Taking a little of Phnom Penh with me

Thursday, May 13
Yes, I will be taking a little of Phnom Penh with me. I thought it would be the memory of my last day at the Montessori school receiving a big handmade card from the students and eating local sweets to celebrate.

Instead, I am taking with me a mysterious intestinal bug. It was just a matter of time, I suppose, and the timing was actually not all too bad, but it still scared me. Luckily, I am staying in a guesthouse in my own room with its own en suite bathroom and I do not fly out until Saturday morning. I don't even want to think about how I would have coped in the volunteer house I was staying in previously or how horrible my seemingly endless trips to the toilet would have been for my housemates.

I am still convinced that my 'bug' coincided too close to the beginning of my taking Malarone malaria tablets yesterday, but the doctor I went to see today insists that I caught an intestinal bug somewhere. She also told me to switch to a different malaria pill too, though...hedging her bets, I guess. I was so dehydrated that she offered to put me on a drip, but I am opting to drink a hydration drink. We'll see. I am pretty bad at keeping those down. It is down to my texture issues again so I may end up going back tomorrow for a drip if I don't feel hydrated enough.

For the next few days, I can only eat plain toast or plain white rice. Yum! Looking forward to that. I am glad I had a slice of toast with peanut butter on it before I went to the doctor :)

Today
Thankfully, my medicine kicked in at about 5pm last night. I was able to join my friends for a going away dinner at a French restaurant just down the street from my guesthouse that I have been meaning to try. The food looked great. I was relegated to white rice, but my friends all really enjoyed their food.

I went back this morning to get a baguette on my way to Gloria Jean's for my doctor prescribed black tea. I felt quite Parisian walking down the streets nibbling on my baguette. The tuk tuk drivers shouting, "Tuk Tuk, lady!" snapped me out of that, though.

Fortunately, I have also been able to keep down the hydration powder. I am taking Royal D. I highly recommend it. I usually hate powdered drinks, all things orange flavored, and most Gatorade-like hydration drinks, but I am able to drink this one quite easily. I won't say I enjoy it, but I probably would if it weren't orange flavored.

I fly out tomorrow morning to meet up with my husband and head to Malaysian Borneo...not a moment too soon!

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Ugh! They are playing a new CD this morning at Gloria Jean's coffee. Right now Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" is playing and it is all I can do not to cry. That song gets me every time and it seems even more poignant today. Everything seems more poignant today. I am just on edge a bit emotionally.

I am beginning my last week here in Phnom Penh. It is is fairly clear that I am not cut out to be a primary school teacher so I will not necessarily miss that, but I will miss all of the volunteers that I have met while here and the children. The children are nothing short of beautiful. They are still children with all their ploys and snot and crocodile tears, but they are adorable and filled with the innocence and joy I would expect of children and am so glad to see in a country that has come so far in the past few decades.

We visited the Killing Fields (Choeung Ek) and S-21 (Toul Sleng) this weekend. These two locations symbolize the pure terror wrought out by the Khmer Rouge regime from 1975-1979 when they killed an estimated 1.2-1.7 million of their own people. The Killing Fields were a Chinese cemetery 17km outside of Phnom Penh converted by the Khmer Rouge to a series of over 100 mass graves. S-21 was a school in Phnom Penh converted to a prison during the regime's reign. I won't go into the gruesome details, but will recommend people read the books "Stay Alive my Son" and "S-21" (among many others written on the topic).

Two things will stay with me from these sites. First, at the Killing Fields, I was overwhelmed and appalled by the ways the local people have been encouraged to beg from visitors, thus preying on the visitors' pity and guilt. It has turned what should be a remembrance of their countrymen and what could be a statement about what cannot be allowed to be repeated into a money grabbing tourist trap. Last year, my father and I visited Dachau, Germany, the site of a concentration camp during World War II. It was a gut wrenching day. It is my feeling that, in places like these, the truth is horrific enough. Present the facts, wish peace upon those who suffered, and demand that history not be repeated....all against a backdrop of silence. I am no expert, but that seems the most fitting and chilling memorial to me.

Upon entering the Killing Fields and paying my $2 entrance fee which goes to the Japanese firm that now owns this Cambodian memorial, we left the ticket counter and were asked by a man at the next ticket window if we were interested in a tour. His sales pitch was, "If you don't get a tour, you don't know anything." And then he added that we were only asked to make a donation after the tour. I thought, "Go on then. It is too bloody hot to give it much thought. Besides, why not? We might as well get as much information as we can while we are here." (Side note: Saturday got to a high of 38C and it was probably 34C when we arrived at The Killing Fields at 9am.) Tour guides make me sceptical, but it was donation based so I didn't feel like there was anything to lose.

The man, a survivor of the Khmer Rouge, led us past a half dozen mass grave and gingerly picked up a skull and then an arm bone and waved it around a little before gently tossing it back on the pile of other arm bones while he repeated the same words as posted in English on the sign boards he was standing next to followed by the interjection, "Horrible!" At random, as if on-cue, he then told us his entire family had been killed by the Khmer Rouge and that he was the only survivor. I nearly dry heaved when I heard the arm bone clank against the others in the pile. These were human beings! These were his countrymen! And here he is throwing their bones back into a pile just like the Khmer Rouge dumped them into mass graves. Can't we just give them some respect and a little peace?

