Oranges wrapped in plastic

Here are some oranges individually wrapped in plastic. As if you couldn't see for yourself. Grown and shipped from China. Why? Why? Why? It makes no sense to me, as if a little plastic bag is going to offer any protection. I don't know, maybe it's a marketing technique. Some genius thought the extra sparkle from the plastic might catch your eye? Or maybe they are picked green and allowed to ripen in the plastic bag? Somebody tell me!

Nose picking

You know you do it. Admit it. It's easier than trying to blow your nose all the time. And sometimes just blowing your nose doesn't cut it. Some seriously entrenched nuggets often require a fingernail for extraction. Besides, it's better for the environment. Less tissue going into our landfills.

I have no problem admitting that I pick my nose. But usually I try to be discreet about it. That is one cultural difference I still can't get over. Well, that and blatantly hacking loogies whenever the need arises. But nose picking, are you serious? In broad daylight? When I'm looking at you? When you're selling food on the street? Apparently anything goes.

The best is when you spot a nice looking lady going to town. Digging for gold as they say. But it's more than that. It's like the canary dropped dead in the coal mine and the miners are furiously trying to dig themselves out. To save their lives. Only come on people, a booger won't kill you. Yes, it feels good to remove the offending bugger, but is it really necessary to contort your face to that extreme? And then try again when you notice it's not on your finger?

It's funny because it brings me back. Back to kindergarten when I used to pick my nose and eat it. I know my Mom tried to scold me when I did that, but her scolding went unheeded. "Tastes good to me", I would say. At least I'm not seeing anyone eat their boogers. I don't know if I could handle that even if it does taste good.

**I apologize for not having any of the would-be fantastic photos of people picking their noses. It would indeed be slightly ackward to approach someone in this situation and just click away. If, however, I happened to have a camera with a high number of megapixels, this might be an attainable goal next time. Please send funds. Please send funds. Please send funds.

Sleeper buses from hell

This is a sleeper bus. Three rows of "bunk beds" and one toilet. A toilet with no light and a puddle of pee all over the floor. And the smell, oh the smell, let me tell you about it! After a night's full of use, wow, the smell. It sucks when you're standing barefoot in the puddle because you have to take off your shoes on the bus and the sandals they have provided have somehow disappeared and then that smell is transferred to your "bed sheets" because there is no toilet paper or towel to wipe off your feet. Yes!

The bus is comfortable enough for one night, but not for three out of four nights. Which is what I did just to do it and get to Hanoi as quickly as possible without having to fly. Remember, I have time and not money. It is best to avoid beer (or any fluids for that matter) immediately before or during the bus ride so you can avoid peeing all over yourself in the bathroom.

Another thing to avoid on the night bus are the beds in the back. Because every bump in the road is guaranteed to be a pain in your ass. I almost hit my head on the ceiling multiple times and eventually resorted to using my seat belt, which made me feel like I was strapped to a gurney.
We only had two accidents on my bus trip to Hanoi, which made it seem like being strapped to a gurney might be a real possibility. The first accident occurred when the driver slammed on the brakes and we appeared to fish tail before veering to the right and hitting a sign, which decimated the right side view mirror (pictured above). Obviously could have been worse.

Our second accident occurred when one of the side windows randomly burst and shattered all over a resting passenger. Safety glass is a good thing I think. Could have been a result of structural damage from the first accident or someone throwing rocks. Whatever it was, it became even more difficult to sleep and I was sure we were going to end up overturned in a rice paddy. I regret not being able to tell you that story.

The food pyramid

I took this picture because I was once a student of Nutrition. Apparently this is the Vietnamese food pyramid. I wanted to see how similar it was to our own - the one I studied many years ago. It seems pretty much the same, with grains occupying the base of pyramid suggesting those same foodstuffs for the base of our diets. Then fruits and vegetables and then meats, fats and sweets in lesser amounts as you find yourself entering the apex of the pyramid. The only thing I found interesting was the pictures of the different grains, different vegetables, fruits and so on. Everything else reminded me that I was glad I wasn't staring at a food pyramid on my desk on a daily basis.

What was more interesting than this pyramid was a conversation I had with this guy after he saw me taking this picture. He was an Agronomist. He was from Israel. And I think he was propositioning me. I refused to acknowledge his fairly overt gestures and was glad I was leaving shortly thereafter to be taken farther away. Is my bus here yet?

It went something like this after the initial introductions and how-do-you-do's were complete:

Him: So, do you like liberal women?
Me: What do you mean by that?
Him: Oh, do you like sex with more than one woman? For example, two women and two men?
Me: I've never done it, but wouldn't rule it out. I think I'd prefer two women and one man though.
Him: I think you might like it.
Me: I don't know about that. I think a threesome in my favor would be preferable.
Him: I think women would prefer to have two men.
Me: Yeah, maybe so, but I'd prefer one man with that man being me.

I can't remember the extent of the rest of the conversation. I don't know why it went as far as it did. Probably because I like seeing where things go without actually going there. I also usually find most people interesting (at least until I get to know them). I have time so why not hear what they have to say? He did ask what I was doing later that afternoon. Fortunately, I had a bus to catch and didn't have to actually say "I'm not interested in anal penetration, thank you very much!" This conversation is over!

Hello, my name is Tailor

Ok, yes, that is a really stupid heading for my latest blog post, but whatever. My imagination has run dry. Please bear with me. And another thing, does this picture look as bad on your computer as it does mine? Man, my camera sucks. It is on the verge of breakdown. It is from the Dark Ages after all. Any camera donations will be accepted gratefully and will only allow you a better perspective of life in southeast Asia, from which you can either continue to live vicariously or get off your duff, quit your boring job and come meet me in Vietnam.

