One more day in the bedlam that is Hanoi would have driven me to buy a plane ticket back to New York, so I took a twelve hour train ride down south to Hoi An. Little miracles began to occur immediately. The other three people that rode on the sleeper train with me turned out to be really cool and when I arrived it happened to be the fourteenth day of the lunar month. The locals celebrate with a Chinese lantern festival and they also dress up and have music performances by the river. I went with two Danish girls I met while having tea at an art gallery. We realized that we were staying at the same hostel so it worked out perfect. Hoi An is a bit touristy but for a good reason. They are known for inexpensive expert custom tailored clothes. Since I already took a cooking class and a painting class I told myself it was unnecessary, but in the end I could not resist and bought three. They were only ten dollars after all. The cooking class was so-so but the place where I took the painting class was most enlightening. It's a small workshop which sells crafts made by people physically disabled from polio or the war for example. They paint, knit, make jewelry, lanterns and embroidery. These people's stories really touched me. Seeing how passionate they are about their art made me want to support the organization in some way so I took a class and learned a bit of Chinese painting. Don't be surprised if you get a bamboo tree with the Chinese symbol for "peace" on your Christmas card this year. I ended up running into many travelers that I met in Sapa, Hanoi and Ha Long Bay here and meeting lots of new people including quite a few solo female travelers with stories not unlike my own. Do you remember the Blind Melon video "No Rain" where the strange little girl in a bumble bee costume is misunderstood by everyone she encounters but in the end she finds all the other bumble bees and they all dance together? I found the other bumble bees. Two imparticular that I befriended were Lauren from Oklahoma and Ina from Germany. Ina and I are traveling through Vietnam together until I depart to Thailand and she to Indonesia. Lauren will meet us again perhaps later in our journey to Mui Ne. Ina and I rode bikes everyday to the beach, searched for English books, browsed in art galleries, went for drinks with other travelers and had to hold each other back from having too many dresses tailored for us(it was addictive really). Perhaps the most significant of miracles was that my watch stopped the moment the train pulled into the station. My entire life I've worn a watch. I feel naked with the absence of my watch. I must be aware of the time, at all times. This was probably the worst of places to find a cheap watch because they are all selling rip off Rolex's and such. The cheapest I could get my hands on was five dollars which is entirely too much for where I am but I was desperate. The next day it stopped working. I took it back to the woman who sold it to me and she conveniently no longer understood English. I told her I was really disappointed in her lack of customer service. She went back into her house/junkstore and laid on the floor to watch television with her five kids. I think I convinced her to change her ways. I took the watch to a jeweler and had them replace the battery only to stop once again once more about an hour later. I then surrendered to the universe and I now no longer possess a watch. Odd it is, to adjust to Eastern ways. The other day I saw a man selling sliced mangoes at the market, cutting his toenails with the same knife he cuts his fruit, getting a roll of toilet paper handed to me when I ask for a napkin at a restaurant, the perpetual attempts at scamming, incessant horn beeping motorbikes ruling the road, women applying whitening cream to their skin and covering head to toe in hundred degree weather with a conical hat, gloves sunglasses and a surgical mask covering their mouth and nose, hearing the words "buy something from me" with every step you take, women hard at work all day while their lazy men lounge around smoking and eating pho, squat toilets, and instead of telling you they don't know when you ask for directions they will lie and send you in any direction because they don't want to tell you they don't is most annoying. This love/hate conquest is not for the faint hearted, solo travel in Asia will put some hairs on your chest for sure.