The tour continued with him providing no more information than we could have read from the signs. I was planning to walk away at the end of the tour without a donation until he implored us to 'Pay him now...." followed by, "People usually pay me $1 or $2 each." In a country where most people earn less than $1 per day, it was outrageous for this man to ask for upwards of $12 from the six of us for a 15 minute tour. I showed my protest by giving him only $1 instead of $2. My guilt was still in high gear and I told myself that $1 means nothing to me and so much more to him. I am sure this is what they count on.

The second thing I will take with me is from S-21. I had heard how the prison had been converted in a museum centered mostly around displaying the mugshot pictures the Khmer Rouge had taken of its victims when each entered the prison. I had also been warned about the post mortem photos they had taken that were now also on display. While I did not expect to be emotionally prepared for the sight, I felt sure that I wouldn't experience the element of surprise that so often accompanies me to such tragic places. I was wrong.

The pictures, of the women especially, will haunt me for a long time and possibly forever. There haircuts were what got me. I will never forget an image of a woman standing in front of the camera for her mug shot with what seemed to be not the slightest trace of fear and a layered haircut. Maybe her defiance was masking the fear, but there was no mistaking the layered haircut. It was a style I have seen on so many women worldwide. And then I noticed the same in all of the other women. They looked so contemporary. They could easily have been walking the streets of Phnom Penh today. They could easily have been the girls and women I work with everyday in the Montessori school.

The Khmer women I work with in the Montessori school are some of the friendliest people I have ever met and they seem to genuinely want to improve the lives of the children and, as a result, Cambodia. I wish them all the happiness and success in the world. Their personalities and dreams seem quite similar to most women I know. It is shattering to even imagine them harmed in anyway. And yet, their own people did far worse. That is why those images will stay with me forever. There were so many promises and innocent dreams shattered here. It is the dark legacy that cripples Cambodia.

Now Dave Matthew's Band's song "Lover Lay Down" is playing. Oh, the memories of college rush in. I think immediately of my college's radio program and our DJ friend playing this song as a request going out to my sister from her crush at the time. It seems a million years ago now, but the song brings it right back to the present for me every time. I love how songs can do that.

I miss my husband so much. Volcano ash and the winds over Europe willing, we are meeting this Saturday in Singapore before flying onto a two week diving holiday in Malaysia. I have not seen him in three months. Well, I have seen him via Gmail Chat (God love the inventor of video chat), but I am still beside myself with anticipation at meeting up with him at the Singapore airport. So, one can imagine how upset I was to find out that the Icelandic volcano is erupting again and closing airports in Europe again. The Netherlands has not been affected yet, but I am still nervous. We have travel insurance so it's not the money I am worried about. I am just SO looking forward to my best friend joining me on my journey.

Weekend in Phnom Penh

Last night, I took a tuk tuk to join my teaching friends at the Foreign Correspondents' Club (FCC) for happy hour.

This morning, I walked to Phnom Penh's Central Market. Aaaahhh! There is nothing like the smell (and sight) of fresh chicken and beef in the morning....

My Phnom Penh in pictures

Here are some pictures from Phnom Penh. I think I will always remember my days here against a background of David Gray songs (which could not be more perfect, I think). They play the same cd every morning at the Gloria Jean's Coffee shop where I start each morning. The playlist includes David Gray, U2, and Tom Petty songs from the mid-1990s.

Ants in my pants

That's it! I caved! I moved into a guesthouse, Goldie Boutique Guesthouse. I checked-in yesterday after school let out for the day. I felt better just walking into my room. Yes, I am the first to admit that I am a wimp, but I do feel a little justified.

Here are my rationalizations:

1. "Don't go on your balcony." - The volunteer house was robbed the week before my roommate and I moved in. They broke into our room and stole all of the volunteers' valuables while they were sleeping. The owner has installed horizontal bars across the balcony and vertical bars across the window and added several door locks that open onto the balcony, but we have been warned several times not to go out onto our balcony because it will tip of any would be burglars of where the 'westerners' are staying. This was said after we'd both been out on the balcony, of course. So, I spend at least an hour each night laying awake in bed freaking out over footsteps, convinced someone is breaking into the house.

2. Ants in my pants - The house is infested with what we initially thought were minute spiders, but they are probably fleas or mites. They have bitten me all over my legs and are heading north to my torso and arms despite my best attempts to apply mosquito spray every few hours. On a whim, I checked under the chairs in our setting area and found the source. Each chair in our kitchen and sitting area is covered in webs. My roommate and I sprayed them down with Raid, but it does not seem to have done the trick. So now I prefer to eat my meals standing if I can help it. We sprayed all of the floors and cushions with Raid again a few days ago which seems to help a little. It did not kill the ants that parade across the counter tops and bathroom floor, though. And it does not stop the geckos from running across the counters and walls of the kitchen and creeping me out nearly every time I enter the kitchen area.

3. Three's company, fifteen is a hairball circus - Ten people sharing one shower. Fifteen people sharing two toilets. Ten people (including all of the schools' and headmasters') sharing one washing machine and two clothes lines. There are several students and staff that live at the school as well as a half dozen workers. The students and staff share our shower and washing machine with us. Everyone shares our two toilets with us.