Back to the story. So, my name is hard to pronounce. I mean, I used to have trouble myself so I'm not surprised people have difficulty here. What's your name? Tyler. Tailor? No, Ty-ler. Tailor? Yes, Tailor. I give up. I am Tailor. Sometimes I just say Tiger. It's easier and given that it's a very popular beer over here, everyone knows how to pronounce it.

There are also many tailors in Vietnam so the word is fairly recognizable. I decided to get some pants made in my last stopover in Hoi An. The first place I visited, I encountered a couple that was upset with the quality there. I asked a few questions and decided to check around. Then later, I ran into the same couple who had found a good place. Sounded good to me so I went in and finally made some decisions. Two pairs of pin-striped pants.

I ran into the same couple again when I went to pick up my goods. It was then I realized they had actually recommended the place next door to the place I went. Ah well! The pants turned out ok, I am not overly fussed. Like nearly everything I have purchased on this trip, they probably won't last. I hope they do, but more than likely I will be placing them in a trash bin at some point. You would think I would learn from this.

I feel like the guy in the picture. Only half my head is there. Slowly losing my mind. Only I'm not that tan and I don't wear suits. I hope to regain my sanity and the rest of my head soon. But I think if I remember correctly, once brain cells are gone, they're gone. I might be dumb forever.

Exercise

Thanks Greg. For telling me my recent woes may complicated by a lack of exercise. I've entertained thoughts of reducing my waistline, but those thoughts usually disintegrate when it's time for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Or when the mercury rises and all I want to do is sit in front of a fan reading a book. Who wants to be exercising in this heat?

I was good for a time doing the occasional push up or crunch before I left my hotel, but somewhere along the way it became too much effort. So I took a photo of myself pretending to do jumping jacks - as if this alone would bring me back to my prior level of fitness.

Sometimes I think it would just be easier to get stricken with dysentery. I would lose interest in eating, lose some of that weight and at least appear to be my old self. Because appearance is all that matters, right? And if I was bedridden at the same time, I wouldn't spend any money on other activities further reducing my expenditures. What a deal.

I need to start washing my hands less and get better at choosing the most unsanitary restaurant. After all, I've only been sick twice and they didn't keep me off my feet for long. I mean, when you're sitting on the toilet, you are still on your feet if you think about it.

Or maybe if Igot better at managing my free time, of which I have plenty, I could somehow incorporate a little exercise. Sometimes, that just sounds so difficult!

Hoi An part II

I arrived in Hoi An early Saturday morning. I like getting a fresh start to my day. I embarked from the bus sleepy-eyed and in need of a proper night's rest. I was having trouble finding a hotel for less than $12 a night. I knew they existed so I persisted. Eventually I found a decent spot for $7. You look, you find, usually without a whole lot of trouble.

I was sitting on the bank of the river in town saying 'no thanks' to the endless number of people trying to make a living taking tourists on boat rides. This one guy kept sitting there and I eventually cracked. It was one dollar for a one hour boat ride. I'd definitely rather spend the dollar on him than the candy I'd have inevitably bought in the market if I didn't have that one hour distraction.

My oarsman was named Dung. I couldn't really hear him and that's what I heard so I'm sticking to it. It is a Vietnamese name after all - I'm not trying to be funny. He didn't speak much English and well, my Vietnamese is pretty limited, but we could communicate well enough.
He was 75. He lost his left leg when he stepped on a landmine left by the VC in 1972. He was a little older then than I am now. Man, how good do we have it?
This man, with his rugged face, calloused hands and foot, did not seem to show any of the suffering that had befallen him. I know time is supposed to heal all wounds, but I don't know if I can believe that. I think we just slowly adapt to new circumstances and eventually accept our fate whatever it may be.

Nha Trang part II

I arrived in Nha Trang for the second time early on a Friday morning. I took the sleeper bus from Saigon so I could save on one night's accommodation. "Cheep Cheep" said the bird. It was not comfortable, but it wasn't uncomfortable either. I would call it bearable. I arrived stanky and was fortunately able to shower and leave my bag with the travel agency while I wiled away the day waiting for my next sleeper bus to carry me farther north that same evening.

I didn't do much in this beach town. There wasn't a whole lot I wanted to do. I wandered. I ate. I somehow ended up talking to a prostitute about bananas. I read. I got sunburned. The sun is amazing how it can find you even while you hide in the shade. By the end of the day, it was time to hit the road again.

More funny signs

We stopped at this "beautyful sea pront restaurant" somewhere along the route from Nha Trang to Hoi An.

I accidentally stepped on the grass cover to take this picture in Saigon.

Who is that masked man?

Oh, it's only me having fun in the sun on the back of a moto. Protecting myself from the ever-present exhaust and the burning sun. When in Rome. Only this was in Saigon.

Good luck for you!

Remember that guy you saw who had three inch hairs growing out of that mole on his neck? And remember how you felt like buying the guy a razor or lending him some tweezers? Hell, you wouldn't even need tweezers. You could grasp those hairs between your fingers and tug away.

I just found out those hairs are lucky. They will bring you success with money. I don't know why I was never told this. Damn everyone! I have a lot of moles to stop shaving. So from now on, the razor will avoid the moles. The tweezer will no longer pluck. It was occasionally enjoyable. Like a q-tip orgasm. An aural massage. I said aural. Only different.