In the northern hills of Thailand close to the Burmese border sits a small chill hippie village called Pai. This place was virtually non-existent until three to five years ago and is gaining popularity like wildfire. Friends of mine told me of an organic farm called Tacomepai where you can stay for three dollars a night. A former electrical enigineer, Sandot and his wife own this rustic hideaway, where those who really want to stick it to the man can live in blissful ignorance. People spend months, even years there avoiding society. They kick up their dirty feet, tie up their dreads, strum at an acoustic guitar next to the fire and maybe learn some basic Thai to communicate with the locals. You can go there to learn how to make traditional Thai music instruments or make dishes out of bamboo. A friend of Sandot's down the road owns elephants and I went down to pet these indolent, awkward, drab colored, coarse to the touch beings. Somehow even with all that they have working against them, they are the most lovable creatures and you can't help but find such a superabundance of beauty in them. On the farm there are two pet pigs, "Crispy" and "Bacon", several dogs and cats, and free range chickens and ducks running amok. They grow rice, mango, papaya, avocado, lemons, limes, bananas, and that fruit that looks like a hand grenade that tastes like apple custard on the inside. I'll tell you, I made some life decisions sleeping in that bamboo hut next to the rice field, laying in a pool of my own sweat and being eaten alive by mosquito's. I loved my experience there but deep down I am an urban woman and I love my western life and most of the people in it. Most of the people I met in Pai are seriously trying to avoid life, spending years squatting and finding odd jobs. One of them was a guy named Santiago from Argentina. He is thirty four and survives doing massage and teaching yoga to random people. After a month of studying Thai massage, he needed someone to practice on and that lucky individual was me. He massaged me for almost three hours and just wanted me to give him feedback on his technique in return. Sometimes life is so good and other times not so much. Like Bangkok for example. I spent two days of my short valuble life in that inferno. If you are planning to go check out www.bangkokscams.com That place, Hanoi and Saigon are for the birds and thats all I'm going to say before I get worked up. Ever since I was in Austria singing "The Hills are Alive" by Julie Andrews in the mountains of Salzberg, I haven't been able to get "These Are a Few of My Favorite Things" out of my head. Over the past six weeks I've replaced it's sweet and poetic lyrics with more simple verses about South East Asia. Would you like to hear it? Here it goes:
mangosteen, dragonfruit, and Thai massages temples of Buddha and custom tailored frocks conical hats, beaches for miles these are a few of my favorite things
sticky rice with mango and pad Thai for breakfast hilltribes making handicrafts and trekking in the mountains whole families on motorbikes, tuk-tuks and monks these are a few of my favorite things
streetfood, and night bazaars and elephants and tigers lychee and curry and lemongrass and springrolls lanterns handmade, swimming in Ha Long Bay these are a few of my favorite things
typhoon season and when I get homesick scammed by the locals and getting bit by mosquitos then I remember I have all my vaccines and I doooon't feeeel sooooo baaaaadddddd
I have one about streetfood too, but we can save that for a rainy day. I really need to get a job soon, huh? Crispy and Bacon taking a nap Thats me!petting an elephant...... Bamboo dishes that Sandot makes I worked on this ad in New York and I had to take a picture when I saw it in Bangkok Trekking in Pai Traditional Thai instruments A baby hedgehog at the weekend market in Bangkok
a kitten with a Charlie Chaplin mustache graffiti monkeys on the beach a temple in Krabi a box of haircolor Kho Phagnan Kho Phi Phi who you callin fair skinned?
Fourteen years ago, this very month I started cosmetology school and working in a salon, beginning the journey of my craft of sculpting, coloring and manipulating hair to my will. Fourteen years of remembering how clients like their coffee, remembering where their part is, remembering the details of their domestics and careers and accommodating them for events. At night when I dreamt, color swatches, rollers and extensions danced in my head. While all of my friends had weekends and summers off, I was working ten hour days but I thoroughly enjoyed it. Each year I made significantly more money than the previous and constantly took workshops to improve my skills. I was a homeowner at twenty two, took frequent short holidays to the Caribbean and the U.S., got manicures, pedicures, facials, massages, went to a chiropractor once a week(why not?), did yoga and pilates. I was living it up like J-Lo. My daily beauty regiment consisted of combinations of the following but not limited to: hand lotion, foot cream, body lotion, face cleanser, exfoliator, spf, eye cream, night cream, cuticle oil, sea salt scrub for body, mud mask, daily shampoo, clarifying shampoo, conditioner, mascara, eyeliner, eyeshadow, lip gloss, blush, and don't get me started with hair product and waxing and tweezing. If it sounds complicated that's because it is, but since moving to New York my perspective on beauty has done a three sixty. My life was good in the suburbs, I had a lot of friends for the first time in my life, made great money, had a sweet place and traveled a fair amount. Naturally, being ambitious, I starved to progress to the next step, which would be New York. It was always the ultimate goal. I gave up my car, rented out my home(that situation crashed and burned), rid of most of my things and devoted my world to the beauty industry, which I found out soon enough, there is nothing pretty about. I let everything go to shit including my relationship, my home-my sanctuary that I ended up selling for a fraction of it's worth and more importantly myself and put my job at the salon on a pedestal above all else. It's difficult for me to express these events in words but Herman Hesse couldn't have said it any more perfect than this in a page of Siddartha: Instructed by the eldest of the