Paul's Big Fat Bali Birthday!

Cake #1

Bali is a great place for a person to wake up on his 50^th birthday, even if it is raining. It was our last morning at Legian Beach, and we’d planned to go boogie boarding before heading up to Ubud. Oh well—we’d had three perfect beach days in a row, so couldn’t really complain. Besides, now we’d have time to go see a temple a little way up the coast before going up to Ubud, the town known as the cultural heart of Bali. We had a leisurely breakfast first. When I told the nice lady our room number, she said—“oh, it’s Paul’s birthday!” “Yes, it is!” I replied. I guess they get that from the passports at check-in and make a note of guests having birthdays during their stay. So after we’d had breakfast, the nice lady appeared with a little cake and the staff sang Happy Birthday! Paul was so tickled. Cake for breakfast! Even better, it was chocolate and had “Happy Birthday from the Legian Beach Hotel” written on a nice piece of dark chocolate. It was pretty good too! Even small, it was too much for us to eat, so we shared with the two little girls at the next table.

The best way to get up to Ubud is to hire a car and driver. Very

inexpensive in this part of the world. Since we wanted to make a stop along the way, Paul ended up hiring a driver for the whole day since that was the most economical and practical way to go. It was definitely not a beach day, so we had plenty of time to visit a few places before checking into the next hotel. Pura Tanah Lot Temple is just a few miles up the west coast of Bali, but the traffic is so bad (and the roads so narrow) that it took more than an hour to get there. Once there, we’re in tourist heaven/hell, with multiple shops selling—well, pretty much every touristy thing you can imagine: food, dresses, jewelry, tee-shirts and flip-flops (Bali gives Hawaii a good run for its money in the flip-flop department), sarongs in patterns ranging from traditional patterns to Hello Kitty, superheroes, Bob Marley, and even an anime character with a British flag (no clue). Oh—and a Ralph Lauren Polo store. Wait—two Ralph Lauren Polo stores. No three. Four? Stopped counting after that. WTF?

But finally we get to the temple grounds. “Tanah Lot” means “Land in the Sea,” and the name is quite literal: at high tide, the temple is surrounded by water. At low tide, you can walk over the moss-covered rocks to get up close and personal. The temple itself is up on what in England would be called a “tor,” a craggy hilltop. I mention England because the setting reminds both of us of Tintagel castle in Cornwall: waves crashing against rock cliffs, an overcast sky like the one we had that day in Cornwall last year, a lonely sort of feel to it despite the crowds of schoolchildren and other visitors. Still: it’s definitively Balinese: the temple was built in the 16^th century to honor the Balinese sea

Tanah Lot

gods, and was later influenced by Hinduism. Only Balinese people can go up inside the actual temple. The rest of us can climb a short staircase up one side to get a view of the sea; to do even this, we must first wash hands and face at the holy spa (yes, they called it that) and then be doused/blessed with water by one a smiling monk, who then affixes rice to our foreheads and tucks blossoms behind our ears.

Paul models his blessing flower and rice

Pura Tanah Lot

Taman Ayun

Traffic is better on the way to the next stop. You guessed it: another temple! The setting couldn’t be more different: instead of stark rocks and waves, this one, Pura Taman Ayun, has a lush, tropical setting in a beautiful park with flowering trees and canals.

It’s nearly 7:00 by the time we get to Ubud. And dark! This near the equator, day and night are always of equal length, and where we are in Bali also seems to be near the eastern edge of the time zone. The sun’s been gone by 6:30 every day that we’ve been here. We get a look at the main street of Ubud, a pass a cross street with the happy name Monkey Forest Road, possibly my favorite street name ever. Our driver turns onto a startlingly narrow street and heads up up up—after asking directions, he learns that he’s turned up the wrong narrow road. Even better: there’s another car coming down the hill. Oops! This road is barely wide enough for one car, let alone two. The other car nicely backs up quite a ways till we can both get past, then we need to drive up far enough to turn back down! Traffic here isn’t as insane as in Hanoi, but it’s got its own kind of crazy—very few stop lights or signs; it seems to be all about merging—cars, buses, moped, pedestrians, everybody merge!

SpiderPig hanging out with the statues at our villa in Ubud

Even on the right street, the hotel is hard to find. But at last we arrive, and what a beautiful place it is. The Purist Villas and Spa, oh my! We do indeed have a villa: a big roofed but open-air living area with sofa and dining table and a big patio beyond. Separate bedroom, then sink and dressing area, and an open-air shower and bath. Magnificent art throughout. Heaven.

