Wedding Crashers

Before I go into an elaborate description of my wedding crashing escapadeS, I want to give one quick image of India for you to try to wrap your mind around, something I've seen everyday at the exact same time since I've arrived in Jaisalmer: a little boy walks outside, wearing a wool turtle neck sweater and no pants, and takes a shit in the gutter, which is constantly running milky grey water. Across from the boy is a small calf, tied up in a cage with about 3 feet of rope, with two shrines inside for people to pray to. India man, India.
OK, now onto wedding crashing. It all started about a week ago, in the capital of Rajistan, Jaipur. I met a guy who told me it was wedding season in Rajistan, and that he had attended a wedding in some small village. Wedding season! I was excited. So the next day, I walked down to the lobby of our hostel which was attached to a massive hotel, and sure enough, in the large garden, were about 100 Indian men, women and children, sitting around, celebrating a wedding. I was curious and intrigued, and decided to walk into the garden and see what was going on. We had to catch a bus for Pushkar in an hour, so I knew I had to be quick. Basically, I wanted to see if it was possible to penetrate the cultural, language, and racial barriers, and get accepted into the ceremony
So I walked in with a camera in hand, a big smile on my face, and a total get-after-it mentality in my head. Within seconds, no exaggeration, seconds, of setting myself up for a good camera shot, several men grabbed me and jolted me into the middle of the white blanket that the immediate family was sitting on. People starting yelling, and all eyes were on me. Another grabbed the woman who was applying some red dye and seeds to the BRIDE's forehead, and put her in front of me to perform the ceremonial ritual. Wedding crashing was a definite possibility, I decided.
Fast forward a couple days later (by me only focusing on wedding crashing in this blog post, I am completely ignoring the entire week we spent in what has been one of my favorite cities so far, Pushkar. Basically all we did there was hang out, so I guess there's not much to write about). Anyways, we're walking from our favorite laffa stand (an Israeli food), where we had just eaten dinner, to our friends' hotel. On the way, I see a large, large, building, which from the outside (and I later found out the inside) could pass as a prison or insane asylum in the US. I hear loud music, and see lots of people gathered outside, and decide it's probably a wedding, and I should probably go inside. So inside I went, alone, because none of the 4 friends I was with were adventurous enough to venture into these unchartered waters.
I was greeted with a mixed reception. Several people sitting by the entrance explicitly told me to leave, but I figured since they were sitting by the entrance rather than actively participating in the ceremony, they weren't that important, and thus, it didn't really matter what they thought. And besides, this is wedding crashing. If it was easy, then they'd call it wedding attending. I wasn't going to give up that easily.
I walked upstairs and spotted a large room, about the size of a basketball court, with a DJ, a dance floor, and lots of people. In one corner was the bride and groom, seated on a bench, and in front of them were about 150 women and children, the men standing outside the room on a balcony which overlooked the large outdoor center of the building. Several young people approached me, asking about where I was from, what I did, etc.. The conversation was flowing; several minutes later I found myself surrounded by 10 college aged guys who were all studying to be accountants, none of whose names I could remember. Soon, a man approached me and grabbed me out of the crowd. His name was Arun, and he was the groom's older brother. Mission accomplished. He befriended me, and explained to me that this was just the first of three nights of wedding celebrations for the bride and groom. He told me that the groom, his brother, was a multi millionaire (in dollars? rupees?) manufacturing window panes, and that he was a lawyer, a judge, and a politician. He also said his family owned a hotel, gave me a card, and told me I should meet him for lunch tomorrow. And most importantly, he insisted that I come back tomorrow night, for the wedding, and that I should bring my friends.
I left soon after my work was complete, as I was uninterested in the speeches in Hindi, especially since there was no food in sight. I explained to Sam and my other friends what had happened, and informed them of the wedding we had to attend the next night.
The next day passed quickly. We realized it was only the second time in the last two months that we had an actual commitment to a certain time (not including buses, trains, or planes to catch). And still, we were late. We arrived at the wedding hall around 615. While Sam and the two Brits we were with appeared a bit trepidatious, their disposition quickly disappeared after I was greeted by name within thirty seconds of walking in, by four different groups of people. We learned that a parade was about to begin, which went through town and to the bride's house to escort her back to the wedding. So we left with some of our friends, and set out with the parade. The parade was a procession of about 300 people, not including the 45 piece band. Running along each side of the procession were young teenagers spaced about 10 feet apart from each other, each holding a 3 foot tall lamp with several fluorescent bulbs exuding a bright blue light. In the back were two carts holding generators for the lamps, each being pushed by several men. And just in front of the generators was the groom, dressed head to toe in a white suit covered with jewels, riding a white horse which also was covered in jewels. The parade lasted nearly an hour and a half, and on several occasions we were brought to the front to dance with my old friends the accountants.
We got tired after a while, and decided to leave the parade and grab some chai. We sipped our chai for a while, talking again to the crazy cake baker from last post, and decided by now the procession would probably be back at the wedding. So we returned to the wedding, this time walking to the other entrance. This side of the building had an outdoor terrace which was about 300 by 300 feet. The entire area was lined with crazy light displays. Surrounding each wall was no less than 30 stands, which were all now serving food. In the center were several large beautiful sculpture type things, made out of something that resembled plastic. And in front was a massive stage, with a beautiful jeweled bench resting in the middle in front of large red curtains. The food had started to be served, and knowing how aggressive Indian people can be, and fearing a short supply, I jumped in. I started eating, and realized that I was not receiving the same type of positive attention I had received earlier. I looked around, and saw that all eyes within a 30 foot radius were now on me, shoving vegetable noodles in my face. I wasn't worried- by this time I knew I was more than welcome at the wedding, so I simply looked around for one of the 50 people I had already met and exchanged names with (none of which I could remember). However, I couldn't seem to recognize anyone. So I looked at my friends, and their expressions of perplexity seemed to convey to me the exact same thing as I was thinking- is this the same wedding? People started approaching me, and asking various questions in Hindi and broken English. I kept replying "Arun, I am friends with Arun," but it didn't seem to hold any credibility with the new audience. So, I decided I wasn't yet welcome with this crowd, and that I would have to begin the same schmoozing and bullshitting skills I had done so successfully the night before. So schmooz and bullshit we did, and soon enough, we had a crowd of fifty people surrounding us, taking pictures, asking questions, and shoving food in our faces. As the crowd grew, so did the status of those surrounding us. The bride's father began shooting a fifteen minute movie of us simply standing in one place. He walked us around, introducing us to his relatives and friends. Turns out, the entire groom's family and friends had left on the parade, and the bride's family arrived soon after their departure to begin the party, which explains why we thought we were in a completely different wedding when we first arrived. Mission double accomplished, we were now guests of both sides of the wedding.
The procession was about to arrive back at the wedding. The bride's father and several other men grabbed us and brought us to the entrance. They placed baskets of flowers into our hands, and instructed us to hand them out as people entered. Before the procession arrived, the three photographers and two videographers took several minutes of pictures of us with the entire bride's family. "You are now part of the family" we were told. Holy shit.
The procession entered, and like everything else in India, it became madness. The band's noise was ear drum-shattering. People trampled through each other like a wild stampede. Tables and chairs were crushed, and it was a mad rush to enter through the gates. The videographers, as if their pay was contingent on having a continuous video feed of the groom, jumped from place to person to chair, violently knocking anyone who stood, or who had been pushed on the ground, in his path. Everyone remained completely peaceful and celebratory however, and both the bride and groom's immediate family appeared unharmed in the entire skirmish.
People managed to file in and take their places on the grass. The attention level around us (on a scale of 1-10, 10 being the highest) had increased from a 13 to a 20. It was near overwhelming, yet really, really funny. We were now being grabbed and brought in front of the stage to dance with a group of very overly excited young men. Having rocked many Camp Horseshoe socials, I had no difficulty dancing with the dudes. For an hour and a half, we (were forced) to dance to the upbeat Bollywood trance techno music. Like in Vietnam, I brought out the going fishing, the shopping cart, the C walk, the harlem shake, and some other crazy dance moves I've picked up over the years. The Indians could not get enough of all this. They especially loved the lawn mower, the disco walk, and by far the best, the flamingo (I'm not sure what it's called, but it's a Shoe trademark and a signal with my friends back home). By this time, I had worked up a full sweat, and was feeling exhausted. It didn't help that every 30 seconds another small Indian kid would grab me and forcefeed me one of the many Indian sweets or dishes. I snuck out of the dancing circle, and settled around the wedding ceremony in the other corner for some rest.
I was immediately spotted, however, by a young man with a blue scarf, who wrapped it around me and dragged me back to dance. "No!" I jokingly pleaded, but I had no choice. So I danced for several more minutes until my physical demeanor conveyed to those around me that I would have no more dancing. The wedding ceremony took place in a corner, and then the bride and groom were brought on stage to put flower necklaces around each other. They then were seated on the bench, and we were the first ones brought up for pictures. We thanked the bride and groom, and gave them our gift of 200 rupees (4 dollars) as well as some American flag pins. They enjoyed it, but were nowhere near excited of our presence as the rest of the wedding was, possibly because it was their wedding. We said our farewells around 11, as we heard that the wedding would go on until 1, and were at this point very tired. Walking out, we hardly spoke. We just laughed and smiled, and giddily returned to the hotel, knowing that we had just crashed a wedding!
We're taking an 18 hour train tomorrow to Mumbai, and fly to Prague the 17th. The train will probably be our last experience of real hardcore India of this trip, something that I will surely miss. So next time we speak; I'll be in cold weather, hanging out with my brother, eating food that doesn't make sick, showering in showers that don't make me dirtier, shitting on toilets rather than squatting, and back to the Western world and out of the madness of India. I'm excited for some things, but I'll definitely miss the zoo!