4. The guesthouse without guests - One part of the school, the part directly facing our volunteer housing, is being converted into guesthouses. While I find it endlessly ironic that all volunteer's were subject to a background check, but anyone willing to pay to stay in the school's guesthouse has easy access to children streaming around the school and pool area, the unending construction is was gets to me most. They begin work seven days a week at 7-8 am and stream through our house for no apparent reason. One greeted me as I left the shower in nothing, but a towel. They left shards of glass in the pool area that were identified only after a few kids got pieces wedged in their feet. Half seem to just stand and stare at us from the guesthouse, watching our every move with rapt fascination. It is just creepy. My breaking point was being woken up on Saturday at 7am, without warning, to two men scrapping and hammering on the other side of our bedroom wall.

5. No A/C - We have moved a third fan into our room to help us sleep, the swimming classes all afternoon help immensely and I quite like being known by name at the neighborhood Gloria Jean's Coffee shop. I am almost tearing up just thinking about how great it would feel to walk into a a/c cooled bedroom.

Week 1: Phnom Penh

Written on Friday, April 30...
I am nearing the end of my first week of volunteering as a teach here in Phnom Penh. I am exhausted and spend more than my fair share of the day feeling confused. I keep reminding myself of something the headmaster told me a few nights ago, "It is not about you."

She was referring to the change in dynamics between my previous jobs and this position as a teacher. In my career, it was always about meeting objectives and doing my best to make a good name for myself and advance my career. Volunteering as a teacher in this Montessori school means putting the children and their learning first. The philosophy of the school is for teachers to provide a framework to help the children educate themselves and find their own interests. It is a great philosophy.

I have been challenging myself to think what would be best for the children and what would make learning more fun. I am not sure that is the aim for all of the teachers, though. There are some very real practicalities like discipline and basic safety that necessitate teachers to step in and limit or steer what the children are doing. It is also quite easy, though, to get lazy as a teacher. It is pretty easy to justify sitting back and watching the kids do whatever they want or letting a toddler cry unrelentingly all in the name of teaching the child to help herself.

It has been great to see an environment where the approach is to let a child explore a toy or topic or activity instead of just jumping to dictate directions or a list of instructions. It is fascinating to stop and ask a child what they are thinking or why or why not they want to do an activity and hearing their responses. Sometimes a child's answer is really interesting and surprisingly informed. Sometimes a child's pushback is very justified and sometimes they are just rebelling for the sake of it.

The lack of structure that this philosophy naturally leads to can be really frustrating and, in this school's case where I think it has just slipped a little too far, can be incredibly inefficient and ineffective for a child's development. I can't speak to the entirety of the Montessori way, but this one seems mired down by its lacking administrative organization and budgetary control.

Two more weeks to go...I am leading the morning circle with the nursery kids, teaching Level 1 English in the morning, and helping/teaching swimming all afternoon.

School Daze

Today was my first day teaching here in Phnom Penh. I am volunteering at a Montessori school for three weeks. To say it is a relaxed environment, is an understatement. I was informed at 8am this morning that I would be teaching a 1st grade English class and also give private lessons to some students that need a little extra attention. I had been told all along that I would be working in the nursery with the four year olds.

It turned out to be a great switch because it turns out there are a very limited amount of times in a morning that I can play make believe restaurant and the memory game. My imagination apparently has not been used in a long time!

And today at the after school faculty meeting, I was volunteered to start teaching physical education in the mornings. This includes swimming lessons. I am not quite sure how I am going to fit it all in, but I am very glad that I will get a break from the heat during the swimming lessons. I am also glad that I packed a tankini and one pieced bathing suit.

For lunch, to add to the culture shock, we attended part of the wedding festivities of one of the teachers at the school. I had never before met the twenty-something bride, but they welcomed us with open arms. The bride, groom, and the groom's father shared a table with us for lunch. It was beyond strange, but the food was really good. We had a whole steamed fish, some kind of sweet and sour soup, and a stir fry with vegetables, shrimp, squid, and kidney (yes, the organ, not the bean).

Tomorrow, to celebrate my birthday, the kids are helping me to make two banana cakes with lemon icing in the school's solar oven. Everyone cross their fingers, the cakes rise! More later...off to the big western supermarket for ingredients.

Banteay Srey & Samre

It is my last day here in Siem Reap before boarding a bus tomorrow morning for a six hour trip to Phnom Penh where I will start volunteering as a primary school teacher for three weeks.

This morning, my tuk tuk driver from the previous day, San, drove me to some of the more remote temples that come highly recommended from Lonely Planet - Banteay Srey and Banteay Samre. It took us about an hour to get the 37 kilometers to Banteay Srey, but it was a nice trip. We drove by most of the sites I have already seen and then continued into the countryside which I have not had a chance to see yet.

These two temples were fascinating because many of the carvings are still in-tact or have been restored and because of the sheer amount of things the builders have managed to cram into relatively small spaces.

Banteay Srey

Banteay Samre













Oh, and I just had to show everyone this sign commonly found in toilets here.

More temples

Today I hired a tuk tuk driver to take another half day tour ($6). This time I went to some of the lesser known sites - Preah Khan, Neak Pean, Ta Som, and Pre Rup. The temples were so much less crowded. It could also have been because I took my tour during the hottest part of the day, from 10.30am-1.30pm. I am so much more willing to put up with the heat than to get up early!

