Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

Lately I am convinced that I am really good at enduring massive amounts of extreme anguish and sheer cruelty. Usually a talent like this is not sought after, and for good reason. More on this later.
Hoi An will be in my top ten favorite places in the world for sure but it was time to move on, reason being that Ina and I could not stop buying dresses. We made a pact not to let each other shop for more tailored dresses but our addiction was stronger than our will. We decided to take a break from the beach and head for the mountains of Da Lat. People raved about the natural scenery, the forests and the waterfalls. It is said to be the honeymoon capital of Vietnam and some claim that you are not officially married unless you spend your honeymoon at Dreaming Hill. I mentally prepared myself with meditation for the eighteen hour bus ride, but the Dalai Lama himself could not have maintained inner peace. Traffic violations are nonexistent in Vietnam and the roads are a free for all. Beeping and swerving around motorbikes and driving on the wrong side of the road are the norm. They played a Michael Jackson video anthology for the first few hours which was cool since I haven't watched some of them in quite some time. Then all of Britney Spears videos that I used to think were so awesome and now can't figure out what it was I liked so much. I began to grow weary when this continued into the hours of the night and then the morning with the Backstreet Boys. The whiny, sensitive male voices were not exactly lulling me to sleep. Just when I drifted off into a slight slumber, this was blasting in through the speakers as our wake up call:

The worst part is that I haven't been able to get it out of my head since.
The Hang Na "crazy house" was the highlight of this town. It was built in an organic fashion with the natural curves of trees, winding staircases, large wooden carvings of animals and cobweb shaped skylights. Think surrealism, very Salvador Dali, I am grateful for the opportunity to see it. Dreaming Hill on the other hand, turned out to be one of the lamest places ever and I pity the people who spend their honeymoon there, but these people know nothing else. Taking pictures next to brightly colored life size animals and a large dragon with water shooting out of its mouth does not turn me on, but to each his own? We had fun riding bikes and eating amazing street food but we were longing for the beach.
Mui Ne. A lazy beach town all on one long road that parallels the ocean and golden sand. We stayed in a small place on the beach with a pool with our new friend from Holland, Irma that we met on the bus to Mui Ne. Eighteen dollars a night for the three of us. Picture Melrose Place with the pool in the middle, instead of apartments surrounding it, there were bungalows, but it still had the sexy people, the love triangles, the heartbreaks, the good times and add a small cafe that had great food for less than two dollars, there was something for everyone. Like I mentioned before, there is a big difference between traveling and holiday. I have been on the road for almost four months now and I have just as many challenges as I did in my real life, just different. I may never get to live in a fantasy world again so I pretend I am in a movie. I write, do the castings, I produce it and I am also the star and I like to check my fanmail in the morning.(epiphany#87 Be so strong in yourself that you never need to rely on anyone for anything, not even an email, you will only set yourself up for disappoinment) It got to the point where the amount of mail and quality of it would determine my mood and course of the day. I felt a sting when I didn't hear from close friends and family. It is my fanmail which lifts my spirits when my will is weak, it helps move me across this earth. I realize that people are busy but with iphones in the palm of their hands it is just as easy to send a quick email as it is to text. I have several bumble bees who write to me frequently so I am grateful, but I still have to wonder-where are the others that claim to have cared for me so dearly? So I got a little co dependant on hearing from people from home. The plot thickens.
There was a guy in New York who I was beginning to believe was the love of my life. We kept things very private and it was working for us. We wrote back and forth daily and planned on being together when I returned to New York. We also recently traveled through three countries in Europe together recently. There was some miscommunication through emails but absolutely something that could have been worked out. Him and a very good mutual friend of ours ended up sleeping together. He was beside himself over the recent incident, as was I, and she was there to comfort him and make him feel better. What a great friend. It was also clearly premeditated and not some drunk fling. These two dipshits were so careless that I cracked the case over a few emails on the other side of the planet. I can't figure out if I am a genius or if they are that simple.(epiphany#98 intution is king) The things she tries to justify it with are really mind blowing. It's not easy to have an adult conversation with a complete imbicile. They need to get their heads out from up their asses, or more importantly-each others. I have been sabotaged indeed and had not choice but to swallow this jagged pill of deception. We agreed that if either of us met someone that we would try to be happy for the other because of course it could happen. Out of eight million people in New York City he chose this self indulgent fatty with no self control. A good cry does a body and soul good, even if it is in an internet cafe full of Asian kids playing video games. Daggers were shot through my heart, through the front and back of my body. When I was standing, I wanted to sit. When I was sitting, I wanted to stand. I wanted to scream, to curl up in a ball all day, I was hungry but when food was in front of me I had no appetite. My stomach turned with all the times I thought about the three of us together, all the things I said confiding in them, how bad I missed both of them while traveling, how long was it going on for?The only thing I was capable of was crying buckets of tears until there were no tears left. Anxiety is a horrible thing and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. You are lucky if you don't suffer from it. It feels like this inside:

I was so grateful for my bumble bees who made me get out of bed every morning and eat something. I was in paradise but it was bittersweet because I was in so much pain.
I have been wearing an antique skeleton key around my neck for the past two years. It was the key to the secret garden and a knight in shining armour was going to claim it. Suddenly, I felt the key was locking something and it was suffocating me. I took it off and put it in my bag and immediately dove into the pool. When I reached the opposite end of the pool and lifted my head above the water, I saw a beautiful guy sitting there reading the Alchemist. Thick brown hair, hazel eyes, full lips, perfect teeth, great body, slightly bronzed. Later that night everyone from the guesthouse went out for dinner and drinks and I learned this guy was Dutch and going through some heartache of his own. In a nutshell, his girlfriend broke up with him a few days before in Bangkok because she had personal issues to deal with and decided that a meditation retreat would have been more suitable for her and left him on his own. Not only was he gorgeous, but smart, witty and a bit of geek.(epiphany#37 no more "cool" guys) We spent the next few days together walking on the beach, swimming in the pool, riding around on a motorbike, trekking in the sand dunes, we slept under the stars, went to listen to live music, had some amazing dinners and watched the sun set. We spoke of philosophy, politics, religion, travel, America, The Netherlands, books and movies. I was in Dutch Wonderland all over again. We made each other really happy and it was a great distraction for a short time but unfortunately we had to go our separate ways to lick our wounds and work through these things that will not just go away on thier own. I will never forget this guy for sweeping me off my feet and rescuing me from utter distress. I have not lost faith in humanity after all. The universe was merely trying to show me what I could not see for myself. At Hai Yen Guesthouse, you can check out but you can never leave......

Making Room For Miracles

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.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

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

Why I Chose The Road Less Traveled

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.......

Why Men Are Like Hostels

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.

Sapa and Ha Long Bay

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.

if I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere

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.......