The Zoo or the Circus?

Since I arrived here, I've been trying to think of a metaphor which captures my experience in India. I thought I had it, but after last night, I think I've changed my mind. Originally, I liked to think of India as a very large zoo, with no cages and no zookeepers. I mean, literally, there are animals everywhere. Dogs roam the street, sometimes chasing tourists, and sometimes laying down with total disregard of everything else that's happening. Yesterday, Sam stepped on a dog which incited a loud squeal. Two days ago, we saw a dog laying in a hole in the middle of a motorcycle's path. The motorcycle slowed down, assuming the dog would move, and then proceeded to just run the dog over (it was a mess trying to dislodge the dog's leg from under the bike). There are chickens and goats who run around, usually sticking to their own business. There are monkeys who sit on top of buildings, in their own established societies, and descend to the streets for the occasional stolen snack from a vegetable merchant. And then there are cows; who can walk wherever they want, shit wherever they want, and eat whatever they want. However, none of these literal animals are the reason I think India is like a zoo. It's more the chaos and noise, the pollution and garbage, and the interactions that make me feel this way. I see things in the culture that are so polar opposite to everything that I am used to in the western world, and simply fall into a state of jaw-dropping utter disbelief. This should not be taken at all as an insult to Indian or Hindu culture. I do not actually think Indians are like animals, it's just the way the entire culture fuses together, in a crazy way, that makes me feel like I'm in a zoo.
And then, after last night, I decided that India might be a circus, because sometimes the most bizaar, most hilarious, most improbable events happen that no matter what, will always put a smile on your face, or in our case last night, will incite a case of hysterical laughter.
Rather than spending the whole post telling you about what I've done for the entire last week; how I nearly cried when I saw the Taj Mahal, how it was harder to get alcohol in Jaipur (the capital of the state of Rajastan) than it was in high school, how we went on a camel safari, or how we found a small pink log cabin restaurant with one stove called Joney's that makes the best grilled cheese sandwiches in the world, I'm just going to tell you about a 2 hour segment of my night last night, because it reminded me of a circus.
It started when we left one of the all-too-similar Israeli restaurants and headed back to one of our friend's guest houses. Walking down the street, we saw the stand that sells brownies and cakes, and special brownies and special cakes. Several of our friends had a terrible experience several nights ago with the special brownies (special everythings are sold everywhere in Pushkar), and so we decided to inquire to the cake baker into what these cakes were all about.
"Have you ever had one of these cakes?"
"Ahh, yes, I had one at 4 o'clock."
"Is it really only jarras (form of marijuana) that is in these cakes?"
"Yes, only jarras. Full power jarras." Bullshit. This guy was walking proof that there had to be more than jarras in these cakes. I've seen really, really high people before, but this guy was on another planet. His eyes were focused on completely different sides of me, his colorful brimmed hat was halfway off his head, his hands were moving in uncontrollable directions, his tongue was hanging out of his mouth like a dog, and his shoulder was twitching in ways it shouldn't.
"Umm, OK."
So we've seen this cake baker every night, and he always seems to have the same amount of cake, but never has any customers. So, we decided to inquire about his business model.
"How often do you bake a new cake?"
"Whenever it runs out."
"How old are these cakes."
"15 days, 1 month, 2 months, hahahaha."
Hahaha. We'll get back to him later.
So we walked some more, and several hundred meters before the guest house, I spotted a Hindu wedding. Knowing how welcoming and hospitable Hindu people are, and having seen the movie "Wedding Crashers" over 30 times, I decided to go inside and check it out. It turns out it was just the pre-wedding night party, but after an hour of a combination of smiling, bowing my head, and bullshiting, I made friends with the groom's brother, and got an invitation to the wedding tonight. Wedding crashing will be the topic of my next blog post.
I arrived at the guest house after about an hour, and chilled with our friends there for a while. We watched some Israeli do some crazy fire numb-chuck show with trance music. It was all fun, until the owner of the hotel came down to the garden, half naked with a blanket wrapped around his neck (why it wasn't around his entire body is beyond me), and told us it was time to leave. So Sam and I, as well as the 2 Australian girls we were with starting walking back to our guest house. It was around 11, so most of the shops were closed. However, one small food/drink/general store was open, and there were two Indians sitting outside with the owner, so we decided to join them for a chat. The owner sat relatively quiet at his desk, perched over the others like a bird guarding his nest. One Indian sat on his motorbike, slurping an ice cream cone, with a face full of chocolate and laughs. And the other Indian sat on a step, his head buried in between his legs, unable to bear his surroundings while keeping a straight face. This is going to be fun, we thought. We sat down, and started listening to their conversation, which happened to be entirely in Hindi. However, we understood every bit of the conversation because nothing was actually said; they just laughed the entire time. It was an amazing sight, two full grown Indian men laughing like little school children, nearly in tears, eating ice cream. Then, the more coherent one, the one on the bike eating ice cream, started to explain to us what was going on.
"My friend is a Bollywood movie star."
"Haha, cool."
"Yes. My friend has many man friends who will pull down their pants for him."
"Haha, not so cool."
Laughter ensued for another 3 minutes. Then, the one sitting on the step pulled out an air vaporizer or something that was still in its box, and the laughter between the two rapidly increased. It would have been hopeless to figure out why this air vaporizer sparked so much laughter had another man, who appeared completely sober, not decided to join in on our get-together.
"The man says that he purchased the air vaporizer from the shop owner for 150 rupees (3 dollars), but he has absolutely no idea what it is or what it is used for. His friend just told him to buy it because it looked cool."
OK, it's funny for several high school freshmen, stoned out of their minds, to buy something completely useless for 3 dollars. But when 3 dollars could be half your day's salary, and your over the age of 50, it's frickin' hilarious. The laughter continued for another 5 minutes. All the while, the men were attempting to build up the strength and focus to tell us something in English. Finally, the man eating the ice cream was ready to speak.
"My friend says that if he could pull down the pants of anyone here, full power, it would be him (pointing to me)."
The place erupted in laughter. I jumped up and ran. The man sitting on the steps starting yelling "joke, joke!" and began slapping the man on the bike. This put the man on the bike over the top- he was now on the floor, rolling around, saying "full power, full power," laughing at his friend's inability to explain himself. They were probably joking, but it was also probably our cue to leave. So we left, and thanked our friends for some good laughs.
We approached the main street of Pushkar, which several hours ago was bustling with tourists eating laffas, and merchants trying to sell whatever kitschy items they possessed. It was now relatively empty and easy to walk through, the vegetable and fruit merchants had gathered their goods off the street, the chai shops along the street had pulled their chairs and benches in and locked up. The dogs, goats, and cows had settled into their respective corners and ledges for the night. However, there was a group of people gathered around several awake cows, as well as our friend from earlier, the cake baker. We scrambled to an angle from which we could see what was going on, and watched as the cake baker fed cakes to the cows. Uh oh, I thought.
"What kind of cake did you give the cow?"
There was no response, as the cake baker was fully involved in a conversation with the two cows.
"I give cow apple cake and special cake because he pays me 100 rupees, the other cow pays me nothing so I give him nothing, you pay 100 rupees I give full power cake to cow."
No thanks, I thought. I'm not going to encourage anymore of this, I decided, especially after the cow which was being fed special cakes began coughing and sneezing, and sliding his front hooves in a rapidly aggressive manner. Another cue to leave, we decided.
It was now midnight, and the streets were empty. The streets were nearly quiet, as the wedding music had died down. However, as we turned into our guest house's alley, we began to hear a very loud, yet indiscernible noise which faintly sounded like a type of music. We walked through the alley, and approached a small cul de sak, with two massive amps stacked on top of one another, under a tree, blaring this obnoxiously loud music, with a crowd one no one sitting around listening. We searched the area nearby, and ceased to find any sign of the music. We finally came across a group of about 5 people playing instruments, singing, and clapping. Why the elaborate sound system with no audience, and why the ear-splitting volume at such an hour? It's possible there is an answer to this question, but most likely, there isn't. Because like most other things in India, some of the most bizaar things occur, with absolutely no plausible explanation behind them. But I've learned that it's just the way things are here, and there's no real point in questioning them or trying to change them. It's better to just enjoy the show, or the circus, or the zoo, or whatever it is that India is.
I'm having a hard time finishing this blog post because outside there is a 30 piece marching band which has created a huge traffic jam. In the middle of the whole jam is a woman sitting on a cart with two pieces of luggage being pushed by a rickshaw driver. Around her are a group of 30 women dressed in traditional and colorful saris, as well as several small children, all stuck in a bottleneck trying to squeeze into the entrance of a small temple. Several motorbikes are laying on their horns, and obviously, there are several cows in the pack, and one dog. No one is moving, and no one seems to be doing anything to fix the jam. But like everything else in India, something will happen, possibly on accident, and the situation will be solved.