Samanas, Siddhartha practiced the eradication of ego, practiced samadhi according to new Samana rules. A heron flew over the bamboo forest—and Siddhartha received the heron into his soul, flew over forests and mountains, was heron, ate fish, felt the pangs of heron hunger, spoke in heron squawks, died heron death. A dead jackal lay on the sandy bank, and Siddhartha’s soul slipped into the corpse, was dead jackal, lay on the beach, grew bloated, stank, decayed, was torn apart by hyenas and flayed by vultures, became a skeleton, became dust, blew into the fields. And Siddhartha’s soul returned, it had died, had decayed, become dust, it had tasted the bleak euphoria of the cyclical journey, and then, freshly thirsty, it waited crouching like a hunter for the gap in the cycle where escape was possible, where the end of causality began, an eternity free of sorrow. He killed off his senses, he killed off his memory, he slipped from his Self to enter a thousand new shapes, was animal, was cadaver, was stone, was wood, was water, and each time he awakened he found himself once more, the sun would be shining, or else the moon, and he was once more a Self oscillating in the cycle, he felt thirst, overcame the thirst, felt new thirst. I died many deaths during my career in New York, my passion began to wane. It was my own fault for ignoring my inner voice that was constantly telling me it was not the right place for me. I just kept running my life on empty promises and optical delusions, yes delusions, hitting the snooze button until it was finally time to wake up. My biggest fantasy became to work in a factory stamping boxes that went by on a conveyor belt where I could make money by the hour and deal with as least people as possible where no one cares what you look like. I knew I needed to act fast and make a change before I died the Heron's death for the final time and never again felt new thirst. Yes, I did learn a lot, worked many shows for fashion week, had so many incredible experiences and met wonderful talented people but it did not come with out a heavy price.(Epiphany#122 There are NO FREE RIDES!The bill is always going to come, just make sure you get your moneys worth. I'm not being negative, it's just nature doing it's dirty work) The fashion week shows are bullocks. Not all of them, some have been really amazing but the majority are unpaid and stressful. It depends who you are working with really. I have had some incredible experiences that I wouldn't trade for anything. Most situations, the hairdressers all gather around a very pale, moody Eastern European model with her bones exposed like they are on a secret mission with the CIA to save the world just to do a simple pony tail. It was a very short lived high to get these gigs doing shows and photoshoots where it's certainly not about the work but more about standing around with bangs in your eyes, with a cool scarf around your neck sipping coffee and discussing only and all things fabulous about in New York, London and Paris. Okay, I am exaggerating a bit and I am certainly not knocking the people who are passionate about the industry. There are many brilliant artists but there are also many who are not in it for the love of the craft of hairdressing but the making love to their ego. Personally, most of this work left me feeling unfulfilled. I worked long hours and many of my days off, struggled constantly to be in the "in" crowd-which I failed at miserably and had a tumultuous relationship with my boss. Who would have thought doing hair in the suburbs would have brought more money and happiness? In the small pond I never felt like just a number and doing common folks hair there was definitely a sense that I was playing a vital role in society. Doing blowdries for demanding PR clients who are getting donation services, not so much. This was all inevitable(epiphany#137 Nothing can keep moving up and moving forward, it would turn into a monster or explode, it is essential that things must expand laterally at some point for internal growth) My life long goal-achieved? Did I peak at twenty five? Is this how it ends????? My life felt pointless so I decided I needed a sabbatical from hair, so on impulse I signed up for culinary school before my spirit was completely broken. Doing something so insignificant inspired me to do incredible things, things that had purpose so I took the remainder of my savings to travel. This is not the official declaration of the death of my hairdressing career. I'm going to come back to it in the future on my own terms, doing the shows I want to do, making people look fabulous while doing good things for the world, operating on a personal level rather than factory style. The stars are aligning as we speak. Beauty to me now is making new friends, the stillness on the surface of a lake, laughing with my comrades, a deep slumber, the kindness of strangers, the purring of my sweet Juneaux, and creating art. It isn't all the products I thought I needed, doing services on "models" trying to get a free ride and it certainly isn't blow drying the fabulous fifty seventh street housewives. The past few weeks, I've been exploring the islands in the south of Thailand. Kho Phagnan, Krabi, Kho Phi Phi(where the movie "The Beach" was filmed) and Phuket. One particularly hot day, I was talking to a woman while swimming in the ocean who coincidentally was a yoga teacher, which is exactly what my body and soul was yearning for. Her name is Daralee and she came to Thailand for her teacher training and never left. She mentioned needing a haircut and I told her she was in luck because I am traveling with scissors and we ended up exchanging services. This resulted in two full days of clients. I gave meditative haircuts where instead of looking at your reflection in a mirror, you look out onto the ripples and waves of the ocean and the horizon with your feet in the sand. The cutting cape was replaced by a sarong. I was sort of a big deal. Can I tell you it was the best job I ever had in my career? In the past few weeks I've met so many great people, snorkeled, partied in the jungle until the sun came up, beach and pool by day followed by spicy delicious food by night. Even in paradise I have had my fair share of obstacles, but now adays I'm taking it with a grain of curry.
