooden sticks upon
which fragrant
mushrooms were impaled.
Marcy purchased
two small pastries from a nearby store.
While I noted
the large number
of patrons making purchases therein, it did nothing to
bring the flavorfulness of these rolls beyond a low level of
acceptability. The Chinese have a different palate, so that
probably may
be one
explanation for the clamor to buy the small loaves as they are put
into the
respective display basket. That was it
for tonight, we were
tired and went to
sleep quickly.
March 13, 1995
Monday Taiwan to Los Angeles
The final day of
this adventure. It is time to go
home. I plan the day
to include the
Taiwan Museum but because it is so far away (over forty
minutes) we
couldn't get there in the morning after a late rising. Our
flight leaves at
four p.m. so we arranged with the taxi driver to take us
to the Chang Kai Shek Museum and to the Hard Rock Cafe in Taipei. The
rain was coming
down harder than it was yesterday evening.
Walking
through the
museum grounds while cold and wet were very beautiful. The
taxi driver took
us to the airport where -- after checking in and
confirming seat
location -- we took the mile walk through various gates
and lines. We stopped to eat lunch and pay the airport
service charge of
twelve dollars a
person. Lunch for me was one final
Oriental fling
loaded with
noodle-shaped carbohydrates and small bits of vegetables and
meat. The meal, while lacking the spicy heat of Schezuwan cooking, was
satisfying. I left food on my plate, a rare occurrence
for me when I
enjoy the meal. I employed chopsticks as I did often through
this tour.
I believe my
proficiency with them may have considerably improved.
After boarding
this thirteen-hour flight that leaves at four p.m., but
arrives at 12:30
p.m. at LAX thirteen and a half hours before departure.
Of course all
times are expressed in local time, and we gain back the day
we lost when we
flew here. The flight will last eleven
hours, it was
just
announced. No matter, it was long and
tedious. Even with choice
seats it was less
than comfortable. Each of the two
dinners served were
lackluster to my
palate, but typical of favorite flavors the Chinese
enjoy. I was glad to be able to refuse the bulk of
this Chinese meal,
knowing within
ten more hours I will be able to rejuvenate my flavor
sensors with the
actualization of a desire I have had for the last week.
I want an “In n
Out” hamburger and a chance to enjoy Marcy's wonderful
cooking. Eleven hours after departure, on schedule, we
land safely at
LAX. The exceptionally long wait to deboard the plane is stretched out
with each minute
ticking away in slow motion. Final moves
are made,
Chinese-style, to
push me off the plane through the crowds. This is still
acceptable social
behavior. (I am still amid the Chinese!)
After collecting
our luggage, we pass quickly through customs.
I call
Mom and Dad who
are waiting for this call at my office.
They arrive
within ten
minutes and drive me to the office. The
lack of sleep is
becoming a great
burden, but I struggle through it long enough to see the
piles of work
awaiting me tomorrow. I left the office
and have Mom and
Dad take me home
which they gladly do. I am anxious to
unpack and view
the treasures I
collected. Few of the items I collected
were of any
value to anybody
but me. With rare exception I seldom
purchased anything
that exceeded ten
dollars US. Tee shirts from almost
everywhere. A few
knickknacks,
hundreds of scraps of papers, and small inexpensive
memorabilia,
coins or paper money. But lots of film
and tons of
memories. So concludes another excellent episode, this
wondrous visit to
the Oriental part
of the world.
REFLECTIONS OF VIET NAM
As is every trip
or adventure I take, it is not entirely remembered by
me, some details
escape me shortly after I have experienced them -- only
short pearls of
time, brief vignettes, if you will, are what I am able to
easily
recollect. Those that I recall quickest
involve our time in Hue,
more than all
others. The boat down the Perfume River
will be remembered
fondly, above all
else, although Viet Nam was a beautiful country. The
scars of the last
war can still be seen easily, but the people are tied
so closely to the
earth. You can see the griminess of it
in the eyes of
every farmer and
under every street vendor's fingernails.
The people of
this country,
while poor by American standards, have the humble pride you
can only expect
from the oriental cultures. A stubborn
yet quiet
insistence that
they will live here as they have for centuries.
And no
one can move
them.
Politics is above
all of this. People are generally
oblivious to the
government. Of course they had those times when it was
forced in front
of them. Some more educated Viet Namese
spoke quietly to me that to
complain is
forbidden. They lack certain other
intellectual assets taken
for granted in
most other countries. They can
improvise well to solve
problems, but
they prefer tranquility more than an overwhelming desire
for the
ubiquitous more.
