tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28113195735906057422024-03-12T16:41:21.337-07:00Riding RailsJeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-56880432743771639062011-11-24T06:21:00.001-08:002011-11-24T07:43:53.352-08:00London, York and Dover (August 19-24, 2011)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We arrived at the Kings Crossing Station in London early on
Friday evening, August 19<sup>th</sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Things were busy as we moved through the subway with our luggage to the
London School of Economics where we were to stay for the next four days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were hungry, but wanted to drop off our bags
first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We found the Holborn Hall
(located a couple blocks from the Holborn subway station) and checked in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our room was large, with three beds and a
bath and we shared a kitchen with four other rooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spartan, but clean and very convenient and at
$120 a night, a real deal as hotels in this neighborhood would have cost three
or four times this amount.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The room also
included a wonderful buffet breakfast!</div>
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We had noticed a grocery store across from the subway
station, so we decided we’d head down and get pasta and food that Caroline can
easily eat with her “no-diary” needs. However, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>once we got there, we found that they had
closed at 8 PM and was going to be closed for a month as they remodeled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we set out to find another store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After walking a few blocks, we saw a pair of
police officers and approached them, figuring they could direct us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They couldn’t!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They laughed and sheepishly admitted they
weren’t even from London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the city
had been rocked in riots ten days earlier, they’d been brought into the city
from another part of England.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
admitted their main purpose was to walk around and “make a presence.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They told us where they thought they’d seen a
small store and we headed in that direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I felt like a king as Caroline insisted on holding my hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We eventually found a small store and brought
food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the way back to our room, we
stopped at a fast food place, ran by Middle Easterners and brought dinner as it
was going to be too late to fix a meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This was my first time to have fast-food lamb ribs, but they were good
(Donna had chicken) and we all had fries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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The next morning, we took the subway to High Street Kensington
Station where we met Todd, Donna’s cousin, and set off on a walking tour through
London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Todd works for an American
company out of their London’s office and knows the city well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We walked through Kensington Gardens and Hyde
Park, stopped for photos at Buckingham Palace, then through St. James Park and
by 10 Downing Street, headed up into the theater district where we had lunch
and tried to wait out an afternoon shower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After lunch, we headed toward Big Ben and walked around the Parliament
building and then on to Westminster Abbey and Westminster Cathedral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of touring the Abbey, we toured the
Cathedral (and I went up the tower) and then headed back to the Cathedral in
time for the 5 PM Evensong Service. The service was beautiful and the sounds of
the organ and the choir filled the sanctuary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Afterwards, Donna and Caroline decided they wanted to go with Todd to
see the play “Wicked.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not wanting to
come up with another $150 for a ticket to see a play that I was only marginally
interested in, I decided to skip the play and to explore the city on my own.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Instead of the theater, I continued walking, checking out
again Parliament and then the Victorian Tower Gardens before crossing the Lambeth
Bridge and heading up the Thames, passing by the London Eye, before crossing
back over the river and back toward the London School of Economics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing my evening was a chance to eat what I
wanted, I headed to an Indian Restaurant I’d seen a few blocks from where we
were straying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The “Punjab” advertises
to be the oldest “North Indian” restaurant in the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It opened in 1946 (India was then still a
part of the British Empire).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The place
is run by Sikhs and the food was wonderful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Again, I had lamb (this time spicy), wonderful bread and vegetables
along with a large bottle of Cobra Beer imported from Bangalore (which isn’t
North India, I realized as I read on the bottle where it was brewed). </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Sunday was a rather lazy day as Donna and Caroline had
stayed out late with Todd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Late in the
morning, we took a boat up the Thames River to Kew Gardens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Getting off the boat, we got to see a Cricket
match as we walked over to the Gardens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We ate lunch in the Gardens and walked around the grounds, but mostly
spent time within the buildings that had lilies (the super-sized lilies that had
pie pan shaped leaves that were a meter across were neat) and tropical plants
(especially orchids).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took the train
back late in the afternoon and ate dinner before returning to our room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some reason, I was in a down mood most of
the day and never really got into the gardens even though they were
beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDE7KkyiKYRGVgp1k-6dgstmK3QkkLomTDC0A56JrL8KDdZHgjnGElv40B3RCDb-7kc5ZQTJ3BhHn4Q_nv5BASBQaJseO-4uG25RpbqcVXUUnPNLKsAPC5C612LHPsz1ei2d4iPBvQ-VW/s1600/an+east+coast+line.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDE7KkyiKYRGVgp1k-6dgstmK3QkkLomTDC0A56JrL8KDdZHgjnGElv40B3RCDb-7kc5ZQTJ3BhHn4Q_nv5BASBQaJseO-4uG25RpbqcVXUUnPNLKsAPC5C612LHPsz1ei2d4iPBvQ-VW/s320/an+east+coast+line.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">East Coast Line at York</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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We all got up early on Monday morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Donna and Caroline planned to go to Wimbledon
and then meeting Todd for some evening shopping and dining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having just taken the train from Southeast
Asia to Europe, I had wanted to visit the Rail Museum in York and we’d decided
this was the best day for me to accomplish this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After breakfast, I headed to the subway and
back to King’s Crossing Station where I caught a northbound East Coast Line train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two hours later, after riding through the
rolling country of freshly cut grain, I arrived in York.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4WtyLsl0KH_iK6ReSVimOgj93QBjZfFWe3zZxPOkq3XuN_T10lvUau3wi-YOBLtlDQlafXY7My_D7pg5_xA9qWtUz4nNNnga6oPw6OfEITf6ZCN6Y2UbQrGMupaHwRfH54bTSeF2bGEF5/s1600/Slide4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4WtyLsl0KH_iK6ReSVimOgj93QBjZfFWe3zZxPOkq3XuN_T10lvUau3wi-YOBLtlDQlafXY7My_D7pg5_xA9qWtUz4nNNnga6oPw6OfEITf6ZCN6Y2UbQrGMupaHwRfH54bTSeF2bGEF5/s320/Slide4.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span> </span>The National Rail Museum is free and
supposedly the largest railroad museum in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is very impressive, but I am not sure that
it’s the largest railroad museum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Sacramento
seemed to be just as large, but it’s been a quarter of century since I’ve been
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The museum is located just to the
west of the station, which makes it convenient to those who arrive by
rail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent most of the morning and
half of the afternoon in the museum, stopping for lunch in their café.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the focus is on British rail, there
is the engine of a Japanese Bullet Train on display as well as a large steamer
from the Chinese (but it was built in Britain in the 30s).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The museum houses a working replica of the
Rocket, one of the oldest steam engines and the first to use tubes in the boiler
to enable it to develop more steam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
royal family’s collection of elegant cars is also on exhibit at the museum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably the most sought after engine on
display is the Flying Scotsman, a Pacific type locomotive that was built to run
non-stop between London and Edinburgh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The engine came with an oversized tender to give it the water and fuel
capacity to make the run without refueling or taking on water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was also the first train to break the
100 miles per hour speed barrier and it gained even more fame as it was also
the name of the first British “talking film.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPbEzLx6d1pemViFV4aAwK1NHOYX0fhgbq9K9TQyl5JrZiw1SnPobnVHihaeJMLlIG-0tkEgluO-HbAzmRvmR670Wi0SzEbUCF9qaBLc7vs_DNmiBaVUlH1p03yHzTsTvoXEnOLFxKSNO/s1600/Slide5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPbEzLx6d1pemViFV4aAwK1NHOYX0fhgbq9K9TQyl5JrZiw1SnPobnVHihaeJMLlIG-0tkEgluO-HbAzmRvmR670Wi0SzEbUCF9qaBLc7vs_DNmiBaVUlH1p03yHzTsTvoXEnOLFxKSNO/s320/Slide5.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZHih4qTMZYHcbGyKobbcrvDDAw2zkem8rYqWHbX4z2DAVkB-z5UIbFAbdiC5og8JWtUop4TpvqbiXnPhHvTxYsbG-l9Yf7eJTQrj28Xndghb7osa2rk5W3pZhplTdaUZT3myjhS06xCk/s1600/a+roman+wall+in+york.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZHih4qTMZYHcbGyKobbcrvDDAw2zkem8rYqWHbX4z2DAVkB-z5UIbFAbdiC5og8JWtUop4TpvqbiXnPhHvTxYsbG-l9Yf7eJTQrj28Xndghb7osa2rk5W3pZhplTdaUZT3myjhS06xCk/s200/a+roman+wall+in+york.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bottom of this wall was built by the Romans</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When I finished up in the museum, I headed into York and
walked around the old walls (the earliest walls in York were built by the
Romans), and explored the cathedral in addition to sitting outside of it and
enjoying an ice cream as I listed to a free-lance violinist performing on the
corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then took the train back to
London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Calling Donna, I learned they
were still shopping, so I caught the subway over to Aldgate Station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Getting off there, I walked down to see the
London Tower where I had a sausage for dinner as I walked around the tower and
then across the tower bridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked
down the Thames by the H. M. S. Belfast and then back across the river and in
the fading light around St. Paul’s Cathedral before heading back to Holborn
Hall.<br />
<br />
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Tuesday was our last day in London. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After breakfast and checking out of our room
and storing our luggage, we headed across the Thames to the London Eye, a large
Ferris Wheel on the Thames.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
raining, which meant we didn’t have the best views but we also didn’t have to
wait long in line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Ferris Wheel
consists of a number of carriages in which 20 or so people are packed in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each carriage rotates as the wheel slowly
makes the revolution, so that you’re always level. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was interesting seeing the city in the
rain, but I’m sure it would have been better in the sunlight or at night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the Eye experience, we went to a nearby
restaurant where I had the pleasure of eating the most overpriced food served
with the least amount of service on my whole trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
sixty some pounds, I had fish and chips (which was getting cold by the time the
malt vinegar arrived), Donna had chicken strips and cheese sticks or something
similar and Caroline had a plate of plain paste. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Donna and I had hot tea to drink, which was
served after we’d complained several times and had finished eating our food. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose it took them a long time to boil
the water as the tea bags were placed in our drinks as they served them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least the place was inside and out of the
rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could only imagine what the
service would have been like if it had been busy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, I did something I seldom do
and left no tip.</div>
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After lunch, we took a boat up the Thames to Greenwich
Village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was nice to sit inside and see
the sights through windows dotted with drops of water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boat included a narration and we saw
where Shakespeare’s Globe Theater recreation and a number of pubs and bars
frequented by famous people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We learned
about the shipping and the various market areas within the city and other
tidbits of history like where they mounted the heads of criminals after their
execution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At Greenwich, we walked up
the hill to the Royal Observatory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There, we got to straddle the 0 degree longitude line and see the
various telescopes and other implements of measurement used not only to tell
time but to map the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The highlight of the Observatory was an actor
who played a number of characters as he told the story of the Observatory and
the role it played in developing a way to determine one’s position on the face
of the earth, a necessary skill for a country of seafarers like England.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had hoped to see the “Cutty Shark” that’s
moored at Greenwich.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the famous
ship that gave its name to Lyndon Johnson’s preferred scotch and was also the
last and one of the most famous clipper ships, but it was closed for
renovations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ship was being restored
in 2007 and a fire at that time badly damaged the ship to where it requires
even more extensive restoration. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the
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We took the boat back up the Thames, getting off near
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to Holborn by St. Paul’s Cathedral (we never got inside of it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Retrieving our luggage, we headed to the subway
and on to Kings Crossing Station where we had sandwiches for dinner as we waited
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hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning, everyone slept
in but me as I walked around the town, picking up a few items in a grocery
store for our journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 11 AM, we took
a cab to the wharf where Holland America’s Eurodam was moored and boarded. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
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The port of Dover is a busy shipping terminal (especially
for passenger ships as ferries constantly leave for France (which we could see
from the top deck of the Eurodam) and other points in Europe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The white cliffs of Dover make a nice
backdrop of the port.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Late in the
afternoon of August 24, after a lifeboat drill, we set sail for Amsterdam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Eurodam would be our home for the next seventeen days.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7IEMsmJ1kMethXJbzZR3WIz4fcnEIMl2L7WIM6vg1ymOkcmRX2x1UPDPSuAD-giWF9ZI4PF1PshjSIRQCgeq6QMEb0cSSyyZ7PGPIUZYFxk5gKf0gliixwdlC_KUW3oyIA5Wzmz4lCyWV/s1600/dover+cliffs+and+jetty.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7IEMsmJ1kMethXJbzZR3WIz4fcnEIMl2L7WIM6vg1ymOkcmRX2x1UPDPSuAD-giWF9ZI4PF1PshjSIRQCgeq6QMEb0cSSyyZ7PGPIUZYFxk5gKf0gliixwdlC_KUW3oyIA5Wzmz4lCyWV/s320/dover+cliffs+and+jetty.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The White Cliffs of Dover and the lighthouse at the jetty</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-12213460922690447512011-11-04T12:05:00.000-07:002011-11-04T12:08:30.319-07:00Tallinn, Edinburgh and New Lanark (and two reunions)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Click on photos to enlarge</span></span></i><br />
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The bus ride from St. Petersburg to Tallinn was a
treat. As I stepped onto the bus, they
handed me a bottle of water. Coffee was
also available, the seats were nice, there was a power plug at every seat AND
there was wifi! I was set for the six
hour ride. Although it wasn’t the
fastest wifi I’d experienced, it was a novelty and I sent a few emails as we
rolled out of St. Petersburg and through the countryside of Northern Europe. At the border, we’re ordered off the bus and
told to collect our luggage and wait in line as they checked us out of the
country. It’s slow, as there is only
one line for those of us on the bus (there are other agents out going through
cars that are leaving the country. I am
next to last in the line and when they ask for my passport, I had it with all
the collected slips of hotels and guesthouses I’d stayed in while in
Russia. The man takes the slips and adds
them to a pile, stamps my passport and returns it to me. He didn’t even look at my luggage, but while
I was in line, another officer had run a dog through the line sniffing at our
luggage. The dog was also walked through
the bus and the storage compartments.
The process was painfully slow
and I felt lucky to be at the end of the line as it meant that I didn’t have to
wait very long inside the hot bus (they’d turned the bus ‘s engine off as a
Russian official opened up the hood and probed around in the engine). After everyone was back on board, the bus
drove a hundred meters or more (turned the engine back off) and an Estonia
official came on board and collected our passports. A few minutes later, she came back, returning
our passports which had all been stamped and we were able to resume our drive
through the low country. The land here
was flat and there were lots of farms and not much else. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sitting next to me, in the back of the bus, was the most
beautiful Russian woman who didn’t speak any English or acted like she didn’t. When I or someone else spoke to her, she’d
smile and shake her head. Around us, in the seats next to her and in the
next row up, was a group of co-workers from Spain. They had been working on a project in St.
Petersburg and had decided to go overland back to their home. I talked some to the guy who seemed to be in
charge (or maybe his was just the loudest) as he seemed to yell in both Spanish
and English. They didn’t speak Russia
either. This group was having too much
fun, picking on each other and telling jokes that they made the trip go
quickly. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Getting off at the bus station in Tallinn, I looked around
for a trolley. I had booked a room at “16
Euro,” a small hotel/hostel. They had
sent me directions on how to get from the bus station to the hotel via the
trolley. It required a transfer, but
once I got onboard I asked for help and a couple who spoke English asked me
where I was going. I gave them my
directions (which involved getting off at the main post office and they told me
that I didn’t need to change trolleys, that this one also went by the post
office and they would let me know where to get off and point me in the right
directions). Twenty minutes after
arriving in Tallinn, I was dumping my pack in my room. It was still a couple hours before dark, so I
went out and explored a bit. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Tallinn is an old walled city and my hostel was only two
blocks from the old walls. As it was
Sunday night, things were quiet. I
walked around a bit, and then realized I was hungry and decided to get
something to eat. I’d thought about
stopping in the Scottish Bar for dinner, but I didn’t want to try to find my
way back to the hostel in the dark. Remembering
a place that looked like a restaurant on the back side of the same building as
the hostel and figured I’d give it a try.
Not being able to read the signs, I walked in and was met by a man at
the door. “Are you open for dinner,” I
asked. “Yes, 10 euro,” he said. “Ten euro?
Is it a buffet?” He shook his
head. “What do you get for ten euro?” “Dancing girls.” I had no idea this place was a strip
joint. Nothing in their logo indicated
such and, of course, there wasn’t anything in English. I told him that I was just interested in food
and he pointed to a place in the next block over. Their kitchen was closed but they had
sandwiches, so I had a sandwich and a beer for dinner. I later learned that the dormitory portion of
the hostel (I was in a private room) was over this strip joint and that on
Friday and Saturday nights, those in the dormitory had a hard time sleeping
with all the noise. My room on the top
floor was quiet and peaceful.</div>
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In the basement of the hostel there was a bunya that was
open every morning. On Monday, after
breakfast, I had a long steam bath interspersed with dips in the cool water
whirlpool. It felt bittersweet, enjoying
the bunya, but missing Russia and the wonderful bunya at Lake Baikal. Then I took another walk around the city,
finding a place to exchange my Russian currency into Euros. I ended up at the Oleviste Kirik (St. Olave’s
Church), which has a high bell tower (it requires climbing nearly 300 narrow
worn stone steps). I paid the 2 euro
price of admission and climbed the tower for a magnificent view of the
city. I was told that on clear days, one
can see Finland, but the view I got was quiet foggy. Yet, it was beautiful. After coming down, I visited the ancient church,
which was beautiful yet also had a hint of the modern as there were screens on
the sides of the chancel and speakers on poles scattered throughout the wooden
pews.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I wish I had another day to spend in Tallinn. I’d been told that the KGB museum was
interesting and then I learned there was a museum dedicated to the “Russian Occupation,”
as Estonia had spent years as a part of the Soviet Union. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time. After leaving St. Olave’s, I rushed back to the
hotel and picked up my bags and had them call me a cab for the airport.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I arrived at the airport two hours before my flight was
scheduled to leave. I had booked the
flight on Expedia, which was to take me to Helsinki and then to Edinburgh (and
for some reason, known only to those in the airline industry, it was cheaper to
fly from Tallinn than Helsinki).
Arriving in the terminal, which wasn’t that large, I began to have a
sinking feeling when I couldn’t find Golden Air. I couldn’t find my airline. I then went to an information desk and to my
horror, learned that the airline stopped flying out of Tallinn two weeks
earlier! The woman was helpful and
called the airline for me and they arranged me to fly on a different airline
(Estonia Air), to Copenhagen and then another flight into Edinburgh. It was going to take me a couple hours more
to make the trip, but at least I was able to make Scotland by dark. I tried all kind of ways to reach my friend
Ewan who was going to meet me at the airport (and I never knew if he got the
message until I arrived. He told me he received my message just as he was
getting ready to head to the airport at the original time that I was supposed
to arrive). When I cleared customs,
there was Ewan and his son waiting. I should note that Expedia had tried numerous
times to reach me, both by email and by my cell phone. But they had my work email that I had
automatically send a “on sabbatical” reply and the emails archived. As for my cell phone, it was safely stored at
home… </div>
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I’ve known Ewan since I was ordained as a Presbyterian
pastor in Ellicottville, New York, twenty-one years ago. Ewan came to the United States as a seminary
student right after I had graduated and was beginning my first call. He had taken a year off of school to do an
internship in Buffalo (he knew he was interested in intercity work and wanted
to compare the experiences of working in Scotland with America). During his year in Buffalo, with me just an
hour down the road, we became friends and have stayed in contact with each
other through Christmas Cards and lately Facebook. In the mid-1990s, Ewan called me from Los
Angeles. He and his wife had been on a
two year “honeymoon” as they worked themselves around the world. They were on their last leg home (and had
arranged to drive a car from Los Angeles to New York) and stopped to see us
(and meet Donna) in Utah. I hadn’t seen
him since then, but I recognized him right away!</div>
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I spent the night with Ewan and his family. We talked late and again in the morning as we
ate our bowls of oatmeal for breakfast.
After breakfast, I went into town with him, as we rode on the top deck
of a double-decker bus. Ewan is now a
politician and everyone seemed to know him.
He’s served on the Edinburgh Council for a number of terms and had
recently been defeated in the Scottish parliamentary elections. Ewan’s office, at the Church of Scotland
headquarters, is just a couple of blocks from the train station. I walked over and found the right train (but
then it was cancelled) and took the next Glascow local train to Hollytown (a
small shed by the tracks) where I transferred to the train to Lanark. </div>
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It was raining when I arrived in Lanark. I got off the train and found a restroom and
by the time I got back I realized that the bus to New Lanark was leaving. All the taxis were full. I asked and found that New Lanark was only a
little over a mile away, so I stopped and had lamb stew in a pub for dinner (It
was already 1 PM). After eating, I
walked down to New Lanark. I wasn’t
exactly sure where I would find my wife and daughter. I had tried to call Donna a couple of times,
but had never been able to get up with her.
I walked into the compound known as “New Lanark” and was directed to the
hotel in an adjunct building. As I was
walking down the path, I heard Caroline yelling “Dad!” I turned as she ran up behind me and jumped
into my arms. It had been ten weeks since
I’d last seen her. Even with my packs
on, I swung her around as she hugged me tightly. We then walked over to the restaurant where
she and Donna were having lunch. I sat
down and joined them. </div>
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The next two days were a little lazy as we watched the rain. New Lanark was the industrial social experiment
by Robert Owen, a British utopian industrialist who felt that businesses should
work to improve the lives of their employees.
Unlike other textile mills in Britain in the 19<sup>th</sup> Century,
New Lanark supported education and literacy for all employees as well as
provided health care and recreation opportunities. When the rains soften to a drizzle, we walked
up the River Clyde, to the Falls of the Clyde, a site that has impressed
numerous Scottish writers. We also
toured the museum at New Lanark and spent time reading and lounging around and
washing clothes. Our quarters, in the “waterhouse”
had water that had been diverted from the river to power the mill run
underneath. It was a nice sleep to the gurgling
of the water.</div>
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After New Lanark, we headed back to Edinburgh where the
Edinburgh Festival was on-going. We retraced
my steps on the train (after having traveled with just a backpack and a
daypack, it seemed strange to travel with suitcases). Getting into the city, we took a cab over to
the Church of Scotland’s headquarters, stashed our stuff in Ewan’s office, and
set out to explore the city. Everything
is exciting during the festival as hoards descend on the city and it seems that
on every street corner there is another performance: musicians and magicians,
actors and artists. We stop to observe a
few and then find ourselves in the National Gallery where a helpful volunteer
gives us a map and clues to paintings that we shouldn’t miss. It’s a nice gallery (after the Hermitage, it
feels like it’s the right size to be able to truly appreciate the
collection). We have a fine time until
we come upon a huge painting of John the Baptist’s head on a platter. There are actually two such paintings which
freaked my daughter out. </div>
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At five, we’re back at Ewan’s office. We head home with him and enjoyed a wonderful
evening meal prepared by Hilary.
Caroline quickly makes friends with Ewan and Hilary’s two children (their
son is her age and they both got to talk about having parents who often have
their pictures in the newspaper). Unfortunately,
it couldn’t be a late night as school had just started in Edinburgh and
everyone was going to have to get up early the next morning (Hilary is also a
teacher). The next morning, we head
back into town and stored our stuff again in Ewan’s office and head up to the
Edinburgh Castle. It’s a nice day with
great views of the city. Afterwards, we
tour St. Giles Cathedral, paying homage to the Scottish Reformer and
Presbyterian John Knox. Later that
afternoon, we retrieve our luggage and catch the train to London. It’s a lovely ride, especially the first hour
as the train speed along the coastline. Too soon, we’re out of Scotland and in the
heart of England. Things are going too
fast…</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBHOUBP-bVJnBDEx-aKYX9nihntp6NmXEZN46kOVnuSPDSTtLX6bUwLBdNa3dusg20lsgNCgTNNmgkPTbip-RNE-6S9V-XVytoayKgFxRiY2jjiln6oxQZOEudfmbUj5gC8UTKolymvJst/s1600/Slide6.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBHOUBP-bVJnBDEx-aKYX9nihntp6NmXEZN46kOVnuSPDSTtLX6bUwLBdNa3dusg20lsgNCgTNNmgkPTbip-RNE-6S9V-XVytoayKgFxRiY2jjiln6oxQZOEudfmbUj5gC8UTKolymvJst/s320/Slide6.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-61317550314556418802011-10-22T20:28:00.000-07:002011-10-24T11:30:12.922-07:00St. Petersburg, Russia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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St. Petersburg, the Seattle of the Baltic! Yet, even the rain couldn’t tarnish the
pleasure of being in this beautiful city.
I had two and a half days there, not nearly enough time. It was the end of the <a href="http://www.intrepidtravel.com/">Intrepid tour</a>, which
had started three weeks earlier in Beijing.
Amongst the joy of seeing the sights was also sadness as we parted ways
and headed off into different directions. </div>
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We arrived in St. Petersburg on the overnight train from
Moscow and immediately took the subway to the <a href="http://mhotelspb.ru/en/about/">M Hotel</a>. It was still early in the morning and our
rooms wouldn’t be ready for hours, so we stashed our luggage at the hotel and
headed out to see the city. Like Moscow,
our hotel was in a prime spot, just a block off Nevsky Prospekt, the
fashionable street of St. Petersburg.
After stopping for coffee, our group soon parted in different
directions. A number went to the Hermitage, but since the
lines were long and the weather forecast was calling for heavier rain on
Saturday, Ana, Judy and I headed off to see the city. Our first stop was St. Isaac’s Cathedral (St.
Petersburg, like Moscow, is filled with beautiful churches). We decided not to tour the Cathedral itself,
but brought a pass that allowed us to climb up the dome of the church where we
were promised incredible views of the city, which was well worth the couple
hundred steps we had to climb. After
making a couple rounds of the dome, we headed down and walked across the
Dvotsoyy Most and the Brzhevoy Most (the names of bridges) to the Peter and
Paul’s Fortress. Not wanting to waste
time eating, we brought sausages from a street vender and ate as we walked
around the banks of the Neva River.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyz78B9SkYiVMBX8kDYHkBvIgZNzleTrJg__ziwOcwfWtRpDxpVjVw6YEqZyY3YZ4176jw2BaWePVDUnv3KS05_PaIfaHUz1KpvVeZ4rBYP4GfrxspCMEwGeNKaimMFjPMnHctce2hBHp/s1600/ana+at+the+pay+toilet.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyz78B9SkYiVMBX8kDYHkBvIgZNzleTrJg__ziwOcwfWtRpDxpVjVw6YEqZyY3YZ4176jw2BaWePVDUnv3KS05_PaIfaHUz1KpvVeZ4rBYP4GfrxspCMEwGeNKaimMFjPMnHctce2hBHp/s320/ana+at+the+pay+toilet.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Russian Pay Toilets: Ana waits to make a deposit</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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The Peter and Paul Fortress sits across the river from the
Winter Palace. This was sit of St.
Petersburg’s beginning, a massive fortress designed to protect the city from those
pesky Swedes. Later, the Czars used the
fortress as a prison for political prisoners.
(Dostoyevsky did time here.) Also
inside the walls of the fortress is the Peter and Paul Cathedral, where most of
the Czars starting with Peter the Great are buried (the earlier Czars are
buried in the Kremlin). I wondered what
the prisoners at the fortress thought about being held where the Czars are
buried and came to the conclusion that it was probably a source of hope to know
that the guy in charge of your demise will one day be dead! Before touring the fortress, the three of us
had some business to do and for the first time in my life, I found myself
paying a dozen or so rubles for the privilege of using what amounted to a “porta-john.” </div>
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We toured the fortress, walking around the walls and looking
at a collection of canons across the ages, from those that had been used to
fend off the Swedes, to the ones used in the Napoleonic wars, and finally those
used during the life-and-death battle with Hitler’s troops. Afterwards, we headed to the Cathedral, where
Ana paid homage with her namesake, Anastasia, the daughter of Nicholas II. Unlike the other Czars, who are all buried in
a private crypt, Anastasia and her
family along with a few commoners like their servants and physician, are all
buried in one massive grave in an alcove off the main sanctuary. When the Bolsheviks killed the Czar and
company in Yekaterinburg, they buried everyone together in the hopes that no
one could tell whose bones belong to whom.
In the 1990s, after the fall of communism, the Russian government dug up
the bones and buried them (along with issuing an apology) in the cathedral
where their remains now reside along with the bones of their ancestors. Even a few descendants are buried here, for
if you’re closely related to the Czar family you can be buried here. The most recent burial was American guy who
lived in Miami and whose body in death is now in the cathedral.</div>
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After the fortress, we crossed the long “Troslskly Most”
over the Neva River and wound our way through parks on our way to the
hotel. We passed the Church of the Split
Blood, which I thought was a reference to Jesus’ blood and it is, but only
partly, as the church was built on the site where Czar Alexander II was
assassinated. This beautiful church,
which was actually built as a museum, was completed only a decade before the
Russian Revolution and has served mostly as a warehouse. In the late 1990s, it was refurnished and
open to the public for the first time since 1917. </div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQXfR7uEKoK4X3ll1xT3F8PLaOI32njN_a_PAvSTYgQvfQPXrtPTKv27oW45eMRvti1N5dJs4AIeiAw-Fynpu9y0PxwzgelvoHnuyo8JmuXM65NrrhRJRbMpUL3eIAZL9kmHzFU4Fhprn3/s1600/Slide5.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQXfR7uEKoK4X3ll1xT3F8PLaOI32njN_a_PAvSTYgQvfQPXrtPTKv27oW45eMRvti1N5dJs4AIeiAw-Fynpu9y0PxwzgelvoHnuyo8JmuXM65NrrhRJRbMpUL3eIAZL9kmHzFU4Fhprn3/s320/Slide5.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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Yulia had invited any of us who wanted too, to go to a park
that was outside of St. Petersburg. None
of us really knew what we were in for (including her). We took the subway to a train station, where
we got tickets and then purchased dinner to eat on the train (it was about a 45
minute run). Diner was pastries filled
with meat, washed down by a bottle of beer. We got off at an out-of-the-way stop and are
met by a man who led us (and a mother and daughter who was joining us) on a
path through the woods to a place where we rent bicycles. Although I wasn’t thinking we’d be riding
bicycles, I was glad to be out in the country and it turns out that Pavlovsk
Park is a neat place to ride. Our guide
lead us back and forth the park, telling us the history of this place and how
Catherine the Great’s granddaughter tried to copy English parks, but also put
in things like “created ruins” to give it a touch of what she saw in
Italy. We rode till dark, continuing on even
after it started raining. Afterwards, we
boarded the train back to St. Petersburg.</div>
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Ana, Judy, Leo and I had reserved our second day in St.
Petersburg for the Hermitage, one of the world’s top art collections. But before we could go, I had to arrange
travel to Tallinn, Estonia, where I had arranged to fly to Edinburgh,
Scotland. The flight from Tallinn was
over five hundred dollars cheaper than what I could get out of St. Petersburg,
and since it also allowed me to see another country, I decided to take it. I had hoped to take a train, but they were no
longer running, so I booked a bus and had the hotel print out my ticket. Ana got our tickets to the Hermitage and also
had the hotel to print them out. Once we
were done, we headed off to the museum.</div>
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The Hermitage is a wonderful museum, filled with an amazing
art collection that seems to stop around the time the Great War began (which
meant there were a large number of Impressionism paintings). The Czars, the
richest monarchs in Europe, managed to collect all this art while they ruled
over the poorest nation on the continent.
Wandering around in the former home of the Czars, I kept thinking, “It’s
no wonder the Russians revolted.” We
spent over six hours touring the Hermitage and didn’t see it all. Also, the amount of art was so immense that
after a while I had to force myself to concentrate. In addition to the art, the rooms are also
well furnished and lighted by incredible chandeliers. </div>
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Although most of the Hermitage is taken up with its vast permanent
collection, there were two special exhibits that drew my attention. The first was a collection of tobacco related
art, titled “Since Tobacco You Love So Much…”
The exhibit included decorated smoking pipes, tobacco and snuff boxes
and some advertising art. The next special
collection was massive. <a href="http://www.hermitagemuseumfoundation.org/news.php?id=74">Annie Leibovitz:A Photographer’s Life 1990-2005</a> took up four rooms within the museum and
consisted of over 200 photographs.
Leibovitz has photographed notable people all around the world including
all our recent Presidents. In the first
room of the exhibit, I was shocked to turn around and look at the far corner
and to see a large photograph of the Oval Office with President George W. Bush
and his “henchmen and women” (Vice President Cheney, Powell, Secretary of State Rice, Secretary of
Defense Rumsfeld, etc) all gathered around his desk. But that photo didn’t shock me. There were other photographs of Clinton and
Obama and other notable leaders in the exhibit.
What was shocking was the photo across from it. The Bush photograph was
next to the corner. Ninety degrees away
was another photograph, one that immediately drew my attention. “That can’t be…” I thought as I quickly
walked across the room to check it out.
Sure enough, opposite of the photograph of Bush and Company was one of
Michael Moore and his cameramen. “There’s a curator here,” I said to Ana and
Judy, “with a sense of humor.” Although
most visitors viewing the exhibit probably didn’t catch the irony, the
photographs of Bush and Moore were positioned so that they each gazed at the
other, their worst nightmare. </div>
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We stayed in the Hermitage until they closed, taking on a
short break to eat a bite in one of the museum’s cafes. </div>
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This evening was our last night together as a group. Yulia arranged for dinner reservations at Hachapurnaya. We met at the hotel, everyone dressed in
their finest (some had packed really nice clothes and several of the younger
women had heels. Others, like me, were
left to wear what was clean (of course, I’d forgotten the memo about packing
heels). We met at the hotel and walked a
kilometer or so to Hachapurnaya where we had a wonderful time despite some of
the worst service I’ve ever experienced in my life (or at least since eating in
the dining car on the Trans-Siberia).
The food was great (I had some kind of lamb dish and there was an
English translation in the menu), but we were served in shifts. Those who received their plates first had long
finished eating before the last shift was served. Furthermore, checking out was also done in
shifts. The waitress presented checks to
a couple of us and then came and picked up our check and money and returned
fifteen minutes later with the change, at which time she picked up the checks
and money from a couple more patrons… It
was slow and tedious, but we laughed as we shared stories of our journey. Our party had kind of split into two groups,
partly by age, but we’d had a lot of fun together and it was sad to know that
we would be soon going separate directions.</div>
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After dinner, we had a couple of hours to kill before our
last “official” tour event. At midnight,
we were meeting a local guide for a boat tour of the canals and river. With time on our hands, as we wandered back
to the hotel, Ana, Judy, Yulia, Terry and I stopped by a local bar that had
dancing music. It was a surreal
scene. There was one incredible dancer
(Don Juan’s Jr.) who seemed to be with
two women (and at one time he was in a both with both women licking his
ears). But something wasn’t quite right
for in another corner of the bar was a guy who eyes were throwing jealous darts
at Don Juan and his harem. At another
point, it appeared that Don Juan and this guy had something going on as did the
two women. They were an interesting
foursome and it was amazing that they could dance so well while being so
intoxicated. After one dance, one of the
girls tripped and fell and we wondered if she was really hurt, but if she was
she wasn’t feeling any pain. In addition
to us and the foursome, there was one table with perhaps a dozen people
sitting, talking and drinking. The DJ seemed to delight in changing styles of
music, with no rhyme or rhythm to his madness.
We stayed long enough for Ana to dance to Lady Gaga, and then headed
back to the hotel. </div>
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At midnight, we met Irina, a local tour guide who’d arranged
the canal tour. She led us to a canal
where a boat was waiting. We boarded and
began winding the way through the city to the river as we listened to Tchaikovsky
on the boat’s CD player. At night
(or early in the morning), St. Petersburg closes down as the draw bridges open,
allowing ships access for to the inner harbor.
The bridges are open for four hours.
Two hours are set aside for ships to sail into the city and two hours
for ships sailing out into the Baltic. The opening of the drawbridges has become party
time and our boat joined dozens of other boats on the river waiting the opening
of the bridges. Irina brought out wine
glasses and bottles of champagne and we joined the hoards of folks in other
boats toasting the bridges as they rose.
It was beautiful with the lights reflecting off the water. Afterwards, we cruised back to the canal near
the hotel.</div>
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After such a late night, Sunday morning came too early. Terry had an early fight and so we both went
down to breakfast where folks slowly came in, all groggy. Yulia had special gifts for us all. Mine was a photo of Pushkin, the celebrated Russian
writer, with a note about how she’s looking forward to reading my book (I was
the one in the group always writing). After breakfast, I packed up and said goodbye
to Terry and then to Judy and Ana (they each had another day in St. Petersburg). They headed off to the see the Czar’s Summer
Palace. After doing a little shopping, I
caught the subway to the Baltic Train Station, where I was to meet the bus for Tallinn. I allowed myself two hours, which was way too
long as I had no problems on the subway and was at the station in fifteen
minutes. Although the sky was still
gray, it wasn’t raining and so I purchased lunch for a local vendor who had a
small kitchen in a trailer. Waiting
behind me were two police officers.
Leaving with my food, I smiled and nodded and they returned the
gesture. </div>
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I ate on a park bench out in front of the station, where I
fed half of my lunch to birds. I wasn’t
as hungry as I had thought and I found myself amused at the way the pigeons and
wrens fought over the crumbs. The
pigeons had to peck at each piece, which allowed them to share the crumbs with one
another. The wrens, on the other hand,
fought to get a whole piece into their mouth and then flew off by themselves to
devour the bread. After a few minutes of
my game, I noticed that the birds were not quite as attentive and then realized
that on the other side of the small park was another guy is also feeding the birds,
who are now trying to determine where their allegiance lies. Since I’m running out of bread, it’s not me.</div>
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About this time, three young men who were obvious not
ethnically Russian sat down on the other end of my park bench. I don’t think much about it, sitting there
with my lunch and backpack, until I saw the two police officers I’d seen
earlier heading fast in my direction.
Leo had warned us, based on the experience of his friends, that St.
Petersburg’s police could be corrupt, especially when dealing with those of
darker skin. Leo was careful to leave
his passport with the hotel and only carry copies, so that the police wouldn’t
take it and demand a bribe for it to be returned. I had a copy of my passport and Russian visa
in my wallet and my passport was in my money belt. I wondered what I should do if they asked me
for my passport, but they ignored me and asked the three guys for their papers. The officers weren’t smiling as they’d been when
I saw them at the food vendors. They
examined each set of papers and finally, without ever smiling, handed them back
and they turned and walked away. They
never asked me for my papers, nor did they acknowledge that I was just a few
feet away. I wondered wonder if they
might have been harder on them if I hadn’t been present. Although it was obvious to the officers that
I wasn’t Russian, I pondered if they picked out these three men (who spoke
Russian) because of their color. A few
minutes later, the bus pulled up in front of the train station. I checked my bag and boarded the bus and
found my assigned seat (on the last row) and rode toward the Estonia
border. </div>
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Earlier that morning, at breakfast, I’d said goodbye to those
who had been my friends for the past three weeks. Yulia was waiting to lead another Intrepid
tour that was meeting later that evening and would head by train back to Moscow
and then on into Eastern Europe. There
would be one familiar face on this trip as Xialin, who’s on a six month
around-the-world trip, had already signed up for the Eastern European
tour. Ana was spending a couple extra
nights in St. Petersburg, before heading to Europe to meet her sister. She had another two months to travel and her
immediate plans included obtaining a new passport when she was in London. Judy would be heading back to Australia
through Tokyo where she had five days to see the capital of Japan. Terry had three more weeks to travel and was
flying to Manchester and would spend the rest of his time in England. Jo was heading back to work in
Australia. Ben and Daniel were flying
back to Chicago and work. And Leo, who
was the closest to home as he lives in Denmark, had to be at his office in
Copenhagen on Monday morning. Hopefully
his laundry could wait. As for me, I still had another month to
travel… Stay tuned.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9dibsOcsgck0K4raUcoxuw5sT1Q1r0uSqNX45PAkygjuPu_PYWcCMMgVGJW2KnpHQ2ox-tJ_ViNxy8EEgCcMUCys5NKpLMAcf8i6e1yTQN6iGnhuw_gt9flSzvyG0xtJVW4lSFJ1r90dk/s1600/Slide4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg07VL1EmvHzYq53EkhnUZM1zQ_oTwqVDlHRJ5hUGM8rypqp4lIcHUXi1G15lfnFKYpn17nONLJPO1wSs0O922boTLDG8YyA01cJPpt-BHicEmX5xxgLPKLPFXIbfeYQEe6lAg7MNdmedPR/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg07VL1EmvHzYq53EkhnUZM1zQ_oTwqVDlHRJ5hUGM8rypqp4lIcHUXi1G15lfnFKYpn17nONLJPO1wSs0O922boTLDG8YyA01cJPpt-BHicEmX5xxgLPKLPFXIbfeYQEe6lAg7MNdmedPR/s320/Slide1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-72712877385443329932011-10-15T19:20:00.000-07:002011-10-18T06:16:17.109-07:00Moscow (and the overnight train to St. Petersburg)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowJi8VzGUyWjCQ6skDqiXB9o9mvpOLUaY0KPsYPU-8qF70nGW3VkcbxBZ_uoCu6IbQ_FHu8Zk8ILm4YnqKz8ldxrlW07A4LmbkjfP4OoiMrYDBwLgdou02kMYgVZFx4BukB7KTtfbetbw/s1600/Slide6.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1p03Xy3un056dVOLrL5n2dDVjF44mgzvRZdw6lPdfRZBGPdVom9njvd4NtxtmP4wlfE2vlGrQn06_Hinui5G8QmsYEvVGkKm5kh7nRBZupZIQ4UIRMkYBzVNdXKoysHvODGC4HuW-rs3/s1600/ana+judy+jeff+and+peter.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1p03Xy3un056dVOLrL5n2dDVjF44mgzvRZdw6lPdfRZBGPdVom9njvd4NtxtmP4wlfE2vlGrQn06_Hinui5G8QmsYEvVGkKm5kh7nRBZupZIQ4UIRMkYBzVNdXKoysHvODGC4HuW-rs3/s320/ana+judy+jeff+and+peter.JPG" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jeff, Ana & Judy in front of Peter the Great Statue</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Moscow is magical. Our hotel (Melody) was in the heart of
the city, just a few blocks from the red brick walls of the Kremlin. On our last night in the city, Ana, Judy and
I head out one last time to Red Square, located next to the north walls of the
Kremlin. Prior to visiting Moscow, I’d
thought Red Square had something to do with communism. After all, the Soviets were referred to as
“Reds.” I was surprised to learn the
name Red Square predated the Communist revolution by a few centuries. The term came from the red cobblestones used
as payment for the city’s market. Equally
surprising was the number of churches within the Kremlin, but then this was the
place where the Czars lived and worshiped, at least until Peter moved the
capital to the city that now bears his name.
That last night in the city was especially magical. It’s been raining and lights reflected off
the puddles. To our left, the giant GUM department store was outlined in
lights. To our right were the walls of
the Kremlin, with towers rising into the darkness. At the end of the square was Saint Basil’s
Cathedral, its multi-colored onion domes bright against the dark sky. We’d toured Saint Basil’s the day before and
was surprised to find that it wasn’t one big church building, with a large
sanctuary as we might expect in the West, but a number of small chapels, each
under dome and each commemorating a victory by Ivan the Terrible’s army in the
Kazan campaign. We walked around the Square,
much of which was partitioned off as workers were assembling grand stands in
preparation for a giant military marching competition that was coming up in a
few weeks. Afterwards, we rushed back
to our hotel and picked up our backpacks and journeyed through the subway to
the station where we caught the overnight train to St. Petersburg.</div>
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We’d fallen in love with Moscow the
first day in the city. Ana, Judy and I
broke away from the rest of the group who seemed to be overly interested in
eating and then shopping in GUM’s.
Instead, we headed to the Gulag Museum, which told the history of
Stalin’s treatment of his enemies in the depths of Siberia. Afterwards, we caught the subway over to the
Pushkin Art Museum. For some reason we
decided to check out the Western European and American art collection. There was a fine collection of European Art,
but for the life of me I don’t know why they’d attached “American art” to the
name as their American collection was skimpy—mostly consisting of a small
collection of Rockwell Kent’s paintings, but I’d never even heard of him. There were no Western Artists like Russell or
Wyatt or Remington, no art from the Hudson River School, and no Warhols. There wasn’t even a Grandma Moses or one of
those paintings by Edward Hopper that create such a lonely feeling. Judy insisted there was a Norman Rockwell
painting, but I didn’t see it.
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAQq700pjGEyEi9O0j8n428INUDVOXRaxziTaemgSXsXP7k4jkM4DKFpZjxblIbJfP4yfQLB1srSMhSBwjW7yQQRvNAHqUR240496ln69RiIm06NBbvvC7h2Bma6DFtmvg9FTie0Uyjsy/s1600/a+park+with+skulls.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAQq700pjGEyEi9O0j8n428INUDVOXRaxziTaemgSXsXP7k4jkM4DKFpZjxblIbJfP4yfQLB1srSMhSBwjW7yQQRvNAHqUR240496ln69RiIm06NBbvvC7h2Bma6DFtmvg9FTie0Uyjsy/s320/a+park+with+skulls.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Sculpture Park: Gulag Monument </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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We came out of the art museum at 6
PM and headed across the street to the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, one of
the most impressive churches in the well-church city of Moscow. Stalin had the church destroyed for a
revolutionary monument which was never built.