Enter India

I last left off as we were preparing to go on the 10 day Annapurna base camp trek in Nepal. The trek was absolutely incredible, but there isn't much to write about it in a summarizing blog post. Words really can't describe what it is like to reach Annapurna Base Camp at 4100 m, standing in a bowl, surrounded 360 degrees by the tallest mountains in the world, mountains that looked as if they were so close and so attainable, but really have only been reached by few people in history. It was amazing, and it got really, really cold at night.
So that's about it for the trek. We did fire our guide 4 days in because he was a mean drunk who we figured out one hour into the trek we really didn't need. After the 9 day trek, we returned with 2 Israelis, whom we met after firing our guide, to Pokhara, which is simply, the greatest city in the world.
Pokhara is small and very touristy. Because of the Maoist government, all the bars close at 11 (except for some that consider themselves "underground" which close at 1130). Most of the restaurants are pretty much the same, and the guesthouses are nothing special. However, after returning from a long and pretty grueling trek, with my metabolism racing faster than lighting, there is nothing better than relaxing and eating in such a chill town. And that is what we did. I can't say that we did nothing all day; we woke up early every morning and went to the German bakery, then went for massive bowls of Meusli loaded with luscious fruit and yogurt, went and played several games of pool, then went to one of the many Israeli eateries to get schnitzel, went and walked around, then went to Cafe Shenkin (named after a street in Tel Aviv) for sandwiches, went and read, then went for dinner at the Pokhara Steakhouse (massive beef tenderloins in a Hindu country, pretty impressive), and finally, after a long day, went to sleep. Ahhh, Pokhara. After several days of that, and as our metabolism started to slow down to our adjustment from walking 9 miles of stairs a day to the Pokhara lifestyle, we decided to head for India. We took an 8 hour bus ride through the beautiful Nepali landscape, saying goodbye to the mountains which had been our home for the last 2 weeks, and arrived to the smell and dirt and noise and shit of the Indian border. After being slapped with a 40 dollar visa penalty because we overstayed our time in Nepal (which was all worth it), we crossed into the madness. Compared to all the countries we have traveled through, this border was virtually non existent. There was a sign above us that read "Welcome To India" which could have easily been missed, and absolutely no security. However, it would be impossible to not be able to distinguish exactly where the border was. The moment I stepped out of Nepal, it was like entering a different world. The ground was covered with unidentifiable plastic items, cow shit, and beggars rolling in shit. The sun was no longer visible, and the air was heavy with smog. The chaotic noise ripped through my unadjusted ears. Shopkeepers and street salesmen repeated "What do you want?" over and over again. Everywhere, it smelled like urine. We scrambled to find a bus to take us the additional 2 hours to Gorakhpur, where we would catch our train in the morning. We found the bus, and climbed on top to strap our backpacks on before loading. We entered a relatively small bus, with less leg room than even the Cambodian buses. It was ok, we thought, as the bus sat 32 and there were only about 30 people on the bus. We found our seats next to a Dutch couple, the only other white people on the bus. We settled in and got quasi-comfortable, hot and sticky, yet relieved and excited for the evening breeze to fly through the moving bus, expecting that we would probably be leaving in the next few minutes because the bus was almost full. However, in India, expectations rarely meet reality. We waited another half an hour, until we fitted, no exaggeration, 70 people on the bus. For the entire duration of the bus, I had either a fat old woman straddling my leg, her dress stuck on a different chair, a man's groin impressed on my ear, or another man kneeling on the ground, fighting my sized 13 feet for a place to rest. My arms didn't fit at my sides, so I had no choice but to stretch them around the shoulders of the 2 Indians on either side of me, which they probably thought was normal. I was severely uncomfortable, yet, the entire ride (except for the 6 elbows to the face I received from the ticket collector), Sam and I laughed and smiled. The only element of the bus ride which failed to surpass my expectations of madness was the smell. For a bus full of people who wipe their asses with their hands, rarely shower, eat a curry filled diet, and are just naturally smelly, it wasn't so bad.
We arrived to Gorakhpur later in the evening, which was, if possible, more mad. We went to the train station to try to buy tickets for the next morning, and could not walk through without stepping on a body or the mat or bag of a body. People were pissing on the walls outside. The lines were unorganized, signs were non descriptive, English speaking attendants were non existent, and we were the only tourists there. After much work, we got our tickets for the next morning, and retreated back to the grossest hotel we have stayed in so far during the trip. The hotel, which had an eerie resemblance to the hostel in Eli Roth's horror film and to the mental institution in The Shining, did have TV's in the room. So before going to sleep, we watched a little bit of the news, which is when we began to learn about the events occurring in Mumbai. We didn't learn much, there was no volume and all we saw were "Shootings at Hotel," so we went to sleep unalarmed. However, 3 hours later, we were wakened by aggressive , violent, and non-persisting knocks down the hall. I was tired after a full day of traveling, and fell right back to sleep. Several seconds later though, I woke again; the knocking was approaching closer and closer to our door. Finally, it arrived. Sam and I both shot up, and looked at each other. Surprisingly, I wasn't at all scared, more just wondering what I was supposed to do. We stared at the closed latch at the top of the door, when suddenly the door burst open, and a middle aged Indian man in slacks and a button down peered in at us. I waved, and he charmingly said "OK, goodnight," and moved on to the next door. What the fuck, I thought. Wondering what was up, I walked out to the hallway and saw a policeman and several other men, and I decided that whatever was going on, the guy who was just knocking on my door was probably on my side. Unable to fall back to sleep immediately (for obvious reasons) we turned on the TV, and learned about everything happening in Mumbai. Turns out, the men were just searching the hotel to make sure there were not terrorists, which makes zero sense at all because there are absolutely no tourists in Gorakhpur, and absolutely nothing worth of attacking.
So the next morning we woke up early, and took a 6 hour train ride to Varanasi. We rode sleeper class (the 2nd lowest), and met many, interesting people. Someone could probably write an entire book on "People You Meet on an Indian Train," so for the sake of time and my meusli which should be arriving soon, I'm not going to describe all the interesting characters I met.
And then there's Varanasi, which like the rest of the places we've been in India for the last 3 days, is also madness. We arrived at our Lonely Planet recommended hostel after searching through labrynthed alleys for ten minutes. We spent the day and night chilling out and playing pool, running into some different Israelis we met in Nepal who happen to have gone to high school with one of my Israeli cousins.
The next day, we descended down from the lovely rooftop bar to the burning ghats, the element which makes Varanasi one of the holiest Hindu city in the world. Sitting right on the Ghanges river, we watched as body after body was ceremoniously carried to the fire, unwrapped from the gold and colorful plastic and cloth, and placed into the raging flames. The heat was unbearable, and the smoke smelled like oil. Beggars and touts were ubiquitous, bullshitting about scams and other nonsense. At one point, a dog jumped in a dying fire and pulled out a big piece of meat, tearing it apart several feet from us. A cow walked down some stairs, causing everyone to jump out of the way in a frenzy, with one man losing his shoe in the process. The cow then let loose several gallons of urine onto the shoe, without reaction by the crowd, and several seconds later the shoe was gone. Men with only rags wrapped around their waists shoveled the ashes in the river, as other men waded in the river pulling boats. Other people bathed and drank several meters down the motionless stream. I was speechless as I watched what I perceived was a scene bursting with life. We sat there for an hour without speaking, absorbing and learning, listening and watching.
We walked around for a while, and then ascended back to the rooftop bar for good food, music, pool, and company. Later on, we went back out for sunset and a religious ceremony at one of the main ghats, and then returned back to the hotel.
We're off to Agra tonight, and tomorrow we'll be sitting in front of the Taj Mahal sipping Chai.
One quick side note: If you've at all noticed at any times a fixation on functions relating to the bathroom in previous blog posts, it's with good reason. After a month of dealing with that shit (literally), I finally went to the doctor in Pokhara and was diagnosed with ghiardia and dysentry, which I probably got from drinking bad water. I'm not sure if I'm better now, but it really hasn't impacted my life that much.
And also, I'm not sure by reading this what you may think my feelings thus far about India are, so I want to make it absolutely clear: it's really crazy, but I really like it :)