Cake #2

We still had the driver for another hour so he drove us back down into the village for dinner. The place we’d hoped to go was booked, but they recommended a few places on the main street. We ended up at a place called Arang, on the corner of Monkey Forest Road (I just like typing that). A very nice dinner with fish and skewers of poultry (chicken, duck, chicken liver, quail eggs) and the most delicious pork dumplings ever. A bottle of Balinese white wine, which is surprisingly good. I’d mentioned to the waiter that it was Paul’s birthday, so after dinner they brought out cake #2! Small chocolate brownies with Happy Birthday misspelled just enough to make it charming.

Gamalan musicians and legon dancers

There was a performance space across the road and we ate to the sounds of gamalan music. A curtain had been drawn across the space while the dances were going on, but afterward, the musicians kept playing and the dancers took the opportunity for an open practice session. Paul has quite taken to Balinese music and legong dance, so we stayed and watched the graceful dancers and purple-clad musicians for a while before having the restaurant phone the hotel for a ride.

When the driver picked us up, he wondered what we’d been up to. Oh, dinner and dancing, we said.

Again in the hotel reception area, they said: “oh, you’re back! What have you been doing?” It seems they actually meant: “where the heck have you been!” When we got back to the villa and started getting ready for bed,  there was a knock at the door and all the staff came in singing Happy Birthday with yet another cake! Beautifully done too. (Paul said the cakes started out good and kept getting better.)

As lovely a birthday as anyone could wish for. Happy 50^th, my darling husband!

Here Come the Elephants!

Elephants! I’m skipping ahead here because it was just so fun. Everyone who’s done it says it was one of their favorite things on their trip to Thailand. Elephants are a big thing here, not just because there are so many of them but because of their significance in Buddhism. There are statues of elephants all over the temple, almost anything you can buy is decorated with elephants: scarves, hangbags, tablecloths, earrings, belts; you name it, it’s got elephants! In Buddhism they represent strength and steadfastness. There is even a pagoda at one of the most important temples in Chiang Mai with a pagoda dedicated to an important elephant: story goes that the elephant carried one of the shoulder bones of Siddhartha to the top of a mountain and then promptly died, and the king ordered a shrine built on the spot. We postponed the trip from Sunday to Monday because Paul had been sick. But even on Monday, he wasn’t feeling great, and he’d learned a hard lesson about overdoing it. So sadly, he decided not to go. He was especially unenthusiastic about the bumpy 1½ ride to get there—and he was right. Rather than the nice air-conditioned vans of tours past, this was an open car with benches hitched to an SUV. Well, okay! I was the last one picked up. I quickly realized that I was by far the oldest person in the car. There were four American girls from California and a lovely young English woman, Katie, and her friend Joseph, who, it turns out went to the same uni (Southampton) that Paul did! Small world. The ride wasn’t too bad and the breeze lightened the day’s heat; until the last few miles, that is, when it became very bumpy (and a little scary—please don’t let this thing tip over!). But soon enough, we were spotting elephants from the dirt road. Elephants! Yay!

We arrived in Camp 5 of the Elephant Jungle Sanctuary. Paul and I had done a lot of research about

these places, wanting to be sure we weren’t contributing to the exploitation of the elephants in the guise of a rescue operation. The very popular and well-regarded Elephant Nature Park was full on the days we wanted to go, so we picked this one out of the handful of other elephant rescue places. Gathering in the open-air hut with a few other carloads of visitors, our guide, Lulu, talked about the rescue efforts. Elephants in Thailand had (and, in some places, still are despite laws to the contrary) been used as pack animals, hauling logs from the rain forests while chained by the neck and feet. They’d been used as tourist attractions in cities, posing with tourists and doing “tricks” on hot pavement. Even the previously popular elephant rides have fallen into disfavor because of the way the elephants have to be trained—that is, beaten and abused—to make them docile. So there were no rides here, just lots of feeding and bathing and swimming.

First on the agenda: feeding the elephants! This was a good way to get everyone used to the elephants and vice versa. Although Lulu had already warned us: “The elephants don’t see you, they see banana! They want banana!” Yep! Over to the first pen to meet the elephants, where baskets of small bananas are provided. There are about five adult elephants in this area, two “teenagers” (a few years old), and two babies (under a year). For the babies, we’re told, we should peel the bananas first.

Oh my! I have to say, it was a bit scary at first! Not because anything bad was going to happen, but these are very big creatures. “Stand closer, move over here between the two elephants,” Lulu instructs (he’s holding my camera, trying to get a good shot). So I do, but it’s a bit nerve-wracking at first, mostly because the elephants will keep trying to take the bananas out of your hands or pocket whether you’re offering or not, and it’s a bit weird to have a big trunk reaching over your shoulder! Soon enough, though, we all got over it and were happily feeding the elephants, who’d take all the bananas they could get. They grasp them with their trunks and pop them in their mouths. Or, once you get braver, you stand closer to the elephant and call “Boon! Boon!” and the elephant will open his mouth so you can pop one in. Everyone’s having fun, the elephants included.