this tune inspired me to move on and do something with meaning during this so very short time on earth.......
Similar to the men I have dated, I've yet to find a hostel to fulfill all of my needs. Close but no cigar. For instance, in Spain I stayed at a place that was a non stop party. Perfect location, close to the beach, great people, the price was right but it was dirty and one of my favorite shirts went missing there. This is the cool guy that you meet at the bar and should have left there. He's making you laugh, dancing all night, buying everyone drinks(most likely with money he doesn't have) but somehow he loses his charm when you are sober and introducing him to your parents. The hostel I stayed at in Vienna had a smorgasbord breakfast included, white crisp linens, a view of the city, free Internet and a private shower in each room but it was in the middle of nowhere and bored me to tears. This guy is good on paper. Prestigious job, virtuous lifestyle, your friends and family adore him, he treats you like a queen. He flosses everyday and pays his bills on time but passion is nonexistent. When it comes down to it, it's best to be alone. If you are bored now, what does the future hold? There was a place in Amsterdam I checked into that was right smack in the red light district where all the action was. This place was clean but impersonal and literally just a bed to sleep in. The staff was incredibly rude and everyone that was staying there was there for one reason only and you know what that was. I talked to people in that place that were on three and four day benders, it was really disturbing. Yes, a lot of people go all the way to the Netherlands to sit in a hotel room with their friends and do drugs and drink for days in a row. You don't even know why you are with this guy and decide not to answer his calls and texts anymore and he makes it easy for you. He never calls anyway. You would like to forget about him and hope everyone else does too. And who could forget Croatia? The country and the hostels there are like the Spice Girls. When you see them from far away they look really hot, but when you take a closer look they are really not all that. You let your smaller self tell you this guy has it all. You jump the gun and tell everyone you are in love! Esthetically yes, this place is gorgeous and appears to have the whole package but then you start noticing the owner dragging his feet around like a zombie, never noticing anything substantial coming out of his mouth. You and his mother hit it off as well and then you reconsider and realize you are dealing with a woman that sits outside every night laughing to no one but herself and shouting "opa!" randomly into the night. You also overhear her telling her son that she thinks he can do better than some hairdresser anyway and you would like to see him try. This guy better maintain his looks because he is vapid and has nothing else to offer. The looks fade rather quickly when the lights are on but nobody's home. This guy is nothing but arm candy in this short lived affair. These scenarios are based on true events but I choose to protect the innocent. For days I could go on with these comparisons. I love men though they know not what they do. Perhaps the perfect hostel exists but only in my fantasy? My search is not nearly through and I will hold the skeleton key to the secret garden around my neck. It is beginning to rust slightly but I will not settle. I want it all baby. I want it all.
