I gotta Phi Phi

Phi Phi, pronounced “pee pee,” was quite the island paradise. Seeing as how EVERYTHING in Saigon comes to a complete standstill for a two week period in observance of Tet, the Vietnamese celebration of the Chinese New Year--you know, year of the dog, year of the horse, year of the tiger---that chart on placemats at Chinese food places. Tet is the biggest national holiday in Vietnam and most employers give their staff two weeks off to travel back to their families or just stay put and celebrate ‘round the clock. Sooooo, I took the time to make a brief getaway to Thailand. I caught a late flight from HCMC to Phuket. In an effort to spare the cost of additional transportation and a night’s stay, I crashed out on a three-seat row of plastic in the arrivals section of the Phuket airport. I spent more money on airport food and drink than I would have getting a ride and a hotel room. But, that’s beside the point. I slept surprisingly well; arm laced through my smaller backpack and using as a pillow, purse double wrapped around my arms and hugged. I woke up at 7am and found the departures section upstairs bustling. I had some Dunkin Donuts but it was completely whack and un-Dunkin Donuts like.

I caught the 8:30 airport bus for 85baht, or, around $3. I had planned to make a transfer from the bus station to the pier, but when I got on the bus, the driver asked me where I was going. He told me I could connect directly and that sounded good, so we drove into Phuket Town and I alone was dropped off at a Toyota pick-up truck. Apparently that was my connection; Toyota dude brought me to the pier and escorted me to the ticket-seller guy. Turns out I could’ve gotten a much better deal on the ticket in town and that whole set-up was just a way to get me to pay more for the ferry. But, whatever, it was convenient anddd I ended up catching the 11am un-published online ferry, rather than waiting around for the 2pm which was my intention. Twenty dollars well spent and the boat ride was fantastic. Sat on the roof, dangled my feet off the side and conversed with a Dutch guy named Bob. He told me Bob is a really common Dutch name and that it’s not short for Robert. I ended up running into him several times on the island—once that I don’t remember, once on the walk to the town on an ATM quest and dying of thirst, and again that same day on the walk back when I was far more chipper, but he was crispy sunburned and complaining of being sick and drinking too much the previous night. So I think we’re even. After the ferry arrived, I bought a Chang beer, brought it with me, caught a longboat taxi and headed for the Phi Phi Hill Resort. I made the reservations online for my friend Susan and I to split a sunrise bungalow with two twin beds and a fan for $20 a night.

The walk to The Hill was epic and required an ascent of about a million stairs that where themselves 2’ for each step. I have never been in better shape than I am after this vacation. Seriously. But the views were incredible, the food was reasonable, and overall it exceeded my expectations of how far $10/night can take you. In terms of transportation, you could pay either $3 each way for a longboat taxi into town, or you could make the 45-minute trek that brought you from the hotel to the edge of town. Once Susan and I figured out the path, we were hiking at least 1.5 hours a day. During the day we baked in the sun and at night we cruised the town streets with 7-Eleven beers in hand, drank at bars on the beach, took in fire throwing shows and ate delicious street meat. One day we took a longboat tour of all of the island’s beaches, including adjacent island Phi Phi Leh where Maya Bay is (Leo Dicap’s The Beach was filmed here). The boat stopped at prime snorkeling sites and even though I’m a ‘fraidy cat of creatures of the sea, I was stationary in awe. The most beautiful colors of fish and the clearest waters…

But, after four days…I was ready to leave. Too much sun. And too much fun. Susan and I parted ways at 1pm on our last day. She was taking the ferry to Krabi and I to Phuket. I took one last swim in the ocean. Bought one last big Tiger and sat on the beach absorbing all that was exquisitely dazzling about Phi Phi. I boarded the ferry, bought a mini bus transfer to the airport and with perfect timing caught my flight back to Saigon. I arrived with the confidence of a local. I found a xe om (motorbike taxi), bargained my price and was off in the direction of LanguageCorps.