The babies are so cute! The adult elephants are very protective of the little ones, surrounding them to keep them back from potential danger, so the babies and teens don’t come out till it’s clear that we’re all harmless. The smallest one was just darling, still learning to grab the bananas with his trunk and would just as soon open his little (comparatively) mouth for you. The next oldest one, they told us, could peel his own bananas. Still not sure how he did it, but he popped the skin right off with his trunk before putting it in his mouth.

After hanging out with this group, we headed across a bamboo bridge suspended over the river. They

Katie, bringing in the sheaves

On the bridge!

gave us sheaves of bamboo (or something) to carry across: not for any purpose of the day’s activities, but hey—might as well put us to good use! The bridge was obviously sturdier than it seemed! It swayed under my feet, a bit alarming to us all at first! On the other side of the river were the other elephants, five in all, I think. An expectant mother was loosely tied by one foot to a post—pregnant elephants can go a bit stir-crazy (understandably) and want to run. But running is not a good idea for many reasons, Lulu said, most of them for the

Joseph--doesn't he remind you of Brian Cole?

elephant’s safety. The biggest reason being that the sanctuary abuts several farms, and the farmers are not at all happy, to say the least, when an elephant tramps down his crops. By now we’re all old hands at feeding and hanging out with the elephants. The new baby, whose mother was rescued from the rain forest but didn’t make it, isn’t eating yet, but is curious and likes to hang around and smell the bananas. These are the elephants we’ll be taking mud baths and swimming with.

Soon enough, it was time to change into bathing suits and head over to the mud pond. First, another warning lecture: “Elephants are not pets, they are not like your dog! Elephants don’t care about you. If they want to move, they move. And when they move, YOU move!” Also “Elephant will probably poop in the mud. Remember, it’s just the banana

!”

Off we trekked to the mud pool. A bit of an effort climbing down the rocky bank in bare feet, then into the pool, where at various places you’d sink into mud up to your knees. Of course, everyone had to get muddied—why should the elephants get to have all the fun? The guides and handlers did most of the muddying at first. When an elephant would lie down for a roll in the mud, Lulu would gesture us over to rub mud on them. They looove the mud, and who can blame them? So cooling in the heat of the afternoon. Once an elephant decides to roll around, though, you have to get away from their feet and out of the way. And once they decide to move—well, let’s just say, MOVE. And I did! About half the people had already gotten out of the water when the elephants started moving. Katie and I seemed to be right in their path. One of the guides swept tiny Katie up on the right side of them. “Go left! Go left!” they shouted at me, and boy, did I go left and scramble up that bank. One look behind me was more than enough to get me going! I thought about what Tarzan said when he saw the elephants coming: “Here come the elephants!” Yikes!

Next it was rinsing time, so we all trudged over the bamboo bridge (it is definitely sturdier than it feels!) and joined the elephant in the river. We all got plastic bowl for rinsing the elephants and ourselves and it was great fun for all of us, elephants included. Everyone got to pose for photos. Katie and Joseph (who reminds me a lot of Brian Cole) I were first. The guides have decided that Katie and Joseph are honeymooners (they’re friends) and that I’m Katie’s mother—not sure how that works: who brings their mother on their honeymoon? But by now we’re all friends so we obliging pose—and everyone douses us with water with their bowls! Didn't see that coming since we were first; good fun and it made for a great photo!

Afterward, we had a swim in another area by a waterfall (sans elephants) then a meal of massaman curry and rice, then it was time to go. What a fun day! Hanging out with the elephants and making some new friends. Paul and I met Katie and Robert for a drink at the River Market bar near both our hotels later that night and had a lovely time. They're off continuing their adventures too. We've seen so many twenty-somethings from England, America, and Europe off having break-year or summer trips through SE Asia—how great to be able to do that when you're young! 

What Are We Fighting For?

I have to say, the very idea of being in Vietnam—and north Vietnam to boot—is a trip in and of itself. Any American around my age can relate to the fact that our childhoods had, as an ever-present backdrop, the spectre of the Vietnam War. I don’t remember how old I was—but there was definitely a moment—when I realized that the Vietnam War had not in fact been going on since the beginning of time. Well, to be fair, it had been going on for as long as I could remember. Peace signs and POW bracelets, my parents chasing us out of the living room when the news came on with its graphic footage of the war and America's soldiers coming home in flag-draped coffins. Since we’ve been planning this trip, I keep remembering being in Sandy Rahuba’s house (age 7 or 8) in our neighborhood in Wolcott, Connecticut, listening to the radio:

And it’s one, two, three,
What are we fighting for?
Don’t ask me I don’t give a damn,
Next stop is Vietnam;
And it’s five, six, seven,
Open up the pearly gates,
Well, there ain’t no time to wonder why
Whoopee! we’re all gonna die.