I took along my copy of Ancient Angkor and was able to read either in the tuk tuk on our way between sites or in a shaded area at each temple. It wasn't as easy as having a guide along, but it was nice to have a day to myself and time to just let my thoughts wander in these ancient architectural marvels. It truly amazes me that the works of man can last thousands of years.

It is also quite shocking to me how desensitized I have become to the touts that line the parking lots and even doorways of Angkor's temples. I haven't yet mentioned them probably because I wish they didn't exist...that they needn't exist. There is the mother that offers passers cut pineapple over the whines of the toddler perched on her lap. There, of course, are the tuk tuk driver's clapping their hands and shouting, "Lady! Tuk Tuk?!" "Lady! Where you going?!" There are also the teen aged boys that stand at temple entrances and offer to tell the temples 'story' for $2 or want to sell you a copied book.

Worse are the small children with their little baskets of bracelets or postcards. Two girls (age seven or so) walked with me for several minutes, one on either side, trying to sell me identical bracelets. They bargained between each other, alternating between English and Khmer. They were down to seven bracelets for $1 without my saying a word. When I kept walking, one changed her tactic and asked if I had any gum or candy or a pen for her. It caught me off guard and I looked her in the eyes and smiled at her wittiness and told her that no, I didn't have anything to give her. Immediately she started saying, "Why won't you give me your candy," as if I were holding out one her. "Since you won't give me candy, you should buy my bracelets." Such tactics! I just went back to ignoring them and walked to my waiting tuk tuk.

The worst of all are the landmine bands. I don't know if that is their official name. They are a group of four or five men playing handmade wind and string instruments. In front of their rug or wooden platform, they display a sign stating they've all lost limbs to landmines. The sign really isn't necessary since they oftentimes line their prosthesis (horrible plastic ones, at that) along the stage. They typically line one of the shaded walkways up to a temple. I am a horrible person. I have not stopped once to give them money. I will look at them and smile as I walk by, but I just can't bring myself to stop.

Angkor What?

I am in Siem Reap, Cambodia this week. So far, I have taken two half day afternoon tours of various sites in Angkor with two friends I met on my Vietnam Intrepid Tour. We hired a guide and an air conditioned car organized by our hotel. I had read on Tripadvisor about so many great local guides that I thought we would be fairly safe in using whatever guide the hotel came up with. That is so not the case. The guide was fine and at $15 total for a half day was not a huge investment, but we would have done just as well on our own with a copy of Lonely Planet. It was a much better alternative than joining a huge Sinh Tour again since we could dictate the pace and had the guide to ourselves. He also took some great pictures for us like the one of me Eskimo kissing one of the one hundred and forty eight remaining faces of The Bayon.

Last night, we bought copies (really high quality, color photocopies) of Ancient Angkor by Claude Jacques, a great book explaining the history and symbolism behind Angkor's temples. My friend managed to bargain a vendor in the Night Market down to $3.50 each copy, a much better bargain than a guide. I have been reading it and am going to take it along the next two days as I revisit Angkor Wat and explore some of the lesser known sites. Earning the title of the largest preindustrial city in the world at 1,000 square kilometers, I won't get anywhere close to seeing all of it, though.

We woke up at 4am on Monday to get to Angkor Wat for sunrise. It was worth it...just. Thankfully, we hadn't booked a tour that morning so we gladly took our tuk tuk back to our hotel where I was asleep again by 9am.

Rolling on the river

Today is my last day in Vietnam before flying out tomorrow morning to Siem Reap, Cambodia. I have been here for only 17 days, but I am ready to move on. Saigon and the Mekong Delta especially just rubbed me the wrong way. Perhaps I toured the country in the wrong order. Maybe I should have started my tour in the Mekong Delta, the poorest region in Vietnam, and then gone to Saigon, the crazy place Vietnamese call The City of Dreams, and then headed north to the less polarized areas.

It is just irritating and shattering to get paraded around on buses and boats to stare at people that are trying to get on with their day. The tour is so popular because the people living in this region are some of the last to live primarily on boats. I have included pictures of their boats - usually a larger one room craft that serves as their home and storage space for the goods they sell along the river on a daily basis and a small boat used to ferry between the other boats selling at the floating market. It just felt like we were on a tour to see how poor and how unusual they lived. It felt really judgement and unfair to them since they are just doing the best they can with what they have.

The tour was organized by Sinh (Cafe) Tourists and, at 40 persons to a group, was a much larger group than I was used to after my Intrepid Tour with only seven other people. It was also very hot on the unairconditioned and sometimes even unshaded boat trips. To top things off, I also got a stomach bug. I upgraded my hotel from the basic option offered by Sinh and, instead, spent two nights at what I am told is the nicest hotel in the Mekong Delta, Kim Tho. While the standard is comparable to any American mid-level hotel, I was really happy with my stay. It was great to have a very comfortable room with all the amenities I could want and a full day without a tour to enjoy it. The timing was right too since I didn't want to be far from a 'happy room' (Vietnamese for 'toilet').

Picking up the pieces

Wednesday, 14 April

Yesterday was the most difficult day of my journey thus far. We left Nha Trang on a night train and arrived in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) at 5am. After getting to the hotel, taking a shower, and taking an hour and a half nap, I was off again on a day trip to the Cu Chi tunnels a two hour drive outside the city. Then the difficult part began.