Instead, a swimming pool occupied the site. If any good had come out of World War Two, in
which Russia suffered greatly, it was that it thwarted Stalin’s plans to tear
down even more churches as St. Basil’s was on the destruction list. In the 1990s, after the fall of communism,
the church was rebuilt. I wanted to go
inside, but the doors closed at 6 PM, so we decided to head across the river
and head down to Gorky Park. Along the
way, we admired the large statue of Peter the Great standing in front of a
ship. Why they have such a statue like
this in Moscow which is a long ways from the sea, as well as having such a
major statue of the man who moved the government out of Moscow to his own city
on the Baltic Sea is a mystery to me. Next
stop was a sculpture park that’s located along the Moskva River, just north of
Gorky Park. We wound through this rather
odd collection. There were modern
sculptures, but the park’s claim to fame was it being a place where old Soviet
statues went to die. There had to be at
least 25 Lenin statues, as well as statues for Stalin and other Soviet
leaders. There were a number of large
stainless steel “hammers and sickles,” all mixed in with mildly obscene modern
statues of grossly proportioned humans. </div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAgHDimOsLPlx3dubhZKW0_ixnhlqYqMUd3QHEeRS73GzOEORb8Xk7A5gEbZbmHWymNyis-fMJLiiv2X0ibiJRnZcEyz6xcBGokKZRKkUPx696yUmRrjJ5qdisrGc929-CYSsSyi0_uDOD/s1600/Slide1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAgHDimOsLPlx3dubhZKW0_ixnhlqYqMUd3QHEeRS73GzOEORb8Xk7A5gEbZbmHWymNyis-fMJLiiv2X0ibiJRnZcEyz6xcBGokKZRKkUPx696yUmRrjJ5qdisrGc929-CYSsSyi0_uDOD/s320/Slide1.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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Gorky Park was next. We entered the gates, pausing long enough for
Judy to have her picture taken by the entrance, as we joked about being
spies. But even spies have to eat and
we were getting hungry. We quickly moved
through the park, forgoing the sausage stands (we’d had a sandwich on the run
for lunch) and then a restaurant that seemed a little classy for our
dress. We then stumbled upon a wonderful
café with tables outside and sat, attempting to figure out what we could have
for dinner. The waitress’ English was
better than our Russian, but still we didn’t get all that we thought we we’d
ordered, but it was filling and good and by then light was fading and we
started walking back across the park and the city. We missed the subway entrance and ended up
walking all the way back to our hotel, stopping along the way at a street
filled with outdoor entertainment and cool (and overpriced) shops. </div>
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The Melody Hotel provides a nice breakfast
buffet. The next morning we feast as a
group and then all head out to see Lenin, whose body is on display in a special
mausoleum next to the Kremlin. We’re
there early, before they open and stand in the drizzling rain watching the
changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I know everyone makes a big deal about how
life-like Lenin looks, just as they say folks in caskets look life-like, but they
don’t. They’re dead and look it. We slowly walk by Lenin’s body, lying as it
has for nearly seven decades, in a three piece dark suit. Afterwards, Judy, Ana and I head over to GUM
for some coffee, and then we toured Saint Basils and checedk out the Bolshoi
Theater. We had evening tickets for the
ballet “Giselle,” and since the main theater is closed for renovations, the
summer productions are being featured next door in another venue. It was a good
thing we did this because when it came time to get to the theater, we were
running late and due to construction and a foreign language, things are not as
clear as I would have liked. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">That
afternoon, our group meets up with another “Yulia” for a tour of the
Kremlin. Yulia, the tour guide (like Yulia our group
leader), is another attractive Russian woman.
Moscow seems to be filled with such women. Yulia leads us inside the walls of the
Kremlin, telling us about the construction.
Inside, she points to various
government buildings as well as the world’s largest canon (which has never been
fired) and the world’s largest bell (that has never been rung). Next, we tour several of the churches, one of
which is the final resting place for a bunch of Czars. The architecture is amazing. The highlight of the tour is the Armory. It used to be a real armory for the military
but is now an incredible museum. Much of
the Czar’s royal trappings, such as the wedding dress of Catherine the Great
(who added on a few pounds over the years) are kept in this building on
display. One of the more amazing
collections is the Czar’s royal coaches.
Compared to some of these horse drawn carriages, a Rolls Royce would
look like the mode of transportation for a pauper. Yulia is a very knowledgeable guide and we’re
shocked to learn that she’s just past her exam to lead tours in the Kremlin and
we’re only her second group. </span><br />
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The tour was supposed to take just
a couple of hours, but we stay longer than planned in the Armory. Yulia had great stories that kept us
engaged. By the time we leave it’s after
6 PM. Ana, Judy and I had planned on
heading back to the hotel and cleaning up before the ballet, but there isn’t
enough time. A number of others in our
group had seen Swan Lake the evening before and assure us that we’d be fine the
way we’re dressed. As I am normally
dressed in a suit for the ballet or symphony, I felt a little out of place
wearing shorts, but since there was no time I forged ahead. We stopped and purchased a hot dog as we made
our way to the theater. Coming around
the corner of the building, we are greeted by Terry. He attended the ballet the evening before and
came to make sure we knew how to get into the building with the construction all around, a nice gesture.</div>
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Once we find our seats, I’m glad
we’re sitting on the back row as I feel more than a little under dressed. The production of the ballet is wonderful,
but this being my first time seeing Giselle, I am not happy at the subtle
meaning that I gleam from the story. In
Act 2, after Giselle’s death, we watch the spirits of the dead lure the
woodsman to his death. In Act 1, he was
the one who truly loved Giselle. The
prince, who couldn’t promise a long-term relationship to a commoner like Giselle
and had to dress as a commoner to seduce her, but in Act 2, he is saved from
the deathly spirits by Giselle herself.
It just doesn’t seem right, but maybe that’s life. </div>
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After the ballet, we head back toward
the hotel, taking the subway. As it cost
the same where you take it for one stop or twenty (provided you don’t leave the
subway), we decide to tour the city’s underground and check out the neat subway
stations under the center of the city.
Each station in the older part of the subway (those built between the
1930s and early 1950s have unique architecture.
On some walls, there are stain
glass. Others have glass mosaics or
frescos or carved plaques depicting the revolution and the Soviet’s
achievements. It is late when we finally
make it back to the hotel.</div>
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At breakfast on our third day in
Moscow, Judy bows out, saying she was tired and needed to rest. She had a blister on one of her feet and
didn’t feel up for more running around, so Ana and I head out into the
city. Our first stop is the Museum of Contemporary
Russian History (formerly the Museum of the Revolution). There are only a few people there, but this
museum, along with the Armory, are the two must-see places I recommend in
Moscow. The museum is well done as it
traces the development of modern Russia, from the era of the Czars through the
Revolution and the Soviet era to the reemerged Russian Federation. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">After the museum, Ana and I head to the Tchaikovsky
Concert Hall with the hopes of finding an evening classical music performance. There are none and August doesn’t seem to be
the month for classical music in Moscow (but that’s okay because if there had
been a concert, we’d missed Red Square at night). So instead, we opt for a lovely lunch on the
sidewalk (but under an awning as it were raining) at the Tchaikovsky Café. Afterwards, we walk down to the river, taking
streets we’ve not yet explored and then walked in the rain along the riverbank
across from the Kremlin to the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, the massive
church that we’d tried to visit a few days earlier. This time, they’re open but because we’re in
shorts, we’re not allowed in! So we head
to the Pushkin Museum of Art and spend the rest of the afternoon there, leaving
as they are closing the doors. Again,
I’m amazed at how much religious art there is in Russia, a country that was
been officially “atheistic” for most of the past century. The Pushkin also has a remarkable collection
of “life-sized copies” of sculpture from around the world such as Michelangelo
’s David. We spend several hours looking
at the various collections and then walk back to the hotel where we meet up
with Judy for dinner. After dinner, we
take our final stroll across Red Square and return to the hotel at 11 PM to
meet up with everyone and to pick up our luggage. Our days in Moscow were all wonderful, but
the last one had been incredible. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkhvxO5wCTARc05of6oNe2V4BcxRSTI-IEMRKGBq0KLYhWPxd-Tbd2xWziFZI6GEfxhFwNjuSdD7dp5DhoRP1KUAtdHJNIeur4-lKoDqEVr4_SsGr2ZfnN0wCQA3P_uugu4LLmR3f446M/s1600/Slide7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkhvxO5wCTARc05of6oNe2V4BcxRSTI-IEMRKGBq0KLYhWPxd-Tbd2xWziFZI6GEfxhFwNjuSdD7dp5DhoRP1KUAtdHJNIeur4-lKoDqEVr4_SsGr2ZfnN0wCQA3P_uugu4LLmR3f446M/s320/Slide7.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYTHyp9g22fbjRdz52LqfJaOICafl6KHU7HRnmugkI-0JnBOEu7fdu1ASVovLvBKxdASMl2oKMBdy4ySo94LRNIjWxKajMpUVGAbtWEk4-hbByTG6Jl5E8u9z65RJxHi7h3cXZxeRnJ64h/s1600/at+end+of+rail+travel.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYTHyp9g22fbjRdz52LqfJaOICafl6KHU7HRnmugkI-0JnBOEu7fdu1ASVovLvBKxdASMl2oKMBdy4ySo94LRNIjWxKajMpUVGAbtWEk4-hbByTG6Jl5E8u9z65RJxHi7h3cXZxeRnJ64h/s320/at+end+of+rail+travel.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span>Yulia, our tour leader in St Petersburg</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
With
the group all together, we navigated the subways to the correct train station
(there are numerous train stations in Moscow) for the overnight train to St.
Petersburg. It’s well after midnight
when we board the train. Most everyone
crashes, but I decide to first check out the lounge/restaurant car. It’s stylish and, upon hearing my report, Ana
and Judy decide they’ll join me for breakfast.
Early the next morning (as the train is to arrive in St. Petersburg a
little after 8 AM, we head down to the dinner.
It had been open (as a bar) until 4 AM and reopened for breakfast at 6
AM. We’re the only customers, but the
service is good and the menu even has an English description in small letters under
the Russian. I have crepes which are
delicious. We eat quickly as we speed
toward our final destination for the trip.
As we disembark in St. Petersburg, I am a little melancholy as I realize
that not only is the trip with these fellow travelers is coming to an end, but
that my solo journey across Europe and Asia was almost over. This is the last of my long train rides. I’d come from Singapore, a half a world away,
on train.<br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1p03Xy3un056dVOLrL5n2dDVjF44mgzvRZdw6lPdfRZBGPdVom9njvd4NtxtmP4wlfE2vlGrQn06_Hinui5G8QmsYEvVGkKm5kh7nRBZupZIQ4UIRMkYBzVNdXKoysHvODGC4HuW-rs3/s1600/ana+judy+jeff+and+peter.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXRsvyLwvrEzX_JYs3XSqm-1Eb8oQGvUYhOpj-XjqPA_bvd2BOaEwapnwrv5TLkXX6ostxhXAo-VBgWP9ljnn96VFV6TEmMYvUNZCO0y_6n2AnbSEKa3eajW7zcLMKVMCqyl8Ogoan7nO/s1600/Slide8.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXRsvyLwvrEzX_JYs3XSqm-1Eb8oQGvUYhOpj-XjqPA_bvd2BOaEwapnwrv5TLkXX6ostxhXAo-VBgWP9ljnn96VFV6TEmMYvUNZCO0y_6n2AnbSEKa3eajW7zcLMKVMCqyl8Ogoan7nO/s320/Slide8.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-29100590341787004112011-10-03T14:31:00.000-07:002011-10-03T08:20:40.262-07:00Kungur and the train to Moscow (August 7 & 8, 2011)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0lp1zMQMAECeQzbrvM5l9l6nQvKvLx6OvAUYoEjwcWFUDmv57ajqv8Gf3HeiplVl0olcAYjeICi4oscVyQjwzT1TtjdZrmbSfpueOoycXn3EtUojGv7Gbow6p2SYwn250YxPmkOxhKXgV/s1600/a+kurgur+river+view.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0lp1zMQMAECeQzbrvM5l9l6nQvKvLx6OvAUYoEjwcWFUDmv57ajqv8Gf3HeiplVl0olcAYjeICi4oscVyQjwzT1TtjdZrmbSfpueOoycXn3EtUojGv7Gbow6p2SYwn250YxPmkOxhKXgV/s320/a+kurgur+river+view.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kungur, Russia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It was a trading town, on the old road between Moscow and Peking,
our guide told us as she led around Kungur.
This was a place where spices and tea were exchanged for goods from the
Orient. Leather goods and textiles were
also made a traded here. The town was
quite prosperous in its day and still has a nice warm feel to it today. Older buildings with arched windows were
markets, we’re told. About half the
buildings have this architectural feature, although few of them are used for
their original purposes. We pass an
older brick building with arched windows.
Laid into the brick, between the windows is the Star of David. I find it odd that such a building would have
survived Stalin’s reign of terror and ask our guide about the stars. “They are for decoration,” she says. “What?” I ask. “They are a religious symbol.” “No, they were just decorative,” she
insists. I shake my head and think,
“yeah, right, everyone in this country known for its pogroms wanted to identify
with the Jews.” In the back of the pack,
Daniel, whose is Jewish, quips, “My Great-Grandfather came from this country
and he would be pissed.”</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRG1I5gIw1rJ8t8oNuTViwMl1SBJY_XqZExS2fWuabsvV8MbLm51lI_vQQiO1NJ9ZxsDCp4iJbmeAqWf4YlBzY9j_nEphqCK-Aq6Tccpzv-6yngJZNl3keHJO9F9JvGzrGDglq3GpwlscI/s1600/a+star+of+david.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRG1I5gIw1rJ8t8oNuTViwMl1SBJY_XqZExS2fWuabsvV8MbLm51lI_vQQiO1NJ9ZxsDCp4iJbmeAqWf4YlBzY9j_nEphqCK-Aq6Tccpzv-6yngJZNl3keHJO9F9JvGzrGDglq3GpwlscI/s320/a+star+of+david.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Notice the Star of Davids in the brick</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; font-family: inherit; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPwGeALjk7OfZhkuPWN47GR19qqLrSZVuTFiabAaHU2XQbmtvRhY5QUWRmf1CldAkvICV98lKxcUYqf6TgYghlbhWWnSVDXU0KRVfBd4o2ux0qwkBG5Zco2nSUNXlf2uyV9atHAn-9sVsO/s200/a+kurgur+teapot.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="150" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Teapot Monument </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Later, I have a chance to talk one-on-one with our
guide. I don’t think she was trying to
dismiss the Jewish influence. Instead, I
think she was just uninformed. In a conversation on the train with Yulia, our
tour leader, she asked several of us what we thought of Stalin. She is surprised that we all saw him as a monster. Yet, I’m equally surprised when she tells us
that many in Russia like him, noting the achievements achieved under his leadership.
She downplayed the purges and seems
shocked when I place him within an unholy trinity that includes Hitler and Pol
Pot. I was shocked at her views and
wondered if Stalin was really seen in favorable terms, but shortly afterwards
find her view that Russians tend to look favorably on Stalin confirmed by Ian
Frasier in </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Travels in Siberia </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">who
discovered that Stalin as a “monstrosity” has been “soften to resemble that of
an ogre in a fairy tale” and that his popularity among Russians is rising
(431-432). Most nations have leaders they
must hold in tension, those of whom they’re proud and ashamed. Andrew Jackson certainly was a influential
American President and did many positive things, but his removal of the
Cherokees and other Southeast Native Americans sounds a lot like Stalin (and
the Czars before him) using Siberia as a place to exile enemies. </span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiskbFxG1GwAqTwt9lCX2qyWEGCxIgV45ASr0LvA3I6hjpEim1gp8iz-xOhQwH9HlaFAtdMJsw-qef-1xT1D9VEIcWsLYRWf48y_d0fXF1MQAy4P_xiMGQCbYIwVwwyMZc5-PFlU1R1yOj/s1600/a+kurgur+church+steeple.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiskbFxG1GwAqTwt9lCX2qyWEGCxIgV45ASr0LvA3I6hjpEim1gp8iz-xOhQwH9HlaFAtdMJsw-qef-1xT1D9VEIcWsLYRWf48y_d0fXF1MQAy4P_xiMGQCbYIwVwwyMZc5-PFlU1R1yOj/s320/a+kurgur+church+steeple.JPG" width="266" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Tikhvinskaya Church</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Kungur is in the middle of the Urals Highlands (to call
these mountains is a stretch) about 1500 kilometers from Moscow. We arrived mid-day on a Sunday morning and
are met by our guide, a bubbling blonde school teacher. She takes us to our hotel where we’re met by
one of the most unwelcoming receptionists I’ve ever encountered. Maybe she was just having a bad day. But the hotel is nice and we’re allowed a few
minutes to settle in and clean up, before heading out for lunch at a local
restaurant. Then we begin our walking
tour in which we’re told about the town and in which she points out ancient
markets and various statues. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Along our tour, we stop at an overlook of the river
valley. It’s a beautiful city, sliced in
half by the Kunguraka River. The steeples of a half-dozen Orthodox
Churches can be seen glistering in the sunlight. Many were closed during the Communist years;
most but not all have reopened. One of
the older churches near the hotel is now a theater. We
drop into the Tikhvinskaya Church, for a quick tour. It’s the tallest and finest building in town
with numerous onion domes. I ask about the tower and am told that for 50
rubles, we can climb it. Ana and I both
want to climb, so our guide gets the key and climbs the tower with us. We spend some time looking around the city
and take photos of the city and the bells.
I ask our guide if I might take her photo of her standing in front of
the bells with her scarf and hair blowing in the wind. She immediately poses and I snap a few glamor shots. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA43fWCD2NqQdpfShVWQ85XKXoev1K_jDG8MfLMzRkjjxU7ZeLfDiPnAFu0D3bvcypsgneuODbYPyaa8yIKDGDFwsXRS7DgHMObm10YrFBOj7nl9h7hBrdkHIvnpcx25SObJF4WsYvwRgQ/s1600/a+guide.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA43fWCD2NqQdpfShVWQ85XKXoev1K_jDG8MfLMzRkjjxU7ZeLfDiPnAFu0D3bvcypsgneuODbYPyaa8yIKDGDFwsXRS7DgHMObm10YrFBOj7nl9h7hBrdkHIvnpcx25SObJF4WsYvwRgQ/s320/a+guide.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our guide modelling in the church's belfry </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkK_Ob79Tupr_NR4F_KoX-SdziXex2gUj75Kumar8mYkJJovmvZL-0XRgqwCeHb29DbiUQOqU52e7u0GlJ6FwkRVjD1iW-f69q3sfLvbIG1fuPRk2U73MHXltfbZBZ5RgxO01QUFthz71H/s1600/a+tower+and+lenin.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkK_Ob79Tupr_NR4F_KoX-SdziXex2gUj75Kumar8mYkJJovmvZL-0XRgqwCeHb29DbiUQOqU52e7u0GlJ6FwkRVjD1iW-f69q3sfLvbIG1fuPRk2U73MHXltfbZBZ5RgxO01QUFthz71H/s320/a+tower+and+lenin.JPG" width="252" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lenin and Old Water Tower next to tracks</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">In Frazier’s book, Travels in Siberia, he discusses Russian
women. One of the Russians he talks to during
his journeys jokes that next to oil, Russia’s most valuable export is its women,
a lamentable truth for one of the problems in Russia is the trafficking in
women. Frazier acknowledges that during
the Cold War, the image many in the West had of Russian women was that of
overweight sour-faced woman (like the train attendant we had between Ulan Bator
and Ulan Ude), but this was not what he discovered. He blamed this misconception on the fact that
during the Cold War we saw little about Russia except for the wives of some of
the Soviet leaders who often looked as sour-faced as their husbands (the wife
of Mikhail Gorbachev broke that stereotype).
Like Frazier, I would admit that one of the pleasant surprises of Russia
is their women. Well dressed women in
heels seemed to be everywhere. Yulia, our
group leader, and all the women tour guides were attractive as well as a number
of our the train attendants (with one notable exception). Another exception was the stone-faced woman at
the hotel desk in Kungur, but her problem wasn't with her looks but attitude. A smile would have done a lot for her, but it
might have cracked her face. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Our last stop is at a local establishment where they bottle
the town’s famous lemonade. We all try a
bottle of which I drink only a few swallows.
Carbonated lemonade just seems strange. One of the surprises in Russia is that they
like everything carbonated. Even buying
water, you have to be careful or you’ll get frizzy water. After our walk around the town is over, we
hire a couple of cabs and head to ice caves located just outside of town. Getting there, we have to wait an hour for
our tour, so I take a walk by myself along the Sylva River and listen to Carl
Hiassen’s book, <i>Nature Girl</i> on my
ipod. Then the time comes, we pull on
all our clothes and head into the cave, that have a two major sets of doors
designed to keep the cold inside.. The
caves are cold, but there isn’t much ice except in the opening chamber. But it’s pretty. </span><br />
<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-FabDkvBMHv2BVvpNuYgVoYy2blRTDL82hIguBQOkN1PdWGcnBt1VA2pb2YzL5vklGv0oBXDCWzK7sVDR_-kuKhXQ1GdzPByKywHIpIwrINFj_2cpZtVU_I5vlEGzvK7j3VWj77lY6cm/s1600/a+mother+and+daughter.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-FabDkvBMHv2BVvpNuYgVoYy2blRTDL82hIguBQOkN1PdWGcnBt1VA2pb2YzL5vklGv0oBXDCWzK7sVDR_-kuKhXQ1GdzPByKywHIpIwrINFj_2cpZtVU_I5vlEGzvK7j3VWj77lY6cm/s320/a+mother+and+daughter.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Olga and her daughter, our Russian hosts</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">teaching us pastry making </span><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After touring the cave, we walk to the apartment of a local
family who has prepared us dinner. The family has two cute blonde-headed
kids, a girl and a boy, who met us on the street and led us to their home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They run up the stairs and as we come into
the apartment, they present us with bread and salt, a traditional sign of
greeting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are introduced to their parents, Sergey and
Olga.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While their parents prepare the
table for our dinner, the boy shows me his room and toys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ana and the girl play with her dolls,
dressing them and fixing their hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
kids are so cute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The girl and her
mother have their hair braided.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re all
called to the table where we help prepare pastries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vatrushki is a cottage cheese pastry and
shangui is one containing mashed potatoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have a hardy meal that
includes a salad made of beets , potatoes and mayonnaise .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ironically, it’s like a similar salad I had
last year in Costa Rica, and they even called it “Russian Salad.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was surprised to learn it was an authentic
dish, the only notable difference was that the Russians add herring to the
mix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the hard meal, the family
walks us down to the bus stop where we catch the bus back to the city center
and our hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day’s light is
fading, but still go for a walk around the riverbank and across it to check out
a distant church whose orthodox crosses upon its onion domes glow in the low
light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">We had the next morning free. After breakfast at the hotel, I head back to
the Tikhvinskaya Church for their morning service. There are only a few people there and, in
Orthodox tradition, we all stand. Most
of the congregation that morning was older women, but in front of me is another
man, about my age, who seems as clueless as I am when it comes to crossing
oneself during the prayers. Much of the
service consists of alternating chanting from the balcony (done by a man and a
woman) and from behind the icons (done by a priest). Everything except for a few readings is
sung, without any accompaniment by musical instruments. I don’t understand much of what’s happening,
but it is beautiful. At one point in
the service, a man comes in and starts to speak to me in Russian. He smells of alcohol and seems
distraught. I shrug my shoulders and
whisper that I don’t speak Russian, only English. He leaves me and goes and lights a candle in
one of the corners and stands there for a few minutes. Then, as he’s leaving he comes back to me and
in perfect English says, “I’m sorry, my father died this morning.” I put my hand on his shoulder and told him
I’d pray for him, which I did. He then
left the service. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<h1 style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">At one point, the priest opens the door through
the icons and prepares communion. I was
not sure if I should take communion or not, if offered. A few people went over to receive the bread,
but most did not, so I remained where I was at.
Then, a woman who’d been helping out with things brought me the bread
and offered it to me. I wasn’t exactly
sure what it all meant, but I decided that communion is at best a mystery and
the polite thing to do was to accept and be gracious. After all, the Lord’s Supper is a mystery and
I am not sure I if any of us is really sure what goes on during the meal. In <i>For
the Life of the World, </i>by Alexander Schmemann, an American Russian Orthodox priest, the
author questions the debate over the Lord’s Supper in the West between Roman
Catholics and Protestants (and even between some Protestants). Schmemann reminds us that the meal is a
symbol and a mystery. I read Schmemann’s
book nearly two decades ago, but the
wisdom of his argument has remained with me, so I accepted the bread from the
woman who showed me hospitality, and prayed for her and for the congregation
that welcomed me at the table. </span></span></h1>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFfaWq3xsQtXIPd0rJD3U4hyphenhyphenb-5mpSpUgw5KdOTjPTa4MNeLLnc0rnQDXfOjFfPq7n9yZF6JM-xO5znkHEow3vl5uzfLByPS_u7TYq7LAc0WkYSnF4QVyl6rdOzWPAH4RBluAv__qnv_Dn/s1600/DSCF7412a+wait+on+the+train.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFfaWq3xsQtXIPd0rJD3U4hyphenhyphenb-5mpSpUgw5KdOTjPTa4MNeLLnc0rnQDXfOjFfPq7n9yZF6JM-xO5znkHEow3vl5uzfLByPS_u7TYq7LAc0WkYSnF4QVyl6rdOzWPAH4RBluAv__qnv_Dn/s320/DSCF7412a+wait+on+the+train.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">waiting for the train</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h1 style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Afterwards communion, a family who’d come
into the service right before communion (a man and woman with an infant that
looked to be maybe 6 or 9 months old), took the child to the priest and it
looked like he gave the child a piece of bread soaked in the wine. Then there were prayers said over the child
and each parent lighted a candle, then left.
After some more chanting in Russia, the service ended. It was nearly 11 AM and I ran back down the
hill to the hotel and checked out. </span></span></h1>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The group was met by a minibus which took us to a market to
buy food (none of us wanted to try the diner on the train again) and then on to
the station. The train we were catching
was late by about an hour and we loitered around waiting. This wasn’t really a Trans-Siberian train as
it only ran on the TransSiberian line from Kungur to Moscow. The train originated in the north of Siberia,
not in the east. We were in Car #12,
which I would have assumed would be toward the end of the train, but the cars
were inverted and number 12 was the second car behind the engine. This was only a two minute stop and our car
was a good 50 meters beyond the end of the platform, which meant we had to run
on uneven ground and quickly haul ourselves onto the train. The train was stopped for more than two
minutes! </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The ride on to Moscow was uneventful. We passed Perm, a large city to the north of
Kungur, where Paul Theroux (<i>Ghost Train
to the Eastern Star</i>) on stopped along his most recent Trans-Siberian trip to check out a city many
of the 19<sup>th</sup> Century Russian authors traveled through on their way to
a Siberian exile. Here, at Perm, there
is a huge freight yard. Although Perm is
industrial, I was shocked at the rural nature and the large forest that exists
in western Russia. At Balyezino, we have
a long stop as we change engines. I wake
up early in the morning during a disturbing dream about a friend having a
blotched surgery. I slip out of bed and
out of the compartment and look for the kilometer markers, hoping to see the
Volga River. But we’d passed it during
the night. While everyone sleeps in the
compartment, I use to the time to write in my journal, reflecting on returning
back to my regular life once the summer is over. Later in the morning, after breakfast, we
take the last long stop of the trip in Vladmir.
I go out on the platform and walk around. No longer are there women selling food and
beer along the platform as they’d been through much of the trip. We’re in Europe now where people dressed
business-like and all seem to be in a hurry as they take the train to Moscow or
another destination. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A couple hours after Vladmir, we arrive in Moscow. Yulia leads us through the station and onto
the subway. The inner part of Moscow’s
subway (that which was build between the 30s and 50s) are works of art and we
marvel at the beauty of the underground stations. Police are everywhere, but then even Moscow
has had their subways attacked. We check
into the hotel, clean up, and then head out on the city. </span></div>
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Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-6711086501928856622011-09-11T22:28:00.000-07:002011-09-28T19:10:07.157-07:00On the Trans-Siberian (August 4-7, 2011 or Ulan Ude/5642 km to Kungur/1534 km)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dining on the Trans-Siberian</td></tr>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span closure_uid_bhbr4m="121" style="font-size: x-small;">I am posting this from Tallinn, Estonia. It’s a little out of sequence as I need to write about my time in Beijing, Ulan Bator (Mongolia) and Lake Baikal. Hopefully this will give a bit of flavor to the railroad trip. Unlike my other travels this summer, I was a part of a tour for this stretch(Intrepid Tours). I meet the group (there were 8 of us) in Beijing and we toured the Great Wall together before getting on the train to Ulan Bator. The trip ended in St. Petersburg.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Char and Ben boarding train in Ulan Ude</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span closure_uid_fi1z0b="431" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Day 1 (August 4, 2011)</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Siberia is an enchanting place. At this latitude, in summer, the sun takes a long time to set and I lay on the top bunk for a good hour, my head partly out of the window (we’re on an non-air conditioned train), watching the sun slowly drop behind the far shore of Lake Baikal, the deepest lake in the world and one that holds 20% of the world’s fresh water. We catch glimpses of the sun’s rays shimmering across the water, in between the birch forests. It’s after ten (local time as the train runs on Moscow time) when the sun finally disappears. Afterwards, I read a chapter in Ian Frazier’s <i>Travels in Siberia</i>, then crawl into my silk sleeping sack and pull over the heavy quilt provided for each bunk and fall asleep. It was quite warm in the car when we boarded late in the afternoon in Udan Ude, but as the train began moving, the fresh air cooled things off a bit. When the sun started to sink, it cooled even more and with the cool air from the open window, it’s comfortable sleeping under heavy covers. I fall asleep to the gentle rocking of the train, only to wake up as we slow on our approach to Irkutsk. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Baikal</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-pVeNZzlu3TvNzJtQnPel0gqMTSuAQGG7ZFP_eGOSfPyTc8uXfWnBMypiCozXghn1RJa-uidsArNi7pRXe2cosxR0TvbWMP4bF8w30G9XU38bjPnTpemi_GLN3Gu7sQDIj0gb-QWSHIIx/s1600/bunk+photography.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="230px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-pVeNZzlu3TvNzJtQnPel0gqMTSuAQGG7ZFP_eGOSfPyTc8uXfWnBMypiCozXghn1RJa-uidsArNi7pRXe2cosxR0TvbWMP4bF8w30G9XU38bjPnTpemi_GLN3Gu7sQDIj0gb-QWSHIIx/s320/bunk+photography.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ana photographing the sunset from the other top bunk</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJqbk-nt-FWLQbLXjE34pRUTCXsEOX3ieKXv2jPNjQdOd90v9YbDcTF61cQxxaUrwRleGT2DbVwm3CXMdjMyM7OFYpQJfMxt-Hs1jsX8jN2qkow5Qtnq_NwDBEGK6zqYNkb6Zj2FsFlPaJ/s1600/baikal+at+sunset.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJqbk-nt-FWLQbLXjE34pRUTCXsEOX3ieKXv2jPNjQdOd90v9YbDcTF61cQxxaUrwRleGT2DbVwm3CXMdjMyM7OFYpQJfMxt-Hs1jsX8jN2qkow5Qtnq_NwDBEGK6zqYNkb6Zj2FsFlPaJ/s320/baikal+at+sunset.JPG" width="212px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset on Baikal</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span closure_uid_bhbr4m="156" style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s 1:30 AM (local time) when we stop in Irkutsk, a town best known for being a position in the game of Risk. It’s also Yulia’s home (our tour leader), so a group of us (Ana, Judy, Ben, Yulia, I’ll introduce them later) get off to check things out. It’s a thirty minute train stop. We take the walkway under the tracks and climb up into the station and then out onto the streets. There are still a few vendors selling snacks, newspapers and magazines. There are no English magazines or newspapers even though there are a lot of American magazines in Russian, with Cosmopolitan and Playboy appearing to be the most popular. Pointing the selections, I jokingly ask if I purchased one would I be able to convince anyone I was just interested in the articles. After a few minutes of roaming (and I don't buy any magazines), we head back to the train. We don't want to tempt fate and find ourselves left behind. I crawl into my bunk at 2 AM and sleep till morning light. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAY5Ck5RiU1wPU7FdJCQcLFuz-JkRp6EsKi-iu_IlsTobip3jK2ZAYcGmrzMBRcpW4q4MU5ZZQfrgN_P_8qMITDqxTBkcma6v9gxIZ-E12ThIkKR2K2aN7QSGWCAM9YM0WYLHKnBMghiHt/s1600/a+train+with+Km+marker.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="259px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAY5Ck5RiU1wPU7FdJCQcLFuz-JkRp6EsKi-iu_IlsTobip3jK2ZAYcGmrzMBRcpW4q4MU5ZZQfrgN_P_8qMITDqxTBkcma6v9gxIZ-E12ThIkKR2K2aN7QSGWCAM9YM0WYLHKnBMghiHt/s320/a+train+with+Km+marker.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notice the Kilometer Marker on the left</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span closure_uid_fi1z0b="428" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Day 2 (August 5, 2011)</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span closure_uid_bhbr4m="173" style="font-family: Calibri;">We’re in the town of Zima (which means Winter), a 20 minute stop, and I get up and walk out onto the platform. It’s cool in the early morning air and clouds are building to the east. After we’re herded back on board, I crawl back into my bunk and read a bit more in Frazier’s massive book of his time in Siberia. Everyone else is asleep and soon I doze off again. I’m in no rush as I’ll be on this train another two and a half days (and even after that, they’ll still be two more overnight trains before we reach St. Petersburg). </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At nine, I rise again and fix breakfast. Instant oatmeal and coffee, made with the boiling water that’s provided in the samovar at the end of each carriage. The train is now running through gentle hills. The tops are barren and some of them have been cut for hay. On the lee side of the hills and in the depressions are birch forests. Wildflowers are everywhere in a palate of colors: white and yellow daisies, several varieties of purple flowers, as well as yellow ones and some that appears to be bluebells. There are some white flowers that are tall stemmed and must be a relative of Queen Anne’s Lace and another yellow weedy plant that has to be next-of-kin to Golden Rod. Or maybe they’re the same plant as I’m no botanist. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We stop in Nizneudinsk and I get off the train for a few minutes. The station is drab, of an older Soviet style and the people standing on the platform seem to have a similar expression. Clouds have moved in and it has recently rained. After leaving the station, the train climbs over the Sajan Range, snaking back and forth and providing great views for photographs of the ends of train. Coming down on the opposite tracks is a train of timber and lumber, followed shortly behind by a train of tank cars. We occasionally pass small villages: bare wooden houses with only the shutters painted generally blue and white. Rough-cut fencing separate the yards, with each yard containing a garden of potatoes and onions and other vegetables. Huge amounts of firewood are neatly stacked by each house, a reminder that winter will come early and last long in this land. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-TDKehIeI5FVYz9c-HW9q7fn9B03lX-3-NkfA4HmllTkuSyDI5Te6KdC6350jOyudVt-O3LDFR-fHgch3pwtaetcROKpO0EKZA0M4_aXg1VFuKWsD8-zi22tIknzl-8xrb4MG2umm-2-/s1600/buildings+iwth+gardens.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-TDKehIeI5FVYz9c-HW9q7fn9B03lX-3-NkfA4HmllTkuSyDI5Te6KdC6350jOyudVt-O3LDFR-fHgch3pwtaetcROKpO0EKZA0M4_aXg1VFuKWsD8-zi22tIknzl-8xrb4MG2umm-2-/s320/buildings+iwth+gardens.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Russian Village photographed from the train</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Between looking out the window and reading, I engage in numerous make-believe firefights with a Russian kid and his toy AK-47. He runs into our compartment shooting and we all act like we’ve been hit. Then, using my index finger as a gun, I hide just outside his compartment where he retreated and wait in ambush for him to reappear. Sure enough, he soon runs back out with his gun at the ready, only to find my “pistol” at his head. He laughs, but doesn’t “die” when I shoot, but instead points his gun and bangs away. Like most six year olds, he’s invincible! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After lunch (peanut butter on a heavy bread which I brought with me on the train), I read some more and take a 2 hour nap, waking up in Ilanskaya. Vendors have set up shop along the platform. The breads are tempting, and so is the baked chicken (but I wonder how long it’s been sitting out). Instead, I opt for an ice cream and pick up some cucumbers and tomatoes for dinner. The rest of the afternoon is spent reading and looking out the window. Somewhere along our journey, I crossed Ian Frazier’s 2001 path the opposite way across Siberia. His journey across the vast land was in a van. Tomorrow, when we cross the Urals, I’ll have entered Europe through the backdoor. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For diner, our compartment has wraps. Ana supplies the wraps and salami and I provide cucumbers, tomatoes and peanut butter (there is no mayonnaise). We both have cheese. The tomatoes are wonderful! Afterwards, there is a long stop in Kranoyarsk, where I pick up from one of the sellers on the platform a ½ liter bottle of Kolchak Beer to cap off dinner. Later, while reading Fraizer’s book on Siberia, I learn the beer is brewed in Irkutsk and named for a Russian admiral known for his heroic deeds in the 1904 Russia-Japanese War and the Great War. Interestingly, he was a White Russian, a part of the movement that opposed the Bolsheviks and his end came in 1920 when he was executed by the communists in the same city that now brews his namesake beer. A beer named in honor of a White Russian is a sign the old regime is dead! Darkness falls and we all climb into our bunks for the night.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Day 3 (August 6)</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m up early and slip out of the compartment without waking up the others and sit on the fold down seats along the aisle where I can both work and recharge my computer in one of the few electrical plugs on the train. I am writing up my notes on my trip to Chengde, which seems like ages ago as we run through Siberia on the train. The landscape has flattened. When we stop at Novosibrisk, one of the largest cities in Siberia, we climb a walkway over the tracks for photographs. I take several and then Ana comes up and I take one of her with her camera and when she starts to return the favor and take a photo of me with mine, a husky Russian woman runs up shouting and wagging her figure, saying nyet, nyet nyet (no, no, no). She crossed her arms as a sign to stop and points for us to go back to our train. When we ask Yulia why she didn’t let us take the photo, she said matter-of-factly, “Because this is Russia.” Communism may be dead but there is still the lingering presence that big brother is watching (but that wasn’t limited to the Communists, for the Czars had their own forms of totalitarianism).</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Omsk Station</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span closure_uid_fi1z0b="586" style="font-family: Calibri;">After forty-eight hours on the train, things are getting a little squirrelly. Our group is split up between three compartments. At night, when the bunks are all put down, we’re sequestered inside, but in the day, we move around between the three compartments. I’m in the middle compartment and joke that we’re the “Old Folks Place,” as the four of us are all over 40 (Ana is 40. She and Judy are both from Australia. Judy and I are in our 50s and Terry, who is from New Zealand, is in his early 60s). Judy and Ana quickly chastise me, saying that we are the not the old folks home but the “mature compartment.” Travelling a third of the way around the world with a Kiwi and two Australian Sheilas, I found myself chastised a lot. The two of them also corrected me when I addressed the two of them as blokes, a term they frequently use for me. Unbeknownst to me, the term bloke is gender specific, but I obviously had skipped class the day when Australian grammar was taught. By the end of the three days, I’m shocked to find myself using “bloody” as an adjective.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To our right of our compartment (toward the engine) is Yulia and Leo’s place. Yulia is Russian and Leo is from Indonesia, but lives and works in Denmark. They share a compartment with a Russian woman traveling to Volgograd (formerly known as Stalingrad) and another man. That compartment is also where the cards games occur, at least until the group of would be card sharks tire of always losing to an old woman heading to Volgograd. Afterwards, the card game is moved into our compartment. The game is called “Fool,” and, as Yulia explains, “As with Russia, there is no winner, only losers.” The object of the game is not to lose! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The cabin behind us includes the two other Americans, Ben and Daniel who live in Chicago. With them is Charlene (from New Zealand) and Jo (from Australia). Their compartment serves as the main bar and a classroom where Yulia teaches Russian, using a magic marker on the window. I make a mental association between the Russian word for “thank you” (spassebaa) and placebo... The sounds are not exactly the same, just close enough that I manage to have half our group asking for sugar pills instead of saying thank you, causing much confusion in the towns nestled along the railroad tracks.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The two Sheilas in my compartment take turns keeping a lookout for a jukebox, something they’d been hoping to spot since leaving Mongolia. Yulia, who lives in Siberia, doesn’t know of any jukeboxes, but that doesn’t dampen their enthusiasm. They’re determined to spot a jukebox, which seems strange behavior to Terry and I until they finally educate and entertain us with a duet of a popular Australian song, “Jukebox in Siberia.” Obviously, the jukebox is a metaphor as they never found one in their 4000 or so kilometer vigil. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv093d2EnH8Wh6pW9jeo1VVd3IVlEYaFHJPobGROqdEIMALnKC_NPIfuAwQ0iCfcAfmv9N3NoaumaORDkgjlHEpd481y7qRfB_D3KeZas8eLWVAx7vIahUFQRFwWtX87yX3zAfVBXNr2yC/s1600/a+steamer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv093d2EnH8Wh6pW9jeo1VVd3IVlEYaFHJPobGROqdEIMALnKC_NPIfuAwQ0iCfcAfmv9N3NoaumaORDkgjlHEpd481y7qRfB_D3KeZas8eLWVAx7vIahUFQRFwWtX87yX3zAfVBXNr2yC/s320/a+steamer.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" closure_uid_fi1z0b="616" style="text-align: center;">One of the many "parked" Steamers along the route</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span closure_uid_fi1z0b="617" style="font-family: Calibri;">The main topic, or at least the most frequently reoccurring one, for our compartment is the condition of the bathrooms on each end of the carriage. The two Aussies share the exciting news when they observe an attendant heading to one of the toilets with cleaning supplies and rolls of toilet paper. And when the toilet cleanliness begins to wane, they share disinfect wipes. Having seen a lot worst bathrooms (they quickly tired of my descriptions of bathrooms on Indonesian and Vietnamese trains), the toilets on the trans-Siberian don’t bother me too much (you do your business and get out quickly). Ana and Judy find that a better way is to find a bathroom when the train pulls into a station for an extended period. These bathrooms cost between 15 and 25 rubles (between 50 and 75 cent), but to them it’s worth the extra expense and long before the train comes into the station, the anticipation of a “clean loo” is just too much for the two of them that they began to wax poetically about the possible experience. Loo is another word that was added to my rapidly expanding vocabulary during these long days on the rail. Interestingly, according to my processor, which highlights loo in red, indicating it’s not really a word, leaving me with the feeling that I have been corrupted. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span closure_uid_bhbr4m="174" style="font-family: Calibri;">In addition to our bathroom talk, another topic that begins to dominate on Day three is the need of a shower. We’re all in need of a long hot shower with lots of scrubbing by this point! After the attendants clean the bathrooms, I go in and using a rag, wipe up and change clothes. I feel better, but am still not really clean, but am clean enough to go out for dinner. Everything I’d read about the Trans-Siberian is that eating in the dining car is kind of like playing Russian roulette. You never know what you’re going to get! We’re all prepared with plenty of noodles, but wanting a variety, we head into the car. The menu is about as thick as the Russian words are long (or a small Russian novel), which should imply (I mistakenly assume) there are lots of possibilities for fine dining. Perhaps I should have taken a clue from the lack of patrons, but I was looking for an experience. As we combined our knowledge of words and share a dictionary (along with the help of a drunk Russian who spoke a little slurred-English and whose Russian at this point in the afternoon probably wasn’t any better than his English), we asked for dish after dish only to have the attendant stand by the table with her arms folded, shaking her head no. In the end, we surmised there were only three options: a soup, a vegetable salad and a potato and meat paddy entrée. I have the latter and it’s good, but expensive. Half way through the meal, a couple of Russians come into the dining car. We watch as they discuss their order with the attendant (another clue should have been that they never looked at the menu). We wait with bated breath to see what they might be eating, and what we might be missing out on, but they're also served the same potato and meat paddies that we’ve enjoyed. I’m not sure what purpose the menu served, maybe it was just reading material. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jude and Leo in the Dining Car</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Michael, the inebriated Russian, joins our table. With his laptop, he attempts to educate us in Russian Rap and other music styles. His conversation helps the time pass (which is good, for the dining experience takes almost two hours, a pretty amazing feat considering that during this era (which was only slightly shorter than the Napoleonic Wars), there are never more than ten people in the dining car (12 if you count the attendant and cook). I get the sense that the attendant is a little jealous at Michael’s interest in us (or at least his interest in Ana, who seems the most interested in Russian pop music). The attendant had Michael for herself before we entered the dining car. Michael, the Russian DJ, plays different songs from a range of genres. When we start heading back to our compartment, (I’m the last to leave as I am on the inside of the booth), Ana turns to me and commands with a firm whisper: “Don’t you leave me with alone with him!” But Michael is harmless and I’m sure that the next morning when we got off the train, he was nursing one heck of a hangover. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Day 4 (August 5, 2011)</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wake up to the familiar sound of a Russian woman barking out instructions at a station. It’s a familiar sound as every train station has a woman giving instructions over the loud speaker and they all sound as if they all studied voice in the same school where they all excelled in monotone. It’s 5:30 AM and a gray overcast dawn. It’s been raining in the night. We’re Yekaterinburg (or Ekaterinburg, depending on which book you’re reading). According to my guide (Bryn Thomas’ <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Trans-Siberian Handbook</i>), we’ve officially left Siberia (we’re now in the Urals), but according to Ian Fraizer, we’re in the western most city of Siberia. It’s a long stop as they change engines here, and I wait till the train pulls out of the station to get up as I know the bathrooms will be locked. As we begin to move, we pass a large restored steam locomotive on display, a 0-10-0. Many of the larger stations in Siberia have an old steam locomotive on display, and they’re all sharply painted and look as if they’ve just rolled off a production line.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">According to Frazier, Yekarteninburg/Ekaterinburg, was named Empress Catherine. During the Soviet times, the name was changed to Sverdlovsk, in honor of a companion of Lenin and the chairman of the Russian Central Executive Committee. It was in a basement here that last Czar, Nicholas II, along with his family and their servants and physician met their brutal end at the hands of the Bolsheviks. Frazier also writes about this being one of the few places where there is a monument to the victims of Stalin’s purges, another horrifying event most Russians would just as soon forget. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The border between Europe and Asia<br />
(sorry, this is not the best photo, but the only one I got)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m excited to know that we’re in Yekarteninburg as it means we’re still in Asia (even if we may be out of Siberia). I start counting down the kilometer markers that are on the south (east) side of the tracks, knowing there is an obelisk around marker 1777 that indicates the spot where we pass from Asia into Europe. Forty-five minutes after leaving Yekarterinburg, we pass the marble obelisk. It catches me by surprise and I am only able to get a passing photo. The guide book says to be ready for a crowd to gather in the hallway wanting to see the obelisk, but because it is still early. Only a handful of us are up to witness our 6:40 AM crossing. For the first time in my life, I’m in Europe (and I came in via the back door!). </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Urals are not exactly the Rocky Mountains. Actually, they’re no where nearly as majestic as the Appalachians and, if they stretched for more than fifty miles, the Uhwarrie Mountains in Central North Carolina would be a more prominent. The Ozarks also stand tall next to the Urals. Of course, if you stretched the Ozarks out 800 or so miles (like the Urals), they might provide about the same rise to the land. Yet, these low rolling hills define a continent. The landscape is wooded, as we travel through forest that alternates between birch and evergreens. Later in the morning, we arrive in Kurgur, but that’s another story.</span></span></div>
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Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-59927450680475509842011-09-10T12:30:00.000-07:002011-09-10T12:30:40.719-07:00Mongolia to Lake Baikal (August 1-4, 2011)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I wake up at 5 AM, as morning light begins to filter through
the curtains.<span> </span>The train jars and then
stops and all is quiet.<span> </span>Wondering what’s
up, I quietly crawl out of my berth trying not to wake the other three who are
still sleeping.<span> </span>Taking my camera,
journal and guidebook, toothbrush and toothpaste, I step out into the hallway
and walk down pass the attendance’s compartment.<span> </span>As expected, the bathrooms are locked.<span> </span>Nemo had suggested we keep a few small
Mongolian bills just in case we needed to use the toilet at the station.<span> </span>I go out onto the platform.<span> </span>We’re in Sukabaator, a border town named from
the Mongolian leader of its communist revolution.<span> </span><span> </span>The
air is cool and dry and a light breeze blows across the plains.<span> </span>Walking on the platform, I realize that our
coach (along with one other coach) sits abandon on the track, without an
engine.<span> </span>To the south of us is another
train, which had been a part of us until a few minutes earlier. <span> </span>The jarring I’d heard came from when they
separated our cars from the other Mongolian cars that are being prepared for
the journey back to Ulan Bator, where we’d left the evening before.<span> </span>Only the two cars of passengers will continue
on into Russia, which is why we had been informed to stay in our cars at night,
for if we found ourselves in the other cars, we could find that ourselves
heading back into Mongolia.<span> </span>I find the
toilet and play the 150 Tugirk (about 13 cents) to use the toilet and
washroom.<span> </span>The place is very clean!<span> </span>The woman attendant has a sideline business,
selling toiletries such as toilet paper (which is not supplied, but I have my
own).<span> </span>She also has, to my surprise,
deodorant along with toothbrushes and paste, combs and brushes, and feminine
products.<span> </span>In addition she has a
multi-prong power strip and a few chargers available, which could be handy as
there is no power in our coaches at this point.<span> </span><br />
<span><br /></span><br />
<span> </span>I walk around the station and out onto the streets of the
town.<span> </span>Everything appears to be deserted
except for the passengers who are arriving for the Ulan Bator train.<span> </span>When I come back to the platform, the
Mongolian train attendants are all standing outside their doors at
attention.<span> </span>They’re all petite women who
look sharp in their blue uniforms.<span> </span>In
contrast, our attendant the evening before was a big Russian woman who could
easily be a sumo wrestler.<span> </span>Terry is up
and has made a similar observation, quipping that they all look ballerinas
while our attendant appears to be a champion weight lifter. <span> </span>I should note that it is practice of the
Russian railways to have two attendants, who split the duties and alternate
sleeping.<span> </span>The Russian woman was on duty
last night and during the morning, she disappeared and a male attendant took
over.<br />
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I spend the early morning hours waiting on the platform
reading, knowing that soon we’ll be sequestered inside the rail car again.<span> </span>But Mongolian customs don’t open till eight
or so, so we wait till called back into the cars.<span> </span>Then the train is boarder.<span> </span>We have to show our luggage (pulling it down
from the storage areas above the bunks) and open up the storage areas below the
bottom bunks to ensure we’re not smuggling anyone out of the country.<span> </span>They take our passports and again Ana has to
explain what happened to hers, pointing to a bottle of water and saying it got
wet.<span> </span>An hour later, they give us our
passports and soon afterwards an engine is hooked up and we’re finally sent on
our way.<br />
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We don’t go very far.<span>
</span>We head down the tracks a ways to the border crossing where Russian
border agents enter the train and process our passports. <span> </span>The agent looks at our passports then hands
them to the car attendant who stacks them together, turned to the proper page.<span> </span>Ana again has to explain what happens to her
passport, but this time she has Yulia who is Russia helping explain
everything.<span> </span>They seem satisfied with her
answers (these guys weren’t nearly as scary as I was afraid they’d be.)<span> </span>They take our passports for processing as the
custom officials come on the train with their dogs, looking for anything
askew.<span> </span>Later, as we’re still waiting for
the passports, they come back with the dogs and we learn that the dog is in
training and they had planted some drugs in the luggage of Russian man (with
his consent) who is in Yulia’s compartment.<span>
</span>The dog passes his test.<span> </span>Then our
passports are return and we’re allowed to proceed into Russia—but not that
far.<span> </span>We follow the Selenga River.<span> </span>At the border town of Naushki, we stop for
hours. <span> </span>At the station, there is a sign
warning that insults directed at border guards can get you a fine of 40,000 rubles
and a jail term.<span> </span>They don’t threaten
with sending you to Siberia (as you’re already there), but I’m glad that I was
on my best behavior and didn’t give them (or even Ana) a hard time.<span> </span></div>
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Hungry for lunch, Yulia asks and is told about a restaurant
down the tracks.<span> </span>The place has the
atmosphere of an elementary school cafeteria and is eerily sterile.<span> </span>Its primary customers are railroad
crews.<span> </span>But the food is good and cheap.<span> </span>Most of the group has meatballs, but I have
already had enough and decide instead to have soup and goulash.<span> </span>After eating, we walk back toward the train
station, stopping in a small grocery store.<span>
</span><span> </span>There’s very little in the way of
food, but half of the store is dedicated to alcohol and there is an incredible selection
of vodka, larger than anything I’ve ever seen.<span>
</span>We’re in Russia.<span> </span>Back at the
station, we wait another hour or so before we’re called back on board the train
to begin our journey into Mother Russia.<span>
</span>When we finally start moving, I note that in the past ten hours, we’ve covered
all of 70 kilometers!<br />
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The run up to Ulan Ude is pretty as we follow the Selenga
River and skirt by the shore of by Goose Lake.<span>
</span>I spend an hour standing by an open window watching in amazement as the
sun slowly drops from the sky.<span> </span>The
lighting on the countryside is beautiful.<span>
</span>Along the way, I notice a car pulled over by the side of the road and a
man standing in front of it.<span> </span>Something
catches my eye and I look back and see that he is taking a leak and the
sunlight shines through the stream of urine, giving it a golden color.<span> </span>I laugh and several people look at me and I
point and they too laugh.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I come back to my compartment from photographing the
sunset, I see a pack of Chinese cigarettes on my bunk.<span> </span>I toss them back to Ana, telling her they
were a gift and she can’t give them back.<span>
</span>When she asks what she should do with them, I suggest that she give them
to our train attendant (the male one is on duty) as I’d seen him bum a cigarette
at our stop.<span> </span>This she does and it makes
him very happy as he spends the rest of our time on the train sequesters in his
compartment (the trains are supposed to be non-smoking), puffing away!<span> </span><span> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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It’s dark when we pull into Ulan Ude (a town, if I heard
correctly, means Red River), we’re met by Dennis, our local tour guide.<span> </span>He takes us to the Geser Hotel, and as we
check in asks if any of us are up for a night on the town (on a Monday
night).<span> </span>A few take him up on his offer,
but I decide to forgo such an experience because we have to be ready to head
out early in the morning.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The hotel room is incredible—Terry and I share a suite. <span> </span>Unfortunately, we’re only there for eight
hours. I shower and wash some clothes (it seems I am constantly washing clothes).<span> </span>The next morning, we’re provided an extensive
buffet breakfast.<span> </span>I’ve noticed in my
travels that the further north I’ve gone, the meals have gotten larger.<span> </span>At breakfast, I sit at a table next to a
table with “the ugly American.”<span> </span>The suited-man
is there for a conference and loudly complains to a couple of women at his
table, who obviously are attending the same conference, about how things work (or
more correctly, don’t work) in “this god-forsaken country.”<span> </span>I give him a dirty look as he’s too loud and
my Southern conscience tells me it just ain’t right to complain about your host
when you’re in their living room.<span> </span>Later,
an American woman from Texas asks if she can sit with us at our table.<span> </span>She begins chatting about the conference and
I pause her long enough to ask what kind of conference.<span> </span>She thought we were attending the same
event.<span> </span><span> </span>At least, from her, I was able to learn that
there’s an international social worker conference going on in Ulan Ude and she
is more than happy to tell us about her work and what they’re doing in Russia.<span> </span>Although she talked a lot, she was thoroughly
enjoying Russia and expressed the hope we’d have a similar experience.</div>
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After breakfast, Dennis meets us and takes us on a walking
tour of Ulan Ude, a town that boasts the largest statue of Lenin’s head in the
former Soviet Union.<span> </span>Dennis notes that
the people in this part of Russia (who are more Asian) got the last laugh with
the statue in which the artist cast Lenin with “Asian features.”<span> </span>To me, the bronze Lenin looks more like a
giant “Mr. Potato Head.”<span> </span>Over the next
week, I’d see enough potatoes to wonder if I ain’t right.<br />
<br />
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After our walking tour, we board the bus for a trip to an
“Old Believers Village.”<span> </span>Dennis asks if
anyone has ever heard of the Old Believers and seemed both amazed and a little annoyed
when I raise my hand.<span> </span>(I felt like the
kid who always sat in front of the class and answered every question, a
position that I never assumed in school).<span>
</span>Of course, I had only recently become aware of the sect.<span> </span>When I was in Malaysia, Cyclops had given me
a book written by an anonymous Orthodox priest titled <i>The Way of the Pilgrim. <span> </span></i>The pilgrim
in the story has an encounter with an Old Believer.<span> </span>At first, he is impressed with the piety of
the Old Believer, but then finds his fundamentalism<i> </i>to be a barrier that keeps him from encountering God.<span> </span>Then, in the book I’d been reading by Ian
Frazier, <i>Travels in Siberia, </i>the
exile of Old Believers to Siberia is discussed.<span>
</span>The Old Believers broke away from the Russian Orthodox Church during the
reforms of Peter the Great who wanted to make Russia more European (which
included making the church more like the Greek Orthodox Church).<span> </span>The Old Believers was the group that said, “We’ve
never done it that way.”<span> </span>Such groups seem
ubiquitous in any institution.<span> </span>Holding
to their values, they broke off from the mother church and maintained their
purity with eight hour worship services (standing, of course) and the old way
of positioning their fingers when they cross themselves. <span> </span>As most of the Old Believers ended up as
settlers in Siberia, the museum showed how they lived in such a rough
climate.<span> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">We
also got to visit a church, which was fairly new as most of the older churches
had been destroyed by Stalin and his goons.
