Dien Bien Phu

Pulling out of Son La, the very first sight I encountered was the huge CAT backhoe that had been clearing the road the day before. This time however, it sat squarely upside down - the operators cage crushed, tank treads sticking straight in the air - a few feet off the road and down the slope into town. No idea what happened other than the waterlogged road gave way under its weight and over and down it went. I hope that it was a slow-motion event giving the driver plenty of time to get out because he could not have survived otherwise. After amusing a gaggle of locals by taking a photo, I was off in the direction of the wrecked bridge that had stopped me the day before. When I got there, I could see that it hadn't really been repaired, but overnight the swollen river had dropped back to a trickle and I was able to get the bike across without even getting the tailpipe wet.

The skies had cleared - beautiful blue - and I had an amazing, trouble free drive all the way to Dien Bien Phu (161 km). Took me the better part of the day as the road wound up and over mountain passes, into and out of ravines, and along rivers (looking much tamer than a few days before). There had been dozens of landslides along the route but all had been cleared just enough to permit the passage of vehicles, even if it required slopping through mud. I was amazed by the VIetnamese highway system (yep, this was "Highway 6"). After miles of muddy, washboarded roads, I'd run into stretches seemingly in the middle of nowhere that were immaculately paved. Then more crud. A good stretch. Crud. Good. Crud. And so on. But the scenery was spectacular: jagged peaks drenched in green, small montagnard villages, and mostly empty roads. For hours I ended up dodging more water buffalo, pigs, and dogs than other vehicles.

"Dien Bien Phu" had become my mantra over the few days, if only for the reason that, looking at my map, it kind of resembled a midway point on my journey. I had heard the town was nothing special (it wasn't), but Dien Bien Phu is one of those mythical places in the history of Vietnam, and more specifically, warfare in Vietnam. The French were routed by the Vietminh there in 1954 (eventually setting the stage for American intervention) and since I was in the "neighborhood" I wanted to see it. It was also a convenient place to crash for the night.

The valley that Dien Bien Phu is situated in is gorgeous - maybe 10 miles long by 6 miles wide, surrounded by rice fields in the flats and big, green mountains at its edges. The city is pretty blah, as predicted, and it was hard to picture the pivotal battle that had taken place here fifty-something years ago. Lots of run down monuments to the Vietnamese side, a French memorial to its fallen soldiers, scattered war junk - tanks, cannons, rusted jeeps (mostly American, as it turns out. The Vietnamese were using weapons given to them by the Chinese who had taken them from the Americans in Korea a couple of years earlier...ironic). I made the rounds, but power was out all over town and the museums were dark. I spent the night in a small guesthouse at the rear and above a family's clothing store on the main drag. After a very quick breakfast in the morning, I was off again.

The highlight of Dien Bien Phu was most certainly the scenery on the way to, and leaving, the city. I've gotten into the habit of starting the days ride early - around 7:00 - in order to take advantage of daylight (should anything go wrong during the day), But it has the added benefit of allowing me to catch glimpses of Vietnam waking up each morning as I zip through suburbs, small towns, and villages: uniformed kids on their way to school, women cooking breakfast under the front verandas of their homes, men heading off to work, older kids leading the family animals to pasture, and my all-time favorite: young mothers yanking their naked kids along the roadside to the nearest spring for an icy cold-water bath.

Son La and more Son La

Woke up this morning and, joy of joys, there was a small patch of blue sky in the distance. Hoping to take advantage of the break in the weather I loaded the bike after a quick breakfast, said goodbye to the very friendly staff at the "Sunrise" and headed up the rough road out of time towards Tuan Cio, the turn off to my next stop, Dien Bien Phu. Exactly 2km from the hotel, I rounded a bend and my spirits dropped a notch. Another line of traffic and humanity stopped by...something. Slinking my way to front of the pack, I was met with a huge yellow sloppy mess of a landslide that had buried about 200 yards of road the night before. A backhoe and bulldozer were busy clearing the wet cement-like gunk, so I joined the crowd and waited. At one point I was joined by the only foreigner I had seen in a couple of days - a French guy about my age riding an ancient, and heavily used, Minsk motorcycle. We chatted about the previous days storm for a few minutes - turns out he had been stuck in Mai-Chau with me, we just hadn't crossed paths. But he was now three days late, the bike had to be returned to Hanoi in three days, and he needed to get back come hell or high water. The last I saw of him, he had recruited a small army of kids to push his bike through the muck. When I lost sight of him around the bend he was making progress but it didn't look pretty.