Weirdly enough, the thing I remember most from that day is wondering if the country’s name was pronounced “Viet Nam” (with a short “a,” as in the song) or “Viet Nahm”. (I know, no one is surprised that I wondered about that. Nerd.) And Sandy’s older brother said, “It doesn’t matter how you say it, it’s wrong.”

So, when, on a tour of Bai Tu Long Bay, a magical set of little islands off the coast of Vietnam, I heard someone whistling “Blowin’ inthe Wind,” I was intrigued. I’d heard it more than once, and thought, well, that’s an interesting song choice, given the location! The last time I heard it, we were on a little excursion to one of the caves on one of the islands, and I discovered the whistler was Tam, our cheerful tour guide. As I passed him on the way out of the cave, I began singing along, “The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind; the answer is blowin’ in the wind.” He was startled.

“You know that song?”

“Of course,” I said.

“It’s a beautiful song,” he said, and I agreed. But I noticed that he didn’t whistle it again. Tam was born in the '80s, more than a decade after the end of the war. Still, he must have known the association between the song and the war. I was a tad startled to realize that I was the only one on the tour who was both American and old enough to get it.  His own personal protest again shepherding western tourists around? Possibly. Even with a pretty easy group like ours, I’d think the tour guide job would wear on a person after a while. But maybe he just liked the song.

Anyway, Bai Tu Long Bay! An overnight boat excursion to Halong Bay is one of the top attractions of north Vietnam. A constellation of tall, skinny limestone islands popping out of clear green water, it’s really a sight to see. Its popularity, though, has made it very crowded. In the high season, sightseers awaken to a beautiful view while anchored in a parking lot of other tour boats. We opted for Bai Tu Long Bay, a little further out and a lot less crowded.

First there’s a long bus ride—four hours—from the old city in Hanoi, the buses stopping at various hotels and hostels to pick up the visitors. Our first guide was called Lam, and my goodness could he talk. Unfortunately, his was the kind of monotone voice that’s just so hard to keep listening to—we joked that we longed for the Silence of the Lam! About halfway through there was a break at a tourist stop with bathrooms and a small café. Mostly it was a place to buy arts and crafts made by people disabled in one way or another, many of whom were on the premises working on popular Vietnamese crafts: embroidered pictures, enamels, etc. We did end up buying a few things despite the rather obvious “captive audience” ploy. What can you do? These people are all very poor and need to make a living somehow. And the things we bought were nice, if pricier than they would have been in town: a small enamel picture and an embroidered table runner.

The port at Halong

After another two hours, we arrived in Halong, the city from which all the tour boats launch. Lam, it seemed, was in charge of the group who were spending two nights on the boat, so we got a new guide, Tam, who was very friendly and cheerful and spoke English with a French accent (though his French was actually less fluent than his English!). The couple who shared our table, Thierry and Corinne, were from France but had been living on Reunion Island (in the Indian Ocean off the coast
of Africa) for the past twenty years. There were a few other older couples from various parts of Europe, a younger couple from England, and three friendly American siblings from Ohio. The older brother, Frankie, was an experienced world traveler, and was taking his much younger brother (Nathan) and sister (Maria) on their first international adventure. What a great big brother! And no getting their feet wet with Canada or Europe; nope, they jumped headfirst into the exotic with a month-long trip to Southeast Asia!

The bay really is magical, as you can see from the photos. A little transport boat—like a floating bus—took everyone over to the main tour boat. After settling into our rooms, we all met in the dining room for lunch: papaya salad and a delicious green curry. Though that ended up being the best meal of the trip, the rest weren’t bad. And there was beer, of course! Halong brand as well as Hanoi brand. Both taste very much like American beers to my rather unschooled palate (as far as beers are concerned), but good and just right for the food.

After that, it was time to kayak to the beach! Back into the little boat for a short ride to the kayak dock. Those that didn’t care to kayak could ride in the little boat to the beach, but most of us were game. I’m not too proud to admit that Paul did most of the work (but not all!). And it was gorgeous moving through the limestone islands to a tiny private beach. Even better on the way back, as the sun was beginning to set. The light, as you can see below, was fantastic. A

That's Paul in the kayak

few hardy souls, including Paul and the two brothers, kayaked back as well. Maria and I joined the group on the little boat and enjoyed the sunset ride back to the main boat. After dinner, we all hung out on the top deck for the only real relaxation time, just hanging out. I would have loved more than that, just hanging around soaking in the scenery: it was nice, just being on the top deck under the stars, having a nightcap, swatting mosquitoes, and passing around the Deet!