From now on, I will be a lucky man. My hairs will grow and grow and grow and so will my bank accounts. Just like that. I never knew it was that easy.

Pineapple

Did you know pineapples grow like this? I can't say I did. They are kind of like artichokes in that there is only one fruit per plant. Not that I'm saying an artichoke is a fruit. Cause it's a vegetable. You don't eat mayonnaise with any fruits. I'm pretty sure about that. That would be nasty.

In Vietnam, you can buy an entire pineapple - signed, sealed and delivered for 5,000 vnd, which amounts to about 0.33 usd. That's pretty cheap. And as I've said before, I'm pretty cheap. I happen to like pineapple, so I've been eating a lot of it.

It's crazy to think that someone is making money on pineapples. I mean, someone grows it, that someone sells it to someone else, that someone else sells to individual vendors and then those fruit vendors carve and quarter them for lazy people like me and somehow everyone profits in the process. Cool.

What does this look like to you?

Let me look inside your mind. You thought it was a concentration camp. Yes, you did. And it's ok to have thought that because well, it kind of does look like the gates to a concentration camp. But it isn't, I'm not in Germany. Hel-lo. Nor would there be kids bicycling by outside or families on motorscooters. Duh.

This was in fact the gates to a temple somewhere in the Mekong Delta. It is not uncommon to see the swastika here, such a controversial symbol in Western society. Archaeological evidence suggests the swastika dates from the Neolithic period. I think that was a long time ago. Long before Adolf emerged from the womb.

The swastika has long been widely used in major world religions such as Hinduism, Roman Catholicism, Buddhism and Jainism. That is what Wikipedia tells me. I did not know that. But I did know that the swastika has been around and has only recently been regarded as a symbol of evil.

Are you familiar with Jainism? I was not. I am now a little more informed. For starters, it is one of the oldest religions in the world. Possibly gave rise to Buddhism. Compassion for all life, human and non-human, is central to the religion and non-violence is particularly emphasized. As you might guess, all Jains are vegetarians.

Sounds kind of cool as far as religions go. If I were a religious man, I might delve into this a little deeper. But I am not. And well, I also just read that Jains practice asceticism - they abstain from drinking alcohol. And from having sex. You have to draw the line somewhere and I'm drawing it right there. More power to them!

The simple life

We took a boat across the Mekong to one of the many islands. We ate lunch at this small fruit orchard and sat discussing the possibilty of the site for a homestay. A homestay is an opportunity for tourists to stay overnight with the locals and learn more about the culture. I wasn't involved in this discussion because I haven't quite picked up the language in six weeks. I just sat daydreaming.

Envisioning a simpler life. One with fewer choices. A simple life on the Mekong growing fruit and growing old. Not to imply that it would be an easy life. Just a simple one.

Everywhere we went there seemed to be an attractive, young, single woman. And she was always 22 years old. It was set up. It had to be! These guys I was with were always saying something to the girl and invariably it seemed like they were trying to make a connection. I considered the life again.

It didn't sound like a bad idea. Living on the Mekong in this lush environment with a nice girl, an abundance of fresh fruit and a warm tropical breeze. No cars, no commute, no alarm clock, no sweaters, no socks, no shoes, no service. I fell asleep over all the chattering thinking I could dig this. In my dreams I held a shovel.

Karaoke

I've only ever done karaoke once. And it was a duet. And I was drinking. And it was Guns N' Roses so no talent was really necessary. It was at least a few years ago in Japantown in San Francisco. I can't remember anymore, the years are flying by. I do know that I am not the first person to stand up and volunteer for karaoke. I need more practice singing in front of the mirror. I am too self-conscious even under the influence. That could be argued, but it's true.

Last week, I did karaoke for the second time. It is big here in Vietnam. I went with these local travel agency guys who were trying to schmooze with the Director of Tourism in this town in the Mekong Delta. It's a long story. So after a fancy dinner and too many Heinekens we went to this hotel for karaoke. We went into our own private room. And then the girls came in. Girls?

I was supposed to pick one. Can I have two? No seriously, I was supposed to pick one. Strange indeed. I am learning how things work. These girls did not look excited to be there, but there they were and they took their places beside us. They poured our beers, they poured their beers, they fed us fruit, they shelled me peanuts, they groped my leg and "cuddled" with us on the couches.

Let me first explain that these women were not prostitutes. At least I didn't think so. One guy did stay behind so maybe they offered other services. That was unclear. I did not know this until I woke up the next morning - headache and all - and he was found to be missing.

I want to say they were paid "entertainers" rather than prostitutes. And maybe if they wanted to go that extra mile, that was their call. We paid for our room and beers and the girls were paid separately for their services. By their services, I mean their presence. Nothing else is implied. I'm not saying it's right. Do not think of me poorly, I was an innocent bystander. Sure, I did not have to follow the crowd, but I did not want to make waves.

Anyway, back to the karaoke. I think I sang five songs. The mic was passed often and I didn't turn it down. I sang Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi, Don't Cry by Guns N' Roses and I Shot the Sheriff by Bob Marley. I can't remember the others. I am not a good singer. I will admit this. I once thought I might be good, that one day my time would come. But it will not.

I have recently had my third karaoke experience with a friend of a friend and her friends. I met her at the coffee shop and was overwhelmed by the number of people. There is no way I am going to sing here. It seems that everyone goes to the coffee shops here, especially on weekends. Especially on Sunday. Since most people work six days a week, that one day is a special time to relax in a nice, cool, music-filled environment.