There were a few older icons in the church. These had been hidden by the faithful during
Stalin’s purges.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
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After visiting the church, we headed to a recreated home of
Old Believers, that is now a living museum.<span>
</span>Unlike most Siberian homes which the siding is not painted, Old
Believers paint beautiful patterns on the side of their houses.<span> </span>At this home, we had lunch where we learned first-hand,
that unlike most Protestant fundamentalists, these guys really like to
drink.<span> </span>Our lunch included three shots of
“homebrewed” vodka, taken in between a feast of pickled fish, breads, soups and
variety of root vegetables as well as meat—a hardy lunch (all our meals in
Russia were hardy)!</div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;">The fun </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;">didn't</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"> stop with lunch. After fortifying us with vodka, it was time
to play dress up. Anastasia and Daniel
were selected to play the bride and groom and we all got to attend a wedding
with dancing and games. The party broke
up before the union could be consummated, as we had to get on the road and head
to Lake Bailak. </span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">We
drive back to Ulan Ude and drop off Dennis, then we head east (once again
following the Selenga River which we’ve followed since Mongolia). Half way to the lake (the Selenga flows into
Baikal), we cross the river and head north.
The ride is beautiful and reminds me of places in the American
West. It’s a three hour drive and at one
point I fall asleep (I’m sure a three vodka-lunch helped) and wake up thinking
I’m on the top of Cedar Mountain, between Cedar City and Duck Creek, Utah as
the birch forest resembles aspen and both sites have rolling grassy
meadows. There are even a few black
boulders that I mistake for lava rocks.
Like Cedar Mountain, this is open range and our driver has to slow down
in order to navigate between cows. There
are few bathroom stops along the way and my fellow Americans, who seem to have
small kidneys, need to stop. After a “mini-Chernobyl” (a term that became
to define any fit thrown by one of us in the group), the driver agrees to pull
over and they run into a small clump of bushes.
Ten minutes later, we make the scheduled toilet stop and when I learn it
costs 25 rubles, I find myself wishing I’d joined them in the bushes!</span></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
We first see the lake at the village of Gremyachinsk and
then drive along the shoreline for 15 or 20 kilometers.<span> </span>The waters are magnificent.<span> </span>In Turka, we leave the lakeshore and stop at
a guesthouse that is located on the Turka River, just a few kilometers from the
where it enters the lake.<span> </span>The three
Americas—Daniel, Ben and me—decide we’ll try the waters of the Turka River and
change into swim suits and jump into the invigorating 14 degrees C water.<span> </span>We spend two nights at this guest house ran
by a couple, Valery and Larisa, both of whom have many gold teeth.<span> </span>I wonder if Steely Dan was here first.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The highlight of our time in Lake Baikal is the banya (a
treat we enjoyed each night we stayed at the guesthouse). <span> </span>After dinner, Larisa fires up the banya as it
takes time to warm the water.<span> </span>A number
of our group went into the village to the store, but since I didn’t really need
anything and there wasn’t enough room in Larisa’s car, I go for a hike up the
road, looking at the traditional Siberian wood homes in which only the window
frames and shutters were painted.<span> </span>When I
come back, the banya is getting hot and ready for action.<span> </span>I put on my swim trunks and join the group in
the sauna.</div>
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Larisa is a man’s man.<span>
</span>He’s built the guest house by himself, and did one heck of a job on the
banya.<span> </span>In the center of it is a water
boiler, welded out of thick plate steel that has a radius of nearly three
feet.<span> </span>The bottom of the banya is the
firebox (with a chimney that runs through the boiler and out the top. As this
boiler is in the corner between four rooms, the firebox is in a separate room
in which he also stores firewood.<span> </span>This
also keeps the water separate from the fire and smoke out of the other
rooms.<span> </span>In the sauna room, there are
cedar benches where we sit or lay and enjoy the banya.<span> </span>Here, on top of the firebox is an opening and
stones that heated and a water drip system that keeps the steam up.<span> </span>Outside of this room, there is the shower
room, where he also has an opening to the banya’s water take for putting more
water into the tank and also drawing out warm water to put on the rocks.<span> </span>There is also a shower in this room.<span> </span>The fourth room is for changing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the corner of the banya, Larisa has a pail of water and a
collection of birch branches (with leaves).<span>
</span>The Russian way of cleansing is to lie on the bench and have someone
stick the birch leaves into the water and then slap you all over with
them.<span> </span>As weird as it sounds, within an
80 degree C banya, it feels pretty good.<span>
</span>(Or maybe at that temperature, pain and pleasure get all mixed up).<span> </span>As we began to overheat in the banya, we
find that Larisa has an answer.<span> </span>He’s
built a slide off the back porch of the banya (with flowing water) that takes
you out into Turka River.<span> </span>I find that
after soaking for an extended time, I can swim way out into the river.<span> </span>But I stay in the water and keep moving, for
there are hoards of mosquitoes waiting to feast on fresh meat.<span> </span>When you come out of the water, you run back
into the banya and do it all over again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the morning of our second day at Baikal, Larisa takes us
to the beach.<span> </span>We sit soaking up sun and
even swimming (quick dips) in the cold water.<span>
</span>The Russians believe that to swim in Baikal will add to your life (that
is, if you don’t have a heart attack jumping in).<span> </span>Having swum in both Lake Superior (which is
colder in the summer) and Baikal, I should have a very long life… <span> </span><span> </span>We next
visited a hot springs, which was so crowded (the pools were all in buildings
and there was a long wait), that we had to be satisfied with soaking our feet
in the stream.<span> </span>After lunch, Larisa took
us out in his motorboat, which looked as if he held it together with chewing
bum and bailing wire.<span> </span>I was glad he also
had oar locks and oars in case the motor decided to stop spitting, but it kept
running and thankfully the oars didn’t need to be employed</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After the banya experience on our second night, Larisa built
a camp fire and roasted fish for us.<span> </span>His
method was simple.<span> </span>He scaled the fish,
rolled them in salt, and pierced them with a metal skewer and roasted over
coals.<span> </span>The meat was delicious, it fell
off the bones in chunks (and I quickly learned to avoid the guts).<span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On our final morning, Larisa took a number of the group
hiking, but Leo and I decided to stay and take him up on his offer for us to
use his boats.<span> </span>Taking a row boat, we
traveled around the river using his homemade oars (that weren’t exactly even or
the same size, which meant having to do a lot of correction strokes).<span> </span>But it was fun.<span> </span>After lunch, the bus picked us up and we
traveled back to Ulan Ude.<span> </span>The diver
wouldn’t turn on the air conditioner until there was another “mini-Chernobyl”
and he drove so fast and reckless we were all concerned he’d take out a cow or
bounce us off the road.<span> </span>But we arrived
safely back in Ulan Ude, went shopping for provisions for our three day train
ride and boarded the train on time.<span> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
For the next installment (which I posted a couple of weeks ago), <a href="http://jeff-ridingrails.blogspot.com/2011/08/on-trans-siberian-august-4-7-2011-or.html">click here</a>.</div>
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Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-76973791056174122732011-09-06T13:31:00.000-07:002011-09-06T13:31:13.442-07:00Mongolia (July 28-31, 2011)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="color: red;">I am in St. Johns, Newfoundland, having been around Greenland and Iceland for the past week and without an internet connection... Next week, internet connections will return to normal.</span></em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9BQx9LmiCtQ-agdpcr1YmbUIvcIHCsEQwOKEQT_0VEiePX9kcGwkwhUEN9f2z441YM_BUdu7y1ywS0RdV0mAEnsnA3ZR0mtHxTWLEp-6W7ngq_IgaEOFDhLtn_jvYHFo2yA6E8qSYdne/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9BQx9LmiCtQ-agdpcr1YmbUIvcIHCsEQwOKEQT_0VEiePX9kcGwkwhUEN9f2z441YM_BUdu7y1ywS0RdV0mAEnsnA3ZR0mtHxTWLEp-6W7ngq_IgaEOFDhLtn_jvYHFo2yA6E8qSYdne/s320/Slide1.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><em>I should acknowledge as I begin this post that while in Mongolia, I kept looking for magnolias, but didn’t see any.</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In an attempt avenge my joking around about her passport, Anastasia proclaimed that our first day in Mongolia would be “talk like an American day.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully no one joined her campaign and she soon tired of the game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The American she tried to imitate was Scarlett O’Hara, but Ana’s “American-talk” sounded like the quintessential southern bell had a speech impediment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only worse sounding thing I heard my first day in Mongolia was “throat-singing.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must admit, throat-singing was more pleasing than the more frequently heard Chinese “throat-clearings,” but there is a reason such musical delights haven’t found their way onto Casey Kasen’s Top 40 (just as there are similar reasons there are no southern belles from Australia).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throat singing could only sound good after large qualities of fermented mare’s milk, another Mongolian custom I don’t need to experience again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mare’s milk and throat-singing aside, I really liked Mongolia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I’ll retire here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for a faux-Southern dialect from an Australian, there are not enough cans of Fosters to temper that sound.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Getting off the Trans-Mongolian in Ulan Bator (which means “Red Hero”), we were met by Nemo, our local tour guide. A trained urologist, Nemo has found that since the fall of communism, he can make four times as much as a tour guide than as a skilled physician.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Needless to say, I am sure health care in his country has suffered.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took us to our hotel where we checked in and freshened up after the 30 hour train ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An hour later, he led us on a walking tour of the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ulan Bator is a neat place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted, most of it is unpaved and where there are sidewalks, they’re broken up so badly that one is better off walking in the street (which are congested with cars) or walking where there are no sidewalks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>UB as the city is known has swelled since the fall of communism and now has well over a million people (even thought it has a small town feel).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nemo took us to a small restaurant for lunch, then downtown where we got to stand in the square in front of the parliament building and gaze with awe at its oversized statues of Genghis (or Chinggis as he’s known in these parts) and a couple other Klans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the square, we viewed the “butterfly” office building, an ultra-modern structure that seems out of place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then there is the capital Post Office that appears to be sponsored by Coca-Cola.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We walked around town, and then took in a cultural performance where we were treated with wonderful music and dance numbers along with the less than wonderful throat singing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The highlight was a woman contortionist that ties herself up so tightly in knots so that I could have taken home in my backpack. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was amazing and my back hurt just thinking about her moves. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards, we ate at a Mongolian barbeque joint, where you pick out your meat and condiments from a buffet and have a chef prepare them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There similar restaurants in the States, but I haven’t found one that serves horse (admittedly, I haven’t gone out of my way looking for one), but horse was one of the meat selections here, right between chicken and mutton.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghzqvigzFxRrr24WhhD_KO08MhQSs4963qI2N0Jz-azfEJbR4xjKKMMlGEMWQCt_4ScsCAtoGybtoOJK7aTivtX2DXbDbzj8WSHdD0zdCsWjXPkkyBCE6ypbm5tK0GS40meJdc4uZWcD14/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghzqvigzFxRrr24WhhD_KO08MhQSs4963qI2N0Jz-azfEJbR4xjKKMMlGEMWQCt_4ScsCAtoGybtoOJK7aTivtX2DXbDbzj8WSHdD0zdCsWjXPkkyBCE6ypbm5tK0GS40meJdc4uZWcD14/s320/Slide2.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div>I w<span style="font-family: Calibri;">as up early my second morning in Mongolia, looking for deodorant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned two things in my 90 minute search: people here aren’t early birds and deodorant is a rare commodity in these parts. Later, after we were picked up by the tour bus, we stopped at a grocery store and I was able to find deodorant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d brought a bag full of groceries (snacks and stuff along with some toothpaste), all of which came to the same price as my lone and small stick of deodorant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m sure the rest of the group appreciated the sacrifice I made to purchase some expensive deodorant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After stopping at the store, we headed out into the countryside to Terelj National Park, a place that’s about 70 km from Ulan Bator and is filled with ger camps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are frequent tolls on this very rough road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously, the tolls were being spent on road repair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along the way, we made a number of stops to see and hold a trained eagle (using trained eagles to hunt is a big thing in Mongolia), to ride a double-humped camel (a lot easier than a single humped one and at least my camel was nicer than those I’ve been around in the past), and to sample fermented mare’s milk (a drink that even the hard-core alcoholics within our group turned their nose up at).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nemo also had the driver stopped by a cairn built by Buddhists along the roadside at a mountain pass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were told we could walk around it three times, adding stones each time, and our prayers would be answered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not being Buddhists, most of the group spent the time having pictures taken as they jumped in the sky at the edge of the cliff, against a beautiful backdrop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did neither; instead I just stood and looked in awe at the scenery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mountains are beautiful; we could just as easily be in the Boulder Mountains of Idaho or the Ruby Mountains in Nevada or the Tushurs, south of Richfield in Utah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the ger camp, our group splits up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of them rented horses and took off for a ride into the mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That evening, at dinner, we learned that some of these horses were just days from the glue factory or perhaps that Mongolian barbeque joint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of riding, I decided to hike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hills were calling my name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several of us, along with Nemo, headed high in the mountains, where the meadows were filled with wildflowers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the ridgeline, Xiatain and I continued on ahead of the group, checking out a Buddhist Temple in the next valley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had wanted to go to a prayer grotto on the mountain behind it, but those at the temple discouraged us, saying it was too dangerous. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was also getting late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hiked back over the ridge and were back at the ger camp in time to begin the preparations for dinner.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHuadjugbnrsCsThx1FQRbm49QzIxRnBY-DQfH9POUwJrJIJrmFP8Nk0uRalLNAqz-hzl9calUlYsFRJFgY2rnoxm4Ghsrmzx-zB6LyPQNuob3whbUVku9FaFhwpOTQq2R_WaPs9jYlTTd/s1600/Slide6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHuadjugbnrsCsThx1FQRbm49QzIxRnBY-DQfH9POUwJrJIJrmFP8Nk0uRalLNAqz-hzl9calUlYsFRJFgY2rnoxm4Ghsrmzx-zB6LyPQNuob3whbUVku9FaFhwpOTQq2R_WaPs9jYlTTd/s320/Slide6.JPG" width="320px" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_skO0-rQPpPBQm0o8cl4OY2WFXYStTZrc_OyAtpk8HR7XlUMOYAd4qK536jEuzJ9gfU_bRLNsO3uxCFPeCIol2c4AdD73wQr849YqtDYafopdac3xxTmq54W51jBrtqfpiYcevmYuFx3Q/s1600/Slide5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_skO0-rQPpPBQm0o8cl4OY2WFXYStTZrc_OyAtpk8HR7XlUMOYAd4qK536jEuzJ9gfU_bRLNsO3uxCFPeCIol2c4AdD73wQr849YqtDYafopdac3xxTmq54W51jBrtqfpiYcevmYuFx3Q/s320/Slide5.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s a Korean group in the camp and they have a goat roast scheduled for the evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’ve bring the goat into the camp, still alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nemo explains what will happen to the goat and ask if there are any of us interested in watching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daniel and I are curious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’re going to eat meat, you might as well know how it is prepared,” Daniel summarizes as his reason for wanting to witness the process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a commodity trader who deals in pork futures, I’m sure this is a side of the business he never sees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re invited into an empty ger (undoubtedly they have found that this is too traumatic for many of their guest to watch).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The goat is brought in; its legs have been broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A man hold’s the goat’s legs while another holds his mouth with one hand and rubs his head with his free hand, comforting the animal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another man (or an old boy, for he looks 14), takes a knife and quickly cuts a small incision in the goat’s abdomen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He reaches inside the incision, sticking his arm half way inside the goat, grabbing the arteries from the heart and yanking them out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The goat’s eyes get big for a second and he looks directly at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thankful when one of the Koreans steps in front of me to get a better look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The goat quickly dies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nemo explains why they kill this way and how it is really more humane than the slitting of a throat and bleeding out of an animal as is done in Jewish and Islamic customs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not so sure that it is a more humane or peaceful death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was something haunting in those eyes and I although I like goat meat, I was glad that we didn’t have goat to add to the dumplings we made for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, we made our own dinner, while attending a Mongolian dumpling-making class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dumplings were good, but nothing like my grandma’s chicken and dumpling recipe.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMgwmjp8ti6_pFARmaEFF3goxBz3-YmK2h6XpkVrj7JSeAkaL9vKszx1u0Z5msy5ZK2PRuyLwk2ms3ny9RVUmRwDEvS9eICMqmSrMvYbRFbfShq1p8CVAIhm5-ijlc_8E8ywWUBYPak0Sf/s1600/Slide7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMgwmjp8ti6_pFARmaEFF3goxBz3-YmK2h6XpkVrj7JSeAkaL9vKszx1u0Z5msy5ZK2PRuyLwk2ms3ny9RVUmRwDEvS9eICMqmSrMvYbRFbfShq1p8CVAIhm5-ijlc_8E8ywWUBYPak0Sf/s320/Slide7.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That night the stars were beautiful and appeared to be so close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was cold and the folks at the Ger Camp built fires in each of the gers so that we could stay warm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I woke up at 4 AM, cold after having a nightmare (I was in Mongolia and my father had died and there were questions about what to do with Mom).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was cold because I was only sleeping in a light silk sleep sack as it was hot with the fire in the stove that I’d gone to sleep without pulling on the extra covers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the fire died, the ger cooled rapidly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ninety minutes later, I got up and woke Leo and then walked over to Xialin’s ger and knocked on her down (they’d wanted to see the sunrise) and the three of us headed up a ridge behind the ger Camp, where we froze while waiting for the sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was cold (especially since I only had a light rain jacket), but beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After breakfast, we got to try our hand at shooting a long bow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, none of us will be riding with Genghis Klan any time soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drove back into capital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_VSc2w7ijs2pNli8qi7GJwxQlp9hY8pXilFRG88ltOJO2NQ7UshIYgMDbQevvqAAdHKrhE21GJzuW7QfFdYGaY3KNsO5XzauGCB896EX1lVMd5rVkPBGHViX3sl1vq5orz9Z_jIhSLhL/s1600/Slide9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_VSc2w7ijs2pNli8qi7GJwxQlp9hY8pXilFRG88ltOJO2NQ7UshIYgMDbQevvqAAdHKrhE21GJzuW7QfFdYGaY3KNsO5XzauGCB896EX1lVMd5rVkPBGHViX3sl1vq5orz9Z_jIhSLhL/s320/Slide9.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That afternoon, we headed to the Yellow Rock Ger Camp on the outskirts of the city, a settlement area for those moving from the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this capital city, most of the people don’t have running water and have to purchase water from wells that are situated every few blocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Likewise, there is no plumbing and people refer to their outhouses as “long drops.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Checking one out, I can testify that it is an appropriate name, for the outhouses are fashioned from the traditional Asian squat toilets and if one slipped while going to the toilet, a long drop would be just the beginning of one’s problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first home we visit is a ger (but a fancy one).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a traditional Mongol family and (as part of their contract with Intrepid Travel) they provided us with a traditional meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards, we get to play dress up and act like Mr. and Mrs. Genghis Klans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA75DdJvlghtkDRHsJfk1qBxAgmxakqXlR4RlRmiuNDWA_wL3EkIlO1N5K7pRVMFPprsj3kzRHcwZWF6_UUrzSCJk4RXwzUBBH24xkRSGP1eG9Z16siXof5hHb6JOPZpa-Ilh3cqi_3Hva/s1600/Slide10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA75DdJvlghtkDRHsJfk1qBxAgmxakqXlR4RlRmiuNDWA_wL3EkIlO1N5K7pRVMFPprsj3kzRHcwZWF6_UUrzSCJk4RXwzUBBH24xkRSGP1eG9Z16siXof5hHb6JOPZpa-Ilh3cqi_3Hva/s320/Slide10.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Next, we walk over to a Kazak family’s home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On our way, we’re caught in a brief shower while the sun is shining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yulia tells us that in Russia, they call such an experience a “mushroom rain,” as the water and sun brings out the mushrooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we walk in the shower, we pass one of the community wells where kids are hauling filled water containers in wagons and wheel barrows back to their homes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The second family we visit is a Kazak, a member of a Muslim minority tribe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While the woman feeds us a snack, we play another round of dress up with their traditional outfits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each tribe has a different type of dress as I’d see the following day in the Mongolian National Museum which has a large room with samples of each style.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interestingly, in the 45 minutes we’re at the Kazak home, creating chaos with our dress up games, the man of the house sleeps on a bed on the corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also interesting is the woman’s taste in art as there are several posters of Japanese Geishas tacked up on the walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we’re walking around, I ask Nemo about the name of this neighborhood (which is most famous as it houses Mongolia’s only mental health hospital—they still refer to it as an insane asylum). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mongolia is big in mining and “Yellow Rock” sounds as if their might be gold here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I learn the name has a more sinister meaning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He points to a rock cliff and tells about how, during the purges of the 1920s and 30s, monks of the “Yellow sect” of Buddhism were thrown to their death off the cliffs by the Communists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After getting back to the hotel, Ana and I walk into town in search of warmer coats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was surprised to find prices for western-style clothes to be so expensive in Mongolia (I should have purchased such a coat in Vietnam or China).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking around, we got soaked in a rain and, while talking about the problems of spouse abuse, got to observe it happening, first-hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We both found it difficult to watch the man strike his wife (or maybe girlfriend, we had no way of knowing).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She did strike back and they both yelled at each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not knowing the language, the customs, the legal system, or even the police phone number, we were helpless.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On our second night in Ulan Bator, we all went out to eat (as if we were still hungry after an afternoon mooching off the locals).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The food was good but there was way too much of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, several of us found ourselves at a karaoke bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Personally, I hate karaoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is my belief karaoke, which began in the Land of the Rising Sun, is Japan’s revenge for losing the Second World War.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, karaoke is now a world phenomena and I figured this was my one chance to experience it in Mongolia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I tagged along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were six of us and we had fun even if I stayed up way too late.</span></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our last day in Ulan Bator was a Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nemo, who was one of the most helpful guides, had found a church for me to worship at.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was especially nice of him since he was Buddhist and knew nothing about Christianity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked about attending himself, but ended up not going and spending the time with his family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hiked over to the church for their 10 AM worship service (a two hour event).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The place was packed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The “Eternal Love Church” had been planted by Koreans in 1992, after the end of communism in Mongolia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a Korean Presbyterian mission group present at worship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They sang many songs (in Mongolian and Korean) with familiar tunes, both hymns and contemporary songs (“Amazing Grace” and “Come, Now is the Time to Worship” were two familiar tunes in a strange language).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Korean pastor preached and it was translated by a woman into Mongolian, which didn’t do me any good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did figure out that the sermon was based on Ezekiel 37 (the Valley of the Bones) and thought it a little ironic as I’d preached on Ezekiel 47 (the vision of the temple) when I was in Korea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After church, I spoke with an Australian bloke and his Korean wife who are missionaries in Ulan Bator and learned there are over 200 churches in this city of 1.2 million, but most are small house churches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a large new Catholic Church and also a rather large Orthodox Church, but during the Communist era, all religion was suppressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s only been in the last 20 years that churches as well as the Buddhist monasteries and the Muslim mosques (about 8% of Mongolia is Muslim) have been allowed to operate without strict government control or persecution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After church, I had the afternoon free. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was nice to be on my own for the day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ate at a Korean restaurant (perhaps I was inspired by the preacher).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a wonderful meal consisting of perrigo (a spiced beef dish), rice, vegetables and pickles and a variety of kimchi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After lunch, I walked downtown and spent nearly two hours in the Natural History Museum, which features many dinosaurs as well as displays on geology and wildlife and a Mongolian’s first cosmonaut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next, I headed over to the national museum, which was truly wonderful. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had a major display on the Klans and Mongolian’s golden era, but their most interesting section dealt with Mongolia’s twentieth century history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mongolia attempted to wrestle independence from China in 1912, at the end of the Qing Dynasty. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>China insisted on keeping Mongolia within its sphere, which encouraged Mongolian leaders developing a secret relationship with Russia. The Bolsheviks were sympatric to their cause and supported Mongolia becoming a separate country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1924, Mongolia became the second self-identified Communist country in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The museum portrays a balanced view of the communist years, showing the good and bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the Communists took power, only about 2 percent of the Mongolian population was literate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Under communism, literacy rose to over 96 percent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, such advances came at a high cost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mongolia experienced many purges during the communistic era.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Buddhist monks and priests were especially targeted and often killed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1990, the country allowed political parties other than the communist into the political process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later, they began to liberalize the economy, allowing competition in the marketplace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the museum, I brought some gifts for people at home and two of my favorite souvenirs: a silk Mongolian tie with camels and gers and a Mongolian t-shirt.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I returned to the hotel where I meet up with my group. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a new member join us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jo was from Australia (which meant we Americans were no longer dominate as there were three of us and three of them). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 6 PM, the ten of us left the hotel for the train station where we boarded the train for Ulan Ude, Russia. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the morning, we’d have another border to cross, but that’s another story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stay tuned. </span></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqrk7soCeb9IOZmfvmIf54v8SWloUoG3lUBH7iQcgF7B4W3Y4JzuznVngGw_NkhcT2tsvgwjIH-Qf3uJUUd-06gk2yJBSXSpMTvIRx9D1p5A0m04M92eMfH21DYrf_oA87HnfDM_iUdSlE/s1600/Slide3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqrk7soCeb9IOZmfvmIf54v8SWloUoG3lUBH7iQcgF7B4W3Y4JzuznVngGw_NkhcT2tsvgwjIH-Qf3uJUUd-06gk2yJBSXSpMTvIRx9D1p5A0m04M92eMfH21DYrf_oA87HnfDM_iUdSlE/s320/Slide3.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
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</div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-80768694203585326472011-08-28T07:50:00.000-07:002011-08-28T07:51:32.887-07:00Beijing to Ulan Bator, Mongolia (July 27-28, 2011)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXMwEZ2xe2hI3TxA6Ua8Tz_Tei_nbytiUZRyAY2WYowT1-31CuzqPITmeHg9nhYpNsDNeDt-RXKYvav8i6Zq7cuuUl8ptAujTK1j8wIePejQfJotpsVIr8wHaeseVT3NneDNNKxZA09FJE/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXMwEZ2xe2hI3TxA6Ua8Tz_Tei_nbytiUZRyAY2WYowT1-31CuzqPITmeHg9nhYpNsDNeDt-RXKYvav8i6Zq7cuuUl8ptAujTK1j8wIePejQfJotpsVIr8wHaeseVT3NneDNNKxZA09FJE/s320/Slide1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Taking the train provides plenty of time to think. This can be a good or bad thing, depending on one’s perspective and how one utilizes such time. As we rode out of Beijing toward Mongolia, Anastasia thought about all the bad things that might happen at the border when she presented her laundered passport. As a project manager, she designed all kind of contingency plans. The rest of us (or maybe it was just me) spent our idle hours thinking of ways we could encourage Ana to torment herself. Her concern peaked when she read in the Rough Guide to the Trans-Siberian Railroad about a Nigerian citizen who’d spent 18 months in a Mongolia jail for having a bogus passport. Ana’s passport wasn’t bogus, just faded, but that didn’t stop us from promising to write to her “in care of the Mongolia Penal System” and offering other bits of advice such as having some cigarettes to barter. As one who doesn’t like to go into a new country without a little change in the local currency, I provide Ana with a pack of cigarettes (prison currency). Of course, I wasn’t exactly a big spender as I purchased the pack of Chinese cigarettes for only five yuan (roughly 80 cent). At the border, seeing Chinese policemen marching two-by-two, prompted Judy to point out Ana’s “new friends.” We all had good fun at Ana’s expense, which was a little cruel since she was nervous about the border crossing and even though communism may be dead, remnants of hard-line totalitarianism survives, especially at the borders. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_wu6kOY0VpbBfhb3vEH3Qf1zg5EAmYf_3jWzFgQ3hUbW0klkQ2F2TkVUZrPoeuFFpvreCIESfT1Qr327KmdoTwygqPuDauOOtoDEvKdo-V3aSBYTHAKYGQyCVMTynyaC0fNSRj3YXFpWZ/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_wu6kOY0VpbBfhb3vEH3Qf1zg5EAmYf_3jWzFgQ3hUbW0klkQ2F2TkVUZrPoeuFFpvreCIESfT1Qr327KmdoTwygqPuDauOOtoDEvKdo-V3aSBYTHAKYGQyCVMTynyaC0fNSRj3YXFpWZ/s320/Slide2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">The train leaves Beijing station right on time. Although we’d be on the “Trans-Mongolian” and later the Trans-Siberian route until Moscow, this was the only true Trans-Mongolian or Trans-Siberian train we’d take. The rest just ran on the same lines. The Trans-Mongolian leaves Beijing once a week, on Wednesday, heading through Mongolia. It arrives in Moscow six days later. Not long after leaving the Chinese capital, the terrain becomes mountainous and the tracks run through long tunnels and curve through steep valleys, the wheels often squeaking as they rub against rails. There are half dozen tracks through this region, laid on both sides of the valley, each with their own tunnels and trestles. We pass by the Great Wall, but the views are not great as the skies are hazy with smog. After about two hours, the landscape flattens out. There’s farmland as well as factories. We stop in the industrial city of Zhangjiakou, where several of us get out and stretch our legs by walking along the platform. Lunch is served not long afterwards and we are pleasantly surprised that it (along with dinner) is free. In the afternoon, I take a long nap that’s filled with dreams. At Datong, there is a longer stop in this city where until the late 1980s steam locomotives were still being built. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A little after Datong, we pass under the Great Wall and the landscape opens up. We’re now in Inner Mongolia. Like Montana, this is Big Sky country. The air is cleaner. We pass giant wind farms and towns where the homes are all built of red brick and tiles. I love this open country; it stirs my soul. We could be in South Dakota or even around Beaver, Utah. The wind blows the grass, which is golden in the late afternoon night. As we proceed further west, the sun drops from the sky as the air becomes gritty. We’re on the edge of the Gobi desert and the attendants run through the cars, closing windows. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh01ADGX2qfB9bxAws5PrKejTRBP-qqGKjFFOAnLxXmi7nR7XNP3xWXQokfKo6Q9Vv7unkLheB7CsSYsFEnlLUV5yEmKbVuZ_gqUXpk8JrXDXdcmjBuHUboCpz30a3NIvbihv55N7XVxe_t/s1600/Slide4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh01ADGX2qfB9bxAws5PrKejTRBP-qqGKjFFOAnLxXmi7nR7XNP3xWXQokfKo6Q9Vv7unkLheB7CsSYsFEnlLUV5yEmKbVuZ_gqUXpk8JrXDXdcmjBuHUboCpz30a3NIvbihv55N7XVxe_t/s320/Slide4.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s after dark when we pull into the border town of Erlyan where we’re ushered off the train. The train is taken away to have its bogies (wheels) changed as Mongolia and Russia gauge is different from China’s. Chinese officials take our passports for processing. We’re left standing on the platform listening to classical music (which is a little surreal). Later, we learn we can shop in the station where there is a duty-free shop and another store that sells groceries. It’s here that I purchase a pack of cigarettes and present them to Ana. Then we venture out of the station and walk around town. It takes a couple of hours for them to process our passport and to change the wheels. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s nearly midnight when we’re ushered back onto the train. They present us with our passports and the train is moved a bit down the tracks and into Mongolia, stopping at the town of Zamiim Ude. Here, rather serious Mongolian officials border the train and take our passports. They immediately ask Ana what happened to her passport and she points to a bottle of water and said it got wet. Presenting them with a color copy of her passport along with a copy of her driver’s licenses seems to satisfy them. They take our passports with them off the train for processing, leaving us locked on the train (and there are soldiers standing at attention along the platform in case anyone thinks they might want to leave the car). Further complicating the situation is that the toilets are locked (we’re in a station and these cars do not have holding tanks for toilet waste). My fellow Americans (Ben and Daniel) each had several beers in Erlyan and the locked bathrooms create a serious situation. Daniel pleads with the Mongolian custom official in charge, saying he needs to go to the toilet. “It isn’t possible,” she snaps. I laugh, thinking that it is possible, just not desirable. The woman is serious, but Daniel is desperate. The border crossing into Mongolia takes a couple of hours. After much complaining Daniel and Ben finally fashion a urinal out of a water bottle and the rest of us are provided with way too much information. I spend most of the time with my head out of the window, looking at the guards on the platform. The sight of them is funny and I find myself making a crack about Mongolia being a military powerhouse, as they have never been attacked from a train. Then I realize the folly of my words, as Mongolia was once a military powerhouse, although not in recent centuries. After receiving our stamped passport, the train finally begins to move. Immediately the guards snap attention and salute. With my head out of the window, probably looking like a gargoyle, I return the salute, bringing a smile to at least one of the guard’s faces. The train picks up speed, rushing off into the darkness. We turn out the lights and soon I’m asleep. It’s two in the morning.</div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">It’s a short night and I am up early the next morning and out into the corridor to catch the sun’s return. Mongolia is stark and beautiful. I’m reminded of Central Nevada, rugged mountains in the distance and a landscape of grass and small shrubs. We stop in Choyr, the birthplace of the first Mongolian in space (he caught a ride with the Russians). I get off and along the platform am quickly attacked by kids selling food, toys and even colorful rocks. The train rushes through the Mongolian countryside, passing herds of sheep and goats who mingle together grazing, as if they’re waiting for judgment day. Herders on horses stand nearby. Occasionally there is a ger (yurt) or a small town with a platform. We pass a local train on a siding, a solo diesel pulling a lone coach. Unlike China, where much of the line has been electrified, in Mongolia diesels reign. Trains hauling lumber and timber head south into China, to feed its building boom. Late morning, we begin the long descent into Ulan Bator, Mongolia’s capital. Running through grasslands, the train snakes back and for, it’s wheels squealing against the steel ribbons, treating us passengers with great views of the engine and the back of the train. We pack our bags and when the train finally stops, we haul our packs off and onto the platform. In the past thirty hours we’ve covered the first 1500 kilometers of our journey. There is more to come, so stay tuned! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7MwhIWarM7L89PUUP6VoWNckoDAoJAlMzUD9Tqpwb9BlEg7byjpyq6lY-tGiiQiOjJxBeiJJimlPBrvgOiVySQSbipEszQFyD_trBX_LAiqXn2a8JfHf3zbaKflsH2OhLSdX4UMFocmAO/s1600/Slide5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7MwhIWarM7L89PUUP6VoWNckoDAoJAlMzUD9Tqpwb9BlEg7byjpyq6lY-tGiiQiOjJxBeiJJimlPBrvgOiVySQSbipEszQFyD_trBX_LAiqXn2a8JfHf3zbaKflsH2OhLSdX4UMFocmAO/s320/Slide5.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-53263324543746150952011-08-24T00:10:00.000-07:002011-08-24T02:09:28.574-07:00Beijing (July 25-26, 2011)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqzOO3LiY5DvW2bUOjlgHbJE0jK-XmG_PSeF0DbhxZ42H0Fko7mTMFwzgbrH4S5vde2vs5Kk_IjIae1kL4dMNdTsxh14TUaIuxnOD_0qeaB67Yb6pwohNHRn70JWEKtGfJdqBODq_uhWp/s1600/a+forbidden+city+with+temple.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqzOO3LiY5DvW2bUOjlgHbJE0jK-XmG_PSeF0DbhxZ42H0Fko7mTMFwzgbrH4S5vde2vs5Kk_IjIae1kL4dMNdTsxh14TUaIuxnOD_0qeaB67Yb6pwohNHRn70JWEKtGfJdqBODq_uhWp/s320/a+forbidden+city+with+temple.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The temple overlooking the Forbidden City</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div closure_uid_oji4kt="123"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the top of a hill just to the north of the Forbidden City, in Jungham Park, is a temple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, the massive golden Buddha sits looking down on the Emperor’s massive residence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not a large temple, but high enough that perhaps it might have reminded the leaders of China of their mortality and that while they might not have been anyone on earth they had to answer to (except for the British during the Opium Wars), there were those to whom even all-powerful kings had to give an accounting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After spending hours exploring the Forbidden City, a place that’s so massive and magnificent that it’s hard to comprehend, I climb up to the temple and looked out over Beijing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The recent rains had partly cleared the skies, but it was still hazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pollution is real here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d entered from the Meridian or Southern Gate and worked my way through gate after gate and hall after hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no way to capture the grandeur of the place with a camera or to take it all in during a day of wandering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To draw from an old cliché, the place is fit for a king.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1X-PqvMxvN5lKtJidTXcnI29x-d29qC7iAZFap9yyV5XbtZYZkrhq65vcZgkEBISDdOQR92XacIDe9tdj6C76QlkBThzJvAC19R4wUfh0acW-VGQB4PqW0zfLyIZ5LYqjQ5Euw1K6rkTQ/s1600/a+forbidden+city+from+above.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1X-PqvMxvN5lKtJidTXcnI29x-d29qC7iAZFap9yyV5XbtZYZkrhq65vcZgkEBISDdOQR92XacIDe9tdj6C76QlkBThzJvAC19R4wUfh0acW-VGQB4PqW0zfLyIZ5LYqjQ5Euw1K6rkTQ/s320/a+forbidden+city+from+above.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the "city" from the temple to the north</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoHzQpmoPsJTo6ZFEZuDmrm-ry883msfIdmh8faLDjNM7gkOf9b_wH8L3Z1pX90sVRiGPsEUBlqTiNbXGE5G_hzybtDy0Ss3iy2dn_n9eVMoCj51dn58rikdI4w_s0xikm9_XIO1d7fgPG/s1600/chairman+mao.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoHzQpmoPsJTo6ZFEZuDmrm-ry883msfIdmh8faLDjNM7gkOf9b_wH8L3Z1pX90sVRiGPsEUBlqTiNbXGE5G_hzybtDy0Ss3iy2dn_n9eVMoCj51dn58rikdI4w_s0xikm9_XIO1d7fgPG/s320/chairman+mao.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In front of the "City"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div closure_uid_oji4kt="185"> <span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I wait as long as I dare at the temple overlooking the palace, then I leave, quickly walking back around the Forbidden City’s walls and to the subway station to the South.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beijing has a fantastic subway and for about 40 cents, one can travel anywhere in the city. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was with mix feelings that I rushed back to the Harmony Hotel after spending the day in and around the Forbidden City, in order to meet up with the group that I would travel with for the next three weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the one hand, I was a little melancholy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After two months of freedom, I was now going to be tied to other people and their schedules and agendas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I was also looking forward to not having to worry about finding a place to sleep or making connections, a burden I was more than willing to pass on to our trip leader. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Z-X6r4NlC74suz4mZk5FuHTkZMbIdlsfIfyU2Rc6TnuSahnmVw2Dub57yMIGuzIzEnVHupCOLmvQFWJUqUPpiZkbLDCMLLLeop1Ly0GnZyM5egb5txi7wghJGTd3wU5gmICrFn1AXFLK/s1600/a+forbidden+city+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Z-X6r4NlC74suz4mZk5FuHTkZMbIdlsfIfyU2Rc6TnuSahnmVw2Dub57yMIGuzIzEnVHupCOLmvQFWJUqUPpiZkbLDCMLLLeop1Ly0GnZyM5egb5txi7wghJGTd3wU5gmICrFn1AXFLK/s320/a+forbidden+city+1.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><div closure_uid_oji4kt="212"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_oji4kt="229" style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was five minutes after six when I entered the room where the group had gathered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being five minutes late meant that I missed the introductions of everyone but Ana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And she had a story to tell. H</span>er real name is Anastasia, which she shares with the lost Romanov princess who was rumored to having survived the murder of the rest of her family and lived out a long life in America, a myth DNA evidence debunked a few years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a sense, this journey was to be pilgrimage for Ana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would be traveling through Yekaterinburg where the original Anastasia and the rest of her family were shot in a basement in the summer of 1918.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then our journey would end in St. Petersburg, where the princess had a happy childhood, cut a little short when the Bolsheviks seized power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the late 90s, after the collapse of the Soviet Union, the remains of Anastasia and family made their way back to St. Petersburg and are now buried in the chapel at St. Peters and Paul’s Fortress, where the remains of the rest of the clan of czars are buried.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_oji4kt="230" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anastasia is a lovely name; it rolls off the tongue with such a pleasing sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throughout the trip, Ana would go by both names.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it came my turn to introduce myself (being late, I was last), I decided to forgo the tale that I was named for a British poet, but my parents didn’t know how to spell and so my named begins with a ”J” and not a “G” as does Chaucer’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ana’s drama didn’t stop with her name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some people are into laundering money; Ana was into laundered passports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that fateful thunderstorm that I’d been caught in coming back from Changde, and a high speed rail crash had occurred, Ana got drenched.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Australian government provides their citizens a “waterproof” pouch for their passport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As an American, when I first learned this, I felt slighted as our government doesn’t provide us with such an item and (to the glee of the Tea Party), I had to buy my own Ziplock bag to protect my passport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, after hearing Ana’s story and seeing her passport (her photo had faded to the point she looked like the ghost of the original Anastasia), I no longer felt slighted by Uncle Sam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The topic of Ana’s passport provided us with much entertainment over the next few weeks.</span></div><div closure_uid_oji4kt="212"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">After our opening pow-wow, we went out to a local restaurant where we feasted on a Peking Duck (why they don’t change the name of the duck to Beijing as they did the city, I don’t know).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards, a group of us walked back down to Tiananmen Square and then back to the hotel via a market where you could buy all kind of food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There seemed to be an abundance of roasted snake on this particular night. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqo4F70seITJWLT9VrGWpYelrMTibeKqlp8ILLARZR8ioWuNNLmQPVrYpt1GbyDNT9sYJogb5951ZHsqiWqPUavA7I2CWqGoHqoMgjEhTEpEdSASLtzu0c5bNaS8MAfpd70arP1Nzme7zY/s1600/a+great+wall+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqo4F70seITJWLT9VrGWpYelrMTibeKqlp8ILLARZR8ioWuNNLmQPVrYpt1GbyDNT9sYJogb5951ZHsqiWqPUavA7I2CWqGoHqoMgjEhTEpEdSASLtzu0c5bNaS8MAfpd70arP1Nzme7zY/s320/a+great+wall+3.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><div closure_uid_oji4kt="231"> <span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The next morning, our group met early for a trip to the Great Wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the section of the Great Wall was only 70 kilometers from the city, it took a couple of hours to get there, with our travels giving us a taste of Beijing traffic woes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Mutianya section of the wall has approximately three kilometer’s open for walking, but it stretches as far as the eye can see in three different directions (the wall does actually split here, with one end running north and the other two ends running east and west).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The recent rains had cleared the air, providing us with an incredible view of the mountains and the wall that caps the ridges. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We split into a couple of groups with an agreement that we’d be back at the bus by 1 PM. </span></div><div closure_uid_oji4kt="231"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEofLm7K1xDVLk9MjbWV_yD_plhUKRrob3-Q4F_s7bitqdR5PE1F3TkW67PFWil4uG9y5_mCsOjqroyWX7hvXk2QqMPF-FOwHL88g6wsPl2nJKOZyaEGXqI9UlXKh_zJK3DSUVyzhqMLC/s1600/a+group+leader.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEofLm7K1xDVLk9MjbWV_yD_plhUKRrob3-Q4F_s7bitqdR5PE1F3TkW67PFWil4uG9y5_mCsOjqroyWX7hvXk2QqMPF-FOwHL88g6wsPl2nJKOZyaEGXqI9UlXKh_zJK3DSUVyzhqMLC/s320/a+group+leader.JPG" width="180px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yulia, our group leader</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because we had only a couple of hours, I joined with most of the group in riding a “ski lift” to the top. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several of us hiked to the far end of the wall, at the high point where you could see the wall stretching out in several directions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were signs saying that the wall was closed, but curiosity got the best of me and I decided to explore a little further.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t take long before I was back on the straight and narrow, gasping for air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Going on beyond the “maintained section” obviously required a gas mask as it appeared half of Beijing had used it as an open air toilet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I set off in the other direction, walking mostly with Yulia and Judy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Feeling weensy, I checked my blood sugar and I was dropping fast, which meant that I could enjoy a cold Coca-Cola, hauled up to the top by one of the man vendors that one has to deal with while hiking the wall. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_jufvzm="121" style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d been promised a lunch stop on the way back to the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a late lunch, as the traffic was terrible, held at a place where the local tour guides obviously get a kickback or at least a free meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was an extensive food court where we pigged out, but to get to the food court one had to go through four floors of stores selling a little bit of everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On my way up, I’d spotted some silk shirts and decided to check them out on the way back down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t believe they were marked $110 (American). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started to walk away and the saleswoman insisted I make her an offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t that interested in picking up a new shirt, but she kept after me, holding my arm so I told her I’d pay 110 yuan (at 6.6 yuan to the dollar, I figured I was safe, but I knew if she accepted my price, I’d be buying a shirt or have one very angry salesperson on my hand).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She countered with 190 yuan and I shook my head and started to walk on when she grabbed my arm again and said okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s how I ended with up with the blue silk Hawaiian shirt you will see in many of my photos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After getting back to the hotel, some of the crew went out to see a Kung Fu show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having recently seen the animated movie with my daughter and having grown up watching the TV show during its original run, I decided not to go but to use the time to pack for our first train journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leo and I agreed we’d eat later with some of the Kungfuers group, so we met at 9 PM and headed into the subway in this city of 18 million people (18 billion of whom were out for the evening). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Mark Twain once said, if<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you don’t like the weather in Beijing, just wait thirty minutes and it will change (maybe it was Peking or was it San Francisco, either way the proverb applies here too).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We left on a beautiful evening without rain coats and umbrellas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we got to the station where we came up from the bowels of the earth, we noticed distant flashes of lightning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Five minutes later, right before Yulia and Judy met us outside the subway entrance, the skies opened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It poured and we decided rather than trying to find the club that Yulia had been told of, we’d head back to the hotel through the dry subway. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Going back, hungry Leo and I stopped to eat at a small restaurant near the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was now pretty late and I didn’t want too much and tried to explain this to the waitress, ordering some Kung Po tofu with a bowl of rice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously, my attempt to ask for a small bowl was misunderstood and I ended up with only a bowl of rice!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was only 3 yuan or about 40 cent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They put our bill together and Leo readily offered to pick up the check and, if I’m not mistaken, said something about letting me pick up the check the next time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Early the next morning, we gathered in the lobby at 6:30 AM and walked over to the train station where we boarded the Trans-Mongolian Express for Ulaan Baatar (or Ulan Bator or Ulanbaatar, depending on which map you use, or as it is also affectionly known, UB), the capital of Mongolia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But before that adventure, we’d have to get through the border which, with a member of the group holding a laundered passport and others with bloated bladders, was going to present some challenges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stay tuned… </span></div><div closure_uid_oji4kt="276"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" 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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcpcn_OiWCAkpkMKWqujyNZdo-3IV7eFeFrQG6onVoZ2Jmr2kS47fu4dU8oQPYA9mEqGwGW73KXaLdc3PPA8eipgIuNyOrn8UxBNDZd-VKwt-cpXdO0UbcH6-_u1vRWBBOrRNkDdw6RyE0/s1600/china+trying+to+outdo+hollywood.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcpcn_OiWCAkpkMKWqujyNZdo-3IV7eFeFrQG6onVoZ2Jmr2kS47fu4dU8oQPYA9mEqGwGW73KXaLdc3PPA8eipgIuNyOrn8UxBNDZd-VKwt-cpXdO0UbcH6-_u1vRWBBOrRNkDdw6RyE0/s320/china+trying+to+outdo+hollywood.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When it comes to tacky eye-sores, Hollywood has nothing over China</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><br />