After an hour or so of waiting in the sun (SUN!!), I retreated back to town, figuring I could do something more productive than watching heavy equipment sling mud around. Returning a couple of hours later, found that the road was opened and, spirits suddenly raised again, I took off down the far side of the ridge. So far so good - until about a half hour into the journy when I was met by another road block. This time a bridge was out and although there were dozens men working like ants to repair it, I realized it would take hours. The gods were not looking favorably upon my efforts to leave Son La so I gave in. Returning to town for the evening, I settled into a lazy day of praying the sun would stay out long enough for all the roads ahead of me to be repaired.

While Son La is a pretty little town set in a beautiful valley, its only real claim to "fame" (or infamy) is that it was routinely targeted for "off loading" of ammunition by American warplanes returning to their bases in Thailand after bombing runs across northern Vietnam. Apparently it made more twisted sense to drop unspent bombs on a town than bring them back home. The main target was an old French colonial prison - which, I guess if you're going to bomb something, is as fitting as anything. I walked around town, hiked up a nearby hill to a radio tower, avoided rabid, obviously communist dogs protecting said radio tower, chatted up a couple of english-speaking college students who ran the front desk of the Sunrise, and read a bit. A mellow day and in the end the time was well spent - repairs on the road were made and I was off early the next morning.

Mai-Chau to Son La: A Soggy Day in Hell

I had mapped out the next stretch of my stretch of my ride and although I knew I'd probably be riding in the rain for most of it, the 188 km to Son La didn't look to bad on the map, especially if I broke it into three legs: Mai-Chou to Moc Chau, Moc Chau to Yen Chou, and finally Yen Chou to Son La. That probably doesn't mean much to you, but to me those towns signified little island sanctuaries in the storm - hopping from one to another until I found a place to sleep for the night. The rain had let up a bit, more of a heavy drizzle as I left Mai-Chau but before long, I had to pull over and put on the heavy duty military poncho I had picked up in Hanoi. As uncomfortable as it was, the upside was that under the poncho and wearing a helmet, I looked like a local - kind of nice not drawing unecessary attention to myself. I could pull right up to the Vietnamese on the road before they noticed something wasn't quite right about me. Upon recognition, the double-takes were priceless - usually confusion, then a smile and wave. At any rate, the air temperature was warm and the roads, even if wet, weren't much of a challenge as I started climning into the mountains at a whopping 40 km per hour. The clouds were low and clinging to the surrounding peaks as I began the 3000 foot ascent to Moc Chau.

Made it to Moc Chau without a problem and pulled into an abandoned cafe. Had to find the owner - she was still in pajamas and curlers - and asked for coffee. She made a small batch of the rocket fuel that I'm slowly getting used to (strong, nasty, bitter, but with enough sugar and sweet milk it becomes palatable). By the time warmed up a bit and pulled out of Moc Chau, the rain was coming down harder.

The road to my next stop paralleled the Nam Som river for most of its length. It was raging from the storm runoff, but having never seen it before I couldn't tell just how much higher than normal it really was. I knew it was going big because rice paddies along the banks were completely submerged, and water was creeping up and piling into the foundations of homes. I also saw more than a few whole banana trees being swept into the current. But my biggest clue that this was not exactly a normal event was that the locals were out on the roadsides and bridges just staring and pointing at the water. Ever the river guide, I found myself stopping every half mile or so to check out the rapids down below - bigger than anything in the Grand Canyon, except maybe Lava or Crystal at thier worst. Finally arrived in Yen Chau, completely soaked from sweat and rain, and found a little road side restaraunt. A wonderful older woman made me a bowl of hot soup and, as I slurped away, she and I just sat under an awning and watched the rain get even worse. I know she thought I was nuts when I went back out into the storm and got on the bike, but what was I supposed to do? Short of begging a local for a place to crash, there wasn't anywhere to spend the night in Yen Chou...and at this point I didn't know what lay down the road. Two legs down, one to go.