Fortunately, again, we went to a private booth. This time there were no scantily clad women. I was ok with this. I had no alcohol. I was drinking 7UP. I ended up singing Dream On by Aerosmith and a forgettable rendition of Like a Virgin by Madonna. Terrible choice. But karaoke, I have found, is still fun. Even if I can't stand to hear my own voice. Maybe if I keep it up, I will find my inner voice. The voice of reason. Not likely I'm sure.

The Mekong part II

The other day, I went back down to the Mekong Delta region. It was nice.

The women were still out in their silk pajamas rowing their boats.

And the lushness around the river was still incredible. So many farms, so much fruit.

This is just awesome!

I almost didn't come back.

Art everywhere

I stayed at this place that had an art gallery downstairs. There are a lot of art galleries around Vietnam. They make originals or they can make reproductions. There are tons of people churning out these copies, good quality copies, and they are cheap. I think it's cheap. How about $30 for a nice painting? Damn, if I knew I was coming home soon, I would buy a couple. Not like the one pictured above though. I don't like portraits unless they are heavily distorted.

Then there was this handicapped handicrafts factory. We stopped there on the way to some other tourist destination. It was a place to use the toilet and then maybe buy some art. These people were all disabled by Agent Orange or napalm or white phosphorus or dioxin or whatever poisons we used in the American War. That's what it's called over here. Naturally. Anyway, they have all these people working together busting out fantastic pieces of art. Lacquered pieces, inlaid pieces, I don't even know what all this means, I just know it was incredible. I was jealous. I am jealous.

The other day I was told of this guy who could carve your likeness from a block of wood for $3. I wanted one. You know, who doesn't want a bust of themselves out of wood? But the guy wasn't home. So sad. So much cool stuff going on over here. I suppose if I looked elsewhere, I would find it there too. Obviously I haven't. Maybe now I will start seeing art everywhere.

I've got the fever

And not just any old fever. I've got yellow fever. They didn't tell me to get immunized for this one. Yellow fever is a viral disease that is transmitted to humans through the bite of infected mosquitoes. Did you know that? The CDC did not recommend getting the vaccine for people traveling in southeast Asia. Apparently, it is more common in sub-Saharan Africa and tropical South America. I thought I would be okay. I was wrong.

It began over a month ago. I can't exactly say when it all began. It crept up slowly and now it appears to be a full blown case. The major symptom appears to be a persistent swelling in the groin when in the presence of attractive Asian women. Did I really just write that? Gad, let the truth be told. Let me reveal my sins. I am guilty. Lock me up and throw away the key.

Anyway, if you are still with me, another symptom, although not quite as problematic, is finding many many many women attractive. A much higher proportion than normal. A higher proportion that can even be possible. So, here I am, in Vietnam, double-taking down the street, would be triple-taking if it weren't for the bevy of beautiful women continually causing me to refocus my attention. But don't worry about me, I am definitely discreet. Yeah.

So, hmmm, maybe that's why Tyler is still in Vietnam. Maybe. It's not the only thing I like about it here. But it certainly is one of those things that has drawn me in. I don't know, perhaps it will subside. After all, I did have the Spanish flu for a month. At the time I thought there was no cure. I was destined for a life in southern Spain, eating tapas, listening to flamenco and chattering away in fluent espanol. I don't know what happened to that destiny.

Now, here I sit, unable to move, mired down in a bog, breaking out in occasional sweats and fits of insanity, overcome with this fever. Yellow fever. I feel like it sounds racist, but let me say I have no inclination to be racist to anyone. Yellow fever is an actual disease. It is also the name of a band. A decent sounding band. And yellow is how the Vietnamese describe the color of their skin. So there.

I've got the fever. I'll admit that much. I feel like a kid in a candy store for the first time. Only I can't really have anything I want. Maybe I'm the candy and I'm seeing all the kids come in and I'm thinking pick me, pick me, pick me! Take me home tonight. I don't want to let you go till you see the light! Take me home tonight! - Eddie Money (1986)

Only, a kid in a candy store sounds like a gross analogy. How about a thirsty woman at a vending machine? I'm one of those sodas trying to glisten my can in her direction. Let me refresh you! Put your lips all over me! Ok, seriously, this is going nowhere. I better get out of here before people start reading over my shoulder.

Should I stay or should I go?

That is the question of the day. Actually it has been the question of the past couple weeks. I am torn. I really like Vietnam. I am intrigued. So much raw energy, much of it positive. My head is buzzing - bzzzzz! But what the fuck, excuse my language, am I going to do here? I can't just "hang out" all day and be a non-productive member of society. I absolutely have to do something before I go crazy.

So, what do I do? The most obvious and lucrative option for a no-skill-having, would-be-deadbeat-dad-if-I-had-children kind of guy is an English teacher. I don't have certification. No worries! English teachers are in high demand. Yesterday, I actually got a job. I think. I can't really tell, but this strange guy seems to want me to teach in his schools. Personally, I think he wants to use me as a front, to entice local students to his schools showing them that "Yes, indeed, I have foreign teachers. Straight from the USA. Lookie here!"

I even got paid for my time yesterday. Well, hell, I should have for sitting around in my most uncomfortable attire (read: dress clothes) in a non-airconditioned room for the majority of the afternoon not really knowing what was going on. I still don't. All I know is that I "interviewed" prospective students. And I "taught" a class with no real prior warning. This guy basically threw me in to do his friend a favor. Yes, it seems a bit shady. But he did pay me 10 bucks for my efforts.