</div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-51810224475854378682011-08-10T12:58:00.000-07:002011-08-10T12:58:07.488-07:00Chengde (July 22-24, 2011)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">By the time I got to my hotel in Beijing on July 21, I was trying to figure out an exit strategy. It was going to be four more days till I was to meet up with a group from Intrepid Travel for the Trans-Siberian trip and I’d really only set my heart on seeing two things while in Beijing: the Great Wall and the Forbidden City. As a group, we’d all go to the Great Wall, and since I was meeting up with the group at 6 PM on the 25th, I figured that would give me a good day to see the Forbidden City along with Tiananmen Square and the accompanying oversized pictures of Mao. So I set my sights on Chengde, a city about 250 km northeast of the capital. Back during the times of the Qing Dynasty, the emperors would escape the heat and humid of the capital city by heading to a mountain summer resort there and, assuming if it was good enough for a Qing, it’d be good enough for me. I dropped my luggage at the hotel and went back to the Beijing station to see about tickets. <br />
<div closure_uid_ovwm7a="228" closure_uid_qf46kh="247" dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XuSyQmEfFfrM4ltr8-hmEo57XZQ93m-S417qmLf5gT3Z8Hx8xgrKX6CFjP2_e9KwFCC-PiQ-kzs-NJEV7fJyWF9W6KuwpBOkbtTYZvLLKtYC26wyfcRV0uS6DaMtAxdsD0XOsegATnyr/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XuSyQmEfFfrM4ltr8-hmEo57XZQ93m-S417qmLf5gT3Z8Hx8xgrKX6CFjP2_e9KwFCC-PiQ-kzs-NJEV7fJyWF9W6KuwpBOkbtTYZvLLKtYC26wyfcRV0uS6DaMtAxdsD0XOsegATnyr/s320/Slide1.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">There are 50 or 60 windows where one might buy tickets, but only one reserved for foreigners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having looked at the schedule, I knew there would be a morning air conditioned train to Chendge the next day and a hard class train that evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And on Sunday, the hard class train came back early and the soft-class came back in the evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My desire was to book the soft class trains, so I got into line and began my hour wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, I had my ipod and was listening to Carl Haissen’s book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nature Girl, </i>as I waited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I chuckled at a particularly funny part of the book, people looked at me strange.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously, I was having too much fun waiting in line.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">It turned out that I wasn’t able to get my first choice for tickets to Chengde.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Friday, they only had space on the hard class train, but it was only 17 yuan (less than $3).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Sunday, she would sell me a return ticket for the soft-class but it was without an assigned seat, meaning that I would have to stand, and cost 43 yuan or a little over 7 bucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought about my options for about 10 seconds and plopped down a 100 yuan note.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the tickets in hand, I went back to my hotel room and got on the internet and booked a private room at the Ming Dynasty hostel (which had newly opened in Chengde).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hostel was a little more than I’d been paying for hotels in Vietnam, around $20 a night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I added everything up, travel and accommodations to Chendge was going to save me about $100 over the price of staying in Beijing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even more valuable was the experience!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I boarded the train the next afternoon and found my seat. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The train was only about half full, but as we stop at the stations on the edge of Beijing, the cars quickly filled and before long its standing room only.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is padding on hard class seats, but not much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a straight-back bench with a maybe a ½ inch of padding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pull out a novel that I’d just started reading, Alistair MacLeod’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No Great Mischief. </i>Through the eyes of a 20<sup>th</sup> Century Orthodontist, MacLeod tells the story of a family of MacDonalds who leave the Scottish Highlands in the late 18<sup>th</sup> Century for the Canadian Maritimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in the heat, I only read for a few minutes before nodding off on the hard seats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m awakened a short while later by the conductor who asks for my ticket. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">A light drizzle accelerates the cool down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although my seat faced forward, half of the seats faced back and they were all positioned around small tables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting with me in the other three seats was a husband and wife and their son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They too were going to Chengde, but spoke no English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He, like most of the men on the train, had taken his shirt off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others, who still had their shirts on, pulled them up to expose and cool their bellies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is definitely a working class train, although I later meet a few students coming home for their summer break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the rest of the passengers work in Beijing and were going home for the weekend. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">There is no dining car on this train, but a railroad employee pushes a cart through the aisles selling all kinds of snacks as well as bowls of dried noodles, beer and soft drinks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I buy a bowl of noodles for dinner and go in search of the water boiler, which is located between the cars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m surprised to discover its burning chunks of coal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the water was boiling!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I add the hot water to my noodle bowl and fill my insulated cup into which I dropped in a tea bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Returning to my seat for dinner, I surprise my seatmates by pulling out chopsticks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man points to them smiling and gives me a “thumbs up.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxSpdNvo3BNFC-aeDcGCLQiSavrV6D2OtSoi8Z8ewSRKD4id8ByAhBKixaTkbikQXM_PJQGXpidoHrIIv4xT9Sa9QfJ3nTkOBWGVyLg6JnxUB4nU8Dv3n2iQwUMkmAoFnQh6QCDEP3hAo_/s1600/Slide3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxSpdNvo3BNFC-aeDcGCLQiSavrV6D2OtSoi8Z8ewSRKD4id8ByAhBKixaTkbikQXM_PJQGXpidoHrIIv4xT9Sa9QfJ3nTkOBWGVyLg6JnxUB4nU8Dv3n2iQwUMkmAoFnQh6QCDEP3hAo_/s320/Slide3.JPG" width="320px" /></a><span closure_uid_qf46kh="223" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The line between Beijing and Chengde is mountainous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots of coal is mined along this track and many of the towns nestled in these hollows could just as easily be in West Virginia, Pennsylvania, or Eastern Kentucky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The train makes frequent stops and those who now worked in Beijing get off the train, taking with them their suitcases or backpacks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In contrast, many of the passengers who board at these coal towns carried their belongings in large homemade bags of canvas or denim, with tops secured with rope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Riding in this hard-seat class train provides me a different view of China than my trip up from Vietnam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not everywhere is prosperous in this vast country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">As darkness falls, I go from looking out the window to reading my book about a Highlander clan struggling to make a life in Canada.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It couldn’t be a more dissimilar world, or maybe not for the narrator and his brothers find themselves working for a time in the mines of Northern Ontario.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The train is running late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our arrival is scheduled for 10:40 PM, but about 10 PM, we pull onto a siding and sit for over an hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after going down the line for two stops, we pull over again to let several trains pass us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s well after midnight when we arrive in Chengde.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Ming Dynasty Hostel is advertised to be only a ten minute walk from the train station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 11 PM, I’d called to say the train is late and I debate taking a cab, but decide it might be easier just to walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There directions are simple and the proprietor along with several of the guests are still up when I knock on the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJU_ELl3eonjWMDafa0x1lj3CcUxhteUBYYUmuumTVbFz3O2kvnr0lgsUEg-oe_ywzMVtTLNSzZZkH6iP0UC74ikzk8x1yocds-dGg74VYM7Yb8Bd9iDYmdkPkOgnWWjZKGAVDDgpj7HPj/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJU_ELl3eonjWMDafa0x1lj3CcUxhteUBYYUmuumTVbFz3O2kvnr0lgsUEg-oe_ywzMVtTLNSzZZkH6iP0UC74ikzk8x1yocds-dGg74VYM7Yb8Bd9iDYmdkPkOgnWWjZKGAVDDgpj7HPj/s320/Slide2.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The next morning, I take the local bus to the Summer Resort built in the Yanshan Mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much of this resort was built in the early 18<sup>th</sup> Century and is a reminder of how well the Emperor and his family lived, as well as museums that now fill official halls, which are dedicated to various Chinese crafts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The resort is surrounded by large walls and filled with pagodas and temples and places designed to stir the soul with nature’s beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One could spend days walking all the trails inside the walled resort (a trail that runs along the inside of the wall is over 10 km) and still need a few days to see the temples that are in the mountains to the east of the resort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_ovwm7a="254" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxLl24uPKq_N1PKfshsgfhdieV5y1cFLHJCjs2gPA7yTTaX1-Aru3a-tHE9z14Q4q5b0X3r-q-tsLp0GPGo7TniQQo-TMOrikHUgCJiUlOQl_HEbxK5zQPnA8F8vqoKQkiPKAgBaCvv6a0/s320/chengde+friends.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="215px" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Friends" outside a pagoda</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">I first tour the halls at the main gate, where guests met with the Emperor and business was conducted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, many of these halls which are surrounded by large courtyards and shaded by pines, are museums and shops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interestingly, in one of the shops there are unique playing cards that include pictures of the Summer Resort and various Emperors as well as Chairman Mao, Playboy Bunnies, Marylyn Monroe and Michael Jackson!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is also an exhibit of the shame the late-Qing Dynasty brought on China when they sold out the country to European powers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the site of the Zhuyuan Temple, which was the largest within the resort, we’re told that the temple made of bronze was stolen by the Japanese during the Second World War and turned into weapons. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re reminded in a plaque that also includes an English translation, that “weakness means becoming a victim.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the late Qing Dynasty signed one-sided treaties, the early years of this dynasty are celebrated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one hall, there are many poems written by several generations of emperors who found much happiness at this site.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although no connection was made (that I saw) between their happiness and the hall in which they penned their poems, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to make the link between the emperor’s happiness and the hall in which he wrote poem sand also selected concubines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reading about the multi-functional use of this hall had me wondering if the Empress ever figured out what the Emperor was really doing when he said he was going to write some poetry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was also reminded of a line in a Garrison Keillor novel, that men only write poetry in order to seduce women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">After an hour or so in the halls, with my mind going in all the wrong directions, I leave the buildings and slowly walk around the east side of the resort, stopping to pause at the many pavilions, temples, pagodas and gardens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their names entice the senses and I stop frequently to enjoy the beauty: Moonlight and Gargling Water, Waterside Hall for Enjoying Lotus, Lakeside Hall for Enjoying Fragrance, Garden of Spring Scenery, Temple of Everlasting Blessings (my favorite pagoda), Myriad Tress Garden, A House for Enjoying Clouds and Water, The Sound of Two Springs, Watching Fishes on Rock, Misty-Rain Tower, Clear Water with Green Mountains, A Chamber for Enjoying Coolness, Lotus in Sunshine…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the afternoon slipping away,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I leave the resort and walk back to the hostel (it’s only a couple of kilometers, stopping at a grocery store where I am finally able to find more tea in bags (I was beginning to think the phrase, “all the tea in China” was a joke) and coffee packs for my upcoming days on the train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pass several barber/beauty shops and decide it is time to get my beard trimmed. The first place has a long line and the second place doesn’t seem interested, shaking their heads no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The third place I enter, a guy agrees but then approaches me with a straight edge razor and I jump up out of the chair saying no, no, no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then point to a set of clippers and indicate the length.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He laughs, understands, and does a nice job of trimming my beard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He only charges 10 yuan and I offer a tip, but he refuses and asks me if instead he could have a dollar bill (showing me a photo on his computer).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I give him a dollar bill and he takes it and shows it others in the shop, and displays it in the corner of the mirror behind his chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All together, my beard trim cost $2.50.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">As I approached the hostel, I stopped in a nice looking restaurant where no one spoke any English, but I managed to get myself a spicy dinner of rice, mystery meat (some things are best not known) and a beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back at the hostel, I talk to the proprietors for a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had hoped to find a church, but they did not know of any in Chengde.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They know there are house churches, where only Chinese is spoken, but don’t know of any of their actually meeting places.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hostel had only been open for a few months and they say I’m the second guest who tried to find a church, the first being a couple of guys from Nigeria.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then used their computers to get onto Facebook and to post onto Blogger (sites that are blocked by the Great Chinese Firewall). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The next morning, the Lord’s Day, I read the Scriptures and worked some on my blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At noon, I walked up to the train station and stopped at a noodle place where I had a very “Vietnamese style” noodle lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After which I found the waiting area for my train and a few minutes later was ushered out onto the platform where I learned the truth about not having an assigned seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a least twenty others in my car without a seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Standing only meant just that!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a couple of stops, there are many more of us standing as sitting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, this train only takes 4 hours to make the run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even after we arrive at Beijing Main, there are still twenty or so of us standing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Chengde seems like a small town in comparison to Beijing, but as I take the train out of town, I realize that even here, there is a building boom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There must be 20 or 30 large cranes working on high rises on the west side of town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The air is still quite hazy, a combination of humidity and smog that it seems will never go away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside of town, the tracks run through a series of long tunnels and when we break out of the tunnels, we’re back in coal country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">A thunderstorm is threatening as we come into the Beijing station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hoist my pack on and walked fast, out of the station and across the walkway over the highway and down the block to the Harmony Hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lightning is popping as I walked through the front doors of the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moments later, the skies open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the safety of my room, I watch the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wait a couple of hours before I venture out for dinner.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">On Monday, I learn this was one of the worst storms in Beijing in years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The storm had also caused a terrible train wreck, shutting down the Beijing to Shanghai high speed line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lightning had knocked out a section of the power lines, stopping a train. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another train, not realizing there was a stranded train and speeding through the blinded rain, rammed into the back of the stuck train, killing many people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" closure_uid_qf46kh="302" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE2d1D8LVRZvhJX2kMC0TsGOsND-otLWST8AYFQ7NMC_5gArY_rtk9mFS9hJ95gfeGag4rE8pNY9WPJySimDB9IHttEBr2UZZXYbQZeoHVKwTOOg0dtZmpCne1eGISkhpp61M8D2ioFVvQ/s1600/chengde+lake+house.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE2d1D8LVRZvhJX2kMC0TsGOsND-otLWST8AYFQ7NMC_5gArY_rtk9mFS9hJ95gfeGag4rE8pNY9WPJySimDB9IHttEBr2UZZXYbQZeoHVKwTOOg0dtZmpCne1eGISkhpp61M8D2ioFVvQ/s320/chengde+lake+house.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A pavilion overlooking the lake</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div></div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-35101381554593630922011-08-09T01:17:00.000-07:002011-08-09T01:17:04.437-07:00Hanoi to Beijing (July 19-21, 2011)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkZ-hGCKUN1NxQKTA2b81yQzqn2Au2henPPuppo-VfsUUmRCQt-kh36rM1aB64Cv6028DtgqHd5C__FS2qQCLxCfUIFK6SvVUtSft9Ja37HyPyZGHYlXXuPX-XIfvu8cojH2BUbW0IwLE/s1600/a+hanoi+train.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="197px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkZ-hGCKUN1NxQKTA2b81yQzqn2Au2henPPuppo-VfsUUmRCQt-kh36rM1aB64Cv6028DtgqHd5C__FS2qQCLxCfUIFK6SvVUtSft9Ja37HyPyZGHYlXXuPX-XIfvu8cojH2BUbW0IwLE/s320/a+hanoi+train.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our train from Hanoi to the Chinese border</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri; font-size: xx-small;">I am now in Moscow and way behind on publishing here!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I arrived in Beijing with excitement and apprehension.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d enjoyed my time in Vietnam and wasn’t really keen on having to learn a new country, with its language and customs, electrical plugs and monetary system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Furthermore, having heard complaints about China’s dominance of Asia ever since I’d arrived in Malaysia, I felt as if I was entering the beast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pulled into the Beijing West station on time, a little after noon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone was in a rush to get off the train, so I took my time and was unable to tell the folks in the cabin behind mine goodbye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nor did I get to tell the Mongolian guy goodbye, as he was rushing to catch a bus to Uaanbaatar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was by myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leaving the train, I made my way into the platform, looking for signs to the subway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hotel was across the street from Beijing’s main station (from where the Trans-Mongolian Train departs).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the Beijing West station, there were almost no signs in English or with a familiar alphabet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Furthermore, nobody at the information or police booths spoke English and everyone seemed to be such in a hurry that I was unable to find someone to speak English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were many people in front of the station trying to sell maps, but they were all in Chinese.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was getting frustrated. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized how a Chinese might feel in America (but I also think that in many American transportation hubs, there are more signs in Chinese than there were English signs in this Beijing train station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This, I should point out, wasn’t my experience in the subways or at Beijing’s main station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wandered around the station and then out in front of the massive station, lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, I saw a Westerner (an American from Seattle) and asked him if he knew how I should get to the main station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told me that there was no subway at the West station, and pointed to a distant hotel and said the subway was around behind that building, maybe 500 meters away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said that once I found the subway entrance, it was easy (take Line 1 to Line 2 and get off at the Beijing Main station).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The station I was looking for was named “Military Museum.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never found it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I ended up at the subway entrance beyond the Military Museum one and learned that because of a highway project, there was sheet metal hiding the subway entrances (a helpful guy at a cell phone store helped me and some Chinese find the secret passage into the subway).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, once inside the subway, it was fairly easy to navigate. For only two yuan (30 cent),I could go anywhere in Beijing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few minutes later, I popped up from the subway in front of the massive Beijing Main station and found myself at the Harmony Hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The longest train journey of the trip (so far) had come to a successful ending.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My departure from Hanoi had been interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About an hour before the train to Beijing was to leave, the “International Waiting Room” opened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hauled my pack into the room and sat down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The room was furnished with large over-sized carved wooden chairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone of the fifty or so chairs could have served as a throne.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as nice as they looked, they were terribly uncomfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing I’d have plenty of time to sit over the next two days, I dropped my stuff and walked around the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few women came in and a large Asian man, but they all kept to themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About thirty minutes before the train was to depart, an Australian came in wearing an cap for the rock group AC/DC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked if this was the train for China. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him I hoped so and he asked if I could watch his bags while he runs out and gets some noodles for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He got back right as an attendant was calling for us to board.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were only three passengers (an Asian, an Australian and an American).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the women was one of five railroad workers on the train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what happened to the other women in the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The attendant led the three of us out of the waiting room and by a longer train that was next to the platform.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Down the tracks, long after the platform ended and the weeds began, was single coach attached to a beat up locomotive that looked to have experienced the worst of the Vietnam War.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the train to Dong Dang, the Vietnamese town on the Chinese border.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Graham, the Aussie, and I were sharing a compartment (designed for four people) and the Mongolian had his own compartment next to ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few minutes later, right on time, the train pulled out of the station.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Trying to get a lay of the land, I walked around the car and discovered that the back door was open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went back and got my camera and informed Graham, but the light was fading fast and I didn’t get any good shots before one of our attendants discovered the open door and shut it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Graham and I went back to our compartment and talked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thirty minutes or so later, while the train was waiting on a siding, the power unit on the car started to make an awful racket. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was almost unbearable, but when it finally stopped, the lights went out as well as the air conditioning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The attendants were running around, but obviously none of them were electricians or mechanics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unable to get the unit back running, they gave us a battery powered lamp to sit on the table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d be leaving Vietnam in the dark!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Graham and I talked for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A veterinarian who’d spent his career with the Australian government, he’d recently retired and was on a month long train trip that had begun in Saigon and was to take him across the old silk route to Europe where he planned to attend a heavy metal concert in Hamburg and then continue on by train to Portugal, which he figured was the longest possible train ride he could do without backtracking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At some point, I dozed off, only to be awaken by the train attendant who said to get ready to get off the train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At Dong Dang, we got off with our baggage and were led into a building where our passports were examined by Vietnamese officials.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Graham and I didn’t have a problem and was soon on a waiting Chinese train (with two cars).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They took a little more time with the Mongolian man, who I later learned was in the import business, buying food from Vietnam for Mongolia, which he shipped in containers over the railroad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Chinese train was nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only did its lights and air conditioning unit work, there was a pot of hot water under the table between the bunks and the table is covered with cloth and upon which are cups.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bunks were comfortable as seats (Vietnam’s sleeper cards didn’t have back rests).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After waiting for a while in our new comfortable cabin, the train moved a bit down the line and we stopped again as Chinese officials boarded and asked for our passports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the custom guys came on and asked to see our baggage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They point randomly at our bags, having us open them as they dig through the contents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a little worried when the first thing he had me to open was the compartment on my pack that contained a bag of syringes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m diabetic,” I said and the custom official asked, “Insulin?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, and I showed him the cooling pack where my insulin was stored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked at the packaging on the vial of insulin I’d just purchased in Hanoi, nodded and turned his attention to Graham’s bags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then the most interesting thing happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the custom officials, a young man who was in the military, came into our compartment and asked if he could sit down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In near flawless English, he asked who we were and where we came from and what kind of work we did and where we’d traveled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We answered him, both of us being a little vague as we were unsure if it was an official part of the entry and he was fishing for information or if he just wanted to chat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He then started complaining that because he was in the Chinese army, he can’t freely travel and said that he hoped when he was our age and done with the military, he would still be in good shape like we were and able to travel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am sure he was trying to be complimentary, but I felt as if he’d just called the two of us a “couple old farts.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The whole bordering crossing took a couple of hours and it was nearly two in the morning when we finally got back underway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our new Chinese attendant informed us through sign language that we had to be ready to get off the train at 6 AM when we got into Nanning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was going to be a short night and sure enough, a little after 6:30 AM (we got an extra half hour sleep), he woke us up and told us we’d have to leave the train for a couple hours, but we could leave our luggage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took my day pack and the three of us were herded into a station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div closure_uid_upmu2="144"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMGJsIkqEHv9uYig39fHg0zSXqCPMh2uMdunnK4My2jkX8DOz_nKZp9H4e9PyPMxirOiBJeoryQpv6zpPWTcViWV65IYFz3Qu9XYdACIQRrvJYJnUedEOTnmjIXSRBqsEfe7GEcKgUrA6/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMGJsIkqEHv9uYig39fHg0zSXqCPMh2uMdunnK4My2jkX8DOz_nKZp9H4e9PyPMxirOiBJeoryQpv6zpPWTcViWV65IYFz3Qu9XYdACIQRrvJYJnUedEOTnmjIXSRBqsEfe7GEcKgUrA6/s320/Slide1.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><div closure_uid_upmu2="221"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had been unable to exchange money at the Hanoi station before leaving, so I asked the attendant who’d taken us to the “Soft Seat Waiting Room” if there was an ATM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She pointed across the street (one with five or six lanes of traffic in each direction) and gave me a pass and told me that I had to be back in an hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found way across the street and finally found an ATM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t working…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt a little naked walking around the streets without any Chinese money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I continued my search and was told of another ATM a little further down and sure enough, it was working and I was able to withdraw money in Chinese yuan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the way back to the train, I picked up some fruit and bread and another large bottle of drinking water, enough to carry me through the next thirty hours on the train.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When they led us back to the train, it had grown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of the two cars that had come up from the border, there were about twenty cars including a diner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as we boarded, a hoard of others came out running onto the platform to join the train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>China, at least in their main stations, holds everyone in waiting areas until the train is on the platform and then checks their tickets as they allow them access to the platform where the train is waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the morning, we travel through southern China, passing by farms of rice and corn that’s dotted with sugarloaf limestone hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Construction is ongoing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throughout the countryside, there is work on a high speed line that runs to the south, its tracks mostly elevated, as well as new highway projects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the cities, cranes dot the skyline as new apartment and office buildings reach up into the heavens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One wonders where the country gets all it concrete and Graham informs me that China’s building boom has been a blessing to the Australian mining and steel industries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything is hazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure if it is the humidity (which is high) or smog, but I have a feeling it is a combination of both.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At lunch, Graham and I head down to the dining car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waiter brings over a special menu in which someone had written in pencil the English words over the Chinese characters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I order pork with garlic sauce for 40 yuan ($1.30).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Graham had brought in his own beer that he’d purchased when the train stopped in Liazhou.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another waiter, obviously the bar tender, asked if I wanted a beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turns out that there is only one kind being served today, Pabst Blue Ribbon!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know they still made the stuff (it seems that on Chinese trains, there is only one kind of beer sold and it is often a foreign brand, for on the train from Beijing to Mongolia, it was Heineken).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we come back after lunch, we discover that our attendant had locked our compartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thereafter, whenever we leave for any significant time, we tell him and he locks the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The attendant also keeps the bathrooms cleaner than any I’ve seen on a train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple times a day, he steps into our compartment to sweep up any mess and to empty our trash.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After lunch, I watched the train move through more of the limestone hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Graham and I talk about trains we’ve taken as well as other topics such as music (blues and rock) as well as religion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stopped for a few minutes in Gullin and get off onto the platform.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they released the hoard to board the train, everyone runs out onto the platform and toward their cars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Graham and I back away to make room and we watch an attractive and well-dressed Chinese woman in four inch heels trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It must have hurt and her husband has to help hold her up as they make their way down the tracks to their waiting car, her hobbling and holding onto his shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCtk3lHsyaPNMBYub0k9OeyY9YKNvMS48T8gLTNEMFX8ViEO2jKg1CnAYAwuEfZ0ZQtKQcZoxDKV52pGhkriYgthPsVWz35ai7C2K10_tivB8KDwK0_K0PHEO0AK7HFAZYTIrLyqAsq_oq/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCtk3lHsyaPNMBYub0k9OeyY9YKNvMS48T8gLTNEMFX8ViEO2jKg1CnAYAwuEfZ0ZQtKQcZoxDKV52pGhkriYgthPsVWz35ai7C2K10_tivB8KDwK0_K0PHEO0AK7HFAZYTIrLyqAsq_oq/s320/Slide2.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">By Longshiter, the limestone hills that have been a part of the scenery on and off since Thailand, have disappeared and the landscape flattens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pass a military train, loaded with half-tracks and trucks on flat-cars as well as a large number of coaches where I assume soldiers are riding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take a nap and read some in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Way of the Pilgrim, </i>a book on prayer by an anonymous Russian Orthodox author who travels around Siberia in the 19<sup>th</sup> Century. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cyclops had given me the book when I was in Penang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our reservation for dinner is at 6:30 and from the dining car, we watch a fiery red sun drop behind the Jiannng River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a chicken and rice dish with a plate of greens.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After dinner, I spend some time with a family in the compartment behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’d boarded in Nanning and their son and I had joked and played several times throughout the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mother, who teaches Chinese to Middle School Students, speaks a little English and is excited that I can understand some of what she is saying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She and her husband are taking their son (who is 7) along with her niece (who is 13) to Beijing to see the Great Wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are living on the southeastern coast, in Fangchenggang, but she grew up in a town on the river that borders Vietnam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d never been in Vietnam and this is their first trip to Beijing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I show them a photograph of my family and they take a photo of me with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" closure_uid_upmu2="318" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIpH8e81iMQPsMDc5dbSrbpW5n2gIGNSAENrFqu5CWtYSLzngKSINFUElwtOEiLf9iofbP55lLUUVCXtgzxScTmSkgsVRtF5a32_6e-3_sstZvhPIFJQZ_OjbcIsAprcISuxhH1OCysE9x/s1600/a+family.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIpH8e81iMQPsMDc5dbSrbpW5n2gIGNSAENrFqu5CWtYSLzngKSINFUElwtOEiLf9iofbP55lLUUVCXtgzxScTmSkgsVRtF5a32_6e-3_sstZvhPIFJQZ_OjbcIsAprcISuxhH1OCysE9x/s1600/a+family.JPG" t$="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" closure_uid_upmu2="318" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The next morning, there is a knock on the door at 5 AM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the attendant saying that Graham’s stop is coming up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d thought he was getting off at 7 AM, but instead gets off before dawn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I help him get his stuff out to the platform.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has most of the morning to kill and in the afternoon is taking a high speed line to Xian, where he’ll stay overnight and have his first shower since leaving Australian four days earlier!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just been the two of us in our four person berth the whole way and I’ll have the berth by myself the rest of the way to Beijing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of going back to sleep, I read and catch up on my journal as I watch the sun rise through the haze and smog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 7, I head to the dining car for breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have bowl of porridge along with some rolls, pickled peppers and a boiled egg and coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later, I finish reading <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Way of a Pilgrim</i>, and reread the package of information from Intrepid about my trans-Siberian trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is that at this point I realize I had been thinking I needed to be in Beijing a day earlier than I actually needed to be there and am a little upset with myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could have taken the train three days later from Hanoi and spent time in Sapa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I vow to make the best of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pull into our station, Beijing West, right on time.</span></div><div class="separator" closure_uid_upmu2="318" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVwTJz_3vgElVZ1GjfUo3PieeRgRZ3bQe4yvCA4xChl9c5J7Zlve8_Ln_mcq36bflV2q7ql-YagNpT7uPk6KlnpzmD9HLAP9x-xt9r6rt0M1EQ_bwBR6XAGBHPii5ze0Eq7vZ25a2cRP4/s1600/China+modern.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVwTJz_3vgElVZ1GjfUo3PieeRgRZ3bQe4yvCA4xChl9c5J7Zlve8_Ln_mcq36bflV2q7ql-YagNpT7uPk6KlnpzmD9HLAP9x-xt9r6rt0M1EQ_bwBR6XAGBHPii5ze0Eq7vZ25a2cRP4/s1600/China+modern.JPG" t$="true" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Everything seems desirable to us from a distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we all find out by experience that everyplace, though it may have its advantages, has drawbacks too.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anonymous, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Way of the Pilgrim, </i>page 194.</span></div><div class="separator" closure_uid_upmu2="318" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-20461075750475016222011-08-04T00:38:00.000-07:002011-08-04T00:38:04.930-07:00Hanoi (July 14, 17-19, 2011)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div closure_uid_s7ekp1="167">My first impression of Hanoi wasn’t very good. But then, it was 4 AM and raining when I got off the train from Hue. It would be another four hours before I could see about purchasing a ticket on the bi-weekly train for Beijing, so I found a seat in the lobby and spent time writing (at first with the computer and then longhand when my battery began to die. At 6 AM, the woman who rented out the storage lockers came in and for 10,000 dong (50 cent) I was able to lock up my backpack and head out into the streets for breakfast. It was a nasty looking morning, a light drizzle and very gray. I found a coffee shop and had a cup along with some noodles. Then I returned to the station to wait some more. My hopes rose when I then ticket counter clerks started appearing a little after 7 AM, but they all first ate breakfast at their desk before they opened for business and beside, I could only buy the “international” ticket at window 11 (or was it 14?). As school is out and this is a busy time in both China and Vietnam for trains, and I needing to get to Beijing to hook up with a group on the Trans-Siberian train on July 25, I had no choice but to wait. </div><div closure_uid_s7ekp1="167"><br />
</div>Not watching, a tour operator was standing behind me and as soon as the woman opened her window, he jumped in front and proceeded to buy some 40 tickets… I thought he’d never be done, but I was wise and as he finished, what appeared to be a cabbie came up to buy tickets (they often do this service for people), but I was now wiser and quicker and just about tripped him as I pushed him aside. He wasn’t going to have any of that and I was debating giving him an elbow when the woman behind the counter spoke to him n Vietnamese. I’m not sure what she was saying, but I think it had something to do with minding his manners as he hung his head and went to the back of the line (that was now growing). As it turned out, getting a ticket wasn’t a problem. But I didn’t have enough money. I thought I did, but since you can only take 2 million dong per transaction out of most ATMs and this ticket cost a little over 7 million (It sounds like I’m a big-time spender, but that’s only $350), I found myself about a million short (the tickets had gone up about 1.5 million dong from what I’d expected). I had to go to the ATM and get another wad of 100,000 dong notes. The woman saved my stuff and called me up as soon as I came back and after showing my passport (to prove I had a valid Chinese visa), she sold me the ticket.<br />
<br />
I had thought about heading down to the coast on the 9 AM train, but by the time I was done with the ticket, it was almost 9 AM and that train left from a different station, so I decided to forgo going to the bay and find a place to stay in Hanoi. I had a map that identified a number of mini-hotels and (putting on my raingear including pack covers, I ventured out and found a xe om to take me to the “old quarter” where I hoped to find lodging. I was assuming I’d have to stash my bags till the afternoon, but the first place I walked into (Thu Giang Guesthouse) had a room with a private bath and air conditioning for $10 a night. And I could move in right away and not have to wait to 2 or 3 PM. So I jumped on it. It wasn’t as nice as my room at been at Hoi An or Saigon, but it was comfortable and clean and the service made it an incredible deal. Giang (which means Autumn River) managed the property for her father. She spoke perfect English and was very helpful. <br />