Ten hours on a train followed by an hour bus ride to get to terraced rice fields in the misty Sapa mountains. I found a guest house for eight dollars a night and met very cool people there and ended up trekking with two French girls. With the absence of tools the Hmong people use ancestral technique to create these paddy fields. All the terraces must be perfectly horizontal to maintain constant water level so they can pour instantly into the terrace below. The minority people was my favorite aspect of Sapa. There are twenty four ethnic groups each with their own language, culture and traditions. They live in houses that up to four generations dwell together, some in bamboo stilt houses open on all four sides to let the breeze in. Each group makes a different type of craft and they are all beautiful. Everything from jewelry, blankets, embroidery on pillowcases and wall hangings, basket work and incense. The women are about four foot tall and soft spoken, wearing indigenous clothing. They follow me around asking me questions about where I am from and ask about my family as well. Many of them have never been out of Sapa before. We trekked for a whole day with one of the locals in the paddy fields covered in mud and dripping with sweat and I loved every glorious minute of it. She took us to two of the villages where the minority people live. They might look tiny and frail but don't let them fool you, these women are very strong from walking through these mountains everyday of thier lives. Us westerners struggle while they are passing us with huge baskets on their backs. From Sapa I came back to Hanoi and took a bus to Ha Long Bay. Being typhoon season I have to take advantage of the nice weather while it lasts. I slept in a boat in the middle of the jade waters of this mystical bay. There was fourteen of us total and everyone got along really well. The food was great, we went kayaking, trekked to the highest point of the bay and hung out on one of the beaches. The locals were going crazy taking picture of us. I'm talking about twenty cameras at once. It was quite uncomfortable, especially since I never before thought my Pennslyvania whiteness very exotic. At the moment I am exhausted, blissful, stimulated, homesick, exhilerated and everything in between. I need not food, for life is feeding me.
I'm willing to bet Frank Sinatra has never been to Vietnam during typhoon season. After thirty plus hours of travel door to door from Croatia I arrived in Hanoi, Vietnam's capital city. There were four flights, three of which I had to go through immigration. When the plane was landing in Hanoi at midnight, the flight attendant announced that it was ninety degrees- I knew I was in for it. People are trying to scam you the moment you step off the plane so thankfully, I met an American from Boston who's hotel was on the same street as mine and we shared a car. The next morning when I walk out of the hostel I immediately broke a sweat from both the intense heat and explosion of culture shock. Nothing could have prepared me for this madness. All the videos on youtube, advice from other travelers, blogs, travel shows and books meant absolutely nothing to me. The beeping of horns from thousands of motorbikes haphazardly driving with several people including infants, women washing dishes on the sidewalk in a bucket of soapy water, haircutting done right on the side of a busy road, people all over on sitting around little tables on low stools eating pho, old ladies with pointy straw hats selling dragon fruit from baskets that are hung over their shoulders with a bamboo stick, a woman washing her waist length hair in a bucket and men digging for treasures WAY up their nose with out an ounce of shame and then playing with the boogers- it was a lot to take in. Thorntree has an article that claims cooking lessons in Hanoi is a top ten travel experience. I went to check out the school which was a fifteen minute walk from my hostel and it was the best thing I could have ever done. The people there were so friendly and helpful, it was exactly what I needed to wake me from this lucid dreaming. The class was taught by the owner of the school, Tracey. She first took us to the market to show us all the different types of rice, eggs, greens, fruit, herbs, animal livers, crustaceans, pig intestines, feet, snouts and many things I could not identify. There is a woman there who sells different bunches of herbs that are boiled down with a black pod and applied to the hair to give shine and maintain its deep black color. There was also a man there tearing apart live frogs. Tracey explained to us that the food in the north of Vietnam is Chinese and French influenced, the middle of the country is similar to Thai food and the south uses a lot of curries. We made pork belly with sticky rice, crab soup, spring rolls, silk worms(not my favorite), banana flower salad, an omelet loaded with Asian greens accompanied by a lime chili dipping sauce and a cold soup for dessert made with coconut milk, peanuts and sesame seeds. The food intrigued me- so simple to prepare, yet so complex in flavor. After the class we sat down and ate this heavenly feast. Three out of the four people in the class live in Asia for their job and the other was a student teaching English for the summer. They all had crazy food stories from eating snake with the heart still beating on the plate, drinking the bile separately to being served fish so fresh it is still gasping for air on the plate before them. The Vietnamese eat dog as a delicacy that are supposedly farmed but some beg to differ and I have to say I did not see many dogs on the streets. I used the rest of my time in Hanoi hanging out with six British guys I met traveling through Asia, checking out lakes, temples, eating pho and exotic fruits. I went out to dinner with the guys one night by the hostel and it turned out one of the Vietnamese assistants from the cooking school was also the manager of this restaurant. I looked really popular knowing a local. Each day and each bowl of noodles this is getting significantly easier. These vagabond shoes were longing to stray....my little town blues have melted away.......