The beds were comfortable and the rooms larger than I expected, with private baths.

The next day after breakfast, we got back in the little transport boat and headed to an island with a large cave. It was a nice excursion and there were some nice views from the island as well. After that, it was time to head to back to Halong. While the boat motored along, we were treated to a demonstration of decorative vegetable cutting. This guy is good! Then we all learned how to make Vietnamese spring rolls, crumbled tofu and shredded veggies wrapped up in rice paper. Paul and I had a bit of an advantage, since it's very much like rolling burritos or fajitas, except with a much thinner wrapping.

Still life with veggies, in progress

My only regret is that the time was so scheduled. Perhaps we should have done the two-night tour. But on this one, we met some really nice people—and avoided the (I’m sure) very nice but dread-voiced Lam! Still, Paul suggested renaming the tour from "Bai Tu Long" to  "Bye, Not Long Enough!"

In the cave

City of Mopeds

Beep beep! Beep beep! Beeeeeep! We’re in Hanoi! Unlike Hong Kong, Hanoi grabbed us from the start, especially once the airport taxi drove into the Old City. Not like anything we'd ever seen before and just lousy with buzz! In some tourist advertisements, Hanoi billed as the Paris of the East or Paris

of the Orient. Yeah, no. It’s not a thing like Paris, but Hanoi doesn't need to be Paris; it has its own charms. We have named it (and I’m sure we’re not alone) City of Mopeds or City of Lawless Traffic. I know that sounds bad, but in fact, it’s part of Hanoi’s charm, its buzz. A local tee-shirt bears a logo with a traffic light and says: “Green means I can go. Yellow means I can still go. Red means I can still go!” True enough! While cars may pause briefly at red lights before turning right on red into moving traffic, mopeds apparently don’t need to mind the traffic lights at all, sailing blithely through any and all lights. And there are so many of them! Weirdly, this all seems to work. You rarely see a traffic jam in the Old City—and if there is one, it’s usually because a tour bus is blocking the narrow road in front of a hotel. This seems to be the only real no-no in Hanoi traffic; if the tourists aren’t ready, the bus has to circle the block instead of waiting.

This does make crossing the street a bit scary at first! On our first day, we came to a crosswalk to find two young European girls staring open-mouthed and terrified at the green crossing light and the scads of mopeds zipping right by. “We just have to go,” I said, and shepherded them across the street. Safety in numbers? Maybe, but really, you just have to go and everyone’s paying attention and dodging and swerving around each other. We didn’t see a single accident the whole time we were there.

There’s no walking on the sidewalks, either. Well, not much. Mopeds are parked everywhere, competing for space with restaurants and shops spilling out onto the sidewalks. You pick your way around when you can, walking along the very edge of the street when you can’t, where you’re still likely to get a BEEP behind you from a moped claiming its territory. 

So much to see, so much to do, so much to eat! I’m going to write a separate entry about food and food tours, but here I’ll mention again the preponderance of restaurants geared toward Westerners. Which generally translates to pizza, pasta, and club sandwiches on the menu in addition to local food. Our first night, the hotel recommended a popular place and it was one of those. Paul wanted to leave immediately but I was hungry and tired and we both knew that finding the right place (it takes a while to feel comfortable navigating the maze of the Old City) would be challenging. The hotel said that this place served traditional food, so I asked the waiter and he pointed out the page where these were listed. And again, the food was delicious! Our first taste of a Vietnamese specialty, Chả Cá Thăng Long, that includes fish, fresh herbs, bean sprouts and salad greens, peanuts, and a fish sauce with chilis. Here it was served with sheets of rice paper, and the idea is to put some of everything on a sheet of rice paper and wrap it up like a burrito. Vietnamese fajitas! Delicious! We had several variations on this dish over the next few days.

So what’s there to do in Hanoi?