I had one important piece of business to accomplish in Hanoi: replenish my insulin supply. I’d brought enough insulin from the States (and had been able to keep it in refrigeration through Singapore), but the “advertised” shelf life once it is at room temperature is only 30 days (it’ll last longer, but I wasn’t sure how much longer, and I didn’t want to gamble with not having a fresh supply when what I brought stopped controlling my sugar levels.) I asked Giang about finding insulin. She made it a special project. She gave me directions to a hospital where she was sure I could find some insulin, but they said they didn’t have it and gave me an address and phone number of another place. Giang called them and found that it wasn’t a pharmacy (as I’d thought), but a medical supply place. She then suggested she go with me to the hospital to translate. On our way, we passed a large pharmacy and we both agreed that we should try them. They didn’t have the insulin that I used in the United States, but had different products. I wrote the information down (and took photos) and emailed them to my physician who did some research and emailed me back, telling me that it should work and how much of the product I should take and when. On my last day in Hanoi, I purchased a vial of insulin (a mixture of slow and rapid acting) along with a wad of needles. The insulin (Mixtard 30) cost 230,000 dong for a vial (a month’s supply) or $21, about a quarter of my insurance co-pay cost in the United States. When I got back to the hotel, I opened and looked at the needles. They were really thick and longer than what I normally use. I tested one and figured I could use them, but when I found another pharmacy with regular insulin syringes, I replaced the oversized ones. After all, they’re cheap, 1,000 dong each (that’s 21 for a dollar)! <br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbtHfBLARKF0nHZcWE775eAUoeKz37n_8TO1nxdsMZmAyUaCrqwC1bwmTBnqNKu9mEN_BYQN2SH7M8DbjsXAHStIT3DIiqrKevhaSdNaFCo-zRjh34okz9wBLskhJOlSPglEJg0N_e5bP8/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbtHfBLARKF0nHZcWE775eAUoeKz37n_8TO1nxdsMZmAyUaCrqwC1bwmTBnqNKu9mEN_BYQN2SH7M8DbjsXAHStIT3DIiqrKevhaSdNaFCo-zRjh34okz9wBLskhJOlSPglEJg0N_e5bP8/s320/Slide1.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I stayed at the Thu Giang Guesthouse for only one night before departing for Ha Long Bay (see previous entry).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After I came back from the Bay, I rebooked myself into the house that sits in an alley just a few blocks from the main business area of Hanoi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon arriving back from Ha Long Bay, I dropped my stuff off and hired an xe om to take me to West Lake (a place Marie suggested had beautiful sunsets).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking at a map, I decided to head to Tran Quoc Pagoda, which is located on a small island off the causeway that crosses the southeast end of the lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Pagoda was beautiful, a brick structure with 11 levels, each level featuring six Buddhas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sunset wasn’t as nice as a cloudbank in the west destroyed the view.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards, I took a xe om back to the area near the guesthouse, where I went out for a bowl of pho bo (beef noodles) for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a place just two blocks away that Giang had showed me that this was the only dish they served and it was 50,000 dong ($2.50) but it was a large filling bowl with mint and cabbage and peanuts added to the roasted beef and rice noodles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, I met Helen, an Australian who had moved to Vietnam with her husband’s job and now runs a NGO (the Blue Dragon) for street children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was shocked when she (to my surprise as I didn’t understand what she was saying in Vietnamese to the waitress) paid my bill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the day after arriving back from Ha Long Bay, I signed up for another tour to the Perfume Pagoda, one of Vietnam’s holiest places, located about 75 km south of Hanoi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, it was easier to pay a tour company than to try to get there myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Giang suggested a $19 tour, less than most of the others I’d seen priced at $25.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now is a good time to describe the operations of these tours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was to be ready at 8 AM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came down for breakfast at 7:30 AM, enjoying an omelet, French bread, watermelon and coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few minutes after 8, the tour guide into the lobby of the guesthouse and introduced himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I followed him back down through the ally, as he collected a couple other tourists from another guesthouse down the alley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All this while, the driver was circling the block in the mini-bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were already a half a dozen on the bus when we piled in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We then drove to another part of the Old Quarter where the guide ran around collecting tourist while the driver circled around the block.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we drove around, I noticed something I’d seen in other cities in Vietnam and Cambodia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each blocked seemed to be dedicated to a particular type of enterprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one block, you can find plumbing supplies, on another there is lumber, another has hardware, or electrical or kitchen equipment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There appears to be sections of the Old Quarter and French Quarter designed for the manufacture of stainless steel products such as facets, railings and even hat racks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most all the shops look alike and appear to have the same products.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would seem that they would be too much competition or that it might be better to locate a store nearer to the costumer, but that isn’t the case.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgII-9QggWLYC-x7Eptda_1CMuM0hsBK8Q1INaCOaUDVYnuseKRk_i5gq7BbmvUIpfJPCcn2LgCnXl25wyo91hK5HI5NoJ0XBu8at9C4LXbGFNGeUzuN0MJuEqPkhoZUJ9oc_9Z3P1drIK9/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgII-9QggWLYC-x7Eptda_1CMuM0hsBK8Q1INaCOaUDVYnuseKRk_i5gq7BbmvUIpfJPCcn2LgCnXl25wyo91hK5HI5NoJ0XBu8at9C4LXbGFNGeUzuN0MJuEqPkhoZUJ9oc_9Z3P1drIK9/s320/Slide2.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like most visitors to the Perfume Pagoda, we stopped a ways north of the site and were loaded onto metal boats, six tourists to a craft, and ferried down river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the odd man out, I was loaded onto a boat of Koreans, a couple of who spoke a little English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was beautiful trip going down river, with the sun bright and hot and burning through the morning haze; however, we could hear distant thunder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the Korean women loaned me a fan and then gave me instructions on how to hold it properly so that it wouldn’t collapse in my hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of them produced umbrellas for shade, while a Vietnamese woman in a bamboo hat sat at the back of the boat and rowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The youngest of the Koreans, whom I assumed was the daughter of one of the two couples, spent the whole time talking to the Vietnamese woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was impressed with her grasp of the language and on the way back asked the couple (the man spoke a little English) where their daughter had learned Vietnamese.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turned out that she was his husband and was Vietnamese and the woman was his mother!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Along the river were rice paddies and other fields of aquatic plants such as morning glory, with an occasional limestone hill rising sharply above the plains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Insects hummed and birds chirped and searched the water and banks for food. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the pagoda, we disembarked and, after a lunch that was included in the trip price, began the climb to the top.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were only a dozen or so boats bringing in tourist, but during the festivals (from February through April), there are hoards of pilgrims and along the river bank were probably a thousand boats waiting for better days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we hiked up the 330 meter climb, we were welcomed by the few vendors out, all who were anxious for business, offering to sell everything from water and drinks (water, beer, juice, soda) to t-shirts and souvenirs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, most of the vendor stalls were empty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had three hours to explore the various grottos and pagodas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was expecting a regular pagoda, a multi-storied tower, and was surprised to discover a natural “pagoda” of limestone in a huge cave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside, it was cool and damp inside and the smoke of incense gave a haze to everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Walking down from the top, I talked with a young French girl who’d come to Vietnam as a volunteer in an orphanage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were 17 of them in total and eight of them on the trip to the pagoda.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were feeling they had been taken advantage of as there were only 25 children in the orphanage and nothing really for them to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So they were alternating days spent in the orphanage with trips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She seemed upset (and for good reason) for it appeared the group who’d organized the volunteer trip was only interested in their money and not in helping the children.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After exploring the mountain and the various pagodas (including some more traditional ones that are at the base of the mountain), we prepared to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we were walking toward the launch, the skies opened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rain was so hard that water came down the path in waves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took shelter in an empty vendor stall as the few vendors still around came around to sell us ponchos (about a dollar each).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were quickly purchased by those without raincoats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the confusion, several other vendors came over with drinks for sale and I asked one how much for a beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“20,000 dong,” she said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked through my wad of bills for the correct bill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I only had small bills or larger bills, so I produced a 50,000 dong bill ($2.50).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She acted like it was the correct change and quickly stuck it between other bills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked for change and she shook her head, saying 20,000 dong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You cheat and I’ll leave it to karma,” I said, not wanting to make a big scene over $1.50.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interestingly, with monetary conversions and a general unfamiliarity with the language and customs, it was amazing more people didn’t try to take advantage of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I found that most people were more than honest, even giving me back change when I wasn’t expecting it or pointing to the correct note of a lesser value when I would get confused and hand them a note of a larger denomination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When the rain slowed, our boat women (all but one of those on the oars were women) bailed out the water and we began to load the boats, riding back in the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even with rain jackets and ponchos, we got wet and chilled.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Early on my last day in Hanoi, I visited Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was shocked at the crowds and the security.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The soldiers around the mausoleum were sharply dressed and serious, like our military personnel who stand guard at the Tomb for the Unknown Soldier at the cemetery in Arlington, across the Potomac from Washington, DC. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had to check bags, all then be scanned, all to see a guy that’s been dead for forty years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The line snaked around the mausoleum and they kept it moving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we finally went inside, the air conditioning felt good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were able to walk around 3 sides of Uncle Ho who was sitting in bed, looking very much dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The preservation of Ho’s body was a gift from the Russians (who’d done the same thing to Lenin’s) and is ironic since Ho himself had asked to be cremated and have is ashes split into three parts, with some buried in the north, some in the central section and the rest in the southern part of Vietnam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After seeing his body, I walked around the compound and museums; seeing where Ho lived and worked (he lived in a three room house next to the large colonial governor’s mansion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ho is seen everywhere in Vietnam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even saw him in parody, when in Saigon, on a t-shirt that was made up as a KFC advertisement, with Uncle Ho replacing Colonel Sanders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two do share a certain resemblance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After visiting Ho’s place, I headed over toward Hoan Kien Lake, the main business district in Hanoi, to mail some post cards and find lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along the way, I stopped by the Hanoi Cathedral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Catholicism is stronger in the South, there are many churches in the north (and from the looks of their buildings, they appear to have been left-over from the French era).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d also found in Hanoi a Protestant Church that was only a few blocks from my hotel, and had spoken briefly to the pastor (but his English was only slightly better than my Vietnamese).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I was at Ha Long Bay on Sunday, I was unable to attend services.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hoan Kien Lake is smaller than West Lake, but more historic with legends that links it to the finding of Hanoi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant on the south side of the lake, and spent time in the park like setting writing post cards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My final thing to see in Hanoi was the Blue Dragon, a street children’s rescue mission in one of the poorer areas of Hanoi (the poorer area is kind of like New Orleans’s 9<sup>th</sup> Ward, and is located in a flood plain along the Red River).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This NGO that was started by Australians and receives support from schools and churches as well as other relief agencies around the world, provides a safe haven for both street children as well as does rescue work of trafficked children who work in sweat shops (mainly in the South).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d met Helen, the manager of the organization, at a noodle shop my first evening in Hanoi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d talked for a few minutes and she’d surprised me by paying for my bowl of noodles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I expressed interest in seeing her organization, she arranged for me to visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>James, an Englishman who is in charge of Public Relations, met me and showed me around (they don’t allow photos to be taken of the children for obvious reasons).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He explained their work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The site included offices (as they do work throughout Vietnam) as well as a drop in center where there were two dozen or so children were actively engaged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some were playing together; others were being tutored in their reading center. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the Blue Dragon’s main goals is to get children back into school and they provide remedial help to get children back to grade level so they can resume their schooling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each child involved in the center has an individual plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those without parents (or runaways, which is becoming more of a problem) are housed in a shelter, while others they attempt to reunite with their parents or extended family members.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the trafficking of children for the sex trade is not as serious of a problem in Vietnam as in neighboring countries, children are trafficked for work and the Blue Dragon also works to secure the release of such child laborers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After visiting the Blue Dragon, I headed back to the guesthouse to pick up my backpack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After saying goodbye, I hired a xe om to give me a lift to the Hanoi train station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, I had the first hot dog since leaving the United States, done only as it can be done in Vietnam (a grilled dog served in a French loaf and garnished with fresh cilantro, basil and mint leaves and a slathering of mustard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I went into the “International Waiting Room,” where three of us waited in beautiful over-sized carved wood chairs (and terribly uncomfortable) for the train to Beijing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s another story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div closure_uid_s7ekp1="284"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaC7CQsWGueiqFH83chnIDd1ie8kJdWQPFf8P0ffsgJtxbNCuhpIh0YkfbF4ECS12ayqVep4kEf2PRikBS1tSpd60sPR4cIR6AP_JNp8GPjwmOVUIUhnjI2af3KZpcIYAPK-cEcOZMh5J_/s1600/Slide4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaC7CQsWGueiqFH83chnIDd1ie8kJdWQPFf8P0ffsgJtxbNCuhpIh0YkfbF4ECS12ayqVep4kEf2PRikBS1tSpd60sPR4cIR6AP_JNp8GPjwmOVUIUhnjI2af3KZpcIYAPK-cEcOZMh5J_/s320/Slide4.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div></div></div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-74093682578745552172011-07-25T16:46:00.000-07:002011-07-25T16:46:52.128-07:00Ha Long Bay (July 15-17, 2011)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWgwHaBV8cciTEH5oQWUz2EApcYmFL0Mxn8EaMVydXx5WAR66IeT-me6G9j5Kl_Cb-_P1VuclhMqdHMHRSKVjSBV9jVfIc5ceI_-p3LgLr56WLPo72lFHKZNw0_UuysgA6IcpoZF9gOYic/s1600/a+view+of+a+passage.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="205px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWgwHaBV8cciTEH5oQWUz2EApcYmFL0Mxn8EaMVydXx5WAR66IeT-me6G9j5Kl_Cb-_P1VuclhMqdHMHRSKVjSBV9jVfIc5ceI_-p3LgLr56WLPo72lFHKZNw0_UuysgA6IcpoZF9gOYic/s320/a+view+of+a+passage.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ha Long Bay View</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a hokey tour, but the place is enchanting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After watching the movie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Indochine, </i>Ha Long Bay became a “must-see” place on my bucket list. I looked into trying to get there via train to Haiphong, but realized I would still be a great distance from where I wanted to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, the simplest solution (and cheapest) was to book a tour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All hotels in Hanoi offer such tours and after talking with Giang at the Thu Giang hotel, I signed up for a $65, two night tour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first night was sleeping on a boat (junk) out on the water and the second night in what was to be a hotel in Cat Ba Island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a good deal and the place is enchanting, especially in the fog and even in the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would expect it to be nice in the sunshine too, but I didn’t get to experience that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjJYBk-f2cu0U5UvjlRxRcX9mZDbsoGswZCmk57QpzX907jZOoQ3ik5dcKoVV10MzGFwfDo2h5a51N3Frq8201JffVFt0v7lLEPRMMhBbwfuDZ8ytcd44Bd-7LiKCc1DGvUcU-WtiVpzo-/s1600/bus.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjJYBk-f2cu0U5UvjlRxRcX9mZDbsoGswZCmk57QpzX907jZOoQ3ik5dcKoVV10MzGFwfDo2h5a51N3Frq8201JffVFt0v7lLEPRMMhBbwfuDZ8ytcd44Bd-7LiKCc1DGvUcU-WtiVpzo-/s320/bus.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I always take a photo of my bus<br />
to make sure I get on the right one!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The trip began early on a Friday morning as I was picked up by the tour company and hauled my stuff off into a minibus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon, the bus was packed with people going to experience Ha Long Bay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, there is not just one mini-bus with 30 plus people heading east, but hundreds of mini-buses crowding the highways east of Hanoi!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting next to me was the father of a Korean family (the wife and daughter sat in the seats in front of us).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We talked a few minutes, until we ran out of English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He taught me a few basic Vietnamese words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His Vietnamese vocabulary consisted of six words, about the same number as I knew, except that all mine were food related and his words were relational.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How (mhieu), thank you (cam on), I’m sorry (sin loi) and hello (sin chao).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I showed him photos of my family and he introduced me to his wife and daughter and after we got to Ha Long Bay, I never saw them again!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we got out of the bus, we were divided up like sheep and goats, based on what kind of trip we had signed up for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some were down just for the day, others for one night and others of us for multiple nights. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of us were staying on a boat for the night, others staying in hotels. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is amazing how the tour guides kept up with everyone as you are often moved from one group to another based on your tour and the needs of the tour group.</span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiFeizk4OuPS0IbhmJOUzw_NzGTGY1iRUx_KFawXvjYDzJrl8M0ppJOH7BH2xUSYGNFt6SB_RFfnt29D0vmZcKVBNTk67HsRHCrB9Bo_Nkt_66LTDKpPZZpn5uAJWnvohYT3eqmrCZUigS/s1600/my+boat.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiFeizk4OuPS0IbhmJOUzw_NzGTGY1iRUx_KFawXvjYDzJrl8M0ppJOH7BH2xUSYGNFt6SB_RFfnt29D0vmZcKVBNTk67HsRHCrB9Bo_Nkt_66LTDKpPZZpn5uAJWnvohYT3eqmrCZUigS/s320/my+boat.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My junk for a day and night...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the great divide, I was marched off with a new group of people onto one of the hundreds of junks waiting at the docks around Ha Long City.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stowed our luggage on the boat and sat down for lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On my boat was a Swiss family (I didn’t ask about their surname, figuring that if it was Robinson, it might be a bad omen), a couple girls from Germany, three guys from Great Britain, another couple from Great Britain who’d been teaching at an English school in Bangkok, two guys from Texas (Alan will be attending law school at Notre Dame in the fall), a guy and girl from Argentina and a guy from Chili who was linked at the hip to the girl from Argentine, and a few others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joining us was the tour guide, the cook, the captain (he looked about 16) and a deck hand (he looked to be about 12).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We motored slowly out into the bay as we were fed lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The highlight of the trip was the food—it was all good with the exception of breakfast on the boat which consisted of a fried egg and four slices of (untoasted) white bread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpTvSiEd-RCyNJUY32p5aLfkO_K0G_QGlGOM9EoflKbGNdHEAJ__R-_qIc4IjsVnSZLxc769upSmWFDCvb9kGoPkfm6Yun7_aOFmLDty63A39C5hjP4iDq78o1K5jl-nTlyfjexB3syRy/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpTvSiEd-RCyNJUY32p5aLfkO_K0G_QGlGOM9EoflKbGNdHEAJ__R-_qIc4IjsVnSZLxc769upSmWFDCvb9kGoPkfm6Yun7_aOFmLDty63A39C5hjP4iDq78o1K5jl-nTlyfjexB3syRy/s320/Slide1.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After lunch, we joined in with half the population of northern Vietnam who just happened to be visiting Hang Sung Sot or “Surprise Cave” at the same time as we were there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cave would have been truly spectacular had there not been more people at one time underground in that cave than in all of New York’s Subways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hoards of people were rushed through as our guide, who had a vivid imagination, pointed to the likeness of all kinds of animals in the formations. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow, it all centered on dragons and turtles with an elephant and a bride and groom thrown into a mix that supposedly related to the prehistoric legends of Vietnam’s creation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The highlight of the cave tour wasn’t underground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was getting on and off the boats!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boats dropped off their passengers at one dock and then moved to the other dock where they picked up their passengers after making it through the cave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This wouldn’t have been a problem except that there were more boats in the water around the cave than there had been around Normandy on D-day (we just didn’t have people shooting at us).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was all one massive game of “bumper boat” as they jockeyed for position by pushing other boats around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s amazing that with all the bumping and ramming, a boat doesn’t sink or (more likely) a deckhand looses and arm or leg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a delightful mess to watch!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJ6v0bvi4ZzE2QgDYkbGDEYsjtea8Sv2zzhxiXcfOedvOxMz_ZYWet2lN7MNZ6_03Kir8NGxCqo9KcG82PtTxFpjLgJIwHnm3coa_zItbX8VC0jvLeE9pduOtZeFHMBsGMbYHhgdH5JFZ/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJ6v0bvi4ZzE2QgDYkbGDEYsjtea8Sv2zzhxiXcfOedvOxMz_ZYWet2lN7MNZ6_03Kir8NGxCqo9KcG82PtTxFpjLgJIwHnm3coa_zItbX8VC0jvLeE9pduOtZeFHMBsGMbYHhgdH5JFZ/s320/Slide2.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the caves, we were taken to a fish farm (I’d seen enough fish farm already), but there we also got to kayak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to the brochure, it was to be for an hour and a half, but since we were running late we only got 45 minutes, which was enough to paddle through some caves which was pretty neat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the odd man out, I was by myself (every other else was paired up) and one of the few who had any idea how to do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>George, the guy who’d been teaching in Thailand, asked me, “I bet you do this for fun, don’t you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When the time was up, we were back on our boat and, after dropping some people off on Cat Ba Island (they had signed up for a tour with accommodations on land), we putted out into the bay and dropped anchor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were told we had a hour to swim before dinner and most of us made the best of it, jumping off the top of the boat into the water below, trying not to land on a jelly fish (there were a few that we spotted).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards, we had a nice seafood dinner with octopus and fish and a delicious mango salad among other treats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was supposed to share a berth with another passenger, but somehow there wasn’t a room for me and they ended up sticking me in a bunk room with the three guys from Great Britain, which was okay, but not what I’d paid for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As compensation, the next day cancelled my bar bill which included all of one beer and one bottle of water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had I know that was the deal, I’d brought a round for the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After dinner, the cook turned up the music so loud that I retreated up on the top deck…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bass must have been all the way up for the boat just shook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others in the group, like the Swiss family, headed to their berths to escape the throbbing beat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Isn’t it nice out here,” the tour guide said as he joined me on the upper deck and pulled out a cigarette.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I shook my head, acknowledged that it was, as I peered into the dark fog that was soon to be supplemented with smoke.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I really like it out here on the water,” he continued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s so quiet and peaceful.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Did you say what I thought you said?” I asked, shouting over the music.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A little while later, the music was turned down a notch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I expect the tour guide said something to the cook, but it had started raining and I was tired, so I headed to bed early and was asleep before ten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It rained all night, at times hard.</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_SPgvL_DX7jxWm9U_ad3Bd5bO_znsR0MWWBAOFUQxoK78v_vtA7mV6nhc9SxtejaOGndTIDAN0oaT6bWGe4nFG7p6axu6IhftZGJyU5FQhACJWuw-OKQaQSDQghgw1oTBoaTsgqm0c1X/s1600/cat+ba+towner.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_SPgvL_DX7jxWm9U_ad3Bd5bO_znsR0MWWBAOFUQxoK78v_vtA7mV6nhc9SxtejaOGndTIDAN0oaT6bWGe4nFG7p6axu6IhftZGJyU5FQhACJWuw-OKQaQSDQghgw1oTBoaTsgqm0c1X/s320/cat+ba+towner.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The tower at the top of Tetanus Trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next morning the rain had stopped and I was up early, doing some writing and watching the morning light make its way through the fog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after our fine breakfast with an abundance of white bread, the South American contingent and I were taken to the docks at Cat Ba Island (we were on the two night tour) while the rest were taken back to the main dock for their trip back to Hanoi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, we were mixed up with a bunch of other people and taken to the Cat Ba National Park where we got to climb 330 meters in the fog, to a sight that would have truly been amazing if we had more than a 100 meters of visibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, we all risked tetanus and got incredibly muddy for the satisfaction of knowing we were at the high point on the island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trail was steep and in many places steel ladders and rails had been installed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But since this is a jungle and it rains and is foggy all the time and the steel didn’t happen to be stainless (nor had it been galvanized or even painted), we climbed ladders and held on to rails that had rusted out and left jagged edges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I renamed it the “Tetanus Trail”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The highlight of the climb was the guide, who spoke absolutely no English but was the most helpful guides I’ve come across.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ran up and down that mountain, keeping up with everyone, all while pointing out things in nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the top of the mountain, as we waited everyone to arrive, he showed me how to make a whistle out of a leaf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tipping isn’t always done in this part of the world, but I decided that he deserved one.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After we got down from the mountain, all soaking wet, we were taken to Cat Ba Town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the tour bus there, we were told that we had the afternoon free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we wanted a nice beach where we could lie out or swim, there was an optional trip to Monkey Island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But at that point, the heavens opened and didn’t look to be slowing down at any time soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think any of us went to the island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, we had a great lunch and I took a nap and wrote some in the afternoon and, getting cabin fever (and once the rain slowed to a drizzle), walked around the harbor (Cat Ba Town is basically a fishing village).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dinner was also good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At night, the Vietnamese who’d come to the island for vacation was out partying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked around and had the honor of having one of the local pimps try to set me up.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Where are you going, you want a xo em?” a guy on a motorbike asked as he pulled up beside of me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No thanks, I’m just walking,” I answered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You want a girl, right,” he asked, showing his pimp strips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No,” I said, continuing to walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He followed me, telling me about the nice girls he could provide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No,” I said again, this time forcefully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What you have against girls,” he asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I started to explain that I have nothing against girls, but then realized I didn’t need to provide an explanation to a pimp, nor did I need to be polite, and told him to get lost. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next morning, my roommate, the guy from Argentina, was up early trying to find the South American Soccer finals on TV.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Argentine was playing Uruguay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unable to find it on TV, I lent him my computer so that he could keep up with what was happening and went for a walk, watching the fishermen bring in their catches to the wharfs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards, we had a great breakfast, followed by a crowded mini-bus ride across the island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the docks on the other side, we were put on another boat with more people we didn’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we rode across the bay to Ha Long City, I sat up top, soaking up the little sun that was trying to break through the fog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, talking to Marie, I learned that my trip could have been worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMiBHP_bgOlBNmoArgiuXg8mdX-gQeDjm017dQs1mlX0Z3Z1Yzk4FTVbYUF89cwpmNb-1x9AClEI8tMjqJ6gXW2mtSrLgvhwnvrai2UoGV9uZ-4ydt0ukRS3ZvtNVUM2soPpLVCSQmDrh/s1600/Slide3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMiBHP_bgOlBNmoArgiuXg8mdX-gQeDjm017dQs1mlX0Z3Z1Yzk4FTVbYUF89cwpmNb-1x9AClEI8tMjqJ6gXW2mtSrLgvhwnvrai2UoGV9uZ-4ydt0ukRS3ZvtNVUM2soPpLVCSQmDrh/s320/Slide3.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we were sitting on the launch to take us to the junk that would take us back the Ha Long City, a number of us were talking and two of us realized we were both from North Carolina (and both had James Taylor on our ipods).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we talked, Marie entered the launch, saying “it’s good to hear English spoken.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She then said something about the “trip from hell.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the junk back across the bay, she was in the deck chair next to mine on the upper deck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we “sunned” under a foggy sky, she told me the full story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marie, a tall freckled redhead from Seattle, is living in Hanoi and has a two year contract to teach interior design at a local college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has only been in the city for a little over a month and this was her first weekend escape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike the rest of us, she had done her research and signed up for a tour on a particular boat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, as they were dividing the sheep and goats at Ha Long City, she got put onto another boat, one that consisted of a Vietnamese family who’d gathered for a reunion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only other non-family member (outside the crew) was a Korean college student who spoke little English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They were nice,” she said, but not being a part of the family, the two of them were left out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marie was on a one night tour, and the afternoon was mostly rained out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their kayaking had been cancelled due to lightning; the swim in the bay was also cancelled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After we arrived at the docks, a new guide (my fourth, if I counted correctly) led us across the street to a restaurant where we had another wonderful meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we were loaded back onto mini-buses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marie and I sat together talking about living in Vietnam, her work (before the economy tanked, she had a job designing the interiors of yachts, which in my book ranks up there with a mattress tester as an ideal job), politics (even here, the American debt crisis is a topic) and church (she’s very active and a good friend with her Catholic priest in Seattle).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the way back to the city, as we had done on the way out, we had a 20 minute bathroom stop at a place where they sold handicrafts and snacks. Not being interested in the high price crafts, I brought a package of ten post cards for 20,000 dong ($1) and an ice cream bar for 10,000 dong (50 cents).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such was my contribution for a clean bathroom and free toilet paper. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As I said, Ha Long Bay is an enchanting place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leave it to tour companies to transform the enchanting to hokey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some things are universal. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-35808391307822534762011-07-24T18:09:00.000-07:002011-07-24T18:09:04.050-07:00Hue and the Reunification Express to Hanoi (July 12-14, 2011)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVpWLDG91mcgrPbRJhWfreRrFIJUUDRP5F6KWYBBn2bie2IY9wfa498vi2K6RfZ0vCgVM0FGDPwAuJUSUuSfNeWlnX_o8kzA4FB2s2Mec9DWIFv9eNuUxuxJ2Zg1zkoXth8ipRBvXFKK-/s1600/a+rr+track.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVpWLDG91mcgrPbRJhWfreRrFIJUUDRP5F6KWYBBn2bie2IY9wfa498vi2K6RfZ0vCgVM0FGDPwAuJUSUuSfNeWlnX_o8kzA4FB2s2Mec9DWIFv9eNuUxuxJ2Zg1zkoXth8ipRBvXFKK-/s320/a+rr+track.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tracks in Hue, south of the Perfume River</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I thought the earth would never stop shaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran over the unsettled ground and grabbed my daughter from the porch of a strange house..<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The house was shaken to splinters with the vibration, the siding and the sheetrock falling away from the splitting studs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I saw there was no insulation, it donned on me why the house had always been either hot or cold (a funny thing to recall in the midst of an earthquake). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Caroline and I held each other until finally the ground stopped shaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never imaged that an earthquake could last so long, but once it stopped shaking, we ventured out see if everyone was okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Donna was in another unfamiliar house, across the street and was helping someone put back dishes that had fallen out of the cabinets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the earth started shaking again and the plates kept falling, this time breaking as they fell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said something about it being an after-shock and woke up, realizing it had all been a dream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The train was jerking on some rough track (perhaps going through a yard with a lot of switches which tend to be rough).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was 2 AM and we were a two hours south of Hanoi.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’d come into Hue with Toan at noon on Tuesday (July 12).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my earliest memories of the evening news coverage of the war in Vietnam was the fighting around Hue during the Tet Offensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The North Vietnamese were quick to take most of the city, raising their flag over the Citadel and isolating two small units (one an American and the other a South Vietnamese unit).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reinforcements were quickly sent up from Da Nang and for the next two weeks, a bloody battle ensued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fighting was intense and close range as they fought house to house and block by block.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the city was retaken, it was learned that the northern soldiers had come into the city with a list of names of people believed to be supportive of the South.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In all, over 3,000 Hue residents were rounded up and executed (a story not shared in any of the museums I visited, but then the victor gets to write history).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_a5ZlT0Qehb9ME7QASGO90qSNCJniuZTJ6K3z2rqxY4HrKHZqfjNfaGukQvst7pXTp_sIFuPgsUONgC9WpBu95EGrC0A4OdLfvIwEJ9vU-OE8Zx7ULafvScrQ7sEUOGvBWOtjDCsdjxG1/s1600/a+flag+from+the+back+of+the+city.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_a5ZlT0Qehb9ME7QASGO90qSNCJniuZTJ6K3z2rqxY4HrKHZqfjNfaGukQvst7pXTp_sIFuPgsUONgC9WpBu95EGrC0A4OdLfvIwEJ9vU-OE8Zx7ULafvScrQ7sEUOGvBWOtjDCsdjxG1/s320/a+flag+from+the+back+of+the+city.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the back moat looking forward</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After lunch on the edge of Hue, we crossed the Perfume River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike most jungle rivers that tend to be brown or red with silt, the waters of the Perfume looked pristine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We rode on into the city and found my hotel where we dropped off my bags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we headed to the Citadel, a massive fortress on the other side of the Perfume River in which the Imperial City sits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The old fort is impressive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The outer walls are 10 kilometers in length.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fortress was built in the early 19<sup>th</sup> Century, some of it with the help of the French who were trying to weasel their way into Vietnam by appeasing the emperor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a huge battery in front of the fortress upon which waves the largest Vietnamese flag in country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no way of verifying if it is the largest (that’s what Toan said) but it’s huge, about as large as those flags that used to fly over our gas stations as oil companies showed their faux-patriotism while creating a traffic distractions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This large flag can be seen from most places within the old imperial city and serves as a visual reminder that the emperor is no more!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Further supporting this idea is the missing “Forbidden City,” the inner city where the emperor lived and ruled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These palaces were made mostly of wood and burned in 1947.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The area saw further destruction in the 1968 Tet Offensive, when the flag of the north flew over the Citadel for a few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg28muo8dWV50SDGHumikgeaur0TFjcFVawxC6e6QdKpG9tOoCr9FgqkjxeZ6mn-ujdF9ljumEXT4TlodHCSelBliYUmZkxXigMsj4Iku2aop6NTLa5CbDtTDr1rRDH8hkzAiUphNm9UIvx/s1600/a+restoration+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="188px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg28muo8dWV50SDGHumikgeaur0TFjcFVawxC6e6QdKpG9tOoCr9FgqkjxeZ6mn-ujdF9ljumEXT4TlodHCSelBliYUmZkxXigMsj4Iku2aop6NTLa5CbDtTDr1rRDH8hkzAiUphNm9UIvx/s320/a+restoration+3.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Restoration work</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Today, some of the buildings as well as the impressive gateways have been restored and more work is ongoing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The various walls with their graceful arched gates and numerous lily-filled moats create a special feel about the place and I enjoyed my time wandering around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent two hours there, but could have spent the whole day as the city is massive!</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeqnuM1Xs_lWpkeIo2xvC8YNU5LECRSfHMrw00GxHcxO-gzdULrHQcFYg4jXTxhWgO4C_-6X5Eo1O0Z5GrcgS3VTxNYUUNNTJyy6C6dIrT-NxzPIkN4Qoxdo2SwcfHleMQ3rbw8piKHSg/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeqnuM1Xs_lWpkeIo2xvC8YNU5LECRSfHMrw00GxHcxO-gzdULrHQcFYg4jXTxhWgO4C_-6X5Eo1O0Z5GrcgS3VTxNYUUNNTJyy6C6dIrT-NxzPIkN4Qoxdo2SwcfHleMQ3rbw8piKHSg/s320/Slide2.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After visiting the Imperial City, I had Toan drop me off by the train station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I paid him and we said our goodbyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sad to see him go as we’d had a great time together; however, my butt offered a dissenting opinion as it happily saw the bike take off without us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing that I needed to be in Beijing by a particular date and afraid that the trains are filling up, I’d hoped I could buy a ticket from Hanoi to Beijing, but was disappointed to learn that I could only buy that ticket in Hanoi (and would have to show my passport with a valid Chinese visa when purchasing it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if I could have brought the ticket, the hotel had my passport (a requirement that many hotels enforce in Vietnam, as they have to be report to the police nightly all foreigners—and maybe even nationals—who are lodging there).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, empty handed, I walked back to the hotel, staying close to the river and trying to avoid the pestering xe om’s who wanted to give me a ride or set me up with a girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, by the river, I had a string of women boat operators trying to sell me a tour on the Perfume River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really wasn’t interested and was wanting to get back for dinner, but one of the women who’d started out offering an hour river trip for 300,000 dong (about $15), dropped the price all the way to 80,000 dong (about $4).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would have been a deal, as it would have been a “private tour.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seeing the boat, which was about 50 feet long and could carry at least 30 people, I had to shake my head as I can’t believe she and her husband would have made anything on such a trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For dinner on Tuesday night, I ate spring rolls and a bowl of noodles with pork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later that evening, I had a long discussion over a beer with a retired professor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We discussed our favorite authors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He likes Hemingway and we talked about the Nick Adam stories and my fishing on the Two-Hearted and Fox Rivers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both of us agreed that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Old Man and the Sea</i> was his classic, a book that was translated in the Viet language before 1975.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also briefly touched on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">For Whom the Bells Toll</i> and the American experiences in foreign civil wars.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was glad to talk with this professor (I am purposely omitting his name).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As one who had devoted his life to academics, he understood where my questions were coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him about the “Lost Cause Movement” in the American South around the end of the 19<sup>th</sup> Century.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Noting it had been about the same amount of time in Vietnam since the fall of the South, I wondered if a similar movement had developed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t think so (although other books I’ve read have suggested that there is disillusionment among many of the Southern Viet Cong who feel betrayed by the North).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First of all, he inserted, Vietnam is a socialist country in name only.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he presented an interesting idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“America,” he said, “won in 1973.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You got what you wanted, a way out.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The North,” he suggested, “won in 1975.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They got a unified country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in the 1990s, with the movement away from socialism to a capitalistic economy, the South won.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He then shared with me an article by James Kurth, “<a href="http://www.mmisi.org/ir/41_02/kurth.pdf">The U. S. Victory in Vietnam: Lost and Found</a>,” that he felt confirmed his ideas about the aftermath of the war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think he may be right as the South is doing much better economically now and this makes Vietnam different from the American experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the Civil War in America, the South, which was economically inferior before the war, was destroyed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Vietnam, the South had better infrastructure before the end of the war and because the fall of the South was so quick, there wasn’t as much of the massive Sherman-like destruction that laid waste to wide swaths of land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, because of the Christmas bombings of 1972, the North was in worst shape and needed more rebuilding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the 1990s, as economic restrictions were liberalized, the South was in a better position to capitalize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interestingly, on the train from Hue to Hanoi, I met several guys who were from the north, but had gone south to find employment and were going to home to visit.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The professor then said that his country had to put the past behind them and raised a concern that was beginning to sound like a broken record: China’s dominance of the South China Seas off of Vietnam’s shores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vietnam is trying build its navy (someone had told me they’ve recently purchased six submarines from Russia), but it doesn’t have the money to build a sufficient fleet to challenge China and to protect its long coastline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vietnam has a long history of struggling with China (they last fought in the late 70s, when China sought to punish Vietnam for ending the Pol Pot regime in Cambodia).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Vietnamese have always been suspicious of the Chinese even though the Viet people were probably originally Chinese (but that was more than a few years ago).</span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgES4D15HPlZKk2MDZZe5_C4WIspzaqFl2GNnV-yQzSwCVFNFMl5inLYII3RbuUjBFw8zQfJdO2sGz7QIMT95VJkdEGI6jgdAnowRmI0FCXts1i9dmLCml7gTf5bt0KtVIyGb5y7kpm_PxS/s1600/at+the+temple+of+literature.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgES4D15HPlZKk2MDZZe5_C4WIspzaqFl2GNnV-yQzSwCVFNFMl5inLYII3RbuUjBFw8zQfJdO2sGz7QIMT95VJkdEGI6jgdAnowRmI0FCXts1i9dmLCml7gTf5bt0KtVIyGb5y7kpm_PxS/s320/at+the+temple+of+literature.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reading (a guidebook) at the Temple of Literature</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">On June 13<sup>th</sup>, with a little over half a day free, I hired a xe om driver for the morning to take me to a few sites around Hue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stopped at the Temple of Literature, where I was the only tourist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such an experience doesn’t speak well for the written word!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The temple was a place where students of Confucianism would take exams to determine if they were ready for civil service. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXFsINH4A54SL8LjBxXop2Ts9JaVsR5zjjRILbUgyUzEx2114wj1pLL1pIYd5mhtouwEYEVuZvS8SM7SUtDGqvmh5cEixKtL7hHdNwvTyMSEx9AXJCp3W6rtzm56-ycgf0k9jF0kEct7S9/s1600/a+pagoda.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXFsINH4A54SL8LjBxXop2Ts9JaVsR5zjjRILbUgyUzEx2114wj1pLL1pIYd5mhtouwEYEVuZvS8SM7SUtDGqvmh5cEixKtL7hHdNwvTyMSEx9AXJCp3W6rtzm56-ycgf0k9jF0kEct7S9/s320/a+pagoda.JPG" t$="true" width="259px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thiem Mu Pogada </td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Next, we stopped at the Thien Mu Pagoda, a Buddhist site that was known for its opposition to Colonial powers and to South Vietnam’s anti-Buddhist policies in the early 60s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1963, a monk from this monastery drove to Saigon, drenched himself with gasoline and set himself on fire in opposition to these policies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The photo of his burning was seen all over the world and provided a foretaste of what was to come from Vietnam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The car he drove to Saigon is now kept at the site as well as photographs of the monk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to my guide book, the pagoda is still a thorn in the side of the government as it still protests against policies deemed unfair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were lots of monks milling around, but they were mostly boys (many didn’t even look to be in their teens).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t see them being much of a threat to the government.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pagoda, however, is beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sits on a bluff overlooking the Perfume River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH_VJwUG5Y520bUW3QWeLRlrCXbr0EIbevnrsAGhueKs2XjayUEZ_DDSFX1JumbaL35ylD0mPh9IX4Nt8sghGYE8P1RIQrCW5pxMFvPtSF7a8euBcxl5KM2hSPfVhNwBvJ5bI1YuukEzGk/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH_VJwUG5Y520bUW3QWeLRlrCXbr0EIbevnrsAGhueKs2XjayUEZ_DDSFX1JumbaL35ylD0mPh9IX4Nt8sghGYE8P1RIQrCW5pxMFvPtSF7a8euBcxl5KM2hSPfVhNwBvJ5bI1YuukEzGk/s320/Slide1.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the pagoda, we headed to some bunkers the xe om knew that had been built by the American soldiers during the war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were three bunkers that overlooked the Perfume River, west of the city, and a road that led into town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had been closed off, but you could walk around them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although interesting, the view of the river from the cliff was stunning.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the way back to the hotel, I stopped for lunch and had fresh spring rolls (they are steamed, not deep fried) and a vegetable pancake with peanut sauce along with a glass of carrot/ginger juice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once back at the guesthouse, I spent my remaining two hours completing my blog post on Phnom Penh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 2 PM, the proprietor’s daughter gave me a lift to the train station on the back of her motor scooter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was ready to head north (the train was scheduled for 2:45 PM).</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wLIwme0ugU0Pyrp-FWuZ7sutrU60zxOciQc-X5oO4UWZrzp_dR-M4vzcxrYk_1kxYIQRW7m-U_6pPbpjZ9n7xwnwBTQw0nF94oQMNFDzplhLRbIc_YXMNu2jXzqZ04d8UzIZsAt6c-8p/s1600/Slide3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wLIwme0ugU0Pyrp-FWuZ7sutrU60zxOciQc-X5oO4UWZrzp_dR-M4vzcxrYk_1kxYIQRW7m-U_6pPbpjZ9n7xwnwBTQw0nF94oQMNFDzplhLRbIc_YXMNu2jXzqZ04d8UzIZsAt6c-8p/s320/Slide3.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">While waiting for the train, I was talking to some kids when a Vietnamese man approached and asked where I was from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s one of the questions I get asked a lot, but generally by those whose English isn’t very good as this guy’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His English was flawless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“America,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“But where?” He asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Michigan,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You don’t sound like you’re from Michigan,” he said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It turns out this man has lived in Raleigh, North Carolina for the past 20 years and knew a Carolina accent when he heard one!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We talked for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although he’d left Vietnam decades ago (he started out in New York State before going to North Carolina, he now comes back and spends a few months in the country each year (He says he can pay for his airfare by the cheap cost of living here).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has a daughter who lives in Hue and she and his grandchildren, along with his wife, were at the station to pick up his other daughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She also lives in Raleigh and had flown into Saigon and was taking the train north to visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes the world seems to be a small place.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the train, I talked some to the family in the bunk below me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were both from the north, but working in the South and were going home for vacation, taking with them their two children (ages 2 and 4).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike my previous Vietnam train, these kids (one with his dad and the other with his mom) fit in their parent’s bunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other guy in the compartment never said a word (not even when we woke him to tell him we were in Hanoi and the train was emptying).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, he spent his waking hours grading some math test papers!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent some time writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>As I had no desire to return to the dining car, when the train stopped for servicing at Quang Tri, I got off in search of food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I purchased a large bowl of instant noodles (bun pho or beef noodles) and a can of beer for 40,000 dong or about $2).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each car has a boiling water dispenser and I filled my bowl with water and, since I was on the top bunk, sat on a plastic chair in the walkway and ate my dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I was eating, a man in the compartment behind me struck up a conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was coming back from a holiday in Saigon (even though he worked for the government, he always referred to the city by its French name and not Ho Chi Minh City).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His name is Soon (it’s spelled that way but has a funny curly-cue over the second vowel). He is a year younger than me and works in foreign affairs in Hanoi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has taken the train to Beijing many times, as well as into North Korea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His area of expertise is China and Korea and he said he’s fluent in Korean and knows some Chinese.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We shared family photos and talked about many things, including the threat of China in the South China Seas, and the fact that we’re both blessed by being born late enough to miss out on the Vietnam War.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has a daughter that is currently a university student and his wife runs a small store.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At 9 PM, everyone in my compartment had gone to bed and I decided I’d better do the same as the train was due into Hanoi at 4 AM.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitsQ5ZEUzSehC1j3dukVEeKIwloVvyTVxk1BaYyjw2q7jNfHMlO72-DnzbatYxB8UxkNJrX7kOz9mm6GX5nnBMZO7vGL6yFtZ0aOyKHFZLt7tETOjbmX2iIW3UhFFC45Tt9lMV8N1ktd7-/s1600/at+station+2+trains.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="224px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitsQ5ZEUzSehC1j3dukVEeKIwloVvyTVxk1BaYyjw2q7jNfHMlO72-DnzbatYxB8UxkNJrX7kOz9mm6GX5nnBMZO7vGL6yFtZ0aOyKHFZLt7tETOjbmX2iIW3UhFFC45Tt9lMV8N1ktd7-/s320/at+station+2+trains.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The train on left is a "hard seat"(3rd Class) non-air conditioned train<br />