They say Prague is the "Paris of the East", but if you ask me a comparison cannot be made between the two. Paris is very beautiful but pompous. She walks around with her nose in the air and pushes her weight around with her name, history and iconic structures. Her hair is coiffed in a simple low chignon with a few pins and when she eats, she takes small bites of her food leaving the table hungry in order to maintain her fragile shape. Prague on the other hand possesses a power that lies within and inner strength cannot and does not lie. Her beauty is undeniable and conspicuous. She turns head's with her glossy, shiny locks that bounce and swing to and fro when she walks and is not ashamed of her appetite or curves for that matter. Prague's beauty just is effortless and just IS. If the two were to come face to face, Prague will crush Paris' overrated reputation like a bug with her stiletto, pressing with the ball of her foot with all her weight and giving a little twist to the left and right before strutting off. Paris wouldn't even know what hit her. Prague had it all. Delicious inexpensive meals, cute cafes, it was colorful and intensely rich with out being flamboyant. The architechture continually amazed me at the turn of every corner. If only I could say the same about the hostel. The worst so far. It was strange and musty and reeked of mildew. I did however make a friend there. It was the fourth of July and I met an American named Benjamin while I was using the computer in the lobby with a keyboard that looked as though it carried the plague. Benjamin is also traveling solo. We chilled and drank tea and spoke of our travels. I couldn't think of a better way to celebrate the holiday. I also stumbled upon a Bulgarian restaurant that was in the smoky basement of an old hotel. I had spicy zucchini with a garlic dill yogurt sauce. Quite interesting this place was. My intentions were to continue moving north to Estonia while I was in Poland but a friend from New York emailed me while he was visiting family in Hungary so I changed my plans and worked my way down south. It seems Hungary and I have unfinished business. I somehow deleted all my pictures from Krakow and Budapest(so sad about this) so I had the opportunity to retake some of them, and also got to see Erika once more. I met my friend in Zagreb, the capital of Croatia. It is a small city and not much there contrary to Lonely Planet. The best part of this trip was the gypsies on the train on the way to Split. I always thought the idea of being a gypsy was glamorous. Moving through the world, plans deliberately undesigned, sleeping on peoples couches, experiencing one moment at a time, wherever you go there you are. Turns out gypsies are not cute. They are filthy and have hearts of stone. A whole pack of them was on our train chain smoking cigarettes and were speaking to all the passengers in another language but clearly begging for money. A boy of about eight pulled out a little pocket knife on the guy sitting next to us and a blond little girl, about two, was walking up and down the train continuously with a beer bottle in her hand, buck naked. Passport control finally caught them with out papers and they were escorted off. It was really entertaining to witness all of this but we were happy to see them go. Croatia was gorgeous but there are a few crucial details one must know before going. The beaches are very rocky. It is best to bring a blanket for padding. Many of the locals were wearing crocs, as it is impossible to enjoy with out them, in the ocean as well as the beach. It was also most difficult to navigate beyond the center of the cities because the maps did not have street names, only a mere shape of the streets which are not exactly easy to follow. The seafood market in Split was open daily with fresh fish from earlier the same morning. We went early and bought clams, shrimp and squid and made paella from the technique I learned in Spain, which was the best meal we had in Croatia. I also made peach crumble with fresh peaches from the fruit market. The food in Croatia was my least favorite in Europe. We did try a Bosnian restaurant, highly recommended by locals, which was new for us but I can't say I loved it. I found the food to be lacking in Croatia in many ways. After Split we took a bus ride down the coast to Dubrovnik. We stayed with locals here and had quite the unique experience to say the least. The Old Town section of the city is definitely worth seeing. It is surrounded by ancient walls and beyond them is sapphire waters. We concluded our trip with an excursion on a boat to a secluded beach called Lopud in our last effort to find a sandy beach. It was sandy but still a lot of rocks. It was a great day either way and a great close to my European adventure. The next time I write will be in Asia. See you there?