As I viewed the
photographs and the very long unedited first showing of
the videos, I get
a very different "feel" of everything we had seen and
done. No struggle, no problems, no cold wet
weather, no constant tagging
along by street
urchins or their mentors -- none of the grief or urgency
to respond is
there. None of the malodorous alleys or
kitchen fragrances
to enhance the
images stained on film are present. This
has, overall,
enhanced the sum
total of the journey. Reducing a month
of traveling to
twelve hours of
video reeks of editorialization. Generally the hours of
waiting, the
tediousness of planning, negotiating prices and methods of
travel, and more
waiting were easily deleted by not starting the video
camera or not
pressing the firing pin of the camera.
Others and myself,
each will be
rewarded by witnessing the recording of events with only the
highlights -- the
lowlights will pass to oblivion even, for the most
part, in my
brain. Yet, this country was the country
I enjoyed greater
than the others
for many reasons.
REFLECTIONS OF BANGKOK
Noisy, polluted,
filthy -- that comes to mind first, followed quickly by
the unswerving
desire of every cyclodriver or cabbie to take every
out-
of-town visitor
to his or her favorite jewelry store or clothing store.
There was no
shortage of jewelry or clothing stores or small gift stores;
I almost forgot
to mention the street vendor who would practically cling
to you to get you
to buy some post cards (mainly) from them.
Even in
cases where I had
purchased from a vendor that same person would continue
to hound me to
buy more. A certain flair for brutality
works very well
here.
While all books
and previous travelers to Thailand assure me that
outlying burgs
and townships resemble Bangkok in very few aspects. I
only experienced
the limited view of the city and a field trip that was
as touristy as it
gets. It may happen that I pass this way
again --
moving further
west from Singapore up to Chiang Mai and then directly
west toward
Tibet, but the fact that I would intentionally avoid Bangkok
should only
confirm my overall distaste for it. The
beauty it possesses
in its palaces,
statuary, and waterways were overshadowed by the seamy
side of it.
The food was
phenomenal. The pleasures of the palate
reined supremely
here. I loved the spices and intricate
flavors. The odors wafted from
every restaurant
and barbeque stand. Everything I ate was
delicious.
The way food is
prepared here rivals Italy or Turkey (my other favorite).
REFLECTIONS OF CHINA
While a vast
country and bearing the burden of several satellite
countries, China
plods on in a slow deliberate fashion that only recently
has begun to
accelerate as a larger and more stable, middle class rises
up. The country, as a whole benefits. They anticipate, hotly, the
recovery of Hong
Kong on June 1, 1997. Since the
Communists have told
businesses that
things will not begin to change in Hong Kong until 2047,
building
continues, as does commerce.
Most often I will
think of the rushing, pushing, and shoving along with
general disorder
when people must stand in a line. It was
difficult to
understand why
disorder was so frequently allowed. This
same disorder
prevailed in
traffic, too. People would push and
shove as pedestrians.
A red light
brought no fears to the frailest Chinese.
They weaved
through waiting
or moving traffic like a spider spinning his web. This
has had as great
an effect on me as the admiration I have for this
culture.
The drivers are
all up to the challenge of pedestrians and maneuver their
cars to either
edge into another lane or to block someone who was trying
to edge into
another lane, especially yours but not only.
Amazing that with
traffic being what it is that few cars had evidence of
an accident and
very few body shops. The food was cheap,
varied, and
often very
flavorful and it was more consistently oil-drenched. I
frequently tried
to quietly wipe some of the oil off what I was about to
eat, but it was
an impossible task. Everybody eats with
chopsticks, and
I was no
exception. I adapted quickly since no
other alternative was
available.
Difficult as it
was to communicate, pictures worked here too. Often the
only way I could
express myself was with a drawing.
Listening to the
locals speak, I
heard distinctly different dialect of the Pekinese. They
spoke with a
sound often included with many words. It
sounded like
"Aargh" with a Norwegian lilt to it. The other districts of China spoke
differently all,
with the exception of Beijing, sounded whiny.
Like they
were constantly
complaining. Definitely annoying and on
Marcy’s nerves.
TRIP EXPENSES
Prior to
Departure:
Airfare Tickets
(2 x $1,620)
$3,240
Shots 160
Visas (not
Passports) prior to departure 250
Books, travel 200
Clothing, Marcy 200
Clothing, Mike 40
Cosmetics,
toiletries 100
Pens 10
Film, 35 mm $ H.
8 100
Passport, Marcy 50
Passport, Mike 80
Ho Chi Mihn 268
Trader Joe's
(snacks) 9
Extra Passport, 4
x 2 Photos (Mike & Marcy) 19
Money/into Traveller's Checks 18
Hidden money
pouch for Marcy 12
Arrival:
Saigon --
Room 50
Saigon City Tour 25
Cycloped, Several trips 13
Room 49
Tour 80
Lunch 10
Dinner 6
Train Tickets (2)
to Hanoi 136
Chu Chi Tunnel (2) 6
Toothbrush 4
Train, groceries 8
TOTAL
$4,875