The one of the right is my train</td></tr>
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</div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-52370472093145452011-07-23T18:50:00.000-07:002011-07-23T19:33:46.232-07:00The Ho Chi Minh Trail (July 11-12, 2011)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgahcnOf7RL66ivrec2jSnnHEX2Jb-nX-mCPu2d1accH7y9fobqRz-P2m1-YW1l6ZJDJn7V_VYFOyOTotUQ4ioBKBUila6-rvQ0VpIbirFvojbGc3fWP4HAqWG1UHIfOS_yAQPdqtAIlAE6/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgahcnOf7RL66ivrec2jSnnHEX2Jb-nX-mCPu2d1accH7y9fobqRz-P2m1-YW1l6ZJDJn7V_VYFOyOTotUQ4ioBKBUila6-rvQ0VpIbirFvojbGc3fWP4HAqWG1UHIfOS_yAQPdqtAIlAE6/s320/Slide2.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">The rain came in waves, blowing across the highway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lightning flashed around us and the thunder clap was heard just moments later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rubber and cinnamon trees waved wildly while leaves blew across our path. Toan slowed the bike down in order to maintain control. We could hardly see and although we were both wearing full rain suits, we weren’t exactly dry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for the first time since leaving my air conditioned room in Hoi An, I wasn’t hot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the wind and the speed of the bike, the rain was quite chilly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">We were traveling on the Ho Chi Minh Trail when the storm hit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><country-region w:st="on">Vietnam</country-region> 14, the official name for the road that is called the Ho Chi Minh Trail, runs just east of the <country-region w:st="on">Laos</country-region> border in the steep mountains of western <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Vietnam</place></country-region>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The original Ho Chi Minh Trail was a web of dirt paths (with bomb craters) that crept down both sides of the border, but road that bears the trail’s name is now paved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least that’s the intention, but with the mountains being so steep and there’s always a few sections “washed out.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Growing up in the late 1960s and early 70s, I’d never dreamed that one day I’d be traveling on the Ho Chi Minh Trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These mountains were a thorn in the side of the American forces in <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Vietnam</place></country-region>, who certainly weren’t welcomed in these hills at the time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trying everything to block the flow of weapons and supplies to the communist forces fighting in the south, the American military dropped an unimaginable tonnage of bombs on these mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s amazing that the place isn’t flat, but having seen what they were bombing, I can see why the bombing was so ineffective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are steep hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The region is still sparsely populated, mostly by ethnic minorities who eke out a poverty existence by farming the hillsides and grazing cattle (like the American West, this is open range country) and a handful of government and military personnel who are stationed along the border.</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">I’d met Toan through a Vietnamese Presbyterian pastor that a friend of mine at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary had introduced (via email) to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This pastor also manages a Vietnamese “<a href="http://www.easy-riders.net/">Easy Rider</a>”company that takes tourist on motorcycle trips around the countryside. When I realized that I wasn’t going to get a ticket for <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Hanoi</place></city> for a few days (the trains are all filled due to Vietnamese vacationers), I decided to check into the possibility of such a trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Toan had just finished taking someone through the Central Highlands, from DeLat to De Nang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he had planned to be at his mother’s home north of <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Hue</place></city> in a few days (his family was gathering on the one year anniversary of his father’s death), it worked out for him to pick up a couple more days of work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Essentially he was taking me from Hoi An to <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Hue</place></city> in a “roundabout way” as we easily tripled the distance map quest would have plotted (a fact of which my butt continually reminded me).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">By Vietnamese standards, Toan’s bike was big.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a 150 cc Taiwanese bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many of the bikes in <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Vietnam</place></country-region> are Russian or Chinese.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Toan complained that they were always breaking down and were not as powerful as the Taiwanese bike, although he had his eye on a 175 cc Japanese bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though it was big for <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Vietnam</place></country-region>, with two riders and gear, it struggled up the mountain roads with grades often greater than 10 percent (one sign indicated a 16% grade)</span></span></div></div><span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UEflOybo5MkGM9nNb8YyJsa5xMeir_fyINLKbvPFIBA1MTZBrydk8WpLhs0ucJnPoVZt7QA0E0E8nIRX5WWEx8XEOHpln5FC7H7DRBy62rcerJgMwV1s0dzwOwQJRFBrjpMPAMI2O4iy/s1600/Slide5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UEflOybo5MkGM9nNb8YyJsa5xMeir_fyINLKbvPFIBA1MTZBrydk8WpLhs0ucJnPoVZt7QA0E0E8nIRX5WWEx8XEOHpln5FC7H7DRBy62rcerJgMwV1s0dzwOwQJRFBrjpMPAMI2O4iy/s320/Slide5.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">Toan met me at the hotel a little after 8 AM on July 11<sup>th</sup> (my brother’s birthday).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We packed up the bike, which didn’t look quite so large with all our packs strapped on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along the way, Toan stopped at a pottery and tile factory (more like a home workshop).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They weren’t doing any work with the clay, but the kilns were being fired (with wood) and it was interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we headed on to a Cham temple that was built in the 11<sup>th</sup> Century, when the Cham people were still Hindu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They later converted to Islam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This brick temple showed signs of the war with chunks of it having been taken out by bullets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next we stopped by a place where they made rice paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A soupy rice batter is made and then is steamed over boiling water, and then it’s transferred to a screen where it dries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The “paper” is used in making wrappings for spring rolls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5mym5NKA1nLKKAYZaVGMnc_13b5mzYHrP5yim7A4ddqv14vSW26PEObylnFWZxc0xGbZD4d5EDzI6_bFqZ2nO5PfQh3iRzespy5TODdJ3BVTPOUFt_BMcdwX-dv03qvMp8X-RThdAKQd/s1600/cao+dai+hearse.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5mym5NKA1nLKKAYZaVGMnc_13b5mzYHrP5yim7A4ddqv14vSW26PEObylnFWZxc0xGbZD4d5EDzI6_bFqZ2nO5PfQh3iRzespy5TODdJ3BVTPOUFt_BMcdwX-dv03qvMp8X-RThdAKQd/s320/cao+dai+hearse.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I want to go out in a hearse like this!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">Our final stop for the morning, as we headed toward the mountains, was at a Cao Dai temple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This relatively new religion was founded in the <place w:st="on">Mekong</place> delta in the 1920s by a civil servant working for the French.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the religion was anti-colonial even though one of their “saints” is the French novelist Victor Hugo and they also adore Joan of Arc, another French icon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Early in their history, they struggled with their colonial rulers but after the Second World War, they broke with the communist and, with their own army, fought with the French. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ngo Van Chieu, who founded the faith, sought to blend a number of faiths and draws heavily upon Buddhism, Taoism, Spiritualism and Confucius with elements borrowed from Christianity and Islam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The structure of their faith is adapted from the Catholic Church and the leader of the faith is known as a pope. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The all-seeing eye (like that on the American dollar) distinguishes their temples.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Graham Greene has them mentioned in a conversation between Fowler and Pyle in his novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Quiet American</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The temple is rather gaudy as one might expect with such a blend of faiths and there is no one around to explain anything. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We wander through the temple by ourselves, then Toan (who wants to keep an eye on the bike and our gear) leaves me to explore on my own. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The most interesting sight is the hearse I found sitting in a shed next to the temple and the caskets they have for sale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For between 50 and 350 dollars, one can get a nice carved wood casket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even adding shipping, they’d undercut the prices of the American funeral home industry.</span></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-JWZGegUSkPn1NfhHgW7fT0LzImn4-PbMWgMsnbj-H-CEPbnqDJEh09SSknAsO9c8T495qwMTv50nQFPMLdkQe3qF6S_fxargcxh9aChSW5fFJ7iTTXPFcTuMc51xeAXvm8hyphenhyphenBQpFrWg/s1600/Slide4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-JWZGegUSkPn1NfhHgW7fT0LzImn4-PbMWgMsnbj-H-CEPbnqDJEh09SSknAsO9c8T495qwMTv50nQFPMLdkQe3qF6S_fxargcxh9aChSW5fFJ7iTTXPFcTuMc51xeAXvm8hyphenhyphenBQpFrWg/s320/Slide4.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">We ate lunch at a road side café next to the road and then gassed up the bike (it only took 5 quarts but Toan said they’re be no gas for a long while).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards, we took off into the mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we climbed, the clouds began to build and soon we could hear distant thunder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the next hour, somehow we missed the storms, but then, when we were feeling lucky, our luck changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pulling over to the side, we quickly got all our gear covered up, then pulled on our rain suits and set off as rain pellet us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would rain for the next couple of hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Occasionally there would be downpours; at other times, the skies would let up to a drizzle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-fareast-language: ZH-CN;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">During one of the drizzles, we stopped at a <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Ktu</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Village</placetype></place>, one of the many mountain ethnic groups found in this region.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A woman who was building a fire to cook dinner, on a stone hearth that sat on her bamboo floor (the floor was raised) invited us to come in, but we were dripping wet and refused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tribe had cows, sheep and goats, grew corn, rice, tapioca, and harvested cinnamon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along the edge of the road, they’d laid out pieces of cinnamon to dry (the drying would have to wait another day).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Cinnamon,” Toan explained, “takes ten years to grow as a tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the tree is cut, they peel the bark, dry it and sell it to dealers; the wood of the cinnamon tree is burned for fuel.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of their rice was grown by “dry farming,” which Toan explained to be a bad practice as they would burn a hillside, stripping it of vegetation and then plant the rice without terracing the hill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the rains came, after the rice was harvested, the hillside would erode away.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jZ6qY8Fadnj0E-CMZ1mVKDVVzyx_olOHb_6ZisIJepr0tEYblzBBbNkhW-cWbxLseJiZB66fucwf6e_WpeC8CkpZncA3sx2qsAov_VhRvTre62HxzeD-9HsiMJUUJJWDZ3wQ1AV2NOcp/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jZ6qY8Fadnj0E-CMZ1mVKDVVzyx_olOHb_6ZisIJepr0tEYblzBBbNkhW-cWbxLseJiZB66fucwf6e_WpeC8CkpZncA3sx2qsAov_VhRvTre62HxzeD-9HsiMJUUJJWDZ3wQ1AV2NOcp/s320/Slide1.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">After visiting the village, we crossed a river and as we climbed out of the valley, we stopped at a Ktu burial site.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They build miniature houses for the remains of their dead and then place inside all sorts of gifts for their ancestors (beer, sodas, cigarettes, fruit and rice).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d wondered if I was in the Southwest and, except for the greenery, this place could have been the background for a Georgia O’Keeffe painting as each burial house was adorn with the skull of a cow (actually, a water buffalo).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">Leaving the valley, the trail climbed higher in the mountains and a sign indicated we were in a frontier area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Laos</place></country-region> was just a few kilometers to our left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mountains were beautiful and the clouds, which shrouded parts of the mountains, created a mystical feel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We rode a long ways on a crooked road that hugged the steep mountainside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At several places mud covered the roadway and once we had to get off and push the bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, as the sunset, we dropped out of the mountains and into a beautiful valley , where rice was again grown in paddies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We left the mountains and drove to the valley town of <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">A</place></city> loui, where we stayed for the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After cleaning up, we headed out for dinner in a local restaurant (rice, vegetables, morning glory, pork chops and fish) along with a Huda beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Huda, Toan explains, means “made in <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Hue</place></city>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a long time, we talked about <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Vietnam</place></country-region>. Toan, as did many on my trip, expressed concern for <country-region w:st="on">China</country-region> and how they are dominating the sea right off <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Vietnam</place></country-region>’s shores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmMVtXLydEIdMMSosWuSaVdQO-7Xk71IXgDfcsvzbG_LZ_rAiTWC-KGCLa_L_QfJzgnV36s82PbVtzqfV9kQ9G_PDzrIXwc1Ya-yPCAftbd7qwu42QckVIz90eW0WTyZHjwLCD7Vq0Z4VN/s1600/Slide3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmMVtXLydEIdMMSosWuSaVdQO-7Xk71IXgDfcsvzbG_LZ_rAiTWC-KGCLa_L_QfJzgnV36s82PbVtzqfV9kQ9G_PDzrIXwc1Ya-yPCAftbd7qwu42QckVIz90eW0WTyZHjwLCD7Vq0Z4VN/s320/Slide3.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">I was tired and went to sleep shortly after dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning, I am up early and slip out the room at about 5:30 AM, walking through town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The town isn’t very large, taking me maybe 15 minutes to walk the length of it, but it boosts at least six cell phone stores!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The population has a mix of Viet people along with those of the Ktu and Paco tribes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came across several women smoking a small silver pipe, a custom of some of the ethnic minorities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost all the men smoke in <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Vietnam</place></country-region> (and almost always cigarettes), but these were the first women I’d seen lighting up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the middle of the town, they were sitting up market and I walked through sampling the wares.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were all kind of produce for sale as well as bananas and pineapples, ducks and chickens (live, of course), vegetables and household products.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The women came to market with woven packs on their backs which they used to transport their wares for sale or to take their recent purchases back home.</span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">I got back to the hotel around 7:30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Toan was just getting up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After catching up with my journal, we went out to breakfast and then loaded the bike for the ride to <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Hue</place></city>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was only a 65 or so kilometer trip, but it took us all morning as there was lots of road construction where we’d have to wait for machinery to get out of the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along the way, we stopped at a bee farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was amazing that there were 100s of hives in an acre or so, set underneath trees that were being grown for pulp wood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three guys were working with the bees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They used a sugar cane by-product, which they cooked into a paste and then fed to the bees so they didn’t even have to leave their hives to make honey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found the honey to be weak and without much flavor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was interested in how we could walk through the bee hives without being stung (the guys working there did so without shirts).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also stopped at a rubber plantation, to see the harvesting of rubber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was noon when we got to the outskirts of <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Hue</place></city>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stopped for lunch, and then rode on into the formerly royal city. </span></span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHhzqkxa2xFjDacIjxauyQ93vqLfRrsGDtBAccFfzz6o5eMX2xEKONhIyM9d35IM0UCXq5t0USbI7LnLSypjjXg82bsJwpDRf3rJ0cOpEMd8syluIvXoxmJRlH5rCh_HUjPaUXQeoMk_sd/s1600/construction+wait.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHhzqkxa2xFjDacIjxauyQ93vqLfRrsGDtBAccFfzz6o5eMX2xEKONhIyM9d35IM0UCXq5t0USbI7LnLSypjjXg82bsJwpDRf3rJ0cOpEMd8syluIvXoxmJRlH5rCh_HUjPaUXQeoMk_sd/s320/construction+wait.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for a road crew on the way to Hue</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-15305046947375703152011-07-22T18:24:00.000-07:002011-07-22T18:24:10.991-07:00The Reunification Express (Saigon to Da Nang) and Hoi An (July 8-11)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6LyLAd_TxrObIDkg3SmSN6uG57cb8CnmEYia6_higYVlb9uUogEB47UM6DngMH3AJYE_t60Ku0sdTgyC01hAGOV9jKM4Fd5j6pLmrhwsjkFxlxTxIKTQSuwDpKbvLnVAYY8Ko11F4CwgH/s1600/a+train+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6LyLAd_TxrObIDkg3SmSN6uG57cb8CnmEYia6_higYVlb9uUogEB47UM6DngMH3AJYE_t60Ku0sdTgyC01hAGOV9jKM4Fd5j6pLmrhwsjkFxlxTxIKTQSuwDpKbvLnVAYY8Ko11F4CwgH/s320/a+train+1.JPG" t$="true" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our car attendant</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">Vietnam is a long and narrow country, making it the perfect place for train service and the “Reunification Express” ties together the country, linking Ho Chi Minh City (or Saigon) with Hanoi (or Ha Noi).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not a fast train as much of the line is single tracked and, if you were to do the trip in one leg it would take you two nights and a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, from the viewpoint of those of us in the West, a sleeping birth on an air conditioned train is relatively inexpensive even after recent price increases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wanting to see more of the country, I broke my trip into two parts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I left Saigon at 7:30 PM on my first leg, heading to <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Da Nang</place></city>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sharing a cabin with me was an American couple from <state w:st="on"><place w:st="on">New York</place></state> (just outside the city) and a Vietnamese woman with her two children—who were six and ten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids and the mother slept together in the same bunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The narrow bunks were comfortable for one person, but are not much larger than a cot and I can’t imagine they were comfortable!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There must have been some rule about not having so many on the same bunk, for the car attendant came by and had some heated words with the woman and finally she gave the man a couple 100,000 dong notes (each note is worth about $5).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stuck them into his pocket and all was well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I assumed, by letting her slide, he profited well on the trip.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">The cabins have electrical outlets, which is a nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a while, I plugged in my laptop and wrote and worked on photographs for my blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, as everyone in the car was beginning to sleep, I decided to go explore the train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was about 9:30 PM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a “dining car” located nine cars ahead of mine and as I started to make my way through the train, I was shocked by the number of people and where they were at.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the ends of the cars, where one is deafened by the constant clang of the couplings, people were sleeping in folding chairs and on rice mats!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the coaches, people were sprawled out in the middle of the aisle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to straddle their sprawled body, trying not to step on them, as i made my way through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seeing the condition of the coaches, I was ever so glad that I had a berth in a compartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">The dining car was another experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was ¾ full of people playing cards and drinking heavily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The floor was littered with beer cans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was greeted warmly by several of the people, although no one seemed to speak fluent English (and, in some of their conditions, I wondered if their Vietnamese was any better).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got a beer and some chips and sat down and chatted a bit with my fellow travelers and shared photos of my family (I wish I’d brought more photos with me).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards, as our chat was short as there weren’t a lot to be said, I caught up my journal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the beer was gone, I made my way back to my compartment, hopping over those sleeping in the aisle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My compartment mates were all asleep and I crawled into the bunk and was soon there myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over all it was a good ride, except that the engineer running the train was a little heavy on the brakes and a couple of times it felt as if I might be thrown off the bunk.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">The next morning, I was up a little after 5 AM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As our compartment was on the west side of the train, I went outside the compartment and stood in the hallway that ran on the east side, stretching as I watched the sunrise and viewed the Vietnamese countryside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At a stop where they serviced the train, I was able to get a cup of coffee and a small loaf of bread for breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to know my neighbors in the bottom bunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d assumed they were a couple and that she was a few years older than him, but was surprised to learn that she was his mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a teacher, she is traveling a few months in <place w:st="on">Southeast Asia</place> and he joined her for the second half of her trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like me, they’re planning to get off in <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Da Nang</place></city> and going on to Hoi An where they hope to buy clothes (they had measurements for their whole family).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After breakfast (with the other Americans, I have a small French loaf of bread that I brought track-side with the coffee), we share fruit and other food with one another and the family above.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is at this point that we learn another secret.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They guy in the bunk below had complained even since getting on the train about something that smelled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Vietnamese woman, as she was getting food for her to eat, had some of that stinky fruit that you smell here wrapped up in a plastic bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she opened it, it really stunk and soon, the attendant was back in our compartment having harsh words with her (the train is like a lot of hotels in this part of the world, you’re not supposed to bring such fruit inside).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By this point in the trip, I could smell the fruit before I saw it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we were gracious and ate some of her fruit (it’s actually not too bad) and her kids enjoyed some of our cookies and other fruit.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">The rest of the morning I spend talking with the Americans or reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Few of the attendants on this train spoke English and, not having a timetable, we had no idea when we were to get into <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Da Nang</place></city>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both the guy in the bunk below and I had tried to ask an attendant about our arrival and the attendant pointed to 2 PM on our watches. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thinking we were going to be late (we were supposed to get in a little after noon), the three of us got food from one of the carts that comes through the cabins from the dining car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For about 30,000 dong ($1.50), I had rice and chicken and morning glory (a green vegetable that’s popular here).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as we finish eating, we’re told we’re coming into <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Da Nang</place></city>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s only a few minutes after noon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had I known the train was on time, I would have waited and gotten better food in Hoi An.</span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglPZjaQkKD6f_rzKlfxmR763TFHk-bg0I4_rMBmw5gGe7ggpR28eMCIx1oloI67wQTXLQxq4E7SuDAS-8sdz7OC1P2CtZuhBFeAT2UwL4tQtoZjB_teTwlSn1LPgcHUE0NJLBtOEYtcTBl/s1600/boats-wooden.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglPZjaQkKD6f_rzKlfxmR763TFHk-bg0I4_rMBmw5gGe7ggpR28eMCIx1oloI67wQTXLQxq4E7SuDAS-8sdz7OC1P2CtZuhBFeAT2UwL4tQtoZjB_teTwlSn1LPgcHUE0NJLBtOEYtcTBl/s320/boats-wooden.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wooden boats at Hoi An</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDlbjUfE91wq9dF6Xni_YwdNMkbQjfy00PcI_uORdsFfqluPWm1ooshFNBm0u3c5LIDjdGaKl8B8F47bbtaZ2NQv5rfySTj_sTZWbNXNbboCtx0G_UMpzK6dn8ho60fw2IIcxUlfN1Ct-/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDlbjUfE91wq9dF6Xni_YwdNMkbQjfy00PcI_uORdsFfqluPWm1ooshFNBm0u3c5LIDjdGaKl8B8F47bbtaZ2NQv5rfySTj_sTZWbNXNbboCtx0G_UMpzK6dn8ho60fw2IIcxUlfN1Ct-/s320/Slide1.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">I'd booked myself into the Sunflower Hotel in Hoi An, a place located between the town and the beach (I was less interested in shopping than in going to the beach).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Hoi An is about an hour south of <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Da Nang</place></city>, I had taken up the hotel’s offer (for $14) to send a driver to pick me up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The couple had a reservation in Hoi An and we, for a bit more, they piled in the car and the driver delivered them to their hotel before taking me to mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I got to my hotel, I was informed there was a power problem in part of the hotel and they asked if I wouldn’t mind being in another hotel for the night, that they would pick me up in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I didn’t like the idea (the pool at the Sunflower was really nice), I also didn’t like the thought of being in a room without a working air conditioner as it was extremely hot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it was, I was in an even nicer room for the night (although the pool wasn’t quite as nice).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That afternoon, I walked around town, had some chicken and rice for dinner, and went to bed early only to get up early the next morning and walking around the town again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was back and at 8:30, the Sunflower picked me and brought me back to their hotel for breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their breakfast buffet was incredible—a single room (you almost always pay double here for a single) cost me $19 a night and included the buffet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve had buffets in the United States that cost that much and wasn’t nearly as good—with fruit and eggs and omelets cooked to order, seafood noodles, fried rice, pancakes, bread and all the coffee you could drink (the coffee was a real treat cause normally you get just a small cup of very strong coffee).</span></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7luCqA6WSjbNGYAXuFzHrlImd7ynG79lir8UNXcvpN9HiS3TcqFSox8NpbBMBXHHn5DRQfue_8ODwT9xTIl32tLgPYSls4WVjNeoB9fcYfV1xdObMlE0jXZPu4n0IiTDqAB1u9RFBt2UP/s1600/a+friend.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7luCqA6WSjbNGYAXuFzHrlImd7ynG79lir8UNXcvpN9HiS3TcqFSox8NpbBMBXHHn5DRQfue_8ODwT9xTIl32tLgPYSls4WVjNeoB9fcYfV1xdObMlE0jXZPu4n0IiTDqAB1u9RFBt2UP/s320/a+friend.JPG" t$="true" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A friend made at Randy's Bookstore</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">My first afternoon in town, I walked around to see what was available.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a cute town, with a river that separates it into several halves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one time, this was a bristling place and luckily it came out of <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Vietnam</place></country-region>’s long wars pretty much unscathed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In its early days, there were Chinese and Japanese businesses along with European countries who’d set up shop here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the river silted up early in the 20<sup>th</sup> Century, which negatively impacted commerce and slowly the city lost out to other ports in <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Vietnam</place></country-region>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The older part of the town still has the charm of its earlier days with the beautiful <placename w:st="on">Japanese</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Covered Bridge</placetype> and the various “Chinese Assembly Halls (each group of Chinese merchants from different cities had their own place to gather for worship and, as in <place w:st="on">Saigon</place>, the Cantonese hall was the gaudy one).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enjoyed my walk so much that the next morning I was up at 5 AM, walking around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw the sun rise over the river and went through the market, picking up some bananas, carrots and mangos to have for lunch on the beach.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 宋体; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: 宋体;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are a lot of tailor shops in Hoi An!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I talked to a few of the tailors (you can get a suit made real cheap here—50 bucks or so—but the cheapest ones also looked it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided to have a suit made by a guy named Bu who manages a tailor shop known as “Chic Couture.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I assure you, their suits were classier than their name).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even there, I went with an “upgraded fabric” and ended up with two suits, one Italian cashmere and the other a heavier wool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bu took my measurements and got the coat right on the first try, but had to adjust the pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate tight fitting clothes and because of my thighs, pants are hard to fit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After loosening the legs twice, Hu said they better be okay because he was making me a suit and not cargo pants…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My time in Hoi An included a daily stop at the tailors and on the evening before I left the town, I had my suits and two shirts he’d made shipped to a friend in Scotland to hold for me till August when I will pick them up before setting out across the Atlantic on a ship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Including shipping by airmail, the two suits cost me approximately $280.</span></span></span></div> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLFvFXPBSsRr2-8RbiEkq1hHNQbtVBmuYxAjTWI6m24W6uKJR5xh3C5us9_digUCxSV5_zJWuGNBk6DPKA8CJzcp7TkkJZYFeFxec0HAiTRPqwKwxM5cKJq5XARFXx5Tn9AJKMho4HIhbn/s1600/a+sunrise.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLFvFXPBSsRr2-8RbiEkq1hHNQbtVBmuYxAjTWI6m24W6uKJR5xh3C5us9_digUCxSV5_zJWuGNBk6DPKA8CJzcp7TkkJZYFeFxec0HAiTRPqwKwxM5cKJq5XARFXx5Tn9AJKMho4HIhbn/s320/a+sunrise.JPG" t$="true" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sunrise over the river</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">My other plan for Hoi An was to rest from my travels and to write as I soaked up the sun on a beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hoi An is blessed to have <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Cua</placename> <placename w:st="on">Dai</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Beach</placetype></place>, a nice strip of unspoiled sand just 5 km away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The beaches through <place w:st="on">Central Vietnam</place> are all lovely, with palm trees, white sand and no steep drop offs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the Sunflower Hotel, I rented a bike for a buck a day and rode it to the beach numerous times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun was hot in midday, but after lathering on sun screen, it felt good to lay there and listen to the surf and to swim in the warm water. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the afternoons, it would cloud up and cool off (and occasionally rain, but I was back from the beach by then. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On my second morning in Hoi An, I rode out to the beach for sunrise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to the beach just after the sun came up (I did catch it rising on the river behind the beach) and was surprised to find the whole town there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The afternoon before there had only been a few Vietnamese on the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On this Sunday morning, the place was crowded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People were sitting watching the water and the sunrise behind the distant islands while others played soccer and badmiton and a few younger boys threw mud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The latter didn’t last long, just enough to shower me and a hoard of other sun worshippers with grit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their parents immediately sprung into action and, by the tone of their voice, threatened to lock them into tiger cages on <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Con</placename> <placename w:st="on">Dao</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Island</placetype></place>! </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">Heading back to the hotel from the beach, I stopped to photograph the river when a non-Asian gentleman ran over to me from across the road waving his hands and mumbling something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What?” I asked and I caught the word “playa.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a moment I was stunned and then realized that he was asking me if he was on the right road for the beach and I responded, “Si, playa.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He smiled and I went on to repeat, “Yes, beach.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He grinned as if he just realized the English word for beach and said, “Ah, yes, the beach,” and continued on his way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little further, I had to pull off and watch a farmer unload his hogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These pigs, about the right size for a spit, were in the back of a trunk bed that was nearly a meter above the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pigs aren’t known for their jumping ability and this guy was pulling them off and they were bouncing on the pavement and getting up and snorting angrily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In <country-region w:st="on">America</country-region>, I’m sure the local chapter of the SPCA would have been on this guy’s case, but in <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Vietnam</place></country-region>, it was just cheap entertainment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t the only one to stop and watch!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were about a dozen pigs in the back of a mini-truck and none of them wanted to “go to market.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The farmer had a heck of a time getting them down the alley where he was directing them.</span></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj06spGXFyTVgG7blTCF_agtJQUkv4gunFCfmzWnXBCQPowrGA3EQJFxOSlx3wTbgpI21rSVjO_VIPmAl_wDDWlo4P5fbowwTBkKoqTKmiuDSK-fHllxI3nOtBLCcBOO4lX1HfNLSDEZT9L/s1600/dressed+up+for+first+communion.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj06spGXFyTVgG7blTCF_agtJQUkv4gunFCfmzWnXBCQPowrGA3EQJFxOSlx3wTbgpI21rSVjO_VIPmAl_wDDWlo4P5fbowwTBkKoqTKmiuDSK-fHllxI3nOtBLCcBOO4lX1HfNLSDEZT9L/s320/dressed+up+for+first+communion.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dressed up for first communion</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">As it was the Lord’s Day, I came back from the beach, showered and enjoyed the hotel’s buffet and then road my bike to church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As far as I could tell, Hoi An has no Protestant Churches so I went to the local Catholic Church for a festive worship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was “first communion” for a number of children who were all decked out in their finest clothes and who took part in the service by reading scriptures, serving as the choir and collecting the offering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I couldn’t understand much, the priest did say a bit about first communion for the three of us (that I saw) who were obviously not Vietnamese.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">Hoi An is also known for its food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s cheap and good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least once a day, I ate my lunches at the numerous “chicken and rice” stalls around town (for a little over a buck, you can get a plate of chicken and rice with vegetables).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the other meal, I generally went upscale (and spent two bucks or maybe four).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The four buck meal was in a restaurant with a table on the porch overlooking the river and included a sampling of Hoi An cuisine (Cao pork, white rose, wanton fried vegetables, garlic grilled fish, the all-present rice and a dessert custard).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another evening, I had spring rolls, crab cakes and rice, and a wonderful pineapple pancake for dessert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although one can still drink Saigon beer here (and the ubiquitous Heinken is the only international beer available), regional beers reign in <country-region w:st="on">Vietnam</country-region> and in Hoi An, it is Bere Larue which (according to the bottle) has been brewed in <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Da Nang</place></city> since 1909 (they must have made a fortune when the American military was there).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: 宋体;">On the morning of July 11, I left Hoi An on the back of a motorcycle, heading west toward the <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Laos</place></country-region> border and for the Ho Chi Minh Trail, but that’ll be the subject of another post.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWXHoeh2HEZrWXYXqwVIrtB_Idfoo2mbyQSTPUp9WKus9ERhvTbODuFLThsv3yXGa-QzeBx39gOoGEoDNqO6qCSZ6CUbyCe_E7cPSoA1GusxNagqU9yWDOmLFu4ufteYtg7WGk4vDuHga/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWXHoeh2HEZrWXYXqwVIrtB_Idfoo2mbyQSTPUp9WKus9ERhvTbODuFLThsv3yXGa-QzeBx39gOoGEoDNqO6qCSZ6CUbyCe_E7cPSoA1GusxNagqU9yWDOmLFu4ufteYtg7WGk4vDuHga/s320/Slide2.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-3381716132776911862011-07-16T01:33:00.000-07:002011-07-16T01:33:33.253-07:00Saigon (July 4-7, 2011)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidbl0dgTP3ANN8Xaxn4PWPYVryJY5yGT2MDeoWHGYhZeFGGEKC3vEmnrVl_PFUN1CiZfk_EYLnJAcJJd4W8f0XMpLGJi6zdKUaZYUcpZo0H2DFopr-_ODZJBnytNH-sMS2UrIOxniAFGLE/s1600/dinner+in+saigon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidbl0dgTP3ANN8Xaxn4PWPYVryJY5yGT2MDeoWHGYhZeFGGEKC3vEmnrVl_PFUN1CiZfk_EYLnJAcJJd4W8f0XMpLGJi6zdKUaZYUcpZo0H2DFopr-_ODZJBnytNH-sMS2UrIOxniAFGLE/s320/dinner+in+saigon.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New friends in Saigon</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Cheers,” someone called out and we all raised our mugs filled with Saigon beer, clinked them together and then taking a drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first night in Ho Chi Minh City (or Saigon) was incredible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The city goes by both names and there seems to be no rhyme or reason that I could discern as to why someone called it one or the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1975, after the end of the war, the northern victors changed the name of the city to Ho Chi Minh, in honor of the leader who had led the communist party in its opposition to colonial rule (he fought against the French, Japanese and Americans as well as against South).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maps now all read “Ho Chi Minh City” even though most often have Saigon under the name, in parentheses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought maybe those from South Vietnam would be more likely to called the city by its colonial name, but that wasn’t the case as I even talked to those who were from the north and worked for the government who referred to the city as Saigon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And all over town, the name Saigon remains, on hotels and restaurants and even beers.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’d gone into a restaurant on my first night in the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything was in Vietnamese and the staff spoke no English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was trying to figure out what’s what.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn’t yet learned the difference between com (rice), bun (noodles), pho (soup), ga (chicken), heo (pork), bo (beef) and ca (fish).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you know those words, you can eat well in Vietnam!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I was looking at the menu with a phrase book, a man in the next table, Lian, asked if he could help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was looking to go simple (with some fried rice or noodles and pork) while Luan really thought I should have some octopus or try some of the other things on the menu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ordered and he went back to his table where he was with four friends and his sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before my meal came out, they invited me to join them and immediately ordered more food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bach tuot nhum dam (octopus), bach tuot nuong muoi ot (squid) and chan ga nuohg (chicken feet) started appearing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We cooked the octopus at the tables and wrapped it a rice roll, with vegetables, and dipped it in a fish sauce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a precision to Luan’s instruction that I was expected to follow and was chastised when I experimented by dipping in another sauce or adding different ingredients! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think they were a little disappointed that I’d eaten everything in front of me before, except for the chicken feet (which are okay, but you can’t exactly fill one’s stomach by gnawing on those spiny bones with little meat).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More beer was also ordered and we spent the evening talking and laughing and sharing about our families and, of course, toasting one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a little worried at what my share of all this was going to cost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the prices were cheap, and I was sure I had enough, I’d yet to go to the bank and the only Vietnamese money I had was what was left from the exchange of my Cambodian currency for another traveler’s Vietnamese dong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end, this was of no concern, for they wouldn’t let me pay.</span></div> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnlp74sPr1ZFj0LXyezA72wkpfLKsqe5lU11ASCoX0_LsYx8CCnvU3kDjj8iP2CfBSl_kNnW1w_rujgKn8cgDAE2m0HrZ5WpiRouPc_cB1RkH9uz5UqTyO3pxizdZ0cl0TZhXmoX-GdAjx/s1600/cyclo+driver.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnlp74sPr1ZFj0LXyezA72wkpfLKsqe5lU11ASCoX0_LsYx8CCnvU3kDjj8iP2CfBSl_kNnW1w_rujgKn8cgDAE2m0HrZ5WpiRouPc_cB1RkH9uz5UqTyO3pxizdZ0cl0TZhXmoX-GdAjx/s200/cyclo+driver.JPG" width="112px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cyclo driver</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On my first full day in the city, I headed to the War Remnants Museum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was planning on walking but a cyclo driver talked me into going with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a book with notes from tourists he showed that praised him and his English was good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although Cambodian (he moved to Vietnam in 1970), he talked about being a soldier for the South.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swear he said 15,000 dong, or about 75 cent for a few blocks, but then he insisted on it being 150000 dong (he even showed me, at the end of the ride, a price list).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I argued for a few minutes (I could have taken a cab for a 1/3 of that price, but I paid it figuring it was a cheap lesson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was out maybe $5 from what such a ride should have cost me and I never again went with a cyclo or xe-om or motorbike taxi without being absolutely clear on the price, generally having the money in my hand that we agreed on, handing it over only after I had arrived at the destination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, the most amazing thing happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The guy asked me to write in his book!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started to write about the guy being a master con-artist or to say something about his clever “bait-and-switch” scheme…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He suggested that I say what I paid and how good the service was, but in the end I refused to write anything good or bad.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLSvZso7HC72ozl1ShBzJbME5Vh_z9oh1-PdjSoNfvy5T8EfPWGNFLHGguejNgUywVpQlna_pcu29xGO7J-Epd-i2TWLwS-m8wNVC7z_xpUwq6LWar9W4xFgQBg00RlCdFNNd4dzMdnF2x/s1600/a+vietnm+war+museum.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLSvZso7HC72ozl1ShBzJbME5Vh_z9oh1-PdjSoNfvy5T8EfPWGNFLHGguejNgUywVpQlna_pcu29xGO7J-Epd-i2TWLwS-m8wNVC7z_xpUwq6LWar9W4xFgQBg00RlCdFNNd4dzMdnF2x/s320/a+vietnm+war+museum.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I spent a little over two hours at the museum (and could have spent another hour there, but at 12:30, they closed for an hour and a half for lunch).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was insightful, especially the exhibit on war correspondent photography.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As expected, there was quite a bit of revisionist history going on. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of Khe Samh being a battle that the Americans won (for whatever reason we thought that hill was valuable), the battle was reinterpreted as a diversionary tactic by the north to distract the Americans as they planned the Tet Offensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to the museum, they never wanted to take the hill!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If that’s the case, that “diversion” cost the north a huge number of soldiers! However, it is true that although we may have “won” the battle, having the reports of the fighting at Khe Samh on the evening news for week after week did a lot to turn Americans against the war and in that way, the battle was a victory for the North.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Much was said about American atrocities (from the use of Agent Orange and Napalm to My Lai) and nothing about Vietnamese atrocities such as the mass summary executions in Hue during Tet or their treatment of POWs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The museum theme was a nationalist one, pitting the Vietnamese people against the French and latter the Americans (mostly ignoring the fact that South Vietnam was a sovereign country recognized by many other nations in the world and that at best, it was a Civil War).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although they showed the number of troops by other nations in Vietnam (the Americans had by far the most, but there were significant number of troops from Korea and Australia and a few from places like New Zealand and Thailand), the museum depicted it as being a war with America.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside of the museum were left over American tanks, planes and helicopters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a special exhibit devoted to Agent Orange, with photos pointing to the lingering effects from use of the defoliant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiE10v2M_EhDck-RedPdz8t1DS4UCopwdxq90ecgpyg2ZnkbHz4lyg8D-bhlSjraveYyufVIPu7ho33cXM4VuMeeRTYIOSc9ogjtIS2YSR-TIYZihZKGBj0e0HyFuoTv77BA1d4KLRuhAR/s1600/along++canal.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiE10v2M_EhDck-RedPdz8t1DS4UCopwdxq90ecgpyg2ZnkbHz4lyg8D-bhlSjraveYyufVIPu7ho33cXM4VuMeeRTYIOSc9ogjtIS2YSR-TIYZihZKGBj0e0HyFuoTv77BA1d4KLRuhAR/s320/along++canal.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbzjvowosLJ3aF5-wJvQljiiFnOTgZZL1G11qf9Da9O5uP4IlG6w8eVlI0y7kzK2rfliXLZ23YYfk5cMaXj6ii6QzY7FHsbeqjoH7nUPKlPXZiJwgFTXLrRBXy5G9LfPaAOqYzqPMLpMY/s1600/a+notra+dame.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbzjvowosLJ3aF5-wJvQljiiFnOTgZZL1G11qf9Da9O5uP4IlG6w8eVlI0y7kzK2rfliXLZ23YYfk5cMaXj6ii6QzY7FHsbeqjoH7nUPKlPXZiJwgFTXLrRBXy5G9LfPaAOqYzqPMLpMY/s320/a+notra+dame.JPG" width="180px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notre Dame</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the museum kicked us out for lunch, I walked around the town some, checking out the Notre Dame Cathedral (you can tell the French were here), the Post Office (another colonial building that’s quite a sight), the Reunification Palace, and the Continental Hotel (made famous in Graham Greene’s novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Quiet American.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I went down by the river and learned there wasn’t much of a riverfront in Saigon (unlike Phnom Penh).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The night before, after eating with my new Vietnamese friends, I had come back to learn that my computer wasn’t working.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I’m traveling with an Acer netbook),<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found a place to have it checked and they recommended I take it to the Acer Support Center which, surprisingly, was only about a kilometer away!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the support center closed at 5 PM, so I would have to do it the next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As darkness fell, so did the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of venturing out far, I grabbed some dinner at a stall not far from my hotel.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR9LiQr3Qx2tSu6UC2nwJDVA5KjoqQiW0PaI0ztsVG6ioO-jZFkogcD21negOSUMD2smIHAVPGPTIcRA-rvfRmsCk29DGp6M_XAgo7791zP9N3TBMSOxI2JGMuB7tmvy-r-b_sViMNi-G3/s1600/Continential.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR9LiQr3Qx2tSu6UC2nwJDVA5KjoqQiW0PaI0ztsVG6ioO-jZFkogcD21negOSUMD2smIHAVPGPTIcRA-rvfRmsCk29DGp6M_XAgo7791zP9N3TBMSOxI2JGMuB7tmvy-r-b_sViMNi-G3/s320/Continential.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Continential Hotel</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhScaJeQik9C1kLMDB1auS2UJAeZ0q9mgIJV7E9XRcBlm_8xqrNzb-xWaM23vrg8GvRGm2HsGjjiSw5v3DSOuaw3ZUl7G7a6zghY7dIld_nwSyHiwi5QALPIG2hP4Tpsm8Q5NCeTivRG4rL/s1600/chu+chi+tunnel+inside.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhScaJeQik9C1kLMDB1auS2UJAeZ0q9mgIJV7E9XRcBlm_8xqrNzb-xWaM23vrg8GvRGm2HsGjjiSw5v3DSOuaw3ZUl7G7a6zghY7dIld_nwSyHiwi5QALPIG2hP4Tpsm8Q5NCeTivRG4rL/s320/chu+chi+tunnel+inside.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the tunnels</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day, I signed up to take a tour bus to the Cu Chi Tunnels, which are located northwest of the city ($6 for the bus and another couple bucks to enter the museum).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the way, they stopped us at a place that did traditional handicrafts, but most of us were not buying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we left the city, driving past rubber plantations to the museum that’s built upon a Vietcong tunnel network in which they would hide from American and South Vietnamese soldiers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here, they did show the ugly side of the war as they had set up booby traps that had been used by the VC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was also a firing range where, for a little over a dollar a bullet, one could fire an M-16 or other weapons used by the Americans and the Vietcong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a way, the War Museum in Saigon had left out the VC role in the war, but at Cu Chi, the VC’s role was highlighted. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trip to the tunnels ended with a 100 meter crawl through a tunnel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was surprised at how poorly the tunnels were ventilated and that they were warm, not cool as one would expect underground.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I got back around 2 PM and grabbed a quick lunch from a street vendor, sitting in the ubiquitous plastic chairs they all have around their stalls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I ate, I listened in a conversation of an American living here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was talking to an American couple who had asked him why he decided to move to Vietnam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said because it’s cheap and because of the Vietnamese women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to him, he is paying $150 a month for an apartment and, he added, all the single foreign men he’s known that has moved to Vietnam have either married or picked up a girl to live with within six months of arriving in Vietnam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hearing his comments, I couldn’t help but to think of Fowler, the British journalists in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Quiet American</i> who has a Vietnamese lover whom (at least in the beginning of the book) he was willing to dump when he was reassigned back to London.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After lunch, I picked up my computer from my hotel and headed to the Acer Support Center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although it is out of warranty, the guy figured out quickly what happened (probably a power surge and when I tried to reboot it, I had not taken out the battery long enough to discharge the built up electricity).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He then checked it out to make sure it was running and gave it back to me, telling me they’d be no charge. I was shocked and happy (and you’re reading this blog thanks to his generosity).</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR85Cs16rNQTEsJ_Iseb1aflpAiJn0jnWyqoJstVS28CWKwYBpU-s6Vy8VTvOV3yLVUMPD-7Og0FOsu2-kzcUCVhmpj3aAp5hyphenhyphenq7aDXl28m0pUo6tRfNGKluTeayZ_t0hv4gBcK_eYxHLh/s1600/cantonese+temple.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR85Cs16rNQTEsJ_Iseb1aflpAiJn0jnWyqoJstVS28CWKwYBpU-s6Vy8VTvOV3yLVUMPD-7Og0FOsu2-kzcUCVhmpj3aAp5hyphenhyphenq7aDXl28m0pUo6tRfNGKluTeayZ_t0hv4gBcK_eYxHLh/s320/cantonese+temple.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jade Emperor Pagoda</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I spent my final morning in Saigon reading in the park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had brought along a copy of Milton Osborne’s book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Mekong: Turbulent Past, Uncertain Future. </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a timely book to read while in Cambodia and Vietnam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The author, who first came to the Mekong region in the late 1950s and later served in the Australian embassy in Cambodia, did a wonderful job of linking together the history of the river with his own experiences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After finishing the book, I went to the Post Office to mail stuff home and then headed to the Jade Emperor Pagoda, a Cantonese temple that is perhaps the tackiest temple in all of Asia, with its pink and red walls and over abundance of dragons and turtles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(After seeing the Cantonese temple in Hoi An, I now wonder if tacky and Cantonese are synonymous.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside the temple, sellers are offering birds and goldfish as an offering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can release a bird or a goldfish inside as you say your prayers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once inside the temple, I wondered just who those offerings of goldfish were for as the ponds were filled with turtles that, I sure, would have seen a goldfish as a tasty snack.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I come back to the hotel and pick up my bag and then jump on the back of a motorbike and have a xe-om take me to the train station for the overnight trip to Da Nang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the station, I pick up a “fast food” shrimp burger for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the open the gates, I go and find my cabin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 7:20 PM, the train pulls out of the station.</span> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGu4eNB9t8JgbpjTDshMLMeud7HF3_Rp38HHpuNYeV_wDCFPOSAdXgFWXqeOS6xyhYzutsD5PJhr0-CDMhPwPnuJlyzWMFw7WeujkuCswZBRHV_R_3__CR6dG0IzS2xQhxDRu1s6wiSkJP/s1600/a+post+office.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGu4eNB9t8JgbpjTDshMLMeud7HF3_Rp38HHpuNYeV_wDCFPOSAdXgFWXqeOS6xyhYzutsD5PJhr0-CDMhPwPnuJlyzWMFw7WeujkuCswZBRHV_R_3__CR6dG0IzS2xQhxDRu1s6wiSkJP/s320/a+post+office.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post Office</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLSvZso7HC72ozl1ShBzJbME5Vh_z9oh1-PdjSoNfvy5T8EfPWGNFLHGguejNgUywVpQlna_pcu29xGO7J-Epd-i2TWLwS-m8wNVC7z_xpUwq6LWar9W4xFgQBg00RlCdFNNd4dzMdnF2x/s1600/a+vietnm+war+museum.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span id="goog_1511066563"></span><span id="goog_1511066564"></span><br />