The Nepali Way

My Grandma always says that in her next life, she wants to come back as one of my cats. Well, if you remember from one of my early blog posts, I decided that in my next life I want to come back as a Mongolian warrior. But after that life, which will probably not be too long because Mongolian warriors probably don't live to old ages because they fight a lot, I want to come back a Nepali sherpa or shopkeeper.
Nepal has to be one of the greatest places on earth. The tourists are trekkers, and rather than stores selling t-shirts, they sell good North Face and Arcteryx knockoffs. But before I talk about my first few days in Nepal, I'll give you a quick recap of what i was doing in Bangkok: shitting and feeling feverish.
That's right; I thought I had traveler's diarrhea several weeks ago, and it turns out, I probably did. But I never really got rid of it, and the 2 days I spent in Bangkok before flying to Kathmandu were miserable. We wandered aimlessly around Bangkok, going to one of the largest malls in Southeast Asia, and walking up and down the infamous Khao San Road, where fake IDs are sold on the street and drivers offer to take you to "ping pong show" (not table tennis) every step of the way, the whole time feeling more and more like I wanted to die. So I decided to throw in the towel; managing to make it back to my hotel before pulling a Sam. I slept a lot and starting taking my antibiotics, and although I was dreading my 4 hour flight the next day, everything turned out to be OK.
We arrived in Kathmandu the evening of the 11th. Sam and I decided against buying a Lonely Planet just for Nepal, so we had no idea of places to go except for what we heard was the backpacker's area, Thamel. As we exited airport security, we could hear the mobs of taxi drivers outside. More hassles just like Vietnam, I thought, as Sam and I prepared to fight off the swarms and find a non threatening yet non retarded looking driver. It was then that we were spotted by an airport taxi driver, a driver who is allowed into the airport to pull clients. We usually never go with these types of drivers out of principle, as they usually mark up their prices double because they are "official." But this driver was different- he was a comedic and sales genius. He lured us in with the most incredible persuasion skills, using excellent timing and rhetoric, knowing when to ease off, and appealing to our every emotion throughout the conversation. It was truly remarkable. We asked our new friend to take us to his company's hotel, something we would never do wilingly or unwillingly, also out of principle. But we wanted our new friend to recieve the commision, as he had accompanied us in our taxi with someone else driving. The whole time he told us funny stories about his life in Nepal, his claimed visits to Bangkok, his multiple girlfriends, his former job as a sherpa, his survival of yellow fever, and his part time job as a moderately succesful actor in Kathmandu (his day was spent shooting a sitcom, playing a playboy on a motorcycle). All these things may or may not be true, however, I have no doubts about his acting skills.
And this is the story of mostly everyone we came across in Kathmandu. Energetic, enthusiastic, outgoing, and very friendly. We stumbled across a shop selling yak wool coats, bought one each, and then struck up a conversation with the owner talking about yoga. The next morning, he picked us up at our hostel at 430 AM and took us to a 3 hour yoga class. The class was nothing like the Yoga I do at home; it was with mainly older people, and was a mix of light aerobics, stretching, breathing, and meditation exercises. It was excellent none the less, and at the end, we thanked our host and said farewell to a stranger, who for no reasons other than his good heart took us in and treated us like old friends.
Which brings me to the next reason behind my extreme admiration for the Nepalese, their hosting ability. Sam has a close family friend in Seattle who has an uncle or a cousin or something who lives with his family in Kathmandu. We decided to call up the friend, who we had been told would take us around. On the phone, Dixit sounded very friendly, and told us he would pick us up at 5 PM.
We didn't really know what to expect; who he was, his age, what to wear, so we did what we have been doing every night for the last several weeks; Sam wore jeans and a button down he bought in Vietnam, and I wore one of the t-shirts I bought (it happened to be Goodmorning Vietnam night) and a pair of cooler (in temperature) pants. 5 o'clock came and Dixit entered the lobby and spotted us, greeting us with a huge Nepali smile on his face. He wore jeans and a nicer shirt, and was in his 40's. We followed him out of the hotel, and walked several blocks away from the busy traffic of Thamel to where his car was. Dixit introduced us to his wife, his driver, and two daughters, ages 14 and 12. He then proceeded to take us to the nicest hotel in all of Kathmandu for a buffet dinner. All of this would have been amazing, except for the fact that I was still suffering from the stomach ailments I described above, and have been describing for the last several blog posts. What I have learned about Nepali hosts is that while they are very generous, they virtually insist that you take them up on their offers. This was a bit troubling to me, as we arrived at an incredible buffett with over 50 dishes. This probably meant that the meal had no definite ending, which was even more troubling to me. And even more troubling than that was the fact that we were eating Indian food; not light French or Italian food, but rich, heavy, spicy, Indian food. I was screwed. I sat down, and was ordered a beer. I drank my beer, and then followed suit and approached the buffet. How do I do this without getting sick, I thought. I began the meal with light vegetables, crackers, and a light pasta dish, already consuming more than I had eaten in the last 3 days combined. I finished my food, but detected disappointment in the amount of food I had eaten relative to my size. "My daughter eats more than you!" Dixit said. I looked down at my stomach, looked at my hosts who seemed to be nodding their heads in encouragement yes, looked back down at my stomach and frowned, and then embarked on my oddysey of excessive glutony. I stuffed my plate with the thickest stews, oiliest meats, milkiest cheeses, and 18 pieces of naan, an Indian flat bread. If I was going to shit my pants, I might as well do it with a good meal, I thought. So I ate, and ate, and ate, helping after helping of undescribably delicous food. And then I ate some more. And I sat in my chair, seeming to be a ticking time bomb of shit waiting to explode. I thought about how terrible it would be if I spent 45 minutes in the bathroom while my hosts waited, or worse, if I couldn't even make it to the bathroom. The meal went on, and we talked and laughed... and the urge to go never came. And so dessert time arrived, and I ate 4 creme puffs, several pieces of flan, and lots of fruit...and it never came. And after dessert, I felt great! I was liberated from my submission to shitting that had held me captive for days! I was so relieved. I told my hosts about my past stomach problems and laughed as we walked around the beautiful hotel garden and former palace of the Nepali kingdom, now an annex to the hotel. The whole dinner, the food, meeting Dixit and his family, the hotel, was the best dining experience I have had in Asia. It was an unforgetable night.
We arrived back at the hotel just after 8, right in time for the planned skype conference call I had with my parents and brother to talk about my sister's bat mitzvah. When I arrived, however, I realized that there would be no skype call, because there was no power in Thamel. See, everyday, for a total of 6 hours a day, the Nepali government shuts down the electricity throughout the country beacuse they simply don't have enough. Which is the first of two weird things about Nepal, the second being that their clocks are 15 minutes behind the time zone where the country is located (it took me so long to figure this one out).
So, now I am in Pokhara, getting ready to go on a 10 day trek tomorrow to the Annapurna Base Camp. It should be an amazing trek, and I am really looking forward to it. So next time we speak, I'll probably be in India!