Get clothes made! While the town of An Hoi is the tailoring capital of Vietnam, there is no shortage in Hanoi. Getting garments made to order is incredibly inexpensive. Paul found a shop near the

cathedral (yes, there is one in Hanoi) called Bambou. They had a dress on a mannequin outside the shop that I really liked but I wasn’t crazy about the fabrics they came in. Paul wanted some shirts, but was also not too keen on the available fabrics. The nice woman working the shop recommended that we go to the marketplace about a half mile from there. So off we went, stopping at another place on Hong Gai (Silk Street) that had a nice dress on display, this one black and red silk. I tried on one of the ready-made ones; it was just a bit too big under the arms so could easily be taken in, so we ordered one of those. I confess that I probably paid too much for it; my bargaining skills suck. But it was still very reasonable. Everything in Hanoi is almost ridiculously inexpensive. We headed off to the market and found

She wasn't the only one taking an
afternoon nap among the bolts of fabrics!

the second floor, where there is an overwhelming abundance of fabrics. Everything is in Vietnamese, no way to tell, except by feel, what the fabrics were. We selected some cottons for Paul’s shirts, and a lovely plum fabric for my dress. Eventually. The day was hot hot hot (as were they all). In this marketplace, unlike at the shops on the streets, there was no hard sell. No “how much you want to pay?” when you were just looking; in fact, if you wanted to buy something, you’d more likely than not awaken someone from their afternoon nap. Even the locals have a hard time with the heat and humidity.

It turned out that the fabric I’d chosen for the dress was much too heavy, so we’ll send it home and save it for something else. I picked out something in the store, a navy print in a rayon blend, and both our measurements were taken. Paul ordered two shirts from Bambou, one a short-sleeved print, the other a long-sleeved shirt in a pink cotton fabric. Two more in the other shop: a long-sleeved number in this lovely light white cotton and another in a gray fabric they’d had in the store. The turnaround is incredibly quick. The next day, we picked up my dress, which was perfect. Paul’s short-sleeved shirt also fit perfectly (though the buttons on the sleeves are on the back instead of the front) but the pink shirt needed adjusting. Both shirts at the place on Hong Gai needed adjusting, and my dress was now too tight. No problem! An easy fix. And it was. The one disappointment had to do with the lovely white fabric for one of Paul’s shirts. There were weird rust-colored lines in the fabric. The shop’s owner shook her head—they’d sometimes had problems with fabrics bought at that marketplace. Flaws you couldn’t see until it was too late. She’d done a great job of placing the worst of the marks on the back of the shirt, so that it could be worn with a vest if the marks didn’t come out.

Shop! There’s no dearth of things to buy in Hanoi, and things are, as mentioned, incredibly cheap. We went to the night bazaar the first night and there was no missing the many shops all over the Old City. We did buy a few souvenirs, including a traditional non la hat for SpiderPig (they came in a pyramid of sizes!). I was a bit concerned that the saleswoman might be offended, but when I put the hat on SpiderPig, she thought it was hilarious.

Go to temples! On our last day, we went at last to the two temples that Paul wanted to see. My sweetie is an atheist who loves old cathedrals, medieval religious art, sacred music, and old temples. Go figure. We got a taxi through the hotel. Apparently, the taxi drivers will try to cheat non-locals, giving a price much higher than it should be. It’s pulling teeth to get them to actually run the meters. This would be much more annoying if it weren’t for the fact that a taxi ride is so insanely cheap, you wonder how they can afford to pay for gasoline. We got there and the place was closed for lunch. Just as well, as we realized that Paul’s shorts were too short to get into the temple anyway. (You’d think the very helpful tour person at the hotel would have known both things, but not so much. Oh well.) No worries, lunch first. Paul had found a place he wanted to try in this neighborhood outside the Old City. Walking up the street it was on, we thought we had the wrong street for sure. Kitchen supplies, one-person beauty salons (seriously, a hole-in-the-wall so tiny that the manicurist or hairdresser and client were both perched on tiny stools on the sidewalk), run-down residential housing. But no, we did eventually find it, up a few blocks, attached to a surprisingly prosperous-looking hotel. After lunch, we went back to the main drag, which had had a few men’s clothing stores. Too bad there were none of the shops selling loose cotton pants that are everywhere in the Old City. These were strictly for locals. Paul is very slender, but is much taller than pretty much any Vietnamese man we’d seen. He finally found a pair of sweatpant-like trousers that fit. Well, they fit in (shall we say) the Italian sense. That is, skin tight. In my opinion, much racier than a pair of longish shorts. Pretty funny, actually.

The ancestors are very fond of sweets!

Vietnam is not as awash in temples as is Thailand, but we did see two temples that afternoon, the first a smaller one that charged admission. Buddhas everywhere, of course, but what was really striking was all the offerings to the

ancestors on the altars. Particularly popular, in addition to fruit, are sweets—cookies, candies, and sodas. In Vietnam in particular, it seems, the ancestors have a sweet tooth.

The main event, Tran Quoc Pagoda, was built in the 6^th century, is on Hanoi’s lovely West Lake. Sure enough, we saw no knees here, so Paul was wise to don his tight trousers. A prayer service for the anniversary of a death was in progress in one area, and the temple and outdoor area were awash in offerings of snacks, sweets, and sodas. After the prayer service, paper replicas of clothing and money were burned in a brick-enclosed fire in the back.