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</div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-3808456688628761952011-07-14T04:16:00.000-07:002011-07-14T04:22:38.568-07:00The Mekong Delta (Phnom Penh to Saigon, July 3 & 4, 2011)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibNwbfcOcaCEv_1IhDa0N18TSp5aO3rHE81LvX2s4kCVTL-CJ66Nc3HOV1ZVsYFVOCUWZmuqpulc7n89e2gSsKWDTNEH7OKRJIdLaWR-p1hvhLYXFLnZblsENLtS64iLxJ22soDm8M2tg3/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibNwbfcOcaCEv_1IhDa0N18TSp5aO3rHE81LvX2s4kCVTL-CJ66Nc3HOV1ZVsYFVOCUWZmuqpulc7n89e2gSsKWDTNEH7OKRJIdLaWR-p1hvhLYXFLnZblsENLtS64iLxJ22soDm8M2tg3/s320/Slide1.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I left Phnom Penh on the morning of July 2.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought I was going to be going down the river to Vietnam, leaving from the capital city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tour company picked me up and a few minutes later picked up another couple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like me, they too were surprised at how far we rode in the bus before getting to a boat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The van followed the Mekong to the border at Koom Sum Nor, an “outpost” border crossing if there ever was one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last bit of the trip was on dirt roads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, even here, on the Cambodian side, was a small casino!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My travel partners for this trip were Emma and Josh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emma is from Indiana and has just finished a Fulbright year in Vietnam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Josh is an Australian who’d spent a year doing his country’s equivalent of a Fulbright, working with sustainable agiculture practices in Vietnam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two of them were completing a several week trip throughout SE Asia and were on their last week before heading to their respective homes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Josh and Emma made the perfect travel partners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From Josh, I learned about farming practices in Vietnam and with Emma, we discussed the Mormon Church and its beliefs, with Josh asking the questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emma’s Master’s Degree thesis dealt with Mormon women in secular universities (although not Mormon, as an undergraduate she had a Mormon dorm roommate who struggled with her faith). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5z1YXPLeSt4ApkBz7EQB_GPqF5iA1xDQaaxxZdMsVfB6zD4p02-vdrL3uV_iV87VdCI0KQ8TixJSDXxeiGfwA3iz-KCYeEeIpfAnFXCvInmXE_aS_dTuYnJh9D0jyRcsRH513En12-CA/s1600/Slide3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5z1YXPLeSt4ApkBz7EQB_GPqF5iA1xDQaaxxZdMsVfB6zD4p02-vdrL3uV_iV87VdCI0KQ8TixJSDXxeiGfwA3iz-KCYeEeIpfAnFXCvInmXE_aS_dTuYnJh9D0jyRcsRH513En12-CA/s320/Slide3.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div>After having our passport stamped and given entry permits into Vietnam, we crawled into a boat that had just come up the river with a load of travelers heading into Cambodia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the tour guide took our passports to be processed, the group of us stood around a dining room in no man’s land, having lunch and trying to figure out what’s next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As there were no currency exchange places along the border, I swapped my Cambodian money for Vietnamese dong with some of the tourists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Cambodia, they take American dollars (and knowing this, I’d brought along a bundle of dollar bills).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only Cambodian money I had was that for which I’d exchanged Thai Bahts, or money that was given to me as change for dollars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One doesn’t need much Cambodian money, if one has dollars and I would have taken a beating on if I had to exchange it from a regular currency dealer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOTosh00-RJAivCa_GmLRssOTrcEJOmde_QUzqE2ib22jyc1UKLdmwJzLmpbpFDDT-zEErPWjeJx8r77oBga6lJdQ68T71cibSrJUEkKcyI4cIeooz4hA5ox4VWVRkssX_7_lgxIavTHX/s1600/c+doc.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOTosh00-RJAivCa_GmLRssOTrcEJOmde_QUzqE2ib22jyc1UKLdmwJzLmpbpFDDT-zEErPWjeJx8r77oBga6lJdQ68T71cibSrJUEkKcyI4cIeooz4hA5ox4VWVRkssX_7_lgxIavTHX/s320/c+doc.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaaching Chau Doc</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from hotel room in Chau Doc</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our boat started on the main channel of the Mekong, but soon turned into a smaller stream that looked as if it might have been used as a scene in Apocalypse Now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bamboo bridges crossed the water and people used boats to ferry themselves around as well as to haul everything: hardware, produce, grain and even sand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some people lived on boats, others were for fishing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Water buffaloes rested in the water, only their noses sticking out in order to breathe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kids played in the water. Fishermen mended nets and filets were out to dry in the sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three older boys were struggling to get a pump out of the water. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, the banks are high, but at the end of the rainy season, the water will flow over the banks and most travel will have to be done by boats. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7I7_x_V1DPMdzclhGNfJ7dCH4bhzh0ZgLGiSzr1lZhd0u3T_0uMZerHkMMPZj8wBWPM70gR_qB8ZQ-m5iFxYkd1d_HNkaQvfl-j_nVKKVbmazryQ8tq-44wr-uxbE8YV4Lpu8fyAXQGt7/s1600/a+hotel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7I7_x_V1DPMdzclhGNfJ7dCH4bhzh0ZgLGiSzr1lZhd0u3T_0uMZerHkMMPZj8wBWPM70gR_qB8ZQ-m5iFxYkd1d_HNkaQvfl-j_nVKKVbmazryQ8tq-44wr-uxbE8YV4Lpu8fyAXQGt7/s320/a+hotel.JPG" width="180px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hotel</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our trip ended up in the town of Chau Doc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We checked in at the Vinh Phcoc Guesthouse, located only a short walk from the river and from the town’s market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent the afternoon walking around the market and had asked the hotel about a xe-om (a motor scooter taxi) to take me to Sam Mountain for the sunset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Getting back to the hotel, I was surprised to learn that my xe-om driver was Dung, a woman who worked at the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We headed off to the mountain that rises some 250 meters above the delta and spent a hour or so on top, enjoying the hammocks as we watched the sun sink lower behind the Cambodian horizon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We spent the time talking about our families and work and life in Vietnam and America.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards, we stopped at a pagoda on the flanks of Sam Mountain and a temple that was near its base.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80g50w_UkRn1t_Ee5AxfqPNzsN1honBYNDkF0shUyZRT7HXDgclJPJiO6Ys-m-gpUtAsTntLRX5gx4NjzQnV3UeJIHWLO3lpAs_k2ZqQkC7tDxo9VIcaOhkw8so0kd3l7qNMwQ7AbjFn4/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80g50w_UkRn1t_Ee5AxfqPNzsN1honBYNDkF0shUyZRT7HXDgclJPJiO6Ys-m-gpUtAsTntLRX5gx4NjzQnV3UeJIHWLO3lpAs_k2ZqQkC7tDxo9VIcaOhkw8so0kd3l7qNMwQ7AbjFn4/s320/Slide2.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFgfjnjo1E1hXohTxpxphEDTdBztY08dtPg67_-16mzm7R7tVZCdCQzKkmn88MLzgDgnBncTdGTEqNq-0b34dsvDmVQTtaMWhFisf8JjRjoo-c1ex-ygIrr-K31Sef6U7hDSjCQQ3OQmx/s1600/cham+village.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFgfjnjo1E1hXohTxpxphEDTdBztY08dtPg67_-16mzm7R7tVZCdCQzKkmn88MLzgDgnBncTdGTEqNq-0b34dsvDmVQTtaMWhFisf8JjRjoo-c1ex-ygIrr-K31Sef6U7hDSjCQQ3OQmx/s320/cham+village.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cham village</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20Rac0U7EjmcNsAv_acZKqEIkm-2I275SLj0U0p5QYYG-x43T8WLFrcnjECWgAg4htPQsGdbWPPOpI8qZQ0CMwm6v6BA1Imgum8oJ7-tHMbir-6xvFf5h9_IVSesVtNmUjOOjwlFpL_Cj/s1600/Slide4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20Rac0U7EjmcNsAv_acZKqEIkm-2I275SLj0U0p5QYYG-x43T8WLFrcnjECWgAg4htPQsGdbWPPOpI8qZQ0CMwm6v6BA1Imgum8oJ7-tHMbir-6xvFf5h9_IVSesVtNmUjOOjwlFpL_Cj/s320/Slide4.JPG" width="320px" /></a> <span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next morning, I was up early, as there was a tour included in my trip (that I wasn’t aware of) to a Cham minority village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Cham people originally came from the Malay Peninsula and are Muslim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are found throughout the Mekong Delta, both in Vietnam and Cambodia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the reign of Pol Pot in Cambodia, they were marked for extinction and many were killed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1978, Cambodian soldiers moved into towns along the Vietnam bordered and killed several thousand Vietnamese Chams, which gave the Vietnamese government a valid reason to invade Cambodia and perform a “regime change.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After having come through Muslim countries, the village wasn’t that interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got to see a woman weave some traditional fabric.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it was off to the mosque, but while others looked around, I played with kids who were using plastic bottles as bowling pens and flip flops to knock them down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our next stop was a fish farm, which was interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These farms are floating and the fish stay within netting under the floor of a house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside there is a larger cooker where rice is made into a meal to feed the fish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Feeding the fish is exciting as there seems to be thousands of mouths come to the service to fight over the rice meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was back at the hotel by 9 AM, and waiting for the bus to Saigon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the worst bus trip so far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was placed in the back row, next to a guy that stunk and didn’t seem to have any idea of personal boundaries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trip seemed to take forever, the only highlights being the ferry across the Mekong and eating roasted corn sold by street venders who boarded the bus while it was on the ferry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As any bus trip from hell should end, this one terminated at a different bus station than I’d been told (requiring a 30 minute xe-om ride across Saigon).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But once the xe-om found the Phan Lan Hotel, I was pleasantly surprised by both the condition of my room and the friendly staff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was ready to explore a new city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-D8EmXSqw5bvUSX0qPv8bGW6DxuMWgaUb0t8pYDWwNKkYV2vovY9ClltOw9fblZNJBrP7UarUcpEd8snwI9seh-N2hrf1ajlrMYotBrCf9Se2mkVRaGxpcVKPnapeK_FjQDq40ZDBpU6e/s1600/a+ferry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-D8EmXSqw5bvUSX0qPv8bGW6DxuMWgaUb0t8pYDWwNKkYV2vovY9ClltOw9fblZNJBrP7UarUcpEd8snwI9seh-N2hrf1ajlrMYotBrCf9Se2mkVRaGxpcVKPnapeK_FjQDq40ZDBpU6e/s320/a+ferry.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ferry on the Mekong</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-59719035958191515862011-07-12T23:16:00.000-07:002011-07-12T23:16:24.443-07:00Phnom Penh and the Killing Fields (July 1 & 2, 2011) <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6FTnRf4dudHa2kZDSFev4rDroxnomATcJQIIuY2aHYbnnLdb-krpePETHwrLXtAUFCfwEG2xx8ukQE0WCpdbr1Fsh8cCfXbNYi-sdHx7SRSDXUowPqTz6K2mDrp0NpwA7BS_JNMmJ40WO/s1600/a+stupa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6FTnRf4dudHa2kZDSFev4rDroxnomATcJQIIuY2aHYbnnLdb-krpePETHwrLXtAUFCfwEG2xx8ukQE0WCpdbr1Fsh8cCfXbNYi-sdHx7SRSDXUowPqTz6K2mDrp0NpwA7BS_JNMmJ40WO/s320/a+stupa.JPG" width="180px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Shocking doesn’t begin to describe how I felt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Horror, yes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A great sadness came over me as I approached the stupa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside the pagoda-like building which rose inside the gate were skills, hundreds of them, their empty eye sockets staring out toward those of us who approached.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I knew it was coming, I was still moved to tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Signs everywhere instructed us to be quiet and respectful, but they were not needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone was affected by the scene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A young boy, perhaps American or maybe European, broke away from his family and went and sat along, holding his head in his hands and covering his eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most wiped their eyes and shook their heads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the base of the stupa there was a man selling incense and flowers, so that we might honor the dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was outraged when he made the pitch, thinking that no one should profit from such a tragedy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew how Jesus must have felt at the temple when he turned over the tables of the money changers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skulls inside stupa</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Years ago, after having seen the movie “The Killing Fields, I’d read Haing Ngor’s<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Cambodian Odyssey</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ngor, who played the leading role in the movie, had been a physician in Cambodia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the fall of Phnon Penh in April 1975, he was able to avoid a certain death by impersonating a peasant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like all others in the city, he was sent out into the countryside where lived and worked in camps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While there he witnessed and experienced firsthand torture and brutality at the hands of the Khmer Rouge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The book tells his story which is, in some ways, even more horrific than the movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found it ironic that the reign of terror in Cambodia began about the time of my last grading period in high school and concluded, with the invasion by Vietnam in January 1979, as I was beginning my final semester as an undergraduate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The events in the country are tied to an important formative era of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I was struggling to make my way into adulthood, these people were suffering incredibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_BPyV3R7mvLP7nmz51gawY1ioqoGb5GKVz-8s6ICHAsPF1S7FOwbGYOc4m8WQEzhncWJbV2AsnI70ftTG40oHqKBua6H2UGpRy-demYfuBixmiV7D33FyYBfiBB_WGIELeuUU6m3IPc2F/s1600/a+killing+field.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_BPyV3R7mvLP7nmz51gawY1ioqoGb5GKVz-8s6ICHAsPF1S7FOwbGYOc4m8WQEzhncWJbV2AsnI70ftTG40oHqKBua6H2UGpRy-demYfuBixmiV7D33FyYBfiBB_WGIELeuUU6m3IPc2F/s320/a+killing+field.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excavation sites</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Choeung Ek Genocide Center, the place advertised today as “The Killing Fields,” is but one of the mass grave areas that have been discovered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The stupa in honor of the dead rises above the ground, which is pot-marked with holes where the excavation of mass graves occurred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walk alone in silence, on the high ground between the excavation sites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Signs point to the place where a makeshift holding cell held prisoners bound and blindfolded, awaiting their execution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other signs note where executions took place and where babies were killed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When a parent was sentenced to death, the whole family would often be killed as Pol Pot and his henchmen (and women) didn’t want to deal with children growing up and extracting revenge for their parent’s death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point, a girl from perhaps Germany, screams and points to a bone fragment sticking up just above the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to the signs, every rain brings out new fragments which collected displayed in containers around the site.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This site was chosen as a place to execute prisoners from S-21, a prison in a former high school that is now a genocide museum.</span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk4KJ0bK068_aT6Sj9NCCpB86LXed1pa9JRDtRBE_zBE129BTjDpwGgnMo-ByRyLcOLBzCu-w-aZo_RfmyrxfMtJ_SjDLLjDvdyw2UwPlInuNzxfqhRDmkZNCzuk5S-rFsjxpNzNMF1Smm/s1600/a+former+school.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk4KJ0bK068_aT6Sj9NCCpB86LXed1pa9JRDtRBE_zBE129BTjDpwGgnMo-ByRyLcOLBzCu-w-aZo_RfmyrxfMtJ_SjDLLjDvdyw2UwPlInuNzxfqhRDmkZNCzuk5S-rFsjxpNzNMF1Smm/s320/a+former+school.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Former school and torture center, now a museum</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I stayed on the grounds for about an hour and a half.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d seen enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found my driver who was waiting outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d hired him from the hotel for $5, with the agreement that he’d take me to both the Killing Fields and the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, our next stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drove back into town (the Killing Fields was about 17 km from town) and to the school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, the driver waited as I pay the admission fee and went inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The school consisted of numerous three story buildings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first was reserved for interrogation and torture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Victims were forced to confess their crimes against the revolutionary regime, before being executed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rules of the facility were posted (in Khmer and English) and in front there were gallows where prisoners were hung and beaten or dunked into tanks of filthy water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other classroom buildings were used as cells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One set of buildings had been cut up into smaller cells, each just long enough for a prisoner to lie down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the balconies outside of the cells, barbwire had been strung, reportedly to keep the prisoners from jumping to a suicide death. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside each cubical was a pot for water and for one’s waste.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through much of the building were posted photographs of the condemned, nameless faces with blank stares.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few of the photographs show terror in the faces and a few others show the victim forcing a small for the camera, but most hold a blank expression of resignation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their faces stand in contrast to today, for the Cambodian people seem so friendly and are always smiling.<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57xv4EsflhjVcU_3DBfwp2WvtL2GuoJzGYx95uUWoYvYt7Zi6t6XJ_xLRZzKfs2uDPed2k4pvck-444SqBkolN38TyjZC6ZobxcX2-uenNsWC9lzBdTa8W8FUldAZ1fye-STIunvThSTY/s1600/contrast+gas+station.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57xv4EsflhjVcU_3DBfwp2WvtL2GuoJzGYx95uUWoYvYt7Zi6t6XJ_xLRZzKfs2uDPed2k4pvck-444SqBkolN38TyjZC6ZobxcX2-uenNsWC9lzBdTa8W8FUldAZ1fye-STIunvThSTY/s320/contrast+gas+station.JPG" width="320px" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gas station on the way to Phnom Penh<br />
notice street vendor next to station selling liters of petro!</td></tr>
</tbody></table></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">I got to experience some of the joy of the Cambodian people first hand on the bus from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh the day before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got stuck in the back of the bus, next to a high school student who spoke perfect English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the seat ahead sat his mother and his four year old sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, his sister spent much of the trip with us, playing and laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At four, she spoke some English and was attending a Montessori Kindergarten in Phnom Penh. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Occasionally, her mother would send back a packet of class material for her daughter to review.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By Cambodian standards, this family was rich!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The student beside had also attended an English speaking kindergarten ran by Christians, even though he and his family were Buddhist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">The road from Siem Reap started out nice, but after Kempong Thom the quality of the road surface deteriorated (it was being rebuilt) and the bus bumped and swayed over stretches of dirt roads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We passed farms and some forest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Entering Phnom Penh, I was surprised to see two mosque from the bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cambodia does have a Muslim minority (a group singled-out by the Khmer Rouge for extermination—as they did with other groups that were seen as non-Khmer: Christians, Vietnamese and Chinese).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh974d3BXb2_yQ5BR2ScKxT6ebwi82wE9ER4O_csmx-wziKOxMxtNgY_ozwdrIsp02WZ7KgBQL30glmAAflZ6xRqonOqcksnMJiKGuDHp3_VyH7LsXEibb-uRgSzE5iJp9ClLTnvBnMi_Bm/s1600/a+street.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh974d3BXb2_yQ5BR2ScKxT6ebwi82wE9ER4O_csmx-wziKOxMxtNgY_ozwdrIsp02WZ7KgBQL30glmAAflZ6xRqonOqcksnMJiKGuDHp3_VyH7LsXEibb-uRgSzE5iJp9ClLTnvBnMi_Bm/s320/a+street.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buddhist monks outside of Phnom Penh</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf-5DUtnYdg6MRIDN7dwCvUAzSETI5fihZrsR076hdgmF5oSSbIBfzVmImIeU19JadCBUdMhyphenhyphenaV187ojlgHAcFTHB2JqVPLjNI-pHzTN1pOlHVAY5UvUykjwjiA4gvjThzOKrgS3ANiE1o/s1600/another+street+scene.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf-5DUtnYdg6MRIDN7dwCvUAzSETI5fihZrsR076hdgmF5oSSbIBfzVmImIeU19JadCBUdMhyphenhyphenaV187ojlgHAcFTHB2JqVPLjNI-pHzTN1pOlHVAY5UvUykjwjiA4gvjThzOKrgS3ANiE1o/s320/another+street+scene.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Street Scene in Phnom Penh</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisJXqyNU-4y0DEKg7oIWCgPt-zGfxseGhnbFVs7BpSweFbf94Gc1KaaN5P60m9iX1s8YqqcjT8umdFzNiCgyLZwFmTEJEFdXu9ESNBqo8RPdsDtnjLddje4si2T86-soR7MaT2lyBQp_xc/s1600/a+king+guest+house.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisJXqyNU-4y0DEKg7oIWCgPt-zGfxseGhnbFVs7BpSweFbf94Gc1KaaN5P60m9iX1s8YqqcjT8umdFzNiCgyLZwFmTEJEFdXu9ESNBqo8RPdsDtnjLddje4si2T86-soR7MaT2lyBQp_xc/s320/a+king+guest+house.JPG" width="180px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Front of King Guesthouse</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">At the bus station in Phnom Penh, by the Mekong River, I meet a driver from the King Guesthouse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I jumped into the “chariot” and off we went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was only two blocks from the riverfront.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In its day, The King Guesthouse and Spa (it’s full name, but I am unsure where they get the idea of spa from) was quite the establishment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The stairs were beautifully done with terrazzo steps and rails and a well in the interior of the building drew in air from the rooms and created a pleasant breeze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, most of the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>rooms were converted to air conditioning (although I didn’t exactly have to worry about the AC in my room requiring me to ask for a blanket as the AC only put out a small stream of cool air).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hotel showed it age and wasn’t the cleanest place I’d stayed so far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Furthermore, one of the workers couldn’t seem to keep his hands off the guest (this was a complaint made by several of the guest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first time of two we talked, he’d touch my arm as he spoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he came and sat by me at a table to talk and put his hand on my leg, I slapped it off in a way that indicated it wasn’t welcome and game him a stern look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards, he steered clear of me.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">The afternoon, after visiting the Killing Fields and Genocide museum, I walked around the city, visiting the post office, the local market and a local Buddhist temple as well as walking along the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That night, I made reservations for Saigon and talked to Jerry, the owner, who gave me an older copy of the Rough Guide to Vietnam (he had a stack of them left behind by backpackers).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning, after breakfast, I was heading down the Mekong, into Vietnam and the Mekong Delta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-53807013022767821902011-07-10T16:56:00.000-07:002011-07-10T17:01:41.895-07:00Siem Reap and Angkor Wat (June 29-30, 2011)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36JVxaEfqIpP4R6xwV7MeoSW255-MRv1_krtkDUpifYXCvldw1As2xcWTjWE2uV4k94lavLSp8vp5L7IZQMJ_0MKXDuIMLSR84iafN6HI44ExOjeSS_qzUbjj-Ixcfz66EyYNrzKKulbN/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36JVxaEfqIpP4R6xwV7MeoSW255-MRv1_krtkDUpifYXCvldw1As2xcWTjWE2uV4k94lavLSp8vp5L7IZQMJ_0MKXDuIMLSR84iafN6HI44ExOjeSS_qzUbjj-Ixcfz66EyYNrzKKulbN/s320/Slide1.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Angkor Wat is amazing, in all aspects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you take this temple and all the surrounding temples and palaces into consideration, what the ancient Khmer people were able to accomplish overwhelms the modern mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Mayan ruins are also amazing, but pales in comparison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s also amazing how touristy this area has become in a little over a decade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t that long ago that Cambodia wasn’t even on the tourist path and anyone who could, was getting out of the country, with refugees overloading neighboring lands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, the Khmer Rouge in their reign of terror and destruction left Angkor alone, feeling they owed some allegiance to these ancient people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having heard so much about the temple complex, I chose to make the most of my time there and begin my day at Angkor Wat before sunrise.</span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I stayed at the Golden Bannana in Siem Reap, a wonderful bed and breakfast, who actually sent someone to knock on my door at 4:30 AM to make sure that I was awake before heading to the temples at 4:45 AM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few minutes later, when I walked out into the humid morning air, my driver was waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Riding in the carriage attached to his motorcycle, we race toward the temples.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, I had the feeling I was on a chariot as our drivers jockeyed for position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the amount of traffic at this time of the morning, I realized I wasn’t going to be alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stopped outside of the gate where I had to purchase a ticket to the temple complex (it’s $20 a day or $40 for three days and they prefer American dollars for to pay Cambodian would take a thick wad of bills).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also interesting is that you get a “pass” for the temples that includes your photo (and keeps you giving your ticket to someone else).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Numerous times throughout the day I was required to produce it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With ticket in hand, we headed one to the temple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My driver dropped me off in front and suggested that after sunrise, I tour the Angkor Wat complex, and then we’d go back to the Golden Banana for breakfast before coming back and touring some of the other temples.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I headed into the area near the temple, had my passed check and I was going through the first gate, was told to come this way and toward a Buddha.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Incense and candles were burning and the guy started to instruct me on how to pray and show homage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Torn between not wanting to be insensitive to his faith and my own beliefs that tend shy away from such practices, I tried to be reverent, hoping I’d learn a little about this faith which is a part of the purpose of this trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I actually learned a lot there, but it had little to do with Buddhism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a woman next to me who was finishing up her homage to Buddha, and I noticed out of the corner of my eye there was a silk cloth folded on at the foot of Buddha and they opened it and on top was a $10 bill and suggested then that she also made a contribution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to get away, but the guy first said that I needed to make a contribution to show respect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remembering that I had some Thai baths in my pocket, I decided to pull out that wad and give them a 20 baht bill, which is too small to convert into other currency and would make a statement…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I pulled out my Thai money, he immediately saw a 1000 baht bill and suggestion that was appropriate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him he was crazy (that’s 30 dollars) and pulled a 20 baht bill out and dropped it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s not enough,” he said,” so I reached down to grab it, saying “if you don’t want it I’ll take it back.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this point, I was making a scene and destroying his scam, so he pushed me away saying something about bad karma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Throughout Angkor, there are such scams, most of which asks for a dollar or two, this one at the gate in the darkness of the morning, when people were still asleep was going for the big bucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGl13jb1BdWZ0jZfgrTkZHHeAlDeb5_Q8TpQ4-6rTdygPx1hwzib7DaFrpgXyWoFr1e8Qsr9ECnXDpUW-4j1ZoW9m2051wXsDVDy5duH_4LzKob6C-CHO1UF1rWdXpTL7ouEuqn1sQVugk/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGl13jb1BdWZ0jZfgrTkZHHeAlDeb5_Q8TpQ4-6rTdygPx1hwzib7DaFrpgXyWoFr1e8Qsr9ECnXDpUW-4j1ZoW9m2051wXsDVDy5duH_4LzKob6C-CHO1UF1rWdXpTL7ouEuqn1sQVugk/s320/Slide2.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Walking on through the gate, I joined up with a hoard of my closest friends to watch the sunrise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The placed sounded like Babel, the morning after.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All kinds of languages were spoken as people stood looking at the sky and a ruin and hoping for a brilliant sunrise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sunrise wasn’t brilliant (maybe that was my bad karma), it was cloudy, but the sky did turn a nice shades of pink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the sun was up, I headed across the causeway and into the temple proper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Angkor means city and wat means temple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a massive complex with several sets of walls and many different temples.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throughout the complex, one sees evidence of both Hindu and Buddhist beliefs (the temple started as a Hindu temple, later a Buddhist king came to power and he attempted to cover up some of the Hindu stuff and make it more Buddhist, then later there was another Hindu king who disfigured some of the Buddhas…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, surprisingly, there are few Buddha statues in the temple complex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Hindu carvings, telling of the legends of the Indus people, can still be seen around the walls of the complex.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyzi-MkYtZum9M9lTKhUUEV8QJOi7G0H13Z9Y2fGsgUwlzYZJ_PIyk6jXQGt8yOk4MRjxWuW1y2Nu-1QhwUmllD3EZV1TtjtAJ35ywDo0mscJOpXuLEVPe0TBayUshtQNhzn6a5xdjTI-s/s1600/Slide3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyzi-MkYtZum9M9lTKhUUEV8QJOi7G0H13Z9Y2fGsgUwlzYZJ_PIyk6jXQGt8yOk4MRjxWuW1y2Nu-1QhwUmllD3EZV1TtjtAJ35ywDo0mscJOpXuLEVPe0TBayUshtQNhzn6a5xdjTI-s/s320/Slide3.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Again, like the temples in Thailand, there is no way to capture the massiveness of Angkor Wat or many of the other sites around Siem Reap<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a couple of hours at Angkor Wat, I met back with Changa, my driver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went back to the hotel where I had breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At a little after nine, we were off again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our first stop was “Angkor Thom (which means “large city”) which is behind Angkor Wat and much more massive. We entered by the south gate, but before going in, I walked over to a small temple (Phnom Bakheng) which looked appealing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one was around and I climbed to the top and enjoyed the view in private.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I entered Angkor Thom, walking through the gate and began to explore what had been a massive city with temples and a palace and the much heralded “elephant terrace’, among other ruins showing the Khmer people at the height of their culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent two hours at Angkor Thom, before we moved on to Ta Thominanon, Cha Suy Tauota, then Tao Keo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards, Changa and I went to lunch.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvsZm7oVoSk25PhcAj_KRLv1002Bz4hNrimoiutS0ZsxEQm5K7Q0R85levwv8z7wxOcSu6s5LlLZFbgS6xvd-lFpO7PGa4I-5jOHio9lSyj_uvtKHpKQT-bqlUxdiGIeknd3ksQOOcCIu/s1600/a+phnem.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvsZm7oVoSk25PhcAj_KRLv1002Bz4hNrimoiutS0ZsxEQm5K7Q0R85levwv8z7wxOcSu6s5LlLZFbgS6xvd-lFpO7PGa4I-5jOHio9lSyj_uvtKHpKQT-bqlUxdiGIeknd3ksQOOcCIu/s320/a+phnem.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near the headwaters for the Tonle Sap <br />
Notice the phnom in the background</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the last day of June, I had seen enough temples for a while, so I decided to head out into the Cambodian countryside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In his book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dark Star Safari</i>, Paul Theroux criticizes much of the “relief work” done in Africa, saying that after fifty years of aid, the continent is in worse shape today than in 1960. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The metaphor for much of this aid work is the Landover or similar ATVs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only commercial safaris and NGOs can afford such vehicles and, at least from my reading of his book, he felt such vehicles creates a barrier between those trying to do aid work and those who are in need of such aid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That said, I headed out into the Cambodian countryside with no ATV.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bicycle that I’d gotten from the hotel (and this is my only complaint about the Golden Banana) was a “beater” even by Cambodian standards!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is nothing like peddling through the countryside on a bike that you’re not sure will get you back home to generate conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bike was at least six inches too small and was a woman’s bike at that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had I been thinking, I would have not rented from the hotel and gone into town to rent t a more suitable bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least I could have gotten one where I could have raised the seat enough to have pedaled comfortably (and not have to worry if the bike was road worthy).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it was, riding around Cambodia with a beater school kids on their way to and from school or going home for lunch would peddle up beside me and practice their English for a few minutes before leaving me in their dust. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rode it out into the fields, on a dam running through a rice paddy and no one thought anything about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although a white guy, I was blending in.</span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiz66zZU2ANkm2ybBket-nMSL-vHxgH-3LCBtg12GMBezwtNy91HepxUmq2nu69X57m00LNGaArLAaueGLKcfZphGqt3FJKT4ZweDCO3OcsYBGGs8WdmMr7K0NWEH3EuP0_Tj0C5jOzAIV/s1600/a+road+off+the+beatn+path.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiz66zZU2ANkm2ybBket-nMSL-vHxgH-3LCBtg12GMBezwtNy91HepxUmq2nu69X57m00LNGaArLAaueGLKcfZphGqt3FJKT4ZweDCO3OcsYBGGs8WdmMr7K0NWEH3EuP0_Tj0C5jOzAIV/s320/a+road+off+the+beatn+path.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A road through fields</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This bike ride (which was a little over 30 kms), will be one of the highlights of the trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rode out to where th e boats leave for the Tonle Sap Lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were still doing boat tours, but the lake was so low that it impossible to get a boat to Phnom Penh (which had been my plan).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been told they were running boats to Battambang and thought about trying to go there and then take the once a week train to Phnom Penh, but then those boats stopped running too and I later learned the train, which had just started back operating, wasn’t operational.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHtHYMSACVaz8cDt9BN9E6yA6NT4Bm-cfmGeFtnUxl-o62tDwqkC9KoM15x0mlsZpba67DeMXT9yYYrSbSpPLOalvMft7mqV-R5Z7dZmI-ZN7X4JSju_hoatI0wIBxNZWaOGZ4SMI9U3pG/s1600/a+farmer++harvesting+water+lotus.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHtHYMSACVaz8cDt9BN9E6yA6NT4Bm-cfmGeFtnUxl-o62tDwqkC9KoM15x0mlsZpba67DeMXT9yYYrSbSpPLOalvMft7mqV-R5Z7dZmI-ZN7X4JSju_hoatI0wIBxNZWaOGZ4SMI9U3pG/s320/a+farmer++harvesting+water+lotus.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harvesting lotus</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhUiblioibHTMzy3346Quf_aMLSGFRhtherWx3vjYsysuOZo09Yt_Iit0I4LpG63Dat-X7MMyTn04TanoszjBuU5ZK4_t_40tunWxMxNhMENOw-Hubl0CJZoVD1tVF3b7geJgd0joMDpKR/s1600/boats.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhUiblioibHTMzy3346Quf_aMLSGFRhtherWx3vjYsysuOZo09Yt_Iit0I4LpG63Dat-X7MMyTn04TanoszjBuU5ZK4_t_40tunWxMxNhMENOw-Hubl0CJZoVD1tVF3b7geJgd0joMDpKR/s320/boats.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boats for the Toule Sap</td></tr>