I am just starting to put the pieces together of what the Vietnam War did to this country's people. I will never be able to fully understand it. My last post seems almost embarrassing in its simplicity. The Vietnamese government takes every liberty in turning the Cu Chi tunnels and the War Remembrance Museum (which I visited in the afternoon) into tools of propaganda, but the devastation caused by the war is undeniable. A war by definition is destructive, though, so it is really difficult for me to reconcile what could be par for the course or what could be, as the Vietnamese government puts it, an unpunished crime against humanity. The answer is likely to be somewhere in between. Saigon and its surrounding areas in particular were quite literally bombed back into the Stone Age and seemingly kept there for the next several decades until the U.S. lifted its trade embargo in 1995. I do not really have an opinion on the use of embargoes. I can understand, though, why that action was taken and supported for so many years. It was the ultimate retaliation.

The tunnels of Cu Chi so infamous to soldiers and to the world are in an area just outside of Saigon that was once know for its beautiful orchards and lush landscape. The napalm blanketed across the countryside by US planes not only shrivelled up the vegetation, it infiltrated the waterways and insidiously crept into the soil. Only recently have the rubber and bamboo trees typical of the area started to grow again. The orchards won't be back for years. In addition to the soil deprivation, it seems the locals would rather focus their resources on catering to the tourists that flock to the tunnels by the bus load.

American sized mannequins provide ridiculously over-sized re-creations of the Vietnamese farmers turned soldiers and are posed in various spots along an area of the forest that has long ago been trampled down by tourists' feet into a smooth dirt pathway from entry to entry of the underground tunnel system. A group of Chinese tourists ahead of our group gamely climb onto the remnants of a bombed out US tank to pose for pictures. In white English lettering, it describes how the Cu Chi farmers used leftover pieces of enemy artillery to re-craft into booby traps to attack the tank. They proudly boost how many American soldiers were killed in the process.

Later we watch a film honoring the fighters - one a teenage girl. They were awarded military metals based on the number of US soldiers they could kill. I suppose it sends shock waves similar to those experienced by Vietnamese upon hearing of the US military's policy at one point in the war that "a dead Vietnamese is a dead VC," thus implicitly giving troops the green light to kill innocent civilians. As we look at replicas of the booby traps created using converted ditches, some originally created to catch wildlife, lined with sharpened and treated bamboo sticks, the commentary takes on that of a hunting expedition fueled by rage and revenge. I lost count of how many times terms like "American devils" and "American imperialists" were thrown out throughout the day.

The tunnel system was originally three levels deep. Sections of the first level just a few meters below the ground have been widened for tourists. Nevertheless, I still had to fold myself in half and bend my knees almost completely to be able to walk through the tunnel. I took the first exit available, but had I chose to continue, I could have walked for several minutes to one of the many submerged bunkers before exiting. I just can't begin to imagine what surviving in those tunnels would do to a person physically and mentally. And, after hearing my guide brag about how successful the fighters were in infiltrating nearby American posts, I can only imagine how paranoid it must have made GIs.

The War Remnants Museum was originally called The House for Displaying War Crimes of American Imperialism and the Puppet Government of South Vietnam and was later renamed the Museum of American War Crimes until relations between the U.S. and Vietnam improved in the 1990s. There is some blatant misinformation inside, for instance, a timeline of major world conflicts that states that World War II lasted for only a few years which is really unnecessary. The message that the U.S. led a very dirty and unpopular war that targeted innocent civilians and that maimed the country and its people for decades really does not need exaggeration to get across the point. Frankly, it just left me skeptical about how the Vietnamese government was able to get authentic pictures of U.S. soldiers in the act of such heinous activities as throwing a prisoner from a helicopter and carrying the charred remains of a VC soldier killed by a Napalm bomb.

In addition to dozens of pictures depicting the effects of Agent Orange to both civilians and the later genetic mutations suffered by offspring, the museum goes even further and displays jars of still born infants killed by the toxins. It just crosses a line from education into the bizarre and vulgar. They even recreated a section of the museum grounds into the torture chambers and guillotine used by the South Vietnamese soldiers on their northern countrymen. It is not a memorial and it does not encourage any of us to take a step forward and move on. I felt afraid to admit I am American.

There were reconstructed US helicopters and fighter planes in the front lawn of the museum. I do not understand why the government went to all that expense, but leaves the top floor of the museum unfinished and has not thought to install air conditioning in the building. After a few minutes in "The World Supports Vietnam in its Resistance" and "Historic Truths" Rooms in the stifling heat, I was sweating far too much to concentrate on reading the captions under the displays. The gift shop was even worse and, anyway, what could one possibly want to buy as a souvenir?

I am not going to post pictures for this entry, but I have provided links to the Wikipedia entries which provide pictures.

Good Morning, Vietnam!

I am checking in from Vietnam. It has been over a week. I hope no one was too worried. I joined a tour group on 31 March in Hanoi, Vietnam and, like with most tours, we have been kept ridiculously busy. I am on the fifteen day Reunification Express tour offered by Intrepid Travel. I can’t say I have enjoyed all of the stops on our itinerary, but just being able to hand over the transportation and accommodations responsibility to someone else and to someone with a lot of experience in Vietnam, has made the whole trip worthwhile. I have also had a great time getting to know the people in my group. The group consists of seven Aussies and myself. Luckily, everyone seems to get along pretty well. Our tour guide is a twenty-something Vietnamese guy from Hue that goes by the came Charlie.