My, how Saigon has changed! To put it in the currency I can best appreciate… fashion…The last time I was here, the ritzy Duong Don Khoi (Newbury Street/Michigan Ave/Rodeo Dr) was home to various vendors, arguably, the most notable and easily recognizable of which was Lacoste. For those of you who know fashion, well, Lacoste isn't exactly elite. I bought my first Lacoste top there----an ugly halter style thing I have long since sold to Second Time Around. Ironic I should decide to purchase such an item considering how prolific good knock-offs are in these parts, but, well, I think I was drunk. My friend Hillary can probably support this hypothesis. In any case, Don Khoi has grown up QUITE a bit in seven years. SEVEN YEARS. Sure, in some senses it’s a long time…Children that were 6 are now 13. That’s a big difference. But in the grand scheme of development, it’s not that long. How far has Boston come in seven years? An inch? Saigon? Another story all together…Now, what do I find on Don Khoi? Chloe. Marc Jacobs. Louis Vuitton. Escada. Gucci. Pretty mind-blowing. From Lacoste to ALL THE BIG NAMES. Speaking with some French women who’ve been living here a little while now, they inform me that most all of those boutiques are mostly empty most all of the time, but, regardless, their presence alone is a HUGE testament to the miles this city has traveled in a relatively short time. The sounds of Saigon are construction. The look of Saigon is a face-lift in progress. It’s incredible to bear witness to a city in the throes of capitalist evolution. Revolution? A communist country, sure. But what does that even mean? Vietnam has, just in the last year, opened up commerce to international entrepreneurs. This time last year, I wouldn’t have been able to open a business here. Not so today. I'm not sure what it all means, but I do know that the astronomical asking price of an $8 cocktail buys you a view from a much higher vantage point than it did seven years ago. It certainly will be interesting to see where the Thanh Pho Ho Chi Minh is in another lucky 7 years.

Six Degrees of Separation from Kevin Bacon

We’ve all played this game. Albeit, there are none too many people who can ACTUALLY trace it back to Kevin Bacon...We, nonetheless, insert other randoms into the mix and challenge ourselves to connect it back. Well, I’m happy to report, I have actually obtained my degrees of separation from the man himself. My friend Minh worked for an American educational for-profit study-abroad for American children…She, as a native speaker, coordinated and led trips through the Vietnamese highlands for rich, young Americans. Minh led this group of privileged tweens through very rustic Vietnamese highland villages—some of which had never seen a white (or black) face. Their accommodations were the antithesis of luxury, the idea being to learn from the simpler ways of life being led in this world. Welllll…..It just so happens they were mostly west coast wealthy kids, one of whom was Kyra Sedgwick and Kevin Bacon’s daughter. So. There you have it. Eileen—to Minh—to daughter—to Kevin. Not bad, eh? What’s YOUR line of connection? I’m guessing I’ll be the missing link for many of you. MUHAHAHA. Now, THAT’S POWER! ☺
My friend, Minh, she’s the real deal. She’s the kind of woman that, seven long years of experience later, takes you under her wing and makes it her business to gift you contacts of incredible people open to the idea of friendship in an ex-pat society. As the saying goes, any friend of Minh’s is a friend of mine. And I mean that in a more genuine way than any cliché, regardless of how appropriate, could indicate. I had a great night out celebrating Minh’s departure for the States. She’s headed to marry the man that’s right for her and I wish her the best. And I hope to experience Saigon alongside the people worthy enough to be considered her friends in the months to come.

Week 3, bigotry...and I'm just plain happy.

It's midnight...So that means this begins the third week of my departure from the US...And WHAT A DAY IT HAS BEEN!

Having come from the LanguageCorps program of 18 people with only one other person destined for Vietnam, I didn't have high hopes of forming a long lasting bond with the 39-year old, African American, ex-NYPD cop...But I certainly did not have any expectations of being belittled to the brink of depravity. While silent treatment over the course of a weekend spent in a beautiful paradise--cause unknown--seemed ridiculous...I was utterly unprepared for an outburst of racist accusation when I made the, apparently, major error of contributing my thoughts to a class-related discussion this morning. After being called a slew of humanity-insulting names and then talked over in all efforts to discuss this grave misunderstanding...I realized that a mere mortal can't fight the devil inside a disturbed individual. While I could not eat a thing all day until 9pm (for those of you who know me realize what an anomaly this is), and cried for a solid hour...I have, over the course of a day, made peace with this awful experience.

I made a date for coffee with my longtime Vietnamese friend, Minh, and through her wonderful motivation to coordinate with a few other friends I've not kept as good a touch with, I ended up enjoying two hours in the company of Minh, Thu and Anh Hung, a teacher of the SIT program I went to Vietnam with in 2003. I left Da Cafe feeling like I wanted to cry...But for an entirely different reason than the tears the morning brought. I was so deeply touched by others' willingness to enjoy a simple coffee, having not seen them in seven years, and their memories so amazingly intact, in spite of having seen multitudes of study abroad groups just like mine. They could remember every member of my group and even silly details such as my boyfriend's name at the time. I thank the powers of the universe for giving me this gift following a morning I will not forget for the rest of my life. There was nothing or no one that could bring me happiness like these three did tonight and I will never forget the feeling I felt when I parted with them. It's not that we had particularly amazing conversation or that they stroked my ego or anything describable...It was simply that they showed up at 6pm to enjoy mine and each others' company.

I feel much pity for human beings in this world who have been so ill treated in their lives that they not only expect the worst, but actually LOOK for the worst in people. I feel sadness for those who, in a moment of self-doubt, go to the deepest, darkest place in their mind and use that as a weapon against others. When someone makes you feel badly, the immediate reaction is defense and self pity, but, the truth is, when you've been so lucky in this life, you need those moments of misery to be able to appreciate and contextualize the entire lifetimes of misery that other people live. You get back what you put in and since my day ended with wonderful people and a smile on my face, I'm quite certain that tomorrow holds nothing but happiness.