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T<span style="font-family: Calibri;">he bike trip was my chance to see the upper reaches of the lake and to get away from it all for a day or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a good decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to see the contrast of Cambodian life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At a small store, I watched the proprietor mix concrete by hand for a ramp he was building.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next door, a cement truck was dumping it’s load into a cement pump truck that was then pumping the concrete to a second floor slab.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The contrasts are amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took a log break for lunch at a restaurant that was on stilts (much of this area is on stilts for at the end of the rainy season, this area is all flooded).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of the rainy season, when everything is saturated and the Mekong filled with snow melt from Tibet, the Mekong River actually reverses course and instead of flowing into the sea, the water comes up into the Tonle Sap Lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rainy season was just beginning, it’d been another month, I was told, before the lake began to rise. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ate rice and vegetables with pork that was served with hot tea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had hammocks strung out in an open air pavilion (under a thatch straw roof) and after eating, I napped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Enjoying the breeze, I listened to the birds sing, a dog barking in the distance as well as the on and off sounds of a hammer next door. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could have done without the latter, but that restaurant didn’t have any customers! </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7LQycfHUSLJeu8PLL-OhKt6FAOFVf4KsCSbJZ-rQbFS0BSd1kyp0QfsHP42uNmK8lMgkt08KsV2z-GdSiQQF-B00ThLDXmfI6WxaMSLEdTajhCI4IHKj0wNwxiyfr-9T3LCiEaal8Bq7C/s1600/Slide6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7LQycfHUSLJeu8PLL-OhKt6FAOFVf4KsCSbJZ-rQbFS0BSd1kyp0QfsHP42uNmK8lMgkt08KsV2z-GdSiQQF-B00ThLDXmfI6WxaMSLEdTajhCI4IHKj0wNwxiyfr-9T3LCiEaal8Bq7C/s320/Slide6.JPG" width="320px" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Coming back, I got off the main road and followed the canal on the other side, through an area off the tourist path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was both beautiful and I felt blessed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I passed a well donated by a man in Virginia Beach, saw fish drying on racks and numerous grasshopper traps (yep, they eat ‘em) as well as visited temples that weren’t on the tourist circuit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After I got back to the Golden Banana, I took another swim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then a thunderstorm came up and I waited it out before heading into town to Indian food for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The proprietor’s two children entertained me throughout the meal (the oldest was six and was speaking four languages)!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards, I wrote in my blog and then crashed for the evening, knowing that late the next morning I’d be taking a bus to Phnom Penh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the night, it rained and I slept well except for a lone dream early in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d come back to Butler (where I had been a student pastor assistant while in Seminary) to take over as pastor at Covenant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Steve was there, but he was leaving and I was to preach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I couldn’t find my sermon, then I couldn’t find my suit and I was wondering if I could preach with just my robe over a t-shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Steve told me he could preach one more week, getting me off the hook. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I hadn’t been thinking much about work while traveling, which is the purpose of a sabbatical, the dream of not having the sermon ready is a common one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoakL7XOZ1HK6gD6BmQe7sgbC4zpkHTj_IMPEzgu4hC8FMeA98PCQcHYBglVxZKq-cgX_TDn4MLQHzGZu0FXRBf-ttfOgvSuc96ZMBm6KO73KpqNBDc2lShDsCesozMES23v7YzpX-g-EV/s1600/Slide5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoakL7XOZ1HK6gD6BmQe7sgbC4zpkHTj_IMPEzgu4hC8FMeA98PCQcHYBglVxZKq-cgX_TDn4MLQHzGZu0FXRBf-ttfOgvSuc96ZMBm6KO73KpqNBDc2lShDsCesozMES23v7YzpX-g-EV/s320/Slide5.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div>I should say something about the name of the town, Siem Reap. It meaning in Khmer is something along the lines of "Siam defeated." Cambodia has always been a pawn between more powerful kingdoms of Thailand (Siam) and Vietnam. The exception to this was during the heyday of Angkor Wat, but that was a thousand years ago!Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-40073888796639851672011-07-09T17:27:00.000-07:002011-07-09T23:24:30.045-07:00To Cambodia: Thailand’s Eastern Line and a bus ride into Khmer Country (June 27, 2011)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDirotRbxrFh8Ky95YXP2YeGFmK4EvU-yaod7TK5fU8cNF2TIZ6ZiuTKMplJ83muOqHGMNzZVSRVHiJQxSHdVFhyLfvwO2F0b_rtzc29jTbg7vRjYTpdP8xudhRWabe-VbURcw2KXounv8/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDirotRbxrFh8Ky95YXP2YeGFmK4EvU-yaod7TK5fU8cNF2TIZ6ZiuTKMplJ83muOqHGMNzZVSRVHiJQxSHdVFhyLfvwO2F0b_rtzc29jTbg7vRjYTpdP8xudhRWabe-VbURcw2KXounv8/s320/Slide2.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the first things I saw, after having my passport stamped and officially crossing the border, was a butt-naked boy running through the crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, butt-naked only half describes him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Furthermore, he wasn'ta young boy, certainly no toddler.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was at least five feet tall and I guess at Least 11 years old, maybe older.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not know what was up with him (and thankfully I never saw another kid running around in his age his birthday suit), he served as a shocking reminder (along with having to learn a new currency and the words for rice and noodles) That I was in another country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cambodia!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a land I've wanted to see since I was a teenager, just a few years older than the boy running around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a ham radio operator, I remember reading an article in QST (or maybe it was CQ, both amateur radio magazines of the time) of a trip made to American hamster Cambodia to meet with a few of the operators in the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The article had photos of the Temple of the country and it all Looked exotic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few years later, as the war intensified and later came to a horrific conclusion in Cambodia, I Often wondered What Happened to the few radio operators in the country as well as the Temple that were being destroyed by the Khmer Rouge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now was my chance to find the answer to at Least one of my questions.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I caught the train at Bangkok's Makkasan Station at 6:20 AM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually The train starts at the downtown station at 5:50 AM, since pen was closer to my hotel Makkasan <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I Began my journey there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And for a while that morning, I Began to wonder if That Was a good idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd asked for a 4:30 AM wake-up call (it came at 5:15, as I was Preparing to leave my room, pen luckily I've Learned on this trip not to depend on hotel wake-up calls) .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leaving the hotel, I ventured out into the darkness and (as the Skyway wasn't running yet), found a cab.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Contact The driver spoke little, PS I showed him where I wanted to go and he agreed and Gave me a fair price that seemed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We piled my luggage I went in and off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two blocks later, something strange Happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A policeman was standing in the middle of the road with a blue lighted pointer, indicated for the cab to pull over to the curb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two other policemen with flashlights shining came over and asked the driver questions as they They shined lights into the back of the cab and onto my face and bags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They opened the back door and asked where I was in rough Default from and where I was going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He Looked at me for a moment then said, as if Asking for some, "cigarettes."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I Shook my head and said 'I do not smoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Okay," he said, and waved us on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had the feeling some Thai policemen were looking for smokes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My next hurdle was getting to the right station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turns out there are two Makkasan stations, one for the railroad and one a high speed rail line that runs to the airport only.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was this station that the cab driver insisted must be mine. Having been to the train station, I knew not, and finally, a Thai man who heard me talking came over and asked where I was going and then Gave directions to the cab driver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were only two dozen or embarking passengers at Makkasan to coal, from cab drivers to the confusion was justified.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I purchased my ticket for the border (48 bahts or about $ 1.50).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only option was a non-air Conditioned third class train, pen as it was only a five hour trip, that did not matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the station platform, I noticed that in a yard Across the tracks were a number of old steam engines and I went over to see if I could get photographs, pen a guard said, "No photos."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no idea why, it wasn't bright enough to pen yet get a good photo (Once I was on the train, I did snap a photo of the old engines, pen from the distance and the low light photo meant that wasn ' t very good).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After walking around a bit with my heavy pack, I then sat down on the platform to wait for the train. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was still 15 minutes away. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There I met Niranya, a Thai woman going back to her village near the Cambodian border.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A travel agent that work with Indian tourists Mostly, she has to speak Contact at work and I did not speak Thai Assuming Obviously, Began the conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We Talked for a bit before the train arrived and, a few hours into the trip, she moved over to where I was sitting and We continued our conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having grown up on a farm, traveling with her was enlightening as she shared about the various crops and showed where fields were being converted to a fast Growing tree was used for pulp, but it really harmed the land as it drew so much water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much of the land in eastern Thailand is dependent on the rainy season for water as there is not enough water for irrigation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such trees, she complained, steals water that could be used to grow rice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the demand is high and Farmers, not thinking about the long term, are tempted to plant the trees that require less work than keeping up Rice Paddies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another crop that is in demand is tapioca, which also tends to rob the soil of nutrients.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqg7Qwp5wy0_clcAdweFanEDVUfoAN6Vk44wLht8dmzavngnKJlTcgn11-S5eUH5NGIkgup7duUNiDcG_EhtfCe1pFvWFJi2olGAdZzcS4C3WNjB2t6aMsR5szVokSaDn-1iUxhQWcvlMI/s320/another+sttion.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320px" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside Bangkok</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was amazed at the number of rail lines running into Bangkok from the east.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At places, as many as eight parallel sets of tracks ran from the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it was early morning, the trains coming in were all packed with passengers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our train, heading the opposite direction, slowly filled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a slow train and we stopped at every stop and once we stopped in what appeared to be “nowhere” and a woman got off and walked into a path that ran into the jungle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly, the further away from Bangkok we traveled, and after passing places like Chachoengsao Junction and Khlong Sipkao Junction, where lines split off heading north and south, we were on a single track line running through a flat countryside, occasionally pulling over to sidings to wait for east bound trains to pass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAv1HlSbREC0YE7U4PXGMfCIFlg2zTuE2w0nolgG3pVPU8Y9YkFyBZqMM0RkP0Q33GvdMuR9KEEg3U6Z9-lcuaGa6so_Ycbk4FtxwHQnURAgwY4pqrzuTYjc3q1wU1VERYqZ5uGc9J9ehK/s1600/a+train+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAv1HlSbREC0YE7U4PXGMfCIFlg2zTuE2w0nolgG3pVPU8Y9YkFyBZqMM0RkP0Q33GvdMuR9KEEg3U6Z9-lcuaGa6so_Ycbk4FtxwHQnURAgwY4pqrzuTYjc3q1wU1VERYqZ5uGc9J9ehK/s320/a+train+2.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A passing train heading to Bangkok</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the sun rose higher in the sky, the car became warm and everyone began to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was little movement, only the occasional seller passing by with drinks and snacks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After Niranya moved over to my seat, a bunch of women boarded at one town, coming from the market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’d taken an earlier train into town and were heading back with baskets of produce and stables like cooking oil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The train was so crowded that there weren’t enough places for people to sit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I offered my seat to a couple of the older women, thinking that standing a bit wouldn’t do me any harm. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My act of kindness must have caught the attention of one of the women, who looked to be in her 30s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asked Niranya, whom she’d seen talking to me, if she was with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She laughed and told her no, that we’d just met that morning while waiting on the train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman then asked Niranya if I was available!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said she told her that I was married, and went on to say how many Thai women seek out American and Western husbands as a way of escaping the hard life, especially of one in a village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was certainly shocked with the number of Western men who were with Thai women, generally women that were half f their age or younger.</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLNelDkzMEm7-ZUD6bMkVCC_CNiD4RDiB4XcyelOhE4X49dQ8u2kE3Lt_avB7jNPHFzNhDHwcIT5R1tuHNT3TENT2t0kwQHQXIB-5-oYEXNhOWmbQD5F2besikmO7SookIHvIDfyC1-0tl/s1600/a+station.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLNelDkzMEm7-ZUD6bMkVCC_CNiD4RDiB4XcyelOhE4X49dQ8u2kE3Lt_avB7jNPHFzNhDHwcIT5R1tuHNT3TENT2t0kwQHQXIB-5-oYEXNhOWmbQD5F2besikmO7SookIHvIDfyC1-0tl/s320/a+station.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Station Stop</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The women coming from the market only rode for about 30 minutes before getting off at a small village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Niranya, who was going back to her home village to take care of some family business, got off Watthana Nakhon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By then, the train had mostly cleared with the exception of those of us heading to the border.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The train was mainly filled with tourist and Cambodians returning home, such as a man who sat across from us and had drank at least a six-pack of beer during the trip that ended around noon!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was coming back home after having some kind of surgery done on his nose in Bangkok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The train pulled into Aranyaprathet, at the end of the line, a little after noon, about 30 minutes late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As there are at most places, there were a host of tuk-tuk drivers wanting to take us to the border.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The prices quoted was what I was expecting <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and soon I was being whisked away toward the border, feeling like I was in a chariot race with each driver vying to get their passenger there first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drivers also tried to encourage us to book rooms through them in Siem Reap (they all seemed to have a cousin or brother there), but I’d already had my reservations made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyEL-BIGo5vSOY_mzWeNBONQJsWdbR7o8OCL70AzVgVk-L3j0IIWaGFMF5xDTODpOLVYY1U610MZU753qyViPp-wI0XxWdu_AsFw5CSoqw7CmSzSqERhXMBpSntMRvrgUFG9Qltyj9Wv-/s1600/a+coach.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyEL-BIGo5vSOY_mzWeNBONQJsWdbR7o8OCL70AzVgVk-L3j0IIWaGFMF5xDTODpOLVYY1U610MZU753qyViPp-wI0XxWdu_AsFw5CSoqw7CmSzSqERhXMBpSntMRvrgUFG9Qltyj9Wv-/s320/a+coach.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Coach Car</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The crossing of the border was hassle free (except for seeing more than I’d wanted to see).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had some lunch (rice and ginger chicken) and then got on the bus for Siem Reap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Cambodian countryside was flat as a pancake, with an occasional hill that seems out of place (these are called Phnom as in Phnom Penh, which is named for the hill it sits around).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was surprised at how large the fields were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The road is now modern (a few years ago, I heard this was a rode that would jar the fillings out of one’s teeth) and we moved along in air conditioned comfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stopped once, for a bathroom break and to let the engine cool (while waiting the driver sprayed water on the overheated engine!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bus needed more gasoline<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(or diesel, it’s hard to say) and the driver pulled up to a garage looking place and they brought out two 5 gallon jerry cans and dumped them into the fuel tank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bus station was on the edge of Siem Reap and I hired a driver to take me to the Golden Banana, where I had reservations for three nights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After having seen the Cambodian countryside, I was shocked at how modern Siem Reap appeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That evening, I went into town and had Red Curry for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it was off to bed, in order to get up early to see the sunrise at Angkor Wat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4xp0itMZgvvq9HVQZUbS-z3txIgC6eAtaBtYHkD0AzlaKADDJRt0itKaRjlo9OOenn1ewxsPS5sLDqPTrgWCiSzUud0eM76YN3hjbWgME1LkVmHea8rBUY1QSrWz9NcMa3fn11pFHSwjl/s1600/cambodia+mass+transportation.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4xp0itMZgvvq9HVQZUbS-z3txIgC6eAtaBtYHkD0AzlaKADDJRt0itKaRjlo9OOenn1ewxsPS5sLDqPTrgWCiSzUud0eM76YN3hjbWgME1LkVmHea8rBUY1QSrWz9NcMa3fn11pFHSwjl/s320/cambodia+mass+transportation.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cambodian Mass Transit<br />
Half way between border and Siem Reap</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqg7Qwp5wy0_clcAdweFanEDVUfoAN6Vk44wLht8dmzavngnKJlTcgn11-S5eUH5NGIkgup7duUNiDcG_EhtfCe1pFvWFJi2olGAdZzcS4C3WNjB2t6aMsR5szVokSaDn-1iUxhQWcvlMI/s1600/another+sttion.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-91341792893857270382011-07-08T00:35:00.000-07:002011-07-08T00:35:55.594-07:00The River Kwai and Erawan Falls (June 26-27)Since it is my goal to travel around the world by rail as much as possible, it seemed only right that when in Thailand, I visit the site of the infamous Bridge over the River Kwai. Years ago, I’d read the novel and have seen the movie a couple of times. Some background history: In the early 1940s, Thailand gave Japan permission for its troops to operate within its country. As the Japanese was invading Burma and India, it needed a way to supply its army. With the American and British submarines blockading the sea routes, the Japanese set out to build a railroad from Thailand to Burma. To accomplish this work, they utilized soldiers captured in Malaya and the Burma as well as the Dutch East Indies as well as citizens from these countries who were forced into labor. Thousands died building what became known as the “Death Railroad.” The trip I’d signed up for took us to Kanchanaburi by minibus. Our first stop was one of a number of cemeteries along the way where those who died building the railway were buried. This cemetery was close to the Kanburi POW camp, the largest in the area and the remains of 5,000 Commonwealth (British and Australian) and 1,800 Dutch soldiers are buried there. It is a well kept site, with each grave being marked by a granite marker. There were no large flags flying, only a couple of small Australian flags were seen, stuck upon individual graves. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPacGpmyVOipNirE9TILbY982nWGGUC96NwvOsAHrYuTB0iWKm5QqDne45Ip1JVU6-VmJ57I9o1r6nJV8LCioUL2vdP_cWGAzKD1iXbnvonWQf-KBNRzsWMVmrU4rt_4xyYaY92wK4Gzn/s1600/Kanchanaburi+POW+Cemetery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPacGpmyVOipNirE9TILbY982nWGGUC96NwvOsAHrYuTB0iWKm5QqDne45Ip1JVU6-VmJ57I9o1r6nJV8LCioUL2vdP_cWGAzKD1iXbnvonWQf-KBNRzsWMVmrU4rt_4xyYaY92wK4Gzn/s320/Kanchanaburi+POW+Cemetery.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixiCrrVpeji6-qAoBCG-Oh5puOGMlMqaec9Xrd59c-71gBVy0-Hm0tGW9r7AsO4MdEBM_RD-c3dOKRWF69j3J3Wv-Shk5ml4vzpMWos3XKHCcHFyxzeFVvEUXh3yT0Ur95IFKILozlEh5d/s1600/Bridge+River+Kwai.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixiCrrVpeji6-qAoBCG-Oh5puOGMlMqaec9Xrd59c-71gBVy0-Hm0tGW9r7AsO4MdEBM_RD-c3dOKRWF69j3J3Wv-Shk5ml4vzpMWos3XKHCcHFyxzeFVvEUXh3yT0Ur95IFKILozlEh5d/s320/Bridge+River+Kwai.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">After walking around for twenty minutes or so, we loaded back up on the minibus and headed to the POW museum and the railroad bridge. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The museum wasn’t much and was pretty tacky. Throughout the museum was the quote, “the phenomenon of war brings adverse effects on society,” as if it justified or at least rationalized what had happened to thousands of soldiers and civilians in the building of this railway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They did show the brutality of Japanese (such as forcing POWs to march out onto the bridge as planes came in to bomb it, resulting in the killing of many POWs by “friendly fire.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The museum didn’t say much of Thailand’s role in the war (of allowing Japan’s free operations within its borders).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the displays even spoke of how well the Japanese soldiers got along with the natives in the region, saying that the women had nothing to fear from them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It display went on to note that the Japanese had their own women from Korea and Manchuria, but conveniently left out the enslavement these “comfort women” endured.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8n9QbElQb20PgPAib5Gvr76-WeR29x8jM-SXNt5y3uDwZ1zAjLOK76Dgw2Ax6pl4h6lmvqV7ezUe4QYBQNwbEG_dq70aF5dx2S_vtFmP5ZQe6WlU6VrA63GALdWL-PLIq5d45p-chyt4O/s1600/a+stop+along+the+way.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8n9QbElQb20PgPAib5Gvr76-WeR29x8jM-SXNt5y3uDwZ1zAjLOK76Dgw2Ax6pl4h6lmvqV7ezUe4QYBQNwbEG_dq70aF5dx2S_vtFmP5ZQe6WlU6VrA63GALdWL-PLIq5d45p-chyt4O/s320/a+stop+along+the+way.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A stop along the way</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQD-WGd87OhTlnDbAhEeqlMVw9sLmEpCDQevYHElVF5GzUfhbJrWnD5FhyphenhyphenqnyI-nm-VgzQiYXAEwZ4eM7SIQSJzJwpeDs7ap-DP9nq0A8Vh1y44etKK3CgSMFoEtg_xem6yVnKrmWxa48/s1600/death+railway.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQD-WGd87OhTlnDbAhEeqlMVw9sLmEpCDQevYHElVF5GzUfhbJrWnD5FhyphenhyphenqnyI-nm-VgzQiYXAEwZ4eM7SIQSJzJwpeDs7ap-DP9nq0A8Vh1y44etKK3CgSMFoEtg_xem6yVnKrmWxa48/s320/death+railway.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Death Railway</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the museum, I walked across the trestle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the war, it was bombed several times, last time being in November 1944, after which it was rebuilt till after the war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, the railroad no longer connects to the Burma (Myanmar) rail system due to the instability of the region.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, the train stops about 10 km from the border.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later in the morning, we boarded the train at Kanchanaburi heading west.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a regular train (all 3<sup>rd</sup> class) with two cars reserved for tours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially interesting along our 1 ½ hour ride was the long wooden causeway along the Kwai Noi River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other interesting part was the number of sellers who came through selling just about everything, from food products (I brought some fried tapioca) to t-shirts and hats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNzVgxowwwE5dj0WjbJSjMhuY6oUdPbZtLQlrE8VmOO81IgSZeOcBTyB2NCfzuYdh7LaO_iazuuY1mGh7zoGRBHlE1pE0MyH11GFhsuqKZ1rFpGfnITF5WMU-p2keO8DXLldmO3ahuRlp/s1600/death+railway+wooden+causeway.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNzVgxowwwE5dj0WjbJSjMhuY6oUdPbZtLQlrE8VmOO81IgSZeOcBTyB2NCfzuYdh7LaO_iazuuY1mGh7zoGRBHlE1pE0MyH11GFhsuqKZ1rFpGfnITF5WMU-p2keO8DXLldmO3ahuRlp/s320/death+railway+wooden+causeway.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Timbered causeway along the river</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We ate a late lunch (it was nearly 2 PM when we got off the train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards, I’d signed up for a tour to the Hellpass Gap area, where POWs and civilian forced laborers dug a cut through solid rock without the use of dynamite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But somehow, I ended up with another group that got to float on a bamboo raft along the Kwai Noi River and then ride elephants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rafting wasn’t a big deal; I’d seen better rafts made by Boy Scouts floating on the Cape Fear River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for the elephant ride, I felt guilty riding the beast and the only thing I could think of after I got done with bouncing around on top is that Hannibal was a damn fool to try to invade Rome with those beast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVZsZTNWaC2IN4srEsWaOAAPuZPgPnvrGNYwfPHvbIPShyFS9_lUnEqYdnaaHlaMlbJOt-8pwqPXrSL_85sC6g937L1LSpZHnfOGrGBjiHFYGjnIeq2uUyIUsMVsjlX_a5ME0WsZCxGtIh/s1600/bridge+on+raft+trip.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVZsZTNWaC2IN4srEsWaOAAPuZPgPnvrGNYwfPHvbIPShyFS9_lUnEqYdnaaHlaMlbJOt-8pwqPXrSL_85sC6g937L1LSpZHnfOGrGBjiHFYGjnIeq2uUyIUsMVsjlX_a5ME0WsZCxGtIh/s320/bridge+on+raft+trip.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Footbridge seen during rafting trip<br />
Had there been a banjo player up there, I'd been worried!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPHEGvsy0hLvcULnJyoSRqNULSU4jKLXV6ph3mrg8BJnmxf6iG2zob6KYS2yzzHgt33zArUd6gB4oSl08Yh16uz1bLTxqeLmg2zgehh1FBNRxHS9ne8pBneRkc1nX7OINTXbJzTKkuITnJ/s1600/an+elephant.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPHEGvsy0hLvcULnJyoSRqNULSU4jKLXV6ph3mrg8BJnmxf6iG2zob6KYS2yzzHgt33zArUd6gB4oSl08Yh16uz1bLTxqeLmg2zgehh1FBNRxHS9ne8pBneRkc1nX7OINTXbJzTKkuITnJ/s320/an+elephant.JPG" width="180px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, that's me...</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span>Our meals during this trip were all served on a floating raft in the Kwai Noi River and were very good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That night, we stayed on a floating hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before dark (and foolishly, before I checked out the plumbing system), I went swimming in the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were signs warning us not to go at night, for there are crocodiles in the river, which was enough to keep most of the group out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But after I went in, several others joined me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The river was fast and if one swam at a leisurely pace, one would stay in the same spot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took a lot of work to swim up river!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As night fell, so did the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It rained most of the night, hard at times, with some lightning through in for good measure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The group I was with was mostly Irish (from the North and the Republic) and they knew how to party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I was tired and decided to head to bed with the plan of waking up early and writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several times I woke up in the middle of the night with the Irish singing and dancing (the last time was around 3 AM).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t believe it when they were up and ready to head out the next morning at 8 AM (they were up but not exactly social). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was up early the next morning, but wasn’t able to write very long as the power had gone out during the night (which also meant the toast for breakfast was just plain bread).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I did sit out and observe the river. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it was raining hard, the sounds of the jungle were silenced by the patter of rain on tin, but when the rain let up, you could hear the jungle, the insects and monkeys as well as the drumming from a Buddhist temple that wasn’t far away.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0eSICG-Cdxr-mStGeXFTH0_41RCfl8MfdY-sJHese7v221p_Qx1EKUPQZwrQB9gHpGfnqb0bAhD5XBz4CtxdGrsBJBFOm37nlaLdCiljdVVpByjvr68ujpaybfrHmSRS-c3P7F73QTZe/s1600/am+on+kwai+noi+river.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0eSICG-Cdxr-mStGeXFTH0_41RCfl8MfdY-sJHese7v221p_Qx1EKUPQZwrQB9gHpGfnqb0bAhD5XBz4CtxdGrsBJBFOm37nlaLdCiljdVVpByjvr68ujpaybfrHmSRS-c3P7F73QTZe/s320/am+on+kwai+noi+river.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning, between showers, on the Kwai Noi River</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2J_ctVkKg_Kz409w6VL2VTQffaF45cA3pWsq-Z7D9uc500diYtu4G02s3QHtxaJyS6MMbBmPqtmDSNVYmANHu9T3qz_0FP6OJFs3uacFMimR_dk9FZKUgdRcnN0Ucz1EVoM0mo6nHocTQ/s1600/a+monkey.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2J_ctVkKg_Kz409w6VL2VTQffaF45cA3pWsq-Z7D9uc500diYtu4G02s3QHtxaJyS6MMbBmPqtmDSNVYmANHu9T3qz_0FP6OJFs3uacFMimR_dk9FZKUgdRcnN0Ucz1EVoM0mo6nHocTQ/s320/a+monkey.JPG" width="180px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A monkey at the falls</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day we went to Erawan National Park, home of Erawan Falls, a 1500 meter waterfall that cascades down the mountainside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are seven main drops along the way, each with a pool at the end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The climb to the top is steep and over 2.5 km long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hiked with the only other American in the group of 30 of us (three vans), a woman graduate student from George Washington University.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t write down her name and have forgotten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had interesting conversations about school, religion (she’s Jewish) and travel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is on a four month trip that started in New Zealand and Australia, and will take on to Nepal and to Israel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The falls were spectacular with the top falls probably being the best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We came down to the third falls where I went swimming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She started too, but decided not to when she realized the minnows in the water would nibble at your feet (later, in Cambodia, there were places advertising “fish massages” where you paid to put your feet into water and have fish “eat the dead skin off.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured I didn’t have to pay any extra for my “massage.”</span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNE6Z0JejF69whPEvDkxH6kVVDH7NGxeWIioeWdr5soMBsukAC86mJmFuTPoIwHThLSIBP1gQdeMQp6NR8A5at4uy8Bldm7eDUDwVNkS_JGX3Nc7lZ4oSjFPsiJAQWw5WR7tSkDUI4hdhD/s1600/a+fierce+monkey.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNE6Z0JejF69whPEvDkxH6kVVDH7NGxeWIioeWdr5soMBsukAC86mJmFuTPoIwHThLSIBP1gQdeMQp6NR8A5at4uy8Bldm7eDUDwVNkS_JGX3Nc7lZ4oSjFPsiJAQWw5WR7tSkDUI4hdhD/s320/a+fierce+monkey.JPG" width="180px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another monkey...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After everyone got down from the waterfalls, the mood was rather somber as one of the Irish girls had her passport, ipod, money and credit cards stolen from her backpack while swimming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was with three other girls and had travel insurance, but it was still going to be a hassle getting a new passport and making a claim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I was pleasant surprised with her character as several folks in the van were encouraging her to “inflate her claim,” and to say that her ipod was really and ipad and instead of a couple hundred pounds that she had 500 pounds (the maximum cash the insurance policy would pay). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She keep saying no and finally she told the group that maybe there was something to this Buddhist karma thing and that bad things happen to those who are not honest!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After lunch, I sat beside her in the van (for the five hour ride back to Bangkok) and we talked a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is a pharmacy student, having one more year to study and on a four week trip with friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before lunch, using one of her friend’s phones, she already had her credit cards cancelled and a new one being sent as well as money from her parents being wired, so she felt she was going to be okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I got back to Bangkok at 7 PM and checked back in at Sam’s Lodge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went out and had a bowl of Chicken Noodles at a sidewalk café, then called it an early night, for I was going to have to be up early again to catch the train to the Cambodian border.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWk1hNIdpiaRM8lvWz_-cYwO61l6PaeDoBiStO6F0yB2J-NBmvMokCinoenMrI83EkkT3q8pe7K1QwrswxOJlz1J7vuV-z1VFgVcw67sgZyOuV2LYoAHyLGGSCu2bGHB_egDHfKpLFZpdn/s1600/3rd+level+of+falls.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWk1hNIdpiaRM8lvWz_-cYwO61l6PaeDoBiStO6F0yB2J-NBmvMokCinoenMrI83EkkT3q8pe7K1QwrswxOJlz1J7vuV-z1VFgVcw67sgZyOuV2LYoAHyLGGSCu2bGHB_egDHfKpLFZpdn/s320/3rd+level+of+falls.JPG" width="180px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The third cascade of the falls</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-22615932704015075882011-07-06T20:00:00.000-07:002011-07-06T20:00:21.017-07:00Bangkok, June 24-25, 2011<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwXWVNE1VOfl7Pl33XEgq0oTiH1uwMl1mJ9rGBUFTJzdTCtD8AYObVnmo25rLYSXc_I_n7DdA6E7imHqGJB_UOym_iSefjEIT7mvWO4in9orpGoOH7PwIzcKseMbrc82IviAW-ZJZu7jmt/s1600/bangkok+me+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwXWVNE1VOfl7Pl33XEgq0oTiH1uwMl1mJ9rGBUFTJzdTCtD8AYObVnmo25rLYSXc_I_n7DdA6E7imHqGJB_UOym_iSefjEIT7mvWO4in9orpGoOH7PwIzcKseMbrc82IviAW-ZJZu7jmt/s320/bangkok+me+3.JPG" width="229px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Prepared to hate Bangkok, I was expecting a dirty city with stinking canals like I’d seen in Jakarta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a pleasant surprise. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found a modern city with a super fast subway and a skyway that whisks one quickly around the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then there are the hosts of motorized rickshaws that are faster than a cab for shorter transportation needs and, if you are on the river, there are ferries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, the water is still dirty and one surely wouldn’t drink it, but overall, the city is fascinating and I attempted to do as much as possible in the day and a half I had allowed for the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After checking into the hotel, I set out on foot. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was obvious I was no longer in Malaysia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, there were outdoor markets everywhere, but these including things you’d have a hard time finding in a Muslim country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alcohol was everywhere, being sold even by street venders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Street venders sold everything, including drugs that require prescriptions in the United States.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right in front of one of the most plush hotel in the Sukhumvit District, there were at least two venders selling Vigara and other sex enhancing drugs along with other “sexual objects,” right next to venders selling t-shirts and Disney characters and Polo shirts (or at least knock-offs of the brand names).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike Malaysia and Indonesia, where the women dressed conservatively, in Thailand, sexy was in. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, more correctly, provocative was in!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then there were the guys, just as in Vegas, handing out fliers advertising massages that I’m sure were not nearly as innocent as the one I had in Indonesia. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the first things I did was to book a tour to Kanchanaburi, the town near the infamous bridge over the River Kwai.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having read the book and seen the movie, I felt this was a must for one on a rail journey around the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFUfLkuLySCFF-8FOCfqyJe3LgSI2r_WFr4lcWuH4qA5wKH4EpYSRTvlASYpCkcadefFJQu52vzSqdjfBUVZoKTF30FE4YB4p4ss2gmHffcAbxKQFUx0GRjxNIAJFpYDakye9mDMSvF3k/s1600/campaigning.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFUfLkuLySCFF-8FOCfqyJe3LgSI2r_WFr4lcWuH4qA5wKH4EpYSRTvlASYpCkcadefFJQu52vzSqdjfBUVZoKTF30FE4YB4p4ss2gmHffcAbxKQFUx0GRjxNIAJFpYDakye9mDMSvF3k/s320/campaigning.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Campaigning in Bangkok (note photo of candidate's brother)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hired a rickshaw (a motorcycle pulling a cart) for an hour (26 bahts or about $2.50).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spoke perfect English so I had him give me a tour around the eastern part of the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked him about the elections (there were posters everywhere) and he told me he was for candidate number one (each candidate had a number on their poster and candidate number one won the election and was often pictured on the poster with her brother, a disposed prime minister).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He went on to talk about being a Red Shirt (in last summer’s unrest).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I asked if the King got involved in the elections, he put a finger to his mouth as to be quiet (being disrespectful of the King is a serious offense in Thailand) and then whispered that the King was no good and told about the Red Shirts who were killed last summer by the army.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was surprised by his honesty; our State Department’s website has a warning not to say anything negative about or do anything disrespectful toward the royal family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such talk and actions are considered blasphemy and, as at least one American discovered, can get you thrown into a Thai jail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took me around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I especially wanted to see the Makkasan Train station and he waited for me as I went in to check on a ticket to the Cambodian border.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it is only a 3<sup>rd</sup> class train, they didn’t sell advance tickets, but I got a timetable and we continued our tour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He showed me various markets and sights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stopped at one place and asked if I’d go in to look at their suits (it was a tailor shop), saying that if I just look and talk to them a few minutes, they’d give him a liter of petro.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I obliged (after all, his tour by this point was over an hour in length).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as we back closer to my hotel, I got the sense what he really wanted to do was to set me up with a girl. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He kept asking if I didn’t want one and every time I said no, he’d laugh and say, “You’re such a good man.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then, a few minutes later, when we’d pass a woman in a miniskirt, he’d point to her and reintroduce the topic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to wonder that if he got a liter of gasoline for taking me to a tailor, his commission on lining up a prostitute might be considerable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7JGLHyfOJxgRMW97LkpN25wCyVqszF7SLtJpu01n7einv-7-YjulGyKbGoajlo4J9VB7myq62-YNSuQENDj2Gih0WZgeoE8Diz8PgBhkp1dq7pycwojzpzjxtuFScyab_6gq2V0eM8Vhl/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7JGLHyfOJxgRMW97LkpN25wCyVqszF7SLtJpu01n7einv-7-YjulGyKbGoajlo4J9VB7myq62-YNSuQENDj2Gih0WZgeoE8Diz8PgBhkp1dq7pycwojzpzjxtuFScyab_6gq2V0eM8Vhl/s320/Slide2.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wanting to make the most out of the one full day I had in the city, I got up early the next morning and took the skyway down to the riverside, south of town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, I picked up a ferry to run me upriver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My plan was to visit Wat Pho and the Grand Palace, and then walk back through town to the train station where I could catch the subway back out to my hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boat trip up river was interesting as we passed long barges (which hauled commodities but also had quarters where families lived on them) and an array of boats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wat Arun (the Temple of Dawn) was pointed out to me by another tourist and learning that one can climb high on the temple and have a nice view up and down the river was appealing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I decided to include it in my travels that day.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlilnS4M2JRsaN3r_2yXlNK8oVX18AUDsrgpA59agISbIBLoClU3Yxh0r9o5Zg5iVg9_90opOrQDQFlY0dre3YnPwOPIboBHM-G88HGZdGaVZsqecu3cl-4MhdNO_hx44cDku0DWmjVr1A/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlilnS4M2JRsaN3r_2yXlNK8oVX18AUDsrgpA59agISbIBLoClU3Yxh0r9o5Zg5iVg9_90opOrQDQFlY0dre3YnPwOPIboBHM-G88HGZdGaVZsqecu3cl-4MhdNO_hx44cDku0DWmjVr1A/s320/Slide1.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My first stop was at Wat Pho, a temple that features a reclining Buddha (like the one in Penang, but even larger).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The complex, which sits next to the palace, is amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no way to capture the magnitude of it all through a camera even with the lens at the widest setting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything was colorful and beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent a couple hours walking around the temple, looking at the thousands of Buddha’s and the amazing architecture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are a number of stupas here for the remains of Thai kings and it was about midday when I was looking up at one saw a solar halo that seemed to crown the stupa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a most amazing sight and if I was superstitious, I might even have seen it as an omen.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFUd0NILUP3gCNydinNJ0gSBISyQiVBrnzromYotgUv6U0Q_Qo-AX8t1xbbtHniArlAQvDEAH9VLHbmwqQss51M_Ji-RXfcDU8REFrHYTUOqYlY9AZO98Ga-GcD2r5RYdxqSGJWcsZSPcl/s1600/bangkok+wat+pho+solar+halo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFUd0NILUP3gCNydinNJ0gSBISyQiVBrnzromYotgUv6U0Q_Qo-AX8t1xbbtHniArlAQvDEAH9VLHbmwqQss51M_Ji-RXfcDU8REFrHYTUOqYlY9AZO98Ga-GcD2r5RYdxqSGJWcsZSPcl/s320/bangkok+wat+pho+solar+halo.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Solar Halo</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I saved the reclining Buddha for last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But before going into the Buddha, I realized my blood sugar level was a little low, so I stopped at the gift shop area and had an ice cream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While there, I listen to an old fortune teller give a woman her fortune.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because it was good, her husband tipped the man extra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shook my head wondering if anyone got the connection between the exchange of money and the fortune being told.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, when he was done, the fortune teller tried to pick up more business and asked a guy standing close by if he didn’t want to have his fortune told.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked how much (I didn’t catch the quote, but the guy countered with a much lower price and that seemed to insult the fortune teller.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have great problems with the idea of fortune telling, fearing that I’d be like King Saul and learn that which I do not want to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, the future belongs not to me but to God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, if I was going to engage in the practice, I don’t think I’d go for the bargain price.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You might just get what you paid. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The reclining Buddha was amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because it is housed in a temple, there was no way to get a good photograph of it, but I walked around it in awe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While looking at the front of the Buddha, I kept hearing ringing sounds which sounded a lot like chimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coming around the back, I realized it was offerings being dropped into a line of at least fifty brass pots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For twenty bahts, one got a fistful of small coins (at that price made each coin worth less than the widow’s mite) and then dropped a coin into each of the pots, creating a wonderful jingling sound.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It was a little after noon when I left Wat Pho for the Grand Palace, only to discover (after I walked around the thing, which is about a mile) that there was some kind of special worship going on there with the King and family and the Palace was closed for the afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I went down to the river and had some spicy noodles and squid for lunch, then took a ferry across the river to Wat Arun (the Temple of Dawn).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This temple was also amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The steps were very steep, but climbing them was worthwhile as one had a commanding view of the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After an hour or so at Wat Arun, I crossed back over the river on a ferry and began to walk around the city, back in the direction of the train station where I could access the subway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6xYDTZItCVdn9veCdbYvX9PnE3h56dYP3y47bMAdjSM9LtKNqBWK6Uu1Kp8SKJph8IcKU91kx48KsNrstqkEJlULMMP5irpvXANZqQ2iHVlLQsRuz6ZP2-9fOte5BTp74nMOp01z9Du9/s1600/Slide3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6xYDTZItCVdn9veCdbYvX9PnE3h56dYP3y47bMAdjSM9LtKNqBWK6Uu1Kp8SKJph8IcKU91kx48KsNrstqkEJlULMMP5irpvXANZqQ2iHVlLQsRuz6ZP2-9fOte5BTp74nMOp01z9Du9/s320/Slide3.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After an hour or so at Wat Arun, I crossed back over the river on a ferry and began to walk around the city, back in the direction of the train station where I could access the subway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My wanderings took me through some interesting markets!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Food, flowers, all kinds of stuff were being sold by the riverside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I didn’t travel in a straight line, I found myself in Little India and Chinatown (the Chinese seem to have the gold and jewelry monopoly in South Asia).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept walking and the light was fading and finally found someone who knew where I was at and I’d walked a kilometer or so beyond the railroad station and had to circle back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once there, I was whisked back to Sukhumvit Station, where I had a bowl of soup and some rice at a street vendor’s stall outside of the hotel for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I went for a haircut, but there only one place left open and it was a fancy salon, so I ended up paying almost as much as I would have paid at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, unlike at home, in addition to having my hair cut, it was shampooed and my beard was trimmed and there was a short head massage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwqBaa6R5G7fG82DJKrAIZ60eyETuSLUL9tSDWtW4v6_rcKfpfvszjP0pYUAr6-E_x0yEllxOe_UmoRQVoO_w9PeGMVq_vzVSjz7YfVUC7sDGNA7gr6ilQ4Ra0SkbVGW7BU7_fAq0IHw3/s1600/alice+and+the+white+rabbit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwqBaa6R5G7fG82DJKrAIZ60eyETuSLUL9tSDWtW4v6_rcKfpfvszjP0pYUAr6-E_x0yEllxOe_UmoRQVoO_w9PeGMVq_vzVSjz7YfVUC7sDGNA7gr6ilQ4Ra0SkbVGW7BU7_fAq0IHw3/s320/alice+and+the+white+rabbit.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alice riding the White Rabbit? At Wat Arun</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><img border="0" height="240px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVXrxUNYmysHOgOJYuJ37rfGnVbHx6WdTqTK9jyMwNEpjLh51wEWFkejPadnAG9yCUjvldKPpp4-PsNubWiparBU1xFR3F1GpeKh2WeOaoeYz_3gMRJxpLhQQtdKnehD_ESluozKdKCKw/s320/Slide4.JPG" width="320px" /></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyRs2ZYFkoZJt9XwCO30BFWlLn5PuWVEQVpT3ThGQzLUuuhmPcJlLqkS-7Y458ayyvIdOcvm_xVsxlxbvpRti00ajk9OCHxyE7S29x1FeynGHEH_ckKrzP9bkpCZS-guWQuTnjJ9TJPM8L/s1600/bangkok+china+town.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyRs2ZYFkoZJt9XwCO30BFWlLn5PuWVEQVpT3ThGQzLUuuhmPcJlLqkS-7Y458ayyvIdOcvm_xVsxlxbvpRti00ajk9OCHxyE7S29x1FeynGHEH_ckKrzP9bkpCZS-guWQuTnjJ9TJPM8L/s320/bangkok+china+town.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chinatown</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Knowing that I needed to get up early the next morning in order to head to Kanchanaburi, I decided to call it a night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stopped at the 7-11 (if anyone wonders what happened to 7-11s in America, I think they all packed up and moved to Southeast Asia) to pick up water and something for breakfast as well as a beer to cap the day off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my surprise, beer was not being sold in Bangkok on a Saturday night for the next day, the polls opened for early voting (so there was a ban on alcohol sales).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This also caught a Thai guy who spoke English by surprise (he was the one who explained why they were not selling beer), but he told me not to worry, just check with a mom and pops place on the sidewalk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they too were not selling beer, so we walked across the street to a Chinese restaurant and each headed our separate ways with a bottle of beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDhF3BwmJ5Sk4Wcxj9cnNDyyNTkP8YvuiqL0jTiHrCBCVWmQTsUvjMO30Ey43K4z95KvwT9osqa7iQerTk5AkXuRz4jaqGUA7rVV_5VdKztXfDE2OFYTOsNSNfpgycfwj7d7vTuoRWY2Nx/s1600/bangkok+canals.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDhF3BwmJ5Sk4Wcxj9cnNDyyNTkP8YvuiqL0jTiHrCBCVWmQTsUvjMO30Ey43K4z95KvwT9osqa7iQerTk5AkXuRz4jaqGUA7rVV_5VdKztXfDE2OFYTOsNSNfpgycfwj7d7vTuoRWY2Nx/s320/bangkok+canals.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A canal passed on walk back</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVXrxUNYmysHOgOJYuJ37rfGnVbHx6WdTqTK9jyMwNEpjLh51wEWFkejPadnAG9yCUjvldKPpp4-PsNubWiparBU1xFR3F1GpeKh2WeOaoeYz_3gMRJxpLhQQtdKnehD_ESluozKdKCKw/s1600/Slide4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811319573590605742.post-46040164027487587512011-07-02T00:00:00.000-07:002011-07-02T03:51:45.658-07:00"The International" Butterworth to Bangkok, June 23-24, 2011<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhfsuiSDRwM9adDSsrNpAbIVBoMimN5TiF4Hb_kkS3hVofEJERa6Qm6gU913GA3FTldvpwQoA4taaVS15RLGNU1fVPw2V5mXVEKhjchSaxkdRz4MbOzGkyLK9xzHt1aK5o05IpGfYZJ5v/s1600/1+me+on+ferry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhfsuiSDRwM9adDSsrNpAbIVBoMimN5TiF4Hb_kkS3hVofEJERa6Qm6gU913GA3FTldvpwQoA4taaVS15RLGNU1fVPw2V5mXVEKhjchSaxkdRz4MbOzGkyLK9xzHt1aK5o05IpGfYZJ5v/s320/1+me+on+ferry.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the ferry from Penang</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">It was with mixed feelings that I left Penang behind. I’d enjoyed my time there. The Hutton Lodge provided excellent accommodations and having Cyclops as a guide was a bonus. Before leaving, I stopped by his clinic where I was able to see the work they do with disadvantaged children. Then it was time to catch the ferry across to the lake. The train left at 2:20 PM, but the woman who sold me the ticket suggested I be on the ferry by noon. As it turned out, there was only a few minute wait for the ferry and then crossing took only 30 minutes. Once on the other side, I walked by the train station and made sure I knew where I needed to be at, then crossed the tracks and found a place for lunch. There, I talked to one of the few Americans I’d seen on the trip, a recent MBA graduate from Harvard who was traveling in Southeast Asia for a month. We chatted at lunch and saw each other occasionally on the train. Back in the train station, a woman working for the Malaysian tourism asked me a bunch of questions about their tourist advertisements and what I liked about Malaysia. Then it was time to board the train.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWtFuvRIzHD9ecTj75cKhazOpjcEjRYQYX5SirCobiNR2PS0IfZkjcNvJFy0JJ8Sf1pAVkKbAkGZ-EEXvSACxKTEGPqkhbnbn_V89VkcGPs7AGy4kmGXM2SrMuJ3cIhZAPV4owDIRRTBXo/s1600/1+penang+ferry+powerpoint+jpeg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWtFuvRIzHD9ecTj75cKhazOpjcEjRYQYX5SirCobiNR2PS0IfZkjcNvJFy0JJ8Sf1pAVkKbAkGZ-EEXvSACxKTEGPqkhbnbn_V89VkcGPs7AGy4kmGXM2SrMuJ3cIhZAPV4owDIRRTBXo/s320/1+penang+ferry+powerpoint+jpeg.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDXT40YHEbdioHuxIRgp1IFF3NrAmIaaxzauxIrPFwCNUxlW16g0sj_krfIISfPa7AqNquQ1oa-F1GTrqONaxhNhRqOxeD37mxD_13XdKVKmAm0XDOA4Hugo2u12r-Mz-6JXnxLRhbt81t/s1600/1+freight.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDXT40YHEbdioHuxIRgp1IFF3NrAmIaaxzauxIrPFwCNUxlW16g0sj_krfIISfPa7AqNquQ1oa-F1GTrqONaxhNhRqOxeD37mxD_13XdKVKmAm0XDOA4Hugo2u12r-Mz-6JXnxLRhbt81t/s320/1+freight.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A freight train moves through the Butterworth Station</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">I was surprised that the “International” only had two cars, both second class sleepers, and even then the train was less than half full. I was alone. Sitting across the aisle were two women, sisters, from Penang who were heading north for a wedding. One of them was now living in Hong Kong and we chatting for a while, until the conductor told them they were in the wrong seat and made them move into the other car. At that time, an older Indian couple boarded the train and took the seat. In the seats behind me, an Australian man sat alone and we strike up a conversation.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4miRimJ9kOI4Ksin3ARvJNCzB_DFDV5SnPwsSJGowVRiyP5b9k99CJxJ4MIcmG023kaDYGeIy7oYg2Pm5LJ_tInKoEUX-ql0PIM6mEf9O1ZY3xExJWYnE_h9Arr22MGPBy-AT3Qfgp4i5/s1600/1+me+at+butterworth.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4miRimJ9kOI4Ksin3ARvJNCzB_DFDV5SnPwsSJGowVRiyP5b9k99CJxJ4MIcmG023kaDYGeIy7oYg2Pm5LJ_tInKoEUX-ql0PIM6mEf9O1ZY3xExJWYnE_h9Arr22MGPBy-AT3Qfgp4i5/s320/1+me+at+butterworth.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the platform in Butterworth, waiting for a train</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">For much of the afternoon, it’s evident that Malaysia is upgrading their rail system (with plans that the north/south line to be fully double-tracked and electrified). Work is ongoing as new trestles are being built, tracks being laid and the lines strung. The tracks we’re on are also nice and the ride is smoother.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">At the Thai border, as we cleared customs, the rather plain looking Malaysian engine was replaced with a colorful Thai engine. The Thai staff, with their fancy uniforms and enough stars to create a galaxy, joined us. Also attached was a car where food was prepared. The first thing that we noticed after the border was the Thai waiter coming through and taking orders for drinks (there was no alcohol on the Malaysian trains). Allen, the Australian and I, along with two Japanese men who were in the seats across from him, took turns buying large bottles and passing them around. The Japanese spoken only broken English, but we had a blast sharing food and drink. Later, we had dinner. I had pork noodles with oyster sauce (pork was another delicacy not to be found in Islamic countries).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMXv87E0GdDNtaAupGl6Bma33rVR2Bg8OvzltmO5812RqRzilw5yVgoj01M06cslyYNSDrkzRAIM70xzVtn6zHvjstf_X4kCLz0kE7uXjZTXGnyk-c7IB-yZV4M7dP55tvd6anbYRhDWtM/s1600/Slide1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMXv87E0GdDNtaAupGl6Bma33rVR2Bg8OvzltmO5812RqRzilw5yVgoj01M06cslyYNSDrkzRAIM70xzVtn6zHvjstf_X4kCLz0kE7uXjZTXGnyk-c7IB-yZV4M7dP55tvd6anbYRhDWtM/s320/Slide1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFC5BGvjHSc9dcFo4yEWTkcPVAjJWi4MwNuRyF_20j4UvQHRLMgZa2tp6KdKaGe0gJv0f6rRsJOEowxppcMP_kzAJnZdKIww2h_OoFGMuXvszsbyp9tgAvkBeo8ozjkKZbRbzydhpUDNe2/s1600/car+capt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFC5BGvjHSc9dcFo4yEWTkcPVAjJWi4MwNuRyF_20j4UvQHRLMgZa2tp6KdKaGe0gJv0f6rRsJOEowxppcMP_kzAJnZdKIww2h_OoFGMuXvszsbyp9tgAvkBeo8ozjkKZbRbzydhpUDNe2/s320/car+capt.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thai Car Captain</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Allen and I talked through much of the evening. An Australian, he retired to Tasmania. Most of his life was spent in the military. As soon as he could, he joined the British army (he was originally from Great Britain, just south of Scotland). After seeing action in Yemen and in Malaysia in the mid-1960s, he jumped to the Australian army where he spent most of his military career. It sounded as if he had an interesting career, serving a couple of tours in Vietnam as well as in Malaysia (there was an undeclared war between Malaysia and Indonesia on Borneo in the 60s and 70s). He was obviously well read and we discussed books (we’d read many of the same), theology, government and health care, world politics, our families and the weather (it was a 23 hour train ride). Allen takes off for a few months every winter (remember, he lives in the southern hemisphere) and travels in Southeast Asia. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Allen had a lot to say about Vietnam and his experiences there. He was critical of American forces (saying he things our military is more disciplined now than then). Then, he noted that most Australians didn’t like working with American units. However, with Australian units having had jungle warfare experiences in Malaysia, they were more prepared for Vietnam and he even spent some time in the states working with the American military, training NCOs on jungle warfare. He told of once incident on his last tour which I think he said was 1971. His squad had been in an ambush position for a day, waiting. He said that in the jungle it was hard to hear and to see very far and that his troops knew to wait till an enemy force was all in the killing zone (set up between two machine guns, before opening fire. He said that if the enemy unit was too large (more than 18 men), they’d let it pass. There were 13 in this squad and he said he’d heard them talk, but in the jungle, he was unable to make out what was being said or what language was being spoken. They assumed it was Vietcong (he was also critical of the VC, saying they were any more discipline than American soldiers). He was getting ready to detonate a claymore mine, to take out the center of the unit, when one of his machine gunners yelled out, “Hold the fucking fire.” He was shocked, but the machine gunner who was in position finally had a good look at the last in the unit, a 6 ½ foot black basketball player and he realized it wasn’t a VC unit at all. Had it not been for the last soldier, he said there would have been 13 dead Americans. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As bad as Vietnam was, he said it didn’t compare to his short stint in Yemen with the British army early in his career and that he feels for what the soldiers in Afghanistan are going through these days with a determined enemy who believes they’re on God’s side.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuoW3FrNyXPfGXOnA1AO1vtzSf57qtULVCvVELo-TF4Ry_jnXSBB4FD_VJfPysxmUbSthreuV5ZYBufusLGcWxxfXHJ3SkZ0mnY70WdeLaW0meQMK6GSRUZehCTWQXb1jM-ra0XzZeg34/s1600/Slide2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuoW3FrNyXPfGXOnA1AO1vtzSf57qtULVCvVELo-TF4Ry_jnXSBB4FD_VJfPysxmUbSthreuV5ZYBufusLGcWxxfXHJ3SkZ0mnY70WdeLaW0meQMK6GSRUZehCTWQXb1jM-ra0XzZeg34/s320/Slide2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>At about ten o’clock, the train attendant lowers our beds. We all head off to sleep. Sometime in the night, I feel the train being bumped around and in the morning, there are no longer just two passenger cars, but a dozen or so. The morning also brings a different view as the mosques and minarets have been replaced with colorful Buddhist temples and chimneys for crematoriums. The tracks are not as smooth as they were in Malaysia, showing their age as we pass over them. We have breakfast. For 100 baht, I get some fruit, coffee, juice and a ham sandwich. As we approach Bangkok, the stations become closer together and towns are larger. We pass over canal after canal, making our way on toward the city’s center, pulling into the station just a few minutes late. <br />
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At Hau Lampong, we say our goodbyes to our Japanese friends and Allen and I depart ways. I can’t believe that I didn’t write down directions to Sam’s Lodge, where I’ve booked myself for two nights! I find an internet café and log into my gmail account to get the directions—which are rather easy: just find the subway, go four stops and get off at Sukhumvit, leave the subway at exit three, walk to the corner and take a left… I stop to eat lunch and am at the hotel by 2 PM.Jeffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339789596944683688noreply@blogger.com8