We are twelve days into the trip so there is so much to tell and so much I have probably already forgotten. Today we are in Nha Trang and hop on an overnight train around 8pm for a nine hour trip to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). I am really not looking forward to the train, but it is our second night train so at least I know what to expect. Our first night train took us from Hanoi to Hue. Each city along our well travelled path down the eastern coast of Vietnam is known really only for one or two things. Whereas a tourist could spend a week in Rome and not scratch the surface, I have been pretty much ready to move on from most of our stops after two days.


Hanoi’s main draw is the General Ho Chi Minh (Uncle Ho, for short) mausoleum and surrounding complex. Yep, it is possible to see the man himself. Against Uncle Ho’s final wishes, he has been embalmed and put on display for all to see behind bulletproof glass, surrounded by eight guards and inside of a several million dollar square shrine made entirely of marble. His wishes had been to be cremated and he insisted that the government not spend any money on a monument to him because he felt it would be better spent on the people. He was right. The mausoleum comes off looking like a dull, gray stone cube reminiscent of the Soviet era.

In contrast, Hue is known for its imperial Citadel. The ancient walled city and vast grounds for the royal family is taken straight from their Chinese ancestors down to the eunuchs used as male servants to the king. Everything is painted in the imperial colors of yellow and red. Most of the city was destroyed, though, by bombings during the American War and is just now starting to get slowly reconstructed. Both to my Australian group members’ relief and chagrin, the Vietnam War is referred to here as the American War despite the heavy involvement and casualties by several other countries including Australia. Strangely, I am something of a novelty as an American touring Vietnam. Once my nationality is noted, though, no obvious judgment is passed on me and not much more is spoken of it. Possibly because it is pretty clear that I was not even born during the time of the war, but I also think that most Vietnamese are very happy to keep that part of their history in their past. They see themselves as the victors and the survivors. They just want to get on with life. It probably also helps that much of the country consists of farmland and rice fields. On the surface at least, it took much longer to rebuild the cities of Europe bombed during World War II than it did to grow crops to cover the Vietnamese countryside ravaged by bombing campaigns. It is the difference of a war taking place in a developing country. I don’t mean to downplay what were probably herculean efforts to restore Vietnam. I am more trying to make sense of why there seems to be very few signs of war here. Or maybe that is exactly the government's goal.

The poverty here, though, is overwhelming at times in its scale and its assault on all your senses. Buildings stand half finished or half demolished depending on slight variations in the structure or possibly just depending on one’s outlook. Trash lines sidewalks and sewage flows freely along the curbs. Exhaust fumes clog the already humid air. These are not war torn cities. these are impoverished communities struggling to meet basic needs. In some cases, the government has started to demolish houses in the hopes of building five star golf resorts to draw foreign tourists, but has stopped mid-stream for reasons our guide can only speculate about. In the vast majority, though, people are living in small, one room structures with walls of concrete and roofs of corrugated steel sandwiched between neighbors in much the same arrangement. Shopkeepers have a slightly better lot as they oftentimes live out of their stores. Running toilets, hot water and sometimes even electricity are unknown conveniences. There are nice parts of each town, especially in Hoi Ann, the city of tailors, with nice houses, but their luxuries are what we would all call modern essentials. Most striking, is that most of the people don't seem all that less happy than anywhere else.

So far, I have enjoyed Hoi An the most. It is a quaint little city trying very hard to lure in tourists looking for tailor made clothes and get them to spend more money on knock-offs – everything from books to dvds to jewelry to shoes. Several shops also make Chinese lanterns and someone seems to have had the great idea to adorn the streets and cafes with them. It gives the whole town a festive and friendly atmosphere. I couldn’t resist the idea of, for the first time in my life, having clothes tailor made. I ended up purchasing three linen dresses and two pairs of handmade Capri tights to wear with the dresses. I think they look rather nice with the fake Rayban’s I picked up in Hue and the light tan bolero hat I also bought in Hoi Ann for $3. I will post a picture so you can each see what you think.

We are now in Nha Trang, a world renowned beach destination that I just don’t get. It is filthy. Everything is filthy – the water, the beaches, the streets, the hotel rooms, the restaurants – except for a half kilometer strip along the beach lined with reasonably nice deck chairs and umbrellas. That is where all the Westerners are to be found…or out on Vin Pearl Island, most know for hosting the Miss Universe Pageant a handful of years ago. It is only accessible via an incredibly overpriced funicular ride across the bay. I opted to just hang-out in the hotel for the afternoon. Tomorrow we get to Saigon and go on a day trip to the Chu Chi Tunnels.

Monks and meditation

Yesterday, I decided I would devote most of my day to opening myself up to Buddhism. I decided I would visit the biggest temple closest to my hostel, Wat Phra Singh, and take along "Naked Buddha" to continue my learning about Buddhism. The book describes the pose and process of meditation, but I thought I would first see how long I could sit cross legged in the temple and just try to quiet my thoughts.