Water puppets! One of Hanoi’s most beloved attractions and rightly so. We went on our last evening in Hanoi, after taking a rest when we got home from the temples. Did I mention that Hanoi is hot and humid? Stunningly so, to the point that we had to take breaks in between sights, going back to the

hotel for a cool shower while waiting for the air conditioning to kick in. Evening are cooler but not that much, and the humidity isn’t any better. The water puppet theatre is on the main lake on the edge of the Old City. Bars and fast food restaurant proliferate, with some nicer restaurants high up in nearby buildings. The theatre is blessedly air conditioned and the performance was so much fun. So what’s a water puppet? Just what it sounds like. The stage is water, 3 or 4 feet deep, I’m guessing.

The puppets appear from behind a curtain, acting out scenes played out on the nearby lake. Fishermen, women, fish, a tiger, soldiers telling the story of the return of a sword involving an Emperor and a Turtle God. It’s in Vietnamese, so you don’t really understand the dialogue but, like a Punch-and-Judy show, it’s pretty easy to follow. It’s charming and lots of fun and a happy way to spend an hour. Still not entirely sure how the puppets are manipulated: the actors came out to take a bow after the performance, standing in water up to about their waists. They must be on sticks, manipulated from behind the curtain. Some trick!

We really enjoyed Hanoi, humidity and all, and would be happy to return someday. Maybe not in the summer, though.

The lovely centra

One Hundred Names for Humidity

I should probably begin by explaining what’s going on here. Paul’s company, OpenEye Scientific, gives its employees a three-month paid sabbatical every five years. I know, right? Some take the time to go do science elsewhere—pharma companies, universities, etc. But others use the time to travel and/or experience something new. Happily for me, my sweetie is in the second category. As some may remember, we took our first sabbatical six years ago (Paul has been taking his time every six years thus far) as our honeymoon! This time, we’re taking six weeks instead of three months, and touring Southeast Asia. Paul travels all over the place for work, but never in this area, so it’s all new for both of us. So here we are, in Southeast Asia, at the beginning of the rainy season! As I write (at the beginning of Week 3, in Chiang Mai, Thailand), it’s been POURING all day (raining cats, dogs, chickens, frogs, barnyard animals, pick your favorite animal!). But this has been the only day that this has happened. Until now, the weather reports of thunderstorms every day have so far been exaggerated. But oh, it’s been humid. Moist. Damp. Muggy. Clammy. Sticky. Sultry.

We got round-trip tickets through Hong Kong a few months back (Paul has high status on American Airlines due to all that work travel) but we’ve otherwise left the rest of the trip open—with thoughts, of course, for places to go. Anyone who knows Paul knows that this is completely out of character for him. Usually, he’d prefer everything nailed down, flights, hotels, etc. But due to a confluence of circumstances—both of us very busy with work and travel and other things, plus everyone we’ve spoken with and all we’ve read recommends being flexible with travel within the area. So all we’d planned in advance was three days in Hong Kong to adjust to everything.

I’d glad we went to Hong Kong since I’d never been before, but overall, it didn’t enchant me. I kept thinking about what my friend Becca, when we first met back in the ‘90s, used to think NYC was like: concrete jungle, no trees, grungy, and impersonal. I personally think that the book/movie titled A Tree Grows in Brooklyn has given countless people the impression that that was the only one in all of New York City! Of course, many of the streets are tree-lined. Trees everywhere. And of course there are trees in Hong Kong too. In fact, rumor has it that 70% of Hong Kong Island is covered with trees. The problem is, they’re all in the mountains or grouped in parks. Not a single tree lines any street that I could see. And unlike New York, the architecture is not terribly attractive. In the Wan Chai neighborhood where we stayed, ugly old buildings compete with not very interesting newer buildings for space. Neither wins. The day we left, I put my finger on what’s really missing: the beat. The hum. The energy. There’s none of that buzz that you feel underfoot in most big cities. So what’s up with that? Is it because it’s overall a poor city that nonetheless houses some of the richest people in the world? Most Hong Kong residents (Hong Kong-ites? Hong Kongers?) work long hours for little pay. Rents are high and apartments are tiny. Most have tiny kitchens and some don’t have kitchens at all. Probably that’s the reason the hum, the buzz, the beat is missing. Everyone is just too tired. Not to mention, in early May the city is hot and really, really humid.

A few things I learned:

7Eleven has taken over the world. There are at least two on every corner in the Wan Chai neighborhood, competing with countless Circle Ks and the occasional Watson’s (an English version of same) for convenience customers.