Here are some pictures of Sam and I with the actor, at dinner with Dixit and his family, with some Japanese friends we met throwing up a hi-hi, and me playing soccer with a few little Nepalese kids at a lunch bus stop today. We started out playing with the ball in our hands, but then the enormous globs of snot on their upper lips started leaking onto the ball, and it was just a huge mess, so I decided soccer would be best. At one point, the bamboo ball we were playing with (I bought it in Thailand) rolled under the van pictured, and a small boy, eager to touch the ball, chased the ball with his head down, and not seeing the parked van, slammed right into its' side. It made such a loud thump! In the US there probably would have been a lawsuit, but in Nepal, everyone just laughed, including the boy, and we kept playing. That's the Nepali way!















Looks like I can't upload the pictures (I think I'm on a dial up connection). Will try again later

''Oh Baby, Baby Blue''

I wrote this blog a couple days ago, but the internet in Cambodia is so sketchy that I couldn't publish. So right now I'm in Bangkok, we arrived late last night and are leaving for Kathmandu, Nepal tomorrow afternoon. Bangkok is one of the craziest cities I've ever been in. It's completely westernized, but more than westernized, it's completely israelized. There are massive billboards in only Hebrew, restaurants, travel agencies, stores, and hotels with only hebrew on their signs. I had heard there were a lot of Israelis in Thailand; I never imagined it would be like this. So this caps off the first 5 weeks of our trip, we're leaving SE Asia, leaving the familiar sights and culture that we've been with, and leaving the same backpackers that we've seeing at every city we stay in. I'm not sure what to expect from Nepal and India, but I am very excited for whatever the change will bring.




Those are the lyrics to the song that some drunken Cambodians were singing while chugging bowls of beer and ice in the pouring rain in the backpacker's alley in Phnom Penh last week. They stormed into the restaurant/bar/''chill zone'' which we were at and demanded that we drink. I think I've mentioned this in the last several blogs, but in case I didn't, my stomach has been moderately upset the last 2 weeks. It has caused severe discomfort at times, but also created some epicly histerical stories which will be told at home. I seem to be better now; I have targeted the several cups of coffee that I had been drinking a day to the reason I was near shitting my pants at all minutes of the day, and have since eliminated this toxin from my body. So back to the guys singing and drinking; I was faced with a decision: plea injury stomach pain and decline, or accept their offer of beer lao and friendship. To the surprise of everyone I was sitting with who had seen me doubled over in agonizing pain with intermittent trips to the bathroom all day, I chose the latter. I took the bowl to the face, and yelled and sung along in liberation. The group of 8 people I was with all began to sing along in jubilee, and we all got trashed that night. And thus, I have decided that the best cure for traveler's diarrhea is...4 vodka red bulls, several bowls of beer lao, and singing and dancing in the pouring rain with Cambodians.

Phnom Penh overall kind of sucked. We spent a day and a half there, a day of which was spent at the killing fields and the S-21 prison, or killing fields museum. If you don't know anything about the killing fields, you are similar to the overwhelming majority of the Cambodian population who knows nothing about the Khmer Rouge, a government which waged genocide killing 2 million of its own people only 30 years ago. For tourists coming to Cambodia, the genocide is a main attraction. Every tourist goes to the killing fields, and every 9 year old book seller on every corner in every big city in the country sells countless copied books on the Khmer Rouge and Pol Pot. However, for Cambodians, it is a huge taboo. After the Khmer Rouge fell, soldiers who had brutally carried out the killings were integrated back into normal society, and became the next door neighbors of victims of torture and those who had lost family members under the oppresion. It's quite sad, but also understandable that this integration occured. Cambodians were living in a totally wrecked economy, and in the years after hundreds of thousands died of disease or starvation. So rather than continue living in such dire conditions, they had no choice but to forget the past, unite as one country, and try to improve their own standard of living. And it has worked, with the help of foreign aid and countless NGO operations, the country was put back on its feet. However, leaders of the Khmer Rouge, those individuals who brainwashed young soldiers and orchestrated this terrible genocide, remain uncharged for their crimes against humanity, and every year that passes is a year that justice is not delivered. In addition to this, because of all the external help that Cambodia has recieved, the government has become completely complacent and corrupt. NGO's run health care, school systems, and pretty much everything else. Someone who worked for the World Bank in Cambodia captured the government's daily productivity best; "they get to work at 9, break for lunch at 11, get back to work at 3, and leave for the day at 5." The government has even outsourced the management of the killing fields, the museums, even Angkor Wat, one of the most magical and unbelievably cool places in the world.

Which brings me to where I am now, Siem Reap, a small laid back town which is the hub for tourists traveling to Angkor Wat. Siem Reap is awesome. We have spent the last 5 days here, playing pool, watching pirated tv shows that we bought (we're currently on season 1 of the wire), walking around, and playing lots of soccer and volleyball. Every day at 430, some tuk-tuk drivers take a break from hassling tourists and doing nothing to meet at our hostel to play volleyball. For short people, they're pretty good. However, and this is something that makes me mad but would make my good friend J Keesh absolutely livid; every time they set the ball, they hit a blatantly illegal shot. Illegal shot would actually be an understatement, they actually nearly catch the ball, hold it for 3 seconds, and throw it down. It's like watching 9 year olds play "Nukem" at camp. This wouldn't be so bad except that they have so much respect for one player, a player they label as "the best in Siem Reap," and all he does is catch and throw the ball every time. I've stayed away from their volleyball games, and arrive at the court around 515, right before sun-down, for soccer. We play 5 v 5 on a hard mud/dirt court which is about the size of my basement. The game is competitively fast moving yet it has many stops; the ball goes out of bounds nearly every 5 passes. However, it is very fun, and is expanded on my repetoire of different styles of soccer I've experienced since being in SE Asia.

So everything here is great. A couple mornings ago, we watched as the world watched Barack Obama become the next President. We bought Obama Biden shirts written in Cambodian, passed out American flag pins, and sat in a bar with a bunch of Americans, and others. Some people were crying. Some Cambodians were running down the street yelling "Obamaaaaaaaa", others were simply observing the commotion. It was a really cool day, and since then, every time I say I'm American, I get a warm reception and some comment about how it's a good time to be an American. Well f that, it's always a good time to be an American!

Pictures from Dancing on the Boat

Thought this was funny...last week's pictures of "making it the big time" on the cruise, enjoy!