I still have a lot to understand about the philosophy of Buddhism and probably even more to learn about how Thai culture shapes their local brand of the faith. That said, there is a platform to the left of the main statue of Buddha where there are several gold life sized statues of what I guess to be the previous heads of the wat. Sitting right there in the middle was who I took to be the current Grand Monk (or whatever his title is) in his meditation pose looking no more dead or alive than the statues surrounding him. The only real difference was that his robe was saffron orange and the others' were gold. Kind of creepy...but not that much different than paintings of saints adorning church walls, I guess. I went back today to take this picture and there he was again. I wonder if that is his 9-5 job.

I can't say that I was able to still my thoughts completely. I was happily distracted watching all of the people flowing in and out of the wat. The sheer artistry of the statues and architecture is also really fascinating and so different than in Christianity. I was able to quiet my thoughts to a dull drone, though, and I was able to slow my heart rate enough so that I did not sweat even though there was not a fan on in-site. There were plenty of fans. Just none of them were on. Usually, noticing that alone is enough to form beads of sweat on my forehead.

About thirty minutes in, though, I felt a slight drop in my stomach and a very sharp pain in my right foot. My right leg had fallen asleep! Trying to control my impulse to jump up and start stomping my foot to wake up the rest of my leg, I silently extended my legs outward. The stamping would have been better. The only other monk in the wat, a man about my age, collecting tithes (or whatever they are called in Buddhism) and I think performing some kind of blessing ceremony on the patron points at my outstretched legs. And there, in that moment, I have committed one of the greatest taboos of Buddhism. In outstretching my legs, I was pointing the bottoms of my feet at Buddha. I might as well have spit or shat on his image.

I immediately recoiled into sitting cross-legged only to have a pins and needles pain shoot through my legs. So there I am trying to gracefully stand up without sticking my feet out in front of me again, but also without putting any weight on my now phantom right leg all the while stifling a reflexive groan. Thank goodness I had the foresight to sit with my back to a post. I half shimmied up the post, turned, and walked as fast and as quiet as I could to the exit to grab my sandals from the steps. I bet that monk had a good chuckle. I sure would have.

Exiting the front door of the wat, descending the few steps and making my way out the front entry way of the temple's compound, the relaxation feeling I'd felt in my body in the temple actually turned out to be my digestive system turning on me. That damn street vendor with her 20 baht fried rice! It took all the concentration and will power I had to get the two blocks back to my hostel and to their closest toilet. I immediately felt fine afterwards, but couldn't help, but feel weary about what Buddha had in-store for the rest of my day.

I walked down Ratchadamnern Road to the next temple, Wat Chedi Luang, and went inside for a brief sit and to take pictures. I ended up talking to a novice monk probably in his late teens or early twenties. As I was leaving the temple, he was sitting just outside the door reading a local newspaper and he started up a conversation with me by asking what I was listening to on my Ipod. Had it not been for the orange robes, I would have found this to be a bad pick-up line, but I had noticed he had done the same with two previous Western men entering the temple just before me. I think he was just bored and wanted to practice his English skills.

I told him I was listening to a book about Buddhism and he asked me why I was visiting Thailand and if it was to convert to Buddhism. I told him that, after growing up in a Christian town and culture, I was just curious about other faiths. We talked for a few minutes and I was trying to make an effort to just be open to the experience, but I think I was distracted by how typical he was. I expected him to almost visibly glow with enlightenment, but he was more like a polite college kid than anything else. I think that has been the biggest misconception on my part. I just expected too much out of these teen aged boys, these novice monks.

I have experienced them picking on each other, trading jokes, and even cutting in front of me in line at the 7-ll. They are just boys. Oftentimes, it seems they are either there because they are nominated by their families to become a monk for at least a few years to bring status to their family or they come from an impoverished background and becoming a monk is a path to a free education and a better standard of living. I am sure there are just as many reasons as there are monks, but those seem to be the main themes I have heard so far. Monks are entitled to a very cheap education (a fee of about $25/year), free room and board, free clothing, and free health care. They do have the option of earning a small salary as a teacher, but most don't earn a wage because money is just not necessary. The lifestyle is far from luxurious, but I can see its appeal. Monks are also very highly respected in Thai culture.

That evening, I went to a monk chat across town at Wat Srisupan. I was joined by a German couple about my age. The German woman was greatly looking forward to the meditation that is advertised as a two hour session from 7-9pm. She had been practising to build up her stamina. I recounted to them my half hour attempt earlier in the day and said that I would probably not be joining them. None of us ended up meditating in the end.

Instead the monk assigned to lead the monk chats filled the two hours with his pontificating about Buddhism. "The Buddha said" this and "The Buddha said" that. In his not entirely clear English he basically repeated what I had heard in "Naked Buddha" except he interestingly colored it with what was surely Thai culture and probably unbeknownst (or beknownst) to him, some political dogma. His take on why women are not monks, for instance, was hard to keep a straight face through. It had something to do with women being too weak and that 'the people' did not want 'it' in Thailand. The author of "Naked Buddha", an ordained Buddhist nun, had warned about this since she herself had to travel to Vietnam to be ordained, one of the only places that will ordain women. She also cautioned learners to be aware that culture and politics paints Buddhism just as much as in Christianity and other faiths so it was interesting to be able to identify it when this monk was speaking.