You can eat dim sum all day every day. I know, I know, I should have known that. Dim sum is a style of eating; it does not mean “brunch” in Cantonese. Still, in New York City, the time to eat dim sum is on a Sunday noon/early afternoon, so perhaps I’ll get a pass on knowing that. Hong Kong is the dim sum capital of the known universe, so there are dim sum places everywhere. Food is good, fast, and cheap. Because most people don’t have kitchens or, for that matter, time to cook, dim sum and other restaurants are jammed at mealtimes. You are expected to know what you want, order it, eat it, and get the hell out of there so the next party can have your table.

Shrimp dumplings

Our first night in Hong Kong, we tried to go to a place called Kam’s Roast Goose down the street from our hotel. Despite the late hour on a Monday night, there was quite the crowd waiting to get in. There was a dim sum place across the street, not empty but not terribly busy, so we went there instead. First thing, a bowl of very hot water put on the table. The waitress mostly gestures that this is to wash our utensils. We’re thinking it’s for between courses, but before the first dish comes, the bowl is taken away. This is what happens when you don’t have time to read up on local customs before you get to a place! It turns out that you’re supposed to dip your chopsticks into the hot water to clean them—most ceremoniously these days, but a leftover from a time when utensils and such were not necessarily cleaned between customers. On our third excursion into dim sum, on a food tour we did on our last day, we finally learned from our adorable Aussie guide, Nicole, the purpose and ceremony of the hot water. And frankly, at this particular place, though the dishes and chopsticks were no doubt run through a dishwasher, the table itself was so much less than clean at 10 am that I’m pretty sure it hadn’t been wiped down since the place opened that morning.

But enough about that. What did we eat? Dumplings of all sort, shrimp and pork and vegetable, some steamed, some fried. At the first place, the winner was a barbecue spicy pork dish—the waitress’s favorite, she said.

On the second day, Paul wanted to go to the place billed as the only dim sum restaurant in the world with a Michelin star (or maybe just in Hong Kong). So we had breakfast at the hotel then walked along the harbor toward the Central area of the city. Well, we tried to walk along the harbor. There’s so much construction going on that it’s difficult to get near anywhere that’s pleasant to walk but eventually we did! And we eventually found the restaurant, Tim Ho Wan, located on a lower floor of the central train station. Even in mid-afternoon there was a long queue to get in. It moved pretty quickly though (see “get in, get out” above) and it wasn’t long before we were seated. No bowl of hot water here and no need for it. It’s not at all fancy, Michelin star or no, but very clean, like the cleanest fast food place you’ve ever been. Food comes quickly too, with little ceremony, just plopped right in front of you. These places are well-oiled machines, the kitchen and wait staff all moving in a dance of incredible efficiency. The food was good! The pork buns a bit different than other places, where they are steamed bread wrapped around the sweet pork filling. Here they were “proper” buns, dusted with sugar (really) and you needed to bite into it to see the filling. And dumplings, of course. Lots and lots of dumplings! Mmmmm. Michelin-star quality? What do I know, I’ve only been to a few starred restaurants. Still, for us, it was very good but not fabulously wonderfully special.

More about food later. What did we see? It was too foggy to go up to Victoria Peak, the highest point in the city and one of its main attractions. We walked through the open-air market, through all the fresh fish stalls, overwhelmingly fragrant in the humidity, to the main market, selling pretty much everything you can imagine, including some pretty hilarious knock-offs. We bought some souvenirs and gifts, of course—my favorite a ceramic chile ristra very similar to the ones you can buy everywhere in New Mexico except that it’s crowned with bok choy. 

 We did a food tour on our last day, more on that in another post. The last night we went big and had dinner in a lovely restaurant (no rushing here) with some of the best service I’ve ever seen and a gorgeous view of the harbor. At last! a beautiful Hong Kong. We’d gone to a popular rooftop bar in Wan Chai the night before, with the funny (Aussie) name Mooloowooloo. On the floor below, it’s an Australian steakhouse; upstairs it’s a popular bar with a great view of the city and the mountain. But the view of this last place (rather unimaginatively called Seafood Room) beat it by miles. Food and drinks very expensive and delicious. We weren’t that hungry thanks to the food tour (especially Paul, who’d eaten ALL THE FOOD at every stop), so we shared one of the seafood platters that is Paul’s favorite thing and had wonderful seafood soups. And wine. Of course there was wine and it was lovely.

I’m sure Hong Kong has its charms—many people love it. I’m thinking you’d have to know it a lot better than we were able to in a few short days before that happens. Still, it was a great place to start.

Next stop, Hanoi!