Passing through a small town called Hat Lot, I rounded a sweeping bend and ran into what would become a VERY common sight over the next two days: long rows of trucks, cars, motorbikes, and people (a few water buffalo and pigs thrown in for good measure) stopped in thier tracks by thick, muddy-yellow water as it swallowed up the road. I didn't know it at the time, by I was heading into the hardest typhoon-hit province (Son La) in the entire country. From my perspective, I could see that a river had overflowed its banks and was covering a good chunk of downtown Hat Lot. The water was rushing through the lower levels of a few homes on either side of the road, cars and trucks were stuck midway throught he "new" river channel and nobody really knew what to do. As I stood there, watching the water lap at my front tire, a man ordered a group of boys to load my scooter into the back of his 2 1/2 ton military-style truck and waved me into the cab. I wasn't asking any questions and hopped in. Then he was off, directing this and that while I kept his young son company in the truck (who couldn't get enough of pruney white hands - ha ha). I just watched the chaos from a safe and dry six feet up, and eventually the rest of the trucks bed was loaded with four more scooters, a half-dozen people and a big, fat pig. Then we headed out into the deluge. Water up to the axles, but no problem for the big truck. Only when we got to the other side did I realize that we were also pulling a mini-bus behind us with a steel cable. So, 1 hour and 25,000 Dong later, I was past obstacle one. Son La was getting closer, so I thought.

I passed through the rest of Hat Lot and started climbing into the hills, which I assumed was a good thing - water generally runs downhill and pools in the low spots. Not so in Vietnam apparently. After a half hour of rain-in-my-face driving, I turned a corner and ran smack into a literal lake where the road should have been. Four or five feet deep judging by those trying to wade across. A traffic jam had formed and I motored up to the front of the pack and met a group of budding (and highly successful, judging by thier bulging pockets) entrepreneurs. These guys had actually constructed a raft and were floating all those willing to pay across the 150 yard long lake. The "raft" was just a bunch of scrap wood and bamboo lashed to a half dozen inflated inner tubes. They offered to take me across for the equivlent of $8 and I flatly refused. I pictured the scooter -for which I was financially liable - tipping off the raft, or even sinking thier "Titanic," and settling nicely on the bottom of the lake with all of my belongings attached. I waffled, watched as the line behind me grew, and wondered what in the hell I was supposed to do. The weather was getting even worse, I knew I couldn't go back to flooded Hat Lot, and I certainly wasn't spending the night in middle of friggin nowhere Vietnam. Finally I rationalized my decision to float the bike across the lake by recalling that these men were probably the sons of the men and women who won a couple of wars with crazy slapped together technology like this on the Ho Chi Minh trail. Still, I couldn't believe what I was about to do and have never been more relieved when they safely deposited me on the far side. It would have been the most rediculous picture - me, perched on my bike (firmly applying my handbrake, of course), on top of a flimsy bamboo piece of shit, being slowly pushed across a pond by four Vietnamese guys, neck deep in muddy water. And they were laughing all the way to the bank.

Off again, getting late, and Son La seemed so close that I could taste it. Another flooded village, a backcountry short cut that I'm amazed led anywhere, missed turns, more rain, and I finally arrived at my destination...only to find that it was also flooded - and I was on the wrong side of the river again.

Soaked, tired, and becoming less amused by my circumstances every second, I handed another truck owner all the cash I had in my pocket (a bargain at 15,000 Dong - less than a buck) for one last lift across a flooded street. Finally, my 188km adventure had come to an end as I pulled up to the - no kidding - "Sunrise Hotel." Shower (cold), dinner (delicious), and bed (hard as a rock), and I was completely done.

POSTSCRIPT: As rough as my day had been, I later found out that the very same Son La province that I had been traveling through suffered the country's most casualties as a result of this storm. Sixteen people were killed in Son La due to flooding, flashfloods, and landslides. As of today, 41 have been killed across Vietnam and thousands of homes have been destroyed. While I had an adventure, many of the locals had lives and property destroyed and my heart goes out to them.