So, now I ask myself again: what the fuck am I doing? What do I want to do? Where do I want to go? The answer it seems, as always, is I don't know. Like I said, I am torn. I want to stay, I really do. I just don't know if I want to teach English. Then what?

I have to admit, a part of me wants to get moving again too. Wants to run the hell away. And fast. But for what? To escape? To run back home - where the dollar is falling and a recession is impending? Is this the end? I don't mean the apocalypse, I just mean are the glory days over for the good 'ol US of A? If so, I don't want to be there when it happens.

It is getting hot here. I am getting antsy. Can I do this? I don't know. All I know is this, I am a terrible decision maker. But to not decide, is to make a choice to be indecisive. I read that somewhere. I think it was Dr. Phil. I know I should be listening to myself. Listening to my heart. Following my intuition. Well, here's the problem. My intuition got lost. And it's too damn noisy here to listen to anything. So, now what!?

I'll figure my shit out. I always do. I just don't want to make a rash decision. I suppose a rash decision is better than no decision, well I don't know about that. See, there it is again, I don't know about that. What do I know? You know the answer to that one.

Ca phe den

'Ca phe den' means black coffee. They are some of the few words I know in Vietnamese. I have been consuming more of the black stuff than usual on this trip because it is some of the best 'ca phe' you can find. It is typically served thick - that 's the best description I've got - and is best to sip slowly. Otherwise you are without a beverage and when you are killing time at a cafe it is nice to have a beverage at hand. If not, for me, that feeling of discomfort creeps in. That feeling I should be on my way. Out the door. Paying the bill. I want to feel like a paying customer while I am occupying that chair so I sip slowly and enjoy every sip I do.

I am not a coffee connoisseur, but I do know what I like. I have slowly evolved from a once-a-year coffee drinker into an every-other-day coffee drinker. I hope to put the brakes on before I become an everyday kind of guy. It's kind of hard to find a tea that can match up to the taste of roasted coffee beans, unfortunately.

The coffee in Vietnam, for your information, is "prime stuff" according to Lonely Planet. The beans - I doubt all of them - are roasted in butter. Maybe that's why it's so rich. I tend to turn a blind eye and assume that I am getting the normal beans. Don't ask, don't tell.

If you are into exotic coffee blends you might like the weasel coffee. This coffee bean comes from the anus of a weasel. The beans are fed to weasels and then scooped out of their shit, hopefully cleaned, and then processed as usual. Supposedly it tastes good. I won't try it because a) the regular stuff is good enough and b) the thought of weasels being kept in cages for the contents in their colon just doesn't sound right. If you aren't that anal about where your coffee comes from, perhaps you'd like it.

Rice, it's what's for dinner

And for breakfast and for lunch and any snacks in between. I wouldn't mind if there was some variety. I would love to find brown rice. I would be shocked to see wild rice. It would be nice to just come across jasmine, basmati, long grain or short grain rice. Instead, it is polished white rice all day every day. In addition to the bowl of steamed white rice, other forms of this basic staple include the fried variety, rice noodles, rice paper for use in spring rolls, fried or fresh, and rice wine, amongst others.

When I have overdosed on steamed rice, which is often, I do one of the following:

a) order noodles
b) order fried rice
c) go out for Indian or
d) use a lot of hot chili sauce.

One of those options usually does the trick and I am capable of eating it again in its barest form again the next day.

Last night, I decided to order fried rice in a coconut. It has been tempting me for a while and I thought I'd get it out of the way. The waiter asked, "One?" No, make that two, I sarcastically thought to myself. I decided to order another dish to complement the upcoming load of carbohydrates. I opted for the "yellow dal" and was drooling at the thought of lentils. Something different than vegetables and tofu. The waiter again asked, "One?" I stalled for a second to see if anybody in the empty chairs around me also wanted some. After no response, I enthusiastically nodded and replied, Yes, ONE.

When my meals arrived, I was pleasantly surprised to see the enormity of my fried rice-filled cocount. After all, size does matter, despite what they might say to the contrary. I was also a bit surprised to find my "dal" looking a lot like a plateful of yellow fried rice. Since the communication barrier had me tongue-tied, I let it go, but only after making an attempt at stating This is not what I ordered. A fruitless attempt I might add.

I looked embarrassingly at the two imposing plates of rice and I knew I would not be finishing dinner. That is a rarity. Normally, there would be no problem. I don't like to waste. I also enjoy a food coma right before bed. But with my expanding waistline and shrinking body mass elsewhere, I have decided to be a more conscious eater. I have tried this before. And ultimately I end up forgetting what I was doing. This time, however, there are no vegan cookies getting in my way. I'll be sure to keep you posted.

Time to change hotels

I had already pretty much decided it was time to find a new hotel. I had been in the same place for five nights in a row and it was time for change. It was time to splurge a little and by splurge I mean maybe have a bigger bed, a less crusty towel or perforated toilet paper. I tend to take the little things for granted and let me tell you, I will forever be appreciative of perforated toilet paper.

My room was situated on the first floor overlooking quite possibly one of the busiest streets in Saigon. If not the busiest, perhaps the noisiest. And my windows were paper thin allowing all of this noise into my room, which continually added to my level of sleep deprivation. But I had a good deal and sometimes, well, a lot of the time, I go for the bargain. I felt good about it. That is until even the locals were saying my room was cheap. I am a cheap bastard, I will admit this, but I don't want to be forever. It is not too late to change.