This city...there's just something about it...I can't wipe the smile from my face. I'm not a city person--but in a metropolis of nearly 6 million people--I couldn't feel more at home. Even when a push becomes a shove, it's still not enough to kick me off my cloud. There's NO wound a few Saigons won't numb...and heal. So cheers to that.

Two Weeks Since I Left!

The most notable phenomena about being in Asia for two weeks now (or, technically, two weeks since I left the US) is how quickly I've become spoiled. Take today, for instance...We get a 1.5 hour lunch break from class and as we have learned is the custom with Cambodian food, it might take you that long just to get your order of spring rolls. So, when friends of mine mentioned they were going down to the riverside for lunch (a 15 minute walk) and asked if I was interested, initially it was "sure!" Then they mentioned they were planning to take a tuk tuk to conserve on time and I was compelled to renege on the invitation as I did not feel like spending my 50-75 cent portion of the ride. While Cambodia has its own currency, the Riel, it is widely preferred to use the American dollar and you can actually pay in increments of both. Since there are 4000 Riel to the dollar, if something was $6.50, I could pay 16,000 Riel and $2.50. Except they don't like coins, so, it'd have to be 14,000 Riel and 3 bucks. In any case, I went to lunch alone because that extra fifty cents equals my afternoon can of coke, and, hey, I'm living on savings. After a rather vicious bout with travelers diarrhea over the past few days, my first official day back on the eating wagon has been really ambitious. This evening I got the most delicious chicken quesadilla (overpriced, though worth it, at three dollars) and a equally wonderful red margarita, also three bucks. You should've seen my indecision over whether to go for the margarita. Earlier I had sprung $4.50 for a pizza and a garden salad and $10.50 in a day just seemed atrocious. This from the girl who buys $700 shoes...

First Week in Phnom Penh

Do you ever feel like it’s all a useless crock of shit? That putting in any effort whatsoever is not worth the disappointment when it gets you nowhere, yields you nothing? That—quite literally—is the national attitude of Cambodia. A people crippled by war, genocide, famine and corruption, Cambodians have come out of the horrors of the past forty years with no choice but to live right now, right here, and can barely conceptualize the future. There are very few Cambodians over the age of 45—the majority of them were murdered or starved during the reign of the Khmer Rouge and this is poignantly obvious as you drive through the streets. Everyone is young. And most everyone is poor. While the street scene is not unlike that of Ho Chi Minh City, there’s something heavy in the air of Phnom Penh that enables you to almost touch the repression this society is cloaked in. How can you have dreams if there is absolutely no way to make them happen? In the US we have the great “American Dream” to motivate our ambitions. Though it may be an illusion, at least we still have it. Cambodians have the day to get through. That’s all they have. While the Khmer (pronounced Kah Mai) people are super friendly and their faces seemingly quite happy, as you move through the city it’s impossible to ignore the institutionalized complacency and borderline hopelessness that pervades life here. The socioeconomic discrepancies are made really apparent by status symbol Lexus and Range Rover SUVs, some with US license plates, owned by the few wealthy Cambodians and western NGO workers. It’s strange, really. There are so few cars, but the ones you see are for the most part luxurious. Cambodia is one big contradiction. Though they have a throw-you-in-jail-if-you-get-caught drug policy, the smell of marijuana is everywhere and there are “Happy” pizza places all over the place. If you order “happy, happy, happy pizza” you get some THC as a topping. There are traffic lights and yellow lines on the street, but that has no bearing on driving whatsoever. Traffic is a complete free-for-all. Drive on the right side, drive on the wrong side: whatever gets you to your destination fastest. In spite of chaos, it seems to work. Cambodia has only been established for 16 years now. The last of the fighting ended in 1993 and it’s amazing to think of how far this nation has come in such a short time. Governed by a democratically elected communist party (yet another contradiction) and a figurehead king, Cambodians seem to revere their king and support their government. In an amazing twist of fate, girlfriends of mine and I could not go for our $6 massages as planned at 5:30, so we went to the riverside to have a beer until 6 when the masseurs were available again. While we sat in a second floor balcony enjoying some Angkor beer, we realized that the traffic on the street below had ceased; the street was completely empty. Employees of the restaurant informed us that the King would be driving through. Shortly his royal motorcade began to appear and then, there he was: in an SUV, dressed in regular clothes, sticking his head outside of an open window, waving and smiling. Imagine Queen Elizabeth or Obama sticking their head out of an open window? The employees of the restaurant impressed upon us how rare it was to see and I was amazed by how close, accidentally, I got to a KING! Cambodia…It’s an interesting place.