Mai-Chau Mayhem (in a Typhoony sort of way)

Set in a long, thin valley, surrounded by jagged green peaks, at about 600 meters above sea level the village of Mai-Chou is sort of an oasis after the craziness of Hanoi. The main strip through town isn't much to look at, but just a quarter mile beyond the last building, the smaller sub-village of Pom Coong is literally an island surrounded by rice-paddies. As I approached in the early afternoon, I prepared myself for what I assumed would be a tourist trap. The travelers bible (Lonely Planet, or LP for short) had listed Pom Coong and a neighboring sub-village as area highlights. But as I pulled into the narrow walkways between the village's traditional stilt-houses, I didn't see another foreigner anywhere. I puttered around for a few laps before a young woman waved me over to her home and communicated via hand gestures and a couple of english words that she had a place for me to spend the night. In Pom Coong, the villagers have opened up thier homes to visitors - for a completely reasonable fee. For $12 I had a traditional roof over my head, the best dinner I've had in months, and a small breakfast (b-fasts just aren't big over here). The family, consisting of a younger couple and their three-year old boy, and I all slept in the main room of the home on bamboo floors and under a tin roof.

And what a night it was - as promised the rains arrived with a vengeance. At dark, thunder started booming and lighting flashed. It literally rained, unabated, for over 24 hours. Lightning would flash here and there and here and there. There were were stretches of solid minutes where the sky was completely lit up outside. The remnants of Typhoon Hagapit were doing a number on most of Vietnam that evening, as I would later find out.

After waking to the rain gutters overflowing and the concrete walk ways between homes flooding - and with more than a little prompting from my hosts - I decided that it would be best to wait out the storm in Mai-Chau and postpone my departure for a day rather than face the mountain roads with my scooter..I mean, motorbike. So, I checked back into the stilt house and spent a damp (but warm) day alternately reading and taking rainy-day walks through the rice paddies. I managed to find a run down internet cafe in the newer part of town and shared it with a dozen school-aged boys playing on-line video games. Back to walking and reading, reading and walking. By the time evening rolled around the rain was slacking off a bit and I had high hopes for the following day. What a sucker....

Easy Rider....without an "eph"

Disclaimer: The keyboard I'm using is missing the letter " " (the one that comes ater "e" and beore "g")..... have un deciphering!

Well, I can add one more lie experince to my collection - successully inding my way out o Hanoi on a motorbike. As planned, I picked up a scooter early yesterday morning to begin my 10-day road trip though northwest Vietnam. O course, it wouldn't be an adventure without the news that I received over breakast rom a Dutch guy at the hostel: Typhoon Hagapit, Hagaspit, Shagapot or something similar was, at that very moment pummeling Hong Kong and was headed our way. A quick check o the orecast showed that he was right. Damn. But I had already paid or the bike and the mechanic assured me that I would be ine - by the time it got to where I was headed, the storm would be downgraded to a class 2. Sweet. With that reassuring bit o insight, he helped me bungee cord my backpack to the scooter (yeah..it really is just a scooter) and sold me a heavy duty, military issue poncho or good luck. Ater one last scan o the map, I was on my way.

The skies were pretty clear as I let town, and I was just hoping that the storm would hold o long enough or me to clear the suburbs. Well, I lucked out and had great weather all the way to my irst destination, a small village called Mai-Chau. The weather was so great, in act, that I burned the hell out o my arms. The visor on my helmet is tinted - so tinted that I didn't realize the sun was shining as brightly as it was. At any rate, I managed to ind my way to the "country-side" with only two wrong turns. Beore I knew it, I was cruising the highways o Vietnam at a whopping 40km per hour! Laid down about 135 kilometers and climbed about a 1000 eet in elevation in roughly 4 hours - and the only minor complication came at my irst stop or gas. Something was seriously lost in translation as I was attempting to pay the attendant and beore I knew it, a small crowd had gathered to watch clueless oreigner sweat in the sun. The problem seemed to center on 300 dong (about 5 cents) and or the lie o me, I couldn't understand what she wanted me to do. I put money in her hands, she handed it back. I pointed at the numbers on the pump, she pointed at the numbers on the pump. I even watched careully as another man came in, got gas, paid, and recieved change - just to make sure I wasn't missing something. It's a truely humbling experience, especially when you know that while you may not be the smartest guy in the world, you're not the village idiot either, to be stymied by such a routine transaction. Ater about 20 minutes o back and orth, and ALOT o sweating on my part, she just laughed and waved me on. Just like that. I'm quickly inding the Vietnamese to be some o the nicest (or most accomodating to oreign morons) people I've met.