It was not possible to sleep without ear plugs. And even with them I couldn't go to bed until at least 11pm and I would always wake up before 6:30am. This area stays up late and gets up early. I got tired of re-inserting my ear plugs at three in the morning. I also got tired of ducking my head going into my bathroom. And the dark green curtains. And the little bugs I saw on the floor occasionally. And I began to feel a bit self-conscious being in the same place all the time, doing nothing. So I decided to move, to hide, to get a fresh start.

My decision was solidified last night when I began to hear yelling in the alley right below my window. I looked out just in time to catch this guy smashing a bottle over his head. The second one. And to see the blood pouring down his face onto his white shirt. He was stumbling and screaming and about to do something with a third bottle when this caring woman, presumably his wife, grabbed him in a bear hug and desperately tried to calm him down. It took a while. But it didn't take me long. I moved first thing this morning.

Miscommunication

I could have also called this post Rejection #1, but the girl ended up going out with me so one might say it wasn't technically a rejection although yeah, it truly was. I also added the #1 because #2 and #3 are surely bound to happen over the course of time and I may or may not post them depending on the severity of the rejection, in which case I may skip directly to Rejection #7 and you'll be allowed to imagine what you wish. Hopefully with enough rejections under my belt, the sorry state of my dating life, if you could even call it that, which is kind of pushing it, may eventually progress into a sordid state, which I will likely enjoy, but probably will be unwilling to reveal a great amount of detail regarding the sordidness. That again would be left to your own imagination and I would have to ask why would you want to even envision me in such affairs. Are you trying to live vicariously? I would suggest you don't.

Please note: names have not been changed to protect the innocent.

So, I met the girl in question at the "hotel" I stayed at during my first couple of nights back in Saigon. Her name was Nina. It was more of a guesthouse than a hotel, but details are irrelevant. She lived with her family on the ground level, over which rose a few stories of nice rooms at relatively cheap prices. She was always downstairs as she was the "check-in" person and she was always pleasant, well sort of, and she spoke pretty good English. And she happened to be thirty three, single and attractive.

I should have taken it as a sign when she failed to hold my reservation after I returned to the hotel after a tour of the Mekong Delta. But I didn't. Instead, I popped my head into the hotel "lobby" after obtaining my morning iced soya and casually began conversing. She seemed more engaged than normal. I asked if maybe she'd like to get a drink sometime. She said yes. No hesitation. I made that up. I asked when was convenient. She said the next day at 1pm.

The next day I arrived shortly after the proposed time after killing time most of the morning. I asked if she still wanted to get a drink. Her response was "Yes. The room is ready." as she pointed upstairs. Did I miss something? There was a moment's hesitation before I overcame my humility. I told her no, I already had a room. What I had in fact been asking was if she would like to get naked, I mean get a drink, a beverage, a coffee, with me. "Ahh, ok, but not now" she said firmly. Ok, when? I do not give up that easy despite the fact I should have let this one go. "Later" was her response. Nice.

I decided to check in later. Just to see. Just to complete the story. It was around 8pm and she was talking to a foreign female guest of the hotel. Great, I thought, now I am that guy. She seemed prepared for my arrival and I only had to wait ten minutes for her to shower. And then we went down the street to a cafe where her friend worked. It was okay she said because she needed to catch up with her friend anyway. It was so nice of her to take pity on me like that.

She only spoke with her friend, in Vietnamese of course, for about half the time. The rest of the time I was informed of her boyfriend, whom she was going to marry and how he wasn't attractive, but she loved him. He was a Vietnamese guy from California who worked for a company developing hotels in Vietnam. He was informed of our "date" and I asked why she even bothered. "It's ok" she told me, "you were a guest at our hotel." Gee, I am so flattered. I paid the bill and went off to find dinner leaving her there with her friend, with whom she had some more catching up to do.

I must say it wasn't that terrible. It was a learning experience. And kind of funny. A little bruising to the ego, but not scarring. I would even go back to the same hotel. Not to ask her out again - I'm certainly not that stupid. Perhaps just to make her feel a little uncomfortable. Because that's the way I am. But more likely is that I'll just let this one go. It's already gone.

View from my window

This is a shot out my first floor bedroom window in the backpacker area of Saigon. It's a tad noisy for sure and my tolerance level is fairly low for these types of things. Even with earplugs, I am up around 6am due to the hustle and bustle below, the honking, the talking and the rising temperature. It might be time to change accommodation again. At least then I'll have a new bar of soap, a fresh roll of toilet paper and a towel that doesn't smell.

An electrician's worst nightmare

Cham girls

Part of the Mekong tour also included a visit to an 'ethnic minority village.' In this case, we visited a Cham village. Again, herd 'em in, herd 'em out, but even if I was one of 10,000 people that day, I am glad to have experienced this culture even if they have resorted to selling waffles and other trinkets made in China to support their meager existence.

I do find this kind of sad, but if I wasn't there, that would have been one less person buying one less waffle - actually I bought three - and who knows what they can get with those funds over and over and over the course of a long day full of tourists, otherwise known as voyeurs, wandering through the place they called home.
This girl was pissed off. She was a little aggressive trying to market her wares and turned away a few buyers in the process. I'm sorry, but I really don't want a banana waffle.
This girl on the other hand had the right goods. Coconut treats. She was also shy and I could identify with her passivity so she won me over.
More girls. Fortunately they were happy to pose for this picture. I can't stand people jamming cameras in people's faces just to get that shot. You have to at least ask and then maybe even buy something.