Goooodbyeee Vietnam

That was supposed to be a play on the movie ''Good Morning Vietnam" starring Robin Williams, hope you got it. We left the beautiful beach town of Nha Trang on another overnight bus for the bustling city of Saigon, or Ho Chi Minh City. Saigon is a very impressive city, and I prefer it to the capital of Vietnam, Hanoi. It is westernized, there's a great backpacker's hangout with excellent restaurants and bars, and, there's so many ghetto Africans living there. Saigon seems to be overall more relaxed; this may sound selfish, but I felt as if everyone's livelihood and well-being in Hanoi depended on me and other tourists taking their motorbike rides, eating in their restaurants, or buying their stupid merchandise. Saigon was a city for itself. Vietnamese people went about in their own business, without hassling tourists at every opportunity that presented itself. For the first time in Vietnam, I saw Vietnamese people eating at an upscale restaurant; and it was lunch, and it was absolutely packed. It's the South Vietnamese yuppie community, I loved it.
While I find Saigon to be a better city than Hanoi, honestly, there's not much to do there. It's the kind of city I'd love to live in, but from a tourist's aspect, it's destinations are sub-par compared to Hanoi. Saigon does have the famous War Remnants Museum and the CooChi tunnels, both of which we visited. They were very informative and mildly disturbing, however, I sort of got sick of the whole Uncle Ho bullshit propaganda campaign. It was funny at first; at the museum's movie they showed clips of American Killer Heros, and referred to the Americans as the devils. I didn't mind that, however, throughout my whole experience in Vietnam, it has seemed like the people here have a blind acceptance for Uncle Ho Chi Minh as their hero because they are striving to find some national hero to cling on to. Uncle Ho does represent resistance to the external influence of the French and the Americans, selfless sacrifice for his country, a life long career of national service, as well as good health, however, the way the people look up to him, it's as if they're not looking at what he did as a leader or what his policies were, they're looking
at him as a savior and national symbol. He was leader for 20 years, and also did some pretty shitty stuff. I think it's dangerous when a country disregards policy for image, and it sort of disturbs me that a lot of young people are embracing Obama in this same way. Not that people don't agree with Obama's policies, it's just that a lot of people don't know his policies, they just know he represents change, whatever that means.
That might've been a little to controversial and heavy to put in a travel blog, so let me tell you about something else- soccer in Saigon. I further applied my learning that anywhere in the country, at 5 pm, people were playing soccer. I had asked around the city about a game, and everyone said that people do not play in the park. I'm not taking my chances, I thought, so I went to a nearby park at 5 to 5, and started looking for a game. And sure enough, it was there. There were a group of tourist policeman, sort of like security guards employed by the government, playing 3 v 3 on a small, narrow patch of patio in the middle of the park. Half the field was underwater, and the other half was covered in a thick mud. The guys were playing with what looked like a mini soccer ball, however, it was really several pieces of bamboo weaved together in a perfect sphere, with screws at several intersections. The guards took my hint of standing next to their game in the "put me in coach I'm ready to play stance"and quickly assigned me to a team. The game was very hard, the refraining from slipping and falling, the type of ball we used, however, the most difficult factor was by far, without sounding like an ass hole, distinguishing who was on my team. They all wore the same uniforms, and sort of looked the same, and I repeatedly would pass the ball to the wrong team ate, only to apologize by putting my arm in the air. I wondered if the guards thought I was not such a great player, of if they really knew what was going on. As the game progressed, guards started taking off their shirts or rolling up their pant legs, which made it much easier to see my teammates. My play improved drastically, I was playing in the middle, and was distributing passes and making connections that made me proud. We played for about an hour, and by the end, I was glad it was over. I was dripping in sweat, my legs were shot. One of the guards rolled up to the game with several iced green teas, and several players insisted on sharing sips with me. We stood there together, juggling the ball in a circle as the final moments of sunlight yielded to darkness, and the bright lights of the city surrounded the park in the distance. All the while, motorbikes and other commuters walking home from work cut through our game, nearly hitting several of us on several occasions. However, our game felt like our own world, and I was sad to leave that night. I returned the next day at the same time, and had an equally amazing experience, this time with a completely new group of players, mostly students. Soccer in Saigon will now be permanently impressed in my mind alongside certain games I've played throughout my career. Not because of the type of play, but like the others, of the people I played it with. I miss my soccer guys in Saigon, as well as my soccer guys back home.
We left Saigon and spent 3 days in the Mekong Delta, which is a massive river system with world famous floating villages and floating markets. It was great, however, I've had a small stomach ailment that won't cease to go away. I don't want to go into details, but it yielded great pain at times as well as hysterical stories which can now be added to my other bathroom follies. Sam, and the other's who I'm traveling with, ate a fish called escolar fish, or "white tuna", and suffered from a different ailment. You can read about that on wikipedia, what's funny is they had the EXACT same symptoms as described, read about it and you'll see why that's funny (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Escolar).
Well folks, I've left Vietnam and now in Cambodia. Initial reactions to Cambodia, it's a cool place, very different from Vietnam. I'm getting ready for what will probably be the most depressing day of my trip, a visit to the Killing Fields museum as well as an actual Killing Field. Go wikipedia the Khmer Rouge.
I loved my time in Vietnam, and while I stayed longer than expected and will now not be able to go to Laos or Northern Thailand, I loved every minute I spent in the country. Sometimes things don't go the way they're expected to, and that's what makes life exciting. Still having the time of my life, hope you are to.

Making It The Big Time

Pictures to follow soon, and oh are they funny. The last few days have been amazing; we've been hanging out in a small beach town called Nha Trang, several hours North of Saigon, Ho Chi Minh City to be politically correct. While the beach is beautiful, it is also monsoon season, so it rains...a lot. However, the rain did nothing to impede on our fun. Being the last day we would spend in Nha Trang, we decided to get up at 7, check out from the hotel, and sign up for an all day boat cruise. The last several days, we have heard nothing but amazing things about the cruise- free booze, free lunch, snorkeling, swimming, music, dancing and partying- all for less than 7 dollars. Well, the cruise offered all of the previously stated things, except it had a catch: we were the only Westerners on a boat of 20 middle aged-older Vietnamese people. We were a little shocked when we arrived at the port and saw our companions for the day, as most of the tours and things like boat cruises are usually occupied by Westerners with money (or at least more money than the average Vietnamese person). It was very early, very rainy, and we realized we weren't going to be spending the day with other travelers partying. So we had two choices: act like snobby tourists and duck into our shell of card games and secluded conversation, or party like crazy with the Vietnamese. Obviously, we chose the latter.

Immediately when we entered the boat, I decided to give a welcome speech which consisted of a loud "sin chao" (hello in Vietnamese) to our fellow sailors. No one acknowledged me. It takes two to play this game, I thought. So as the morning went on, we persisted in our attempt to desegregate the boat. Our first stop at the first island was spent snorkeling, an activity that I generally shy away from due to the fact that I am scared of fish. However, in the last 3 weeks, I have started to eat fish, and am desensitized to their sliminess and ugliness and thus, less scared of fish. Basically, I've grown a sack of marbles- I threw my goggles and snorkle on and jumped in. There weren't many fish in the water, mostly just garbage and small jellyfish, which I will get to later. So snorkeling was fun, and we returned to the boat determined to bring together our fellow boatgoers.

Lunch was served around a large table, in which we all toasted the Vietnamese "yo!" before devouring the fish, rice, and eggs. I noticed the atmosphere was becoming more friendly during the meal, some Vietnamese sitting next to me twice offered me some of their food. They're ready, we decided. So after lunch, as our tour guide was playing guitar and singing some lame Vietnamese song, we decided to step up our game and "make it the big time.*" Our enthusiasm was contagious*, and within minutes, the entire boat was on their feet singing and dancing. We proceeded to steal the guitar from our tour guide and started singing Grateful Dead and Bob Dylan songs, all while the Vietnamese jumped up and down clapping. And this was just the beginning. Soon after the tour guides finished playing some interactive game which I have not the slightest clue of what the objective was (I just threw up random fingers and hummed my rendition of "Oh When The Saints Come Marching In"), the wine started flowing and the spirits started growing. The DJ threw on some Mary J Blige, and the Vietnamese threw off their clothes and starting jumping in the water. While we deterred to go swimming due to the fact that last time we swam our entire bodies stung, we figured it would be an insult to our new friends if we wimped out on their fun. So, we jumped in. And, it stung like hell. I was in and out of the water within seconds, and my whole body stung, except for my testacles, or newly grown sack of marbles, which were on fire. I got on the boat screaming, and my tour guide was promptly at my side to give me a nice chunk of ice to rub with. It soothed the pain a little bit, however, the shots of wine and pineapple did a better job. It's a real scam that the boat owners have going- they charge 15,000 dong (1 dollar) to wash off with water on the boat, a service that they know every customer will need due to the fact that they take us swimming in jelly fish infested water.
Anyways, we all returned to the boat in pain, and the music continued to blare. Only this time, there was no food on the table, so it was turned into a dance floor. And this is when things got crazy. I broke out the Borat dance, the bow and arrow, and the shopping cart. Sam starting shooting the dice, and doing some weird disco walk. A young Vietnamese couple starting salsaing. Joe, a former yeshiva student, did what he claimed was a bar mitzvah dance, which resulted in a bloody knee. It continued to poor rain, but no one really cared. On that boat, we drank and danced and overcame extreme cultural and generational gaps. It was a day that none of us will soon forget.

*Both were borrowed and taught to me by my camp director Jordan Shiner, a man who epitomizes both of these lines

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words- Here's 9000+

Hey folks. Last time we left off I was writing all sentimental and analytical. Today, I'll show you some cool pictures which will hopefully tell you what I've been doing the last few days, because instead of writing I'm going to enjoy the first real sunlight I've seen in days at the beach.

About to enjoy fresh fruits on the beach.

An overcast look at the beautiful beaches of Nha Trang.

A high view of the port.

Lamping on comfortable chairs with the crew, protected from the rain. Thomas, the Austrian is on the right. Sam is in there somewhere, with Gil the Israeli. The two Danish girls who left yesterday are also on the left. I now realize the picture is sort of small and you probably can't see anyone.

The entrance to the hot springs and mud bath park.