By 3:00 in the aternoon, I had arrived in Mai-Chou, ound a home, cracked a cold beer, and then.....the rains came.

Hanoi Weekend in Review

Oh man, where to begin. The internet in Hanoi has been spotty at best this weekend so all of my "reports" have been put on the backburner until now. In the interest of brevity - not to mention my comfort (it is now 7:15 pm and still about 90 degrees with near 100% humidity) - I'll just do my best to provide a highlight reel of my weekend in Hanoi. Here goes: I wandered around the city. I sweated. Wandered some more. Sweated. I was also unceremoniously booted from my hotel room, but that is a whole 'nother story.

In all honesty, for the weekend, I played the consumate tourist as I gathered strength in my jet-lagged and culture-shocked body. Laminated map in hand, Lonely Planet in backpack, I managed to squeeze in all the sights that Hanoi is famous (or infamous) for: The Temple of Literature (a God-send of a serene escape from downtown Hanoi), the Vietnam History Museum (moderately interesting exhibits labled exclusively in Vietnamese), the Museum of the Vietnamese Revolution (another hour there and I would have turned Commie), the "Army Museum" (plenty of self-congratulating displays concerning the many wars the Vietnamese have fought and won over the centuries...with captured French and American weapons - including a Huey, which I thought was pretty impressive), St. Joseph's Cathedral (I attended an early morning Sunday mass and, while the service was unintelligble to me, the hymns were absolutely beautiful), and finally, the Hoa Lo prison. Also known as the Hanoi Hilton, this is where John McCain and many other captured American pilots were imprisoned. Say what you will about McCain - you'd never catch me voting for him - but you can't help but respect him. Oh, and finally finally, I stumbled across a bizarre little museum in a back neighborhood called the "B-52 Museum." Piles and piles of junked B-52 bomber parts from planes that the glorious commrades shot down over Hanoi during the Vietnam (here they call it the "American") War.

So that brings me to now. As I alluded to earlier, I've moved beyond the Bodega hotel (they claim a burst pipe in the room above required my departure, I think they double-booked). But after four days in Hanoi it is time to move on. I rented a bicycle this morning and spent the day exploring further and further from the city center, finally making it over the Red River via the Long Bien bridge and in doing so I caught a quick glimpse of the mellow Vietnam: small towns, quiet neighborhoods, rice paddies, water buffalos. I've really enjoyed my few days in the city - and realizing that chances are slim that I'll ever return, I've tried to take advantage of my time here - but I'm ready to get out. I tracked down a very reputable guy in the Old Quarter who rents out motorcycles and scooters by the week and, fter visiting him at his shop, decided to rent a Honda Wave 125 (hell yah!) for the next ten days to tackle Vietnam's northwest. Normally, I would be a little way at the prospect, but everyone I've spoken to says it really is pretty safe - once you get safely out of Hanoi traffic. Part the the deal is that I get a map with very explicit instructions concerning my escape from the city: four turns (four lefts and a right) and I'm home free. Then I'm off to the mountains at my own pace: Mai Chau, Son La, Dien Bien Phu, Muong Lai, Sa Pa, Lao Cai, Bac Ha, and then back to Hanoi around the third of October, give or take a day. Of course, as luck would have it, a major multi-day rainstorm is set to hit tommorrow (typhoon season's last gasps) so we'll see how far I get each day. Nothing if not an adventure.

So that's where I am. After I left the Bodega, I sucked it up (or weakened considerably) and checked into a classic Australia-style backpacker's hostel down the road. That means a lot of bbq, beer, and scandalously-clad Western girls with their faux-hawked, tatooed, fisherman panted companions. It's certainly not Vietnam, but it's cheap, the internet is free and hey....the beer IS cold.