The Mekong Delta

Last week, I went on a three day, two night excursion, otherwise known as a "tour" in the travel business, to the Mekong Delta region. Damn, there were a lot of commas in that last sentence. I hate that!

Anyway, it was a bad tour with a even worse tour guide. I mean if you have a good tour guide, a bad tour can at least be somewhat redeemable. But this one was not. There were, however, some memorable moments from this tour that I will highlight here for your viewing enjoyment. Please sit back, relax and enjoy the scenery.

A lot of green on the banks of the Mekong. The river itself was quite green as well, a darker, dirtier green, but green nonetheless. I think the amount of pollution, petrol and pee contributed to it's current state of being.
We had to cross by ferry at one point. There were tons of bridges in the Delta region, but not here. The motos piled up and I watched in amazement at the sheer number of them. As usual.
The only relaxing boat ride we took was to and from our homestay the first evening. Probably because there were only three of us and a relatively quiet crowd we were. I'm done with the "herd 'em in, herd 'em out" mentality of package tourism.
We had the opportunity to see one of the many floating markets. The only thing we really could have purchased were overpriced beverages from the boats that catered to the tourists.
This is rice paper drying in the sun. Makes me want to make my own spring rolls just looking at them.
Jackfruit, called mit in Vietnamese and pronounced 'meat', is the largest tree borne fruit in the world. It's the only meat I eat.
Typical homes along the Mekong. I did see some really nice homes too. It would be like taking a picture of a home in South Central Los Angeles and alluding to the fact that it was a typical home in LA. Not the case, but the region is certainly home to a larger percentage of poor people.
The crocodile farm. Not the best place to bring me, but it was still interesting to see the plight of these creatures. I can't say I'd recommend it as a "must see" on the tourist trail of Vietnam.
Neither was this place, but I got a decent photo out of it. It was a "hike to the top of Sam Mountain" near the border of Cambodia. We actually just climbed some stairs up to this pagoda on a hill, but marketing is everything. They had a way with words on those brochures and even though I can't say they lied, they certainly polished a turd.

Cover thyself

Almost everyone wears face masks over here. Not the typical white ones you'd find at your local Ace Hardware, but fashion-conscious face masks. Different hues, multi-colored designs, plaids, Hello Kitty embroidery - it's important to look your best when you wear one of these things.

It seems to have gotten out of hand. Some people wear them on buses or walking down the street. Probably to bed and in the shower too. It's a little strange when you make eye contact with someone and you don't know if they're smiling, growling or ogling. I usually just assume they're ogling. It gives me confidence.

There is a greater tendency among women to wear the mask. There are a multitude of factors. One is pollution and the desire to not inhale large quantities of exhaust on a regular basis. I can understand that. I have a headache right now that either stems from exhaust inhalation or malaria. I haven't figured it out.

Another factor is the desire to keep their skin a light color. A lot of women wear the masks along with a wide-brimmed hat only exposing their eyes when they go into the sun. They wear long pants and often arm-length gloves like the girl in the picture above. This is to stay white, which tends to be equated with greater beauty. This obviously is in opposition to the way we do it in the West. We must be tan! We have tanning lotions, they have whitening lotions. It seems crazy, but it's the way it is.

I have also gotten into the trend. Suntan lotion is just far too expensive. So I wear my long underwear under my shorts and tank top, five-toed socks with my flip flops and my lightweight Cambodian checkered scarf around my face under my short-brimmed cap. It's a difficult look to adjust to and I don't think I'll ever fit in, but being 6'2" and this white, I would have never fit in the first place. I may fit in, but I can't say I blend in. So much for coming home nice and tanned. I am shooting for as pasty as the day I was born.

The boys are back in town

This is Salvador. He is visiting me from back home. He also happens to be doing some work over here when he is not buying me drinks. You are supposed to be awed by this picture and the reflection in the glass. It is like a snow-covered mountain being reflected in a lake of glass on a late spring afternoon. Can you see it? Yeah.
This is Salvador and Alexandre. Alex was not here very long. I think he tired of buying me drinks. You can only do that for so long before you begin to doubt one's level of appreciation. I really did appreciate it man!

Chilling in an Indian restaurant

Chilling in an Indian restaurant. It is what I will be doing later this evening. It is what I did last night. It is what I have done many a time on this holiday. I love Indian food. I love chilling. I love chilling in an Indian restaurant. Especially those that have good samosas. And those that face out onto the street so you can entertain yourself with the goings on outside.

It's a far cry better than facing the wall or facing the toilet or seeing yourself in reflective glass reminding you that you are alone. Alone eating Indian food. Things could definitely be worse. Anyway, I wasn't alone last night. Thanks Sal. And I won't be alone tonight. I'll have my book to keep me company.

I have my favorite spot down the road from guest house. The samosas are big. And delicious. And cheap. The only problem is the sauce. Who serves samosas with hot chili sauce? An Indian restaurant in Vietnam does, that's who. Duh. Things could definitely be worse. I'll take two.
This was last week's dinner. It was already eaten by the time I took this so no reason to show you the crumbs, of which there were few. Typical scene, a woman wearing her silk pajamas and conical hat and a cyclo driver. To be honest, I have no idea if they're pajamas, but they look like pajamas so let's just stick with that. I dig the pajamas. I smile when I see them. Yes, I smile when I see them.
Same shot, different scene. You can't really tell what's going on unless you click on and enlarge this picture. Behind the car is a girl picking the lice out of her mother's hair. I'm not really sure if it's her mother, I didn't ask, but gauging by their apparent age difference, it could easily be the case. It is fairly common to have lice I think. I definitely don't look twice anymore when I see people looking for lice. I just take pictures.