The mudbath. Several minutes before this picture was taken, Sam poured mud on my head when I wasn't prepared. This prompted a brutal mud wrestling match, which ended with me holding Sam in a headlock, his face only inches from the tube where mud came rushing out of to fill the bath. He called mercy and we made peace.

There were 6 of us in the mud bath, until some random Vietnamese men saw all the fun we were having and tried to get involved with our jokingly homosexual fun. We left and went to the hot springs.

The gondola ride to the island of "Vinpearl," an amusement park/fantasy land similar to Disney World just off the coast of Nha Trang. The site of the 2008 Miss Universe Pageant, Vinperal looked more like an abandoned city than the pinnacle of Asian fun, which it is marketed as. The park itself was full of water slides, pools, lazy rivers, rides, arcades; basically everything except for people. It is monsoon season, which probably deters many of the Chinese and Japanese tourists who usually inhabit the park.

Riding some crazy thing that launched us high in the air and put us upside down. The whole day, especially playing video games from 10 years ago, made me feel like a little kid again. However, I learned that the one thing I am too big for is bumper cars. The first time I got hit, my knee slammed against the metal bar, and I realized my legs were way to big for small Vietnamese bumper cars.

Talk to you soon!

The Vietnamese Lifestyle

My biggest disappointment during my trip so far is that I have had a lack of interactions with the Vietnamese population, outside of potential scams, shoeing away book/opium sellers, and arguing over the equivalent of a 20 cent difference with a fruit seller. However, in the last few days, I have had a series of interactions with several people that have really opened my eyes to what Vietnamese culture really is, how they think, and what challenges their society faces. The first came with our waiter several nights ago in Hoi An, a woman named Dong. I have noticed that during meals waiters eagerly stand right next to your table if they are not occupied with another chore (which is usually the case). At first, this kind of freaked us out; we have someone who may or may not understand what we're saying eavesdropping on us. Dong was different from most waiters though- she wasn't just standing there, she was actively involved in our entire meal. Initially, we all found her presence very annoying- she was rubbing my head/back, and trying to make small talk with Sam and I. So I assumed she was another girl who flirts to try to recieve a better tip, or a further service call, or something of that nature. But as time passed, it was clear she was interested in none of the previously stated. All Dong wanted was someone to talk to, but really, someone to listen. Dong is 21 years old, and for the last 5 years, she has worked 13 hour days, with one day off a month. She originally worked at a restaurant on the beach, recieving a pay of 2 dollars a day. She was noticed by another manager, and because of her good English, she was hired at a fancier estaurant, the one we were eating at. She now earns almost 4 dollars a day, and still work 13 hour days, with still, one day off a month. She spent 2 hours at a hospital several days ago, and it cost her a weeks salary. The most amazing thing, however, was that during our entire conversation, she never once sounded as if she was looking for sympathy. She had a very restrained and cautious tone, yet also had a look of fierce rebellion. She looked like the 5 year old on a playground who is always picked on, yet continues to play every single day. As the conversation went on, several of the guys I am traveling with grew increasingly frustrated with her lack of initiative to move up in the world, as well as her presence at our table. "Go open a stand outside and make sandwiches! Every tourist will buy from you and you won't be a slave" said one of us. "You are so smart, open your own restaurant!" one of us said in a half yelling-half joking tone. Dong looked utterly perplexed- the thought of something slightly entrepreneurial seemed foreign to her. She constantly shook her head no, explaining that those types of people are different. Those types of people: the scamers, the street salesmen, the lazy motorcycle and tuk-tuk drivers, are looked at differently in society. So, rather than make something of her own, she feels forced to play into the system of slave-like labor. It disturbed me, that thoughts of individuality were completely unthinkable to Dong. However, the epitomy of this was in her explanation of the coconut. The coconut is a tip jar, located at the bar, with a sign on it that says "fund for holiday to Cambodia." Every time Dong, or any other worker gets a tip, they put the tip in the jar and it is then pooled to the other waiters. Dong claims that all her monthly tips would double her salary, yet she has never once taken a tip into her own pocket. It sounds like she charms many customers, because several days ago, a family of four met her on the beach to give her a 7 dollar tip, so it would be outside the jurisdiction of the restaurant. The guys I was traveling with were absolutely appalled and disgusted by her failure to take one tip for herself. Us capitalist pigs couldn't understand how she would want to share her income, based on her English speaking skills as well as charm, with the other workers.

As the night went on, we finished our meal and headed downstairs to shoot pool. It was late, and we were the only remaining customers in the restaurant. The heavily dominated playlist of The Beatles and Paul Simon continued to play in the background. The entire staff of mostly young waiters, bartenders, and hosts sat around silently, several looking at pictures on the internet, several resting their heads on the bar, tired after another long day's work. They watched as we played, as we drank beer, and as we laughed. And then I realized why Dong always puts her tips in the coconut to share with these people. She spends every day, 13 hours a day, every single day except for one during the month, with these people. These people are more than her co-workers, more than her friends, they are her family. Had we realized this earlier, I wonder if we would have considered stealing from our own family. I sat near the pool table thinking about all this, and wondering what the staff was thinking. I wondered if behind their seemingly empty eyes, they all eagerly awaited the chance to tell their stories like Dong had done earlier. I wondered if they dreamt about a day where they could go on their "holiday to Cambodia," a day which probably will never come, beacuse I have yet to meet a Vietnamese person who has left the country, and it is rare to meet someone who has even left their own city. Doing the same thing every day, seeing the same people, I wonder if they think about what's outside. During my trip, I will visit 9 countries, meet hundreds of different people, and experience thousands of examples of different cultures. During their life, they will stay in 1 country, with the same people, and experience the same culture.

After reading this, hopefully you will realize that not every second of every day for me is spent sitting at a beach drinking fruit shakes, or shooting pool or partying. I thought about Dong for a long time that night. But after a conversation with Joe, who had just been in India for a month, I learned that Dong has life pretty well, and that I'll be meeting a lot more people worse off than Dong in the coming months.

So, aside from this reflection, I have been spending a lot of time sitting on beautiful beaches; swimming, playing hours of beach soccer, and drinking fruit shakes. We are in a resort town called Nha Trang, and it has been mostly a torentual downpour the last several days, which has had zero effect on the crazy amount of fun we're having. We'll stay here a couple days, and then are moving South to Saigon. Today I'm going to see the largest outdoor Buddha in the world, and also go to some hot springs and mudbaths. Update on cooler and more upbeat stuff will come in the next few days. Until next time, keep having fun with whatever you're doing!

A New Sympathy for People like Billy Schrero, "This Is Life"

Hi there! Much of the last several days have been spent moving on overnight trains, overnight buses, regular buses, and walking. I started writing this post this morning, and had a considerable amount of recap of the last few days done, but after my day today, I decided that everything else was pretty irrelevant and meaningless. Some notable things from the last few days; we experienced typhoon rains in Hue and walked through knee deep water (hence the title), met some cool people, saw an old temple, and that was all great.

We arrived to Hoi An, and this is where things started to get really fun (not that I haven't been having so much fun already, the things here though are all just really fun). We arrived to Hoi An late Friday night, in the pooring rain, and decided to just stay put at the hotel we were dropped off at by the bus, even if it was pleading submission to their scam. The hotel was very nice, 5 dollars per person with elegant rooms, an elevator, but it was located a couple km from downtown Hoi An. It did have a pool though! So we swam, had the worst meal we've had so far where I was served raw chicken, and just sort of chilled out. We hadn't seen any part of Hoi An yet, and our initial reactions to the city were nothing extraordinary.

We awoke the next morning to better weather. We rented bikes from our hotel, and in our group of 4 (still with the New Yorker, an Austrian, and now one Israeli is back with us again) rode into town. At home, I am used to riding bad bikes, as I have not gotten a new one since 7th grade, and in that time span grown about 11 inches. However, I have never rode a bike like this before. I thought that having hand brakes were a sign for modernity, however, I was very wrong, as the bike was a piece of shit. Every kilometer I biked, my wheel became looser and looser, my pedals became more and more torqued, and I honestly didn't think that I would make it back to the hotel not riding a unicycle. So we laughed a lot while we biked. We got to town and ate at a place called Jean's Cafe, a small Vietnamese/French cafe which serves delicious meals at very reasonable prices. In the last 2 days, I have eaten 5 meals there. We had a chance to walk around the beautiful and small town, passing by the many tailor shops that Hoi An is known for. Everywhere we walked, me saw people we had met in Hanoi, HaLong Bay, or people that the others had met in Lao. It's such a small world when you travel.