Next stop, Mai Chau.

Home Sweet Home

Early morning of my third day in Hanoi and I seem to be stabililizing - jet lag really bit me this time around. I managed to stay awake until 8:00 last night and slept right up until 4:45am! After a full day exploring the city in this oppressive heat and humidity, it's not hard to call it an early night, take a cold shower, and crash under the leaky a/c unit and ceiling fan. In the interest of finances, I've also got an interior room (which is just as well since it muffles the traffic noise) so unless the desk clerks outside my door are puttering, I can't tell what time it is anyway. 8:00, midnight, it's all the same to me. While I am enjoying my stay at the Bodega Hotel (high moldy ceilings and a ceiling fan that creaks and whomps like the rotor blades of a Huey - picture Martin Sheen flipping out in Saigon), I can't help but wonder what the well-heeled folks over at the Metropole - an old-school French colonial palace and one-time temporary home of Viet-sympathizer Jane Fonda - are doing right now. Probably being fed croissants and champagne under rattan fans by beautiful Vietnamese girls in French maid outfits....or something similar. My first trip to Hanoi was with - and financed by - my father. We called the Metropole home for a few days. Ahhh...those were the days.

Life sucks without a Dong

Ok, let me explain: The national currency of Vietnam is the "Dong" (16,000 to the dollar, as a matter of fact) and for a few hours this morning I was completely Dongless.....and starving. But I'll get to that in a minute.

So, when I left off it was midnight, I was WIDE awake and wondering what to do with myself. Not that I would have gone outside or anything, but it was completely impossible. The hotel, like every other business in Hanoi turns itself into a fortress at night. Huge metal doors roll down from ceiling to floor to protect the plate-glass windows at street level, and the entire hotel staff sleeps on the lobby floor right in front of the exit. So I waited...and waited...and waited. Not that having cable tv in my room will become a habit on this trip, but I do have one in this particular room. 4 hours of Vietnamese soccer commentators and a couple hours of reading later, the staff was stirring and I got them to lower the drawbridge for me at 5:30am.

I headed straight for Hoan Kiem lake, four or five blocks away, and was immediately greeted by one of my favorite peculiarly Asian sights: hundreds and hundreds of people spread out around the lake in different clusters practicing tai chi, fan dancing, arobacizing, ballroom dancing, jogging, walking, lifting weights, you name it. And the greatest thing of all is that no one cares what they look like when they're doing their thing. Butts shaking, arms flapping, legs kicking, more or less in unison. Americans could take a lesson in unselfconciousness...and exercise.

The rest of the morning consisted of #1 a search for Dong, #2 buying coffee with said Dong, and #3 finding my way back to the guesthouse for my free breakfast. After two hours of wandering around the maze of streets that comprises the Old Quarter, I hadn't made much progress - it seems things don't open until at least 9:00 on a Saturday morning, including forex offices AND the map given to me by the guesthouse misprinted not only their address but also their location on the map. Of course. Why not? I will admit for a moment or two, I was convinced this was all some big scam and the crooked desk-staff had taken down or covered up the guest house sign while they rummaged through my bags looking for valuables. But, in the end, I stumbled across the Bodega Hotel on my own, re-labeled my map, traded dollars for Dong, and got my coffee.

In-Country.....welcome to Hanoi

MADE IT! After an unusually tolerable 20 hour journey (I somehow managed to score the most amazing aisle/emergency exit-row seat on the SF to Taiwan leg) I finally touched down in Vietnam yesterday afternoon. Nothing exciting to note about the flight other than a too-close encounter with a twisted Taiwanese massage machine at the Taipei airport. I'm not exactly the biggest guy in the world, and in hindsight, I'm guessing the chair was designed with the average Asian-sized body in mind. At any rate, I escaped with a nothing more than a cranked neck and bruised pride - the whole incident was witnessed by a pair of elderly Chinese women who thought it was hilarious. Nice to know that humor at my expense transcends linguistic and cultural boundaries. But hey, if an ego and body beating is the worst thing to happen, consider it a successful journey.