One of Buddhism's basic tenets is to question everyone and everything which I think is great and is one aspect that really appeals to my curious nature, but the monk noticeably got defensive when I asked why it was a tenet for monks not to marry if Buddha himself had been married. In what I thought was pretty universal of a twenty something guy he explained that Buddha was married prior to his enlightenment so that he would know the suffering that his followers experienced so that he could better understand them. I am pretty sure there is more to it than that, but I just kept my mouth shut and let him change the topic.

Needless to say, I was grateful for the experience, but a little disappointed. I think I will make a point, though, to look for more monk chats as I continue my travels into Vietnam and Cambodia.

Lions and tigers and elephants, oh my!

I just had to post a few of these pictures. I shared some of these pictures with my family and I believe my sister's exact words were, "What are you crazy?! That tiger could have eaten you for a snack!"

Those exact thoughts did not cross my mind, but it did seem pretty fatalistic all the sudden when I was allowed, through a trap door, into the tigers' enclosure and was warned not to touch the walls made of chain linked fence or any of the wires running along the walkways because they were electric. Hmm...I thought...I am in a ten foot high electrified pen with three full sized tigers and two 'animal trainers' will little more than sticks to protect us. Strangely, I was pretty relaxed. It was probably because both the trainers and the tigers were really relaxed about the whole thing.

Last Sunday, I went to the Tiger Kingdom just outside of Chiang Mai. It was part of a kind of package deal that included a trip to the Maesa Elephant Camp. My guesthouse's manager's husband was taking their nephew to the Elephant Camp and Tiger Kingdom is nearby so they offered to give me a free ride.

I had heard great things from several travellers about Tiger Kingdom. The park looks like a very well maintained Western zoo with at least a dozen huge enclosures. The enclosures are grassy spaces enclosed within in ten or so feet high chain link electric fences. Each enclosure also has an area with a concrete landing and a roof. They are fed there daily and I suppose it is also a place for the animals to get away from the rain and heat. There was also a smaller concrete bottomed, walled pavilion where the newborn tigers are raised. There are four groups of tigers and they are segregated according to their age into different spaces. The larger tigers are the sub-divided further into a handful of enclosures. Tickets are purchased depending on which age group (or groups) you want to go in and have a 15-20 minute visit with. The general consensus I gathered from other travellers was that the full sized and newborn tigers are the best to experience.

The tiger cubs were six weeks old and adorable. Luckily, the timing of the other visitors was staggered enough that I had one of three cubs all to myself. He didn't crawl all over me like the others were, but I was fine with that. I was just in awe. The pictures are a little blurry. He was in a constant state of wobbly motion. He did look a little glassy eyed and that bothered me because I had heard some rumors that the tigers are tranquilized, but I have also heard people adamantly deny that. It is hard to tell in Thailand, to be honest, who is telling the truth about tourist attractions and who even knows the real answer. The animal protection laws just don't really exist here.

Maesa Elephant Park

Our first stop of the day was to the Maesa Elephant Park. I was pretty hesitant about the whole experience and I still don't really know what to make of it. After unknowingly participating in an elephant trek just north of Phuket in which we road on metal benches that damage the elephant's backs, I pretty much vowed to stay away from an elephant park, no matter if it had a good reputation. This elephant park was a huge wooded farm area that supports over seventy elephants. I could say they looked well taken care of, but I am not a veterinarian, I really don't know. What the nephew and so many other Thai children were at the park for that day was the Elephant Show. Several of the elephants had been trained to march around a huge dirt ring and perform tricks like trying to kick an oversized soccer ball into an oversized goal and to paint with watercolors. I didn't stick around for the entire show, but I did pay for it as part of my admission.

We also had the opportunity to watch several of the elephants bathe in the parks river. Watching them each amble down the rocks into the water felt like watching grandmothers of the animal kingdom out for daily swim. They then took turn lying down in the running stream all the while their handlers dumping bucket loads of water on their backs.

We had the option to buy bananas and sugar cane to feed the elephants. I felt like a contestant in an episode of "America's Funniest Home Videos" as two eight foot pachyderms came rather quickly towards me in hopes of getting the bananas from the little French girl squealing in delight and fear in front of me. Is it universally rude to push a child closer to an elephant even if their parent has been stupid enough to ply them with bananas and step away so they can get some good pictures? I literally tried to climb over the bench behind me, but it had a high back to it so I was kind pinned while these elephants' trunks had their way with me. No, there was nothing remotely sexy about it. The long moment passed uneventfully, thank goodness, and the French girl was off to taunt another creature several times her size.

I really enjoyed visiting the nursery. It was just a large pen where a six week old elephant had been sequestered with his mother. I am such a sucker for babies. I was later told that baby elephants are often separated like this to protect them from aggressive elephants that may harm them. The baby sure was fun to watch. He was trying to feed himself water by dipping his trunk into a barrel just outside of the pen, sucking up water, and putting his trunk into his mouth. He was doing it so slow and deliberately. He managed to get his trunk into his mouth after a bit of a miss and then stuck his trunk in too far and gagged himself. In a fit of frustration, he shot the water back into the barrel and stumbled away to hide behind his mother's legs. He had learned how to pick his minder's pockets, though, in search of food. It is no wonder there are signs posted all around the park warning visitors to watch their belongings. It is because of the sometimes over zealous elephants. Can you spot the baby in the picture? Look for the little trunk...