So we spent the morning enjoying the liveliness of the town, and returned back to our hotel to check out and go to a hotel where the employees weren't all from hell. On our way back into town, we spotted two Danish girls who we had met at breakfast in Hue. The girls were very nice in conversation and we had talked about meeting up in Hoi An. Sam and I had often joked about meeting two beautiful, blonde, 18 year old girls while traveling; and we did, except that they're 19.

So after our succesful experience motorbiking in the mountains of Sapa, we thought we could handle the mid sized city of Hoi An and rented a bike for 7 dollars for 3 days. It was only the early afternoon, not that time ever matters, and we decided to spend the rest of the day at the beach with the girls and the other travelers. So we motorbiked the 15 minute ride over to the beach passing beautiful rivers, cafes, people, and hotels, with the Danish girls riding on the backs of our bikes. It was straight out of a movie- the wind, the sun, the bikes, the girls. We spent the whole day at the beach, swimming, drinking mango shakes, eating pineapple like ice cream, holding the green part as the cone, playing intense beach soccer with some friends, and just enjoying ourselves. We came back last night and had another great meal, which was followed by the short walk to a nearby bar, a backpacker's hangout. There, we drank lots of Tiger Beer, played lots of pool, and had lots of good laughs, all the while listening to really good music. After the laughs had died down, we debated moral relativism vs. moral truth with an Australian who knows more about American politics than most Americans, while drinking more Tiger Beer. The bar was great, and somehow Sam and I transitioned from the bar scene to a dreadful 30 minute walk to the other side of Hoi An, and for some weird reason ended up playing a not so playful game of hide-and-go-seek with a security guard at a friend's hotel on a balcony, in a bathroom, and under a bed for several hours. It was all really weird and really funny, and I felt like I was back in 8th grade. We returned late last night (maybe early this morning) exhausted and excited for the next day. We had another full day in Hoi An, and woke up at 8 o'clock this morning to get an early start. And today was just like yesterday, except for we had better weather, more time with the girls at the beach, and more time playing soccer. However, playing soccer today, I took a shot to the balls and was in excruciating pain for 2 minutes. I have learned that there is nothing better than a perfect day at the beach, except for a perfect night and following day. I'm now sitting in the lobby of my nice yet cheap hotel, barefoot with sand on my feet, in my boardshorts and thin shirt, eating a cake that the Austrian picked up for us on his way back from the beach. It's starting to rain the same storms again, and tonight we'll go for another great dinner and great night. The receptionist in the lobby just finished begging us in his broken English to watch the hotel and take care of anything if anyone comes in while he's out getting his dinner. We laughed, and told him we charge a low commision. He seriously wanted to know how much.

In three different and unrelated incidents today, I heard people exclaim something in the likes of "this is life." This is life, and it's so damn fun!

Pictures and an Apology

I finally bought a card reader, so I can now put up some of the cool pictures I have taken. Here are some pictures of Sapa; I don't have enough time to put up my HaLong Bay and Hanoi pictures. I also reread some of my older blog posts, and noticed how many mistakes there are! My AP English teacher, my brother and mom probably wouldn't approve of these, but every second I'm at the computer typing is a second I'm away from doing the things I'm writing about, so screw second drafts and editing!

Motorcycle Diary

We had an earlier start in Sapa today, and woke up to sunshine and a nice breeze. The fog still sits on top of the surrounding mountains, but the sun poured in this morning and it was warm enough to just wear a t-shirt. We decided to rent motorcycles and ride them to some surrounding mountain villages. The other guys I am with had all rented bikes in Lao, or Saigon, but for Sam and I, it was a first. As I have not had the most positive experience with motorbikes so far in Vietnam (motorbike traffic in the city are the most insane thing in the world), I was a bit apprehensive. I didn't learn how to ride a regular bike until I was 10, I've gotten in 2 car accidents since I was 16, and riding on the edges of cliffs didn't sound like a sure thing in the safety column. I decided to grow some nuts, and fork over the 5 dollars to rent a bike for the day. We started by riding through the city and going to a place called Baguette et Chocolate, a french restaurant which doubles as a culinary school for under privileged Vietnamese students. After finishing a delicious meal, we headed out on the road. There are a couple roads leading out of Sapa, and we heard that there were some cool villages back towards Lao Cai, where we took the train into, and headed in that direction. I don't think it really mattered which direction we went in, everywhere we looked, we were surrounded by massive green mountains, with little villages sparsely placed at lower altitudes. However, the coolest part about Sapa are the agricultural steps that are built into the hills to allow for cultivating plants and also feeding animals. Looking out from the road we rode on, it looked as if millions of these little, perfectly erected steps climbed up the mountains.


We arrived at a nearby village about 30 minutes away, had some drinks, and met an older Dutch couple who recommended we head into the valley to check out the hot springs and waterfalls. This sounded amazing. So we hopped on our bikes and rode off down the beat, narrow, dirt and rock road. We descended all the way down into the valley, another 45 minutes, and reached a rushing river that we were able to see all the way from the top. We drove around for a couple more minutes, confused, as there was no sign of waterfalls or hot springs, or anything besides piles of dirt and a river. It was going to be a long ride back, one that we definitely didn't want to make in the dark, so we decided to give up on our search for the hot springs and head back. Riding back, it occurred to me that if this had happened to me back home, if I had spent a total of 3 hours driving for something that I couldn't find, I'd be pretty pissed. But on my motorbike, passing the same terrain and people that I had passed earlier in the day, I felt super content with my day. On the road, I had little mountain children stick their tongues out at me, and I stuck it right back. I saw a naked toddler capture a chicken, and drag him through the street as his father watched proudly. I saw cows, bulls, wild pigs, all living harmoniously with each other, with the people, and with the road. I saw a young Vietnamese couple getting married at a waterfall, with an entourage of photographers, friends, and local villagers looking on in excitement. I saw the beauty of Sapa which makes it, according to some book Sam read, one of the 1000 places to visit before you die. And, I learned how to ride a motorbike!

Through my interactions in the villages, and in the touristy town of Sapa, I am still and forever will be bizared by one thing: the female villagers. All girls and women in surrounding villages wear the same, exact dress: a dark purple or black hooded sweater and dress, made of a thin fabric, with colored lacing at the forearms, shoulders, chest, and upper back. They also wear knee high socks that begin at their ankles, and either sandals or sneakers at the feet. Their faces have a different complexion than regular Vietnamese, and their most distinctive physical characteristic: they look like oompa loompas. They waddle around in packs, trying to sell purses, bracelets, occasionally opium, and like I talked about last post, sometimes other things. The most shocking thing about these girls however, is that they are absolutely brilliant. Most of them don't go to school, they wander the streets all day talking with tourists, and are extremely street smart and savy. They all speak fluent conversational English, and also very excellent Hebrew, due to the high volume of Israeli backpackers in Vietnam. I literally had to pick my jaw up off the floor the first time I heard these young girls singing "shalosh pinot, hakovah sheli". The New Yorker put it best, these girls have major "chutzpah". You ask them how old they are, they say 5 or 100, and you don't know what age they're closer to. You ask them where they live, they say just outside New York, in California. You ask them where they learned English, they call you stupid, and tell you to talk to the hand cuz the face don't wanna listen anymore. And, the most amazing thing about them, they are absolutely amazing at pool.
Last night, we spent a lot of time talking with a girl who claims she's 18, a claim which we actually believe. However, she could pass as 10, because she is so small, or could be 30, just because. It was nice to actually speak to one of these girls, all bullshit aside, and just find out what her life is really like. It was refreshing to learn about her familial values, that she went to school until 17, and that she has a real job as a tour guide, with a real income (we saw her pay for her drink). Most villagers are probably not like this one. However, we never would have known what she was really like had we not spent the time, playing pool, drinking Saigon beer and just hanging out with her like 19 year olds would do. You walk past these girls in the street, and they all look the same, same hassles and bullshit when you talk to them. However, they each have a story to tell, and when you can get it out of them, it's really refreshing.
So we didn't end up finding the hot springs, but the road we're on is pretty nice. We're about to go to a different French cafe for Breakfast, and we'll talk to people and decide what to do today. And if we have to go searching for that waterfall and hot springs again, we'll do it. And if we don't find it, we'll still have enjoyed the ride there:)