The flight to Vietnam was spectacular, coasting in over the Gulf of Tonkin just as the sun was poking over the horizon. Hanoi is located a fair distance inland, so my first view of the country was an endless vista of flooded rice paddies punctuated by small towns. From my perspective, it looked like several of the rivers below us were flooding, and since we're in the tail end of the monsoon season, that may be the case. Finally, Hanoi came into view and I couldn't help but think that this was (relatively) the same view that many American pilots had - including John McCain - as they flew bombing runs over North Vietnam some forty years ago.

After touching down, I ran the customs gauntlet with a group of middle-aged Americans being tailed by a small camera crew. My prearranged pickup was waiting for me (trust me - always arrange a ride from the airport in advance) and we wandered past the typical throng of rabid taxi drivers and hotel touts hovering around the front doors of the arrival hall. Whenever an unaccompanied foreigner left the building, it was like a feeding frenzy as people shouted at the new arrivals in Vietnamese, French, and poor English. Happy to avoid the mess.

The drive into the city center, where I would be staying, took at least 45 minutes and the $16 taxi fee was definitely worth every penny. As in every other non-Western country I've ever been in, the driving was insane. Typically Asian - cars, trucks, bikes, and scooters, scooters everywhere. It was bizarre, but my driver was blasting African music on his stereo and suddenly I was having Tanzanian flashbacks. Eventually we made it into the center of Hanoi's Old Quarter located just north of Hoan Kiem lake where I had a reservation at a small hotel in an old French colonial villa. They were expecting me - I suspect I might be the only guest - and I moved in for the next couple days. By the time I got situated, I was wiped out and decided to take a nap for an hour or two (this was at 2:00pm). Next thing I know, I'm waking up to the sound of a rainstorm outside at midnight! So, jet-lagged kicked my ass again. Midnight, wide awake, and I'm stuck in my room until at least sunrise. Good time to read the guide book I suppose........

Heading out

Just a very quick message to kick off the journey - my flight to San Francisco-Taipei-Hanoi leaves in a few hours and I've still got a few errands to run before heading out to the airport. I've had all summer to think about this trip (in between river trips) but it managed to sneak up on me....funny how that happens. At any rate, I'm new to this whole blog-o-sphere thing and still working out a few kinks on the site. If all goes well, I'll have a couple of slide shows up and running just as soon as I start clicking my cameras. Word on the street is that Vietnam does NOT suffer from a lack of internet cafes, so I hope to be able to update this blog on a regular basis. And while the blog is primarily a way for me to journal about my experiences over the next three months, I invite and welcome all of my friends and family to follow along with me (I know for a fact that many of you have nothing better to do until the snow starts flying).



For those of you who aren't familiar with my "situation," in addition to being a full time river guide, I'm also a nearly graduated law student at the University of Utah. Only three or four classes to go before I'm finally and forever cut loose from the world of academia. However, scheduling being what it is, those classes are offered in the spring, not fall. So, with a newly opened four-month hole in my calendar, combined with equal parts wanderlust and revulsion over this years political campaigning (by the way, this site wholeheartedly SUPPORTS OBAMA), I decided it was a good time to get out and see a new part of the world.



Why Vietnam? While I've been back and forth to Southeast Asia over the years to travel and visit family (Mom and Dad are expats in Bangkok), I've never spent any slow-moving "quality" time in Vietnam, or Cambodia for that matter. Other than quick trips to Hanoi and Ankor Wat a couple of years ago, traveling parent-style (sweet digs and chauffeured rides), I haven't had a chance to wander, explore, and meet the locals. So, that's the goal of this adventure: wander, explore, and meet the locals. Of course, there's a practical side to this trip as well - I hope to visit a half-dozen NGOs (non-governmental orgs) during my travels in an effort to scope out the international employment scene. That, of course, sealed the deal when securing an (enthusiastically) excused absence from school for several months. "Cam on ba," Dean Dickey.


Alright, that's it for now. Emilie is picking me shortly for the airport and then I'll be settling in for my 17+ hour flight. If all goes well, I'll be writing from Hanoi by Friday. Until then, Peace.

Next stop, 'Nam.