Saigon

Saigon, aka Ho Chi Minh City, is huge. There are 8 million people residing here and 5 million motos. It is pure madness. I wish I could have been here when there were 5 million bicycles. I do not want to be here when and if there are 5 million cars. That would be a nightmare.

The motos alone cause enough gridlock and chaos (to a foreigner) that it would be a scary thought to see what more cars would do to this place. The thought is not pleasant. It is definitely a rush to take a ride on the back of a moto and I have found the buzz alone is usually worth the cost of the trip.

Prostitution

Hey, you want Boom Boom?

Everyone always has something to say about the women in southeast Asia. I shouldn't say everyone. Let's say a large percentage of men. It's not uncommon to hear disrespectful commentary alluding to the fact that anyone could be had for a price. Yes, it does happen. I mean, it's pretty clear when you see some people that there was a transaction involved. But still, just because you are a prostitute or need to sell yourself out like that does not mean you deserve disrespect and derision.

They are easy targets. Sure it's funny to talk about a massage with "happy ending" or to quote memorable lines from movies - me love you long time for example, amongst others. But more and more I feel wrong in doing so. I'd rather direct my ridicule to the five hundred pound, balding mound of scum that has unfortunately attracted the attention of a young, attractive girl who obviously needs money more than respect. I'm not saying I don't respect her, it's more a statement about the profession in general.

Speaking of prostitutes, I really haven't seen that many. It hasn't been any more blatant than the women I used to see in the Tenderloin in San Francisco. Well, let me digress. I forgot about those bars in Thailand and Cambodia that had a large number of young, dolled-up, "eager" women clamoring over fat, old married men who had thick wallets. Well, they might not have been thick. It doesn't take much over here. Anyway, aside from this, it's not that obvious to me that there are an abundance of prostitutes. Is the reputation justly deserved?

It's pretty easy to say Yeah, she's a hooker. For sure. But how do you really know? It's obviously best not to make assumptions. But sometimes it is okay I think to prevent yourself from getting into the wrong situation. I'm not just talking about getting involved with someone and finding out she wants some money. I'm not going there. Even worse is you could also get on the back of the wrong motobike and end up in the wrong neighborhood.

And while you are getting raped or robbed you would be thinking, if allowed such a thought during such a moment, I should have assumed he was dangerous by the tattoos, scars, the leers, the erection poking out of his pants. For your own safety, sometimes it is okay to assume. Obviously, you can't generalize and say anyone with a tattoo is a criminal unless you believed that a city like Portland, for example, is a city of criminals.

...blah...blah...blah...blah...blah...blah...blah...

I am the King of Assumptions. Therefore I rationalize making any kind of assumption. I judge all the time and as much as I feel that I don't like doing it, I have accepted the fact that I must like doing it. I certainly want to be wrong in my assumptions and will give every opportunity to be shown the error of my ways. I find it difficult to find everyone innocent until proven guilty. For some reason though, I find it difficult to assume some girl is a hooker because she is wearing high heels and tight jeans. That just does not make sense.

Back to the story. I am also the King of Diversion. I should state that is is overwhelmingly clear that prostitution is more readily available here than back home. That much is obvious. I mean if you get asked "Motobike? Marijuana? Boom Boom?" all the time, day in and day out then well, you sort of get used to it. But still the overt signs are not there as much as you'd think.

That was for me until a couple night's ago. I told the moto driver my destination and then he leaned back and said "You want massage? Boom Boom?" No thanks. We keep going. He starts to veer left. "Boom boom. Massage over here." Nah, no thanks. Seriously. We go straight closing in on the backpacker area. I am scanning the scene. I make eye contact with two cute girls standing near their bike. They wave and make some suggestive gesture, probably with their lips. I really can't remember. I smile and wave. Instantly they are on us like a fly on shit and the girl on the back whispers "Boom Boom? Massage?" Noooooooo!

Last night was even more blatantly obvious. Walking home from downtown Saigon, in the middle of a big intersection, I was followed by two of the most atrocious looking "women" I have ever seen. The beauty of the world is that somebody would find them attractive. Not me tonight, not ever. The driver was a man, I think. Too much makeup to tell. But they wouldn't leave me alone. Ignorance, I believe, is the best method to achieve solitude in these moments, but I had yet to figure this out. I am still learning.

Finally after grabbing at me and asking me if I wanted an hour massage for $10, for the seventh time, they left me alone. Then the next intersection, somebody else. Same over-applied makeup. I couldn't tell if it was Avon or Revlon, but it was applied in the same fashion. That's what I'm trying to say. I got rid of her in the same fashion as before, relatively slowly. Embarrassingly slowly. But I kept walking to show the audience around me that this foreigner is not interested in Boom Boom. Well, he is, but not here. Not now. Not if I have to open my wallet.

The third women wheeled up to me and I just started laughing in her face. Before she had a chance to say those magical words she was off in pursuit of the next paying customer. I had one more encounter before I got to my hotel and it was not surprising after the deluge of prostitutes that evening. She tried to grab me too - no, not there - but at that point I just laughed in exasperation and tugged my arm away. I made it home, alone and quite content to be on a busy evening in Saigon.

* If you have read this far, wow, you deserve a star.