Jeffrey’s Journey

First, I’d like to say thanks for all the comments and e-mailing. Even though I don’t always respond I always get to read them eventually and really appreciate them when I do, so Xien Giao (that’s thanks in Vietnamese).

The last week or so have been absolutely spectacular. Chad and I took a tour to Halong Bay for 3 days. Halong Bay, which is a few hours drive from Hanoi and another hour or so by boat, has to be one of the most beautiful places on earth. It’s a bay that consists of roughly two thousand small islands, all with stunning cliffs surrounded in green water. The first night was spent on a boat in the bay. I remember this experience vividly because at one point in the night, I was laying on the top of the boat watching the stars, docked in the middle of the bay with about thirty other boats in the distance that were lit up like floats in a Disneyland Parade. Except this moment was in absolute silence and stillness. No ruffles in the water, the entire bay in absolute silence and stillness, the only movement was seeing the moon rise higher and higher from the silhouettes of cliffs in the foggy background. When one is surrounded by natural beauty, it’s easy to let the mind relax and once again hear the voice gets lost in the commotion of everyday life, or in my experience, the voice that gets suppressed in a repetitious life. I automatically began to think of my family, the loves of my life, my friends, the places I’ve been, and the places I’ll be, and the events that are happening in my life right now.

Halong Bay was one of the most memorable experiences I’ve ever had, but little did I imagine I would have one of the most memorable meals of my life shortly after stepping off of the bus when I got back to Hanoi.

I had only 2 goals when I got to Vietnam. The first goal was to visit the tunnels that the Viet Cong dug during the war, which I did in Saigon. The second and more important goal was to eat a cobra. I believe it’s because of a childhood memory of watching a huge python be cut open and killed in Taiwan at a night market. Or maybe it’s because of the travel channel and all the crazy shit they eat, I can’t be sure, but with my days winding down in Hanoi, I made it the priority of the night to get to a snake restaurant after stepping off the bus.

When Chad and I got there, there were numerous cages of snakes in the restaurant that was tucked away in a series of alleys. I requested cobra, and just to make sure they understood, I contorted my hand in the form of a cobra with it’s hood opened. They understood. I was sure they understood because the man I was talking to opened a cage that hissed loudly. But as he dug into the cage with his metal rod, a yellow hood could be seen in the darkness. He brought the snake out and began to taunt it, and I could swear it seemed he had absolutely no regard for the snake’s poison or ability as THE fucken predator of all time (besides humans, of course). He pokes it, he handles it, letting the head get dangerously close to his hands and legs. Then the snake’s mouth is opened and milked, just to prove he is dangerous and has fangs. The venom drips all over the floor. As he does all of this, the snake tries to get away when the guy didn’t have a hand on it, but the direction it was heading to was straight to me. When one of the deadliest predators of all time decides to head your way, pissed off because it has just been poked and fucked around with, you panic. You become the cornered animal. When I saw this, my body was given the kind of adrenaline I didn’t have since my dad used beat me as a child, coming at me in the same way with the same look on his face.

After recovering from the initial shock and all the cursing in fear, we agree to the cobra’s fitness for our meal. Then the handler pours alcohol on the head and front segments of the cobra and the blade makes it’s appearance. He sticks the blade into the body of the cobra, pulling out some insides, and then produces the heart on the tips of his bloodied fingers. The cobra curls in pain. Blood is all over the floor and on his hands. He takes the heart, puts it into a little cup, then begins to drain the blood of the cobra into the cup. The contents of the cup was then mixed with vodka.

I drank the cup that had the raw and just-beating heart of the cobra washed down with the cobra’s own blood. A sense of relief and satisfaction followed. I had the legendary experience that was shrouded by warnings of how dangerous it was. It’s also surrounded by sayings of how ‘It make you strong! Strong man!’ referring to the cobra’s ability to give sexual potency. Then I drank the bile of the cobra, green and grainy in color. For dinner, we ate fried cobra, the liver, the stomach, the skin, grounded ribs, and rice buttered in cobra fat.  I was absolutely high from what just happened. The high lasted throughout the night.

Since coming to Hanoi and staying in the Old Quarter, I’m beginning to think that Hanoi is my favorite major Asian city so far. It’s fashionable, it has character, it’s busy, it has beautiful lakes and parks scattered throughout the city, and at night the streets are illuminated in the old quarter with red and gold. It has history and impressive monuments. It also has a killer kabab sandwich (I ate 4 of them yesterday).

This morning I went to see Ho Chi Minh, aka Uncle Ho’s embalmed body, but it wasn’t open! Maybe he needed a rest.

This city was also the only city so far that has managed to disturb me with it’s food; As I passed by an outside meat market, I saw the baked head of a dog, golden brown and crispy. I’ve seen pigs and ducks prepared in this fashion everywhere, baked and based, but why, why does it have to be a dog. I know I should be culturally sensitive and not cast judgment by measuring their culture using my own culture as a measuring stick, but eating dogs is one thing I won’t try to be understanding or sensitive about. YOU JUST DONT EAT ROVER. Eat cats, for Christ’s sake. Alf did, and I didn’t mind at all. But if Alf ever ate a dog, that show wouldn’t have made it past the first episode, because YOU JUST DON’T EAT DOGS.

As if that isn’t bad enough, this internet cafe is now playing Celine Dion’s greatest hits, so I have to stop writing. I can’t think in the middle of shit floating around me in the form of decibels. If the Vietnamese decided to base and shove Celine Dion into an oven, I would have no objections at all. I’d be ecstatic, waiting with a fork and knife in my hand. Just don’t do it to a dog, please…

It’s been two days since we arrived in Hoi An. On the ride from the airport to our room, we passed by an obviously once-charming city, now left mangled and destroyed by a typhoon that happened a few days before we got here. There’s debris everywhere. The electricity isn’t working, thus no internet when we first arrived. If the city was a woman, it would be an attractive woman waking up with a hangover after a wild night of partying, without any of her usual make-up, but you can still tell she’s beautiful after a bit of cleaning up.  Even in the current state, there’s a cool Moon Festival going on, where little kids dress up in masks and dragons, performing dance and crazy-life-threatening acrobatic moves on bamboo poles in the streets, and in turn, the shopkeepers give out money to the little kids, all while the sound of drum beats echo through the city. It’s quite spectacular.

I almost totally forgot to mention the a girl who worked at the travel agency in Saigon, who we booked our tickets from, decided to book the same air ticket for herself, showing up and sitting right behind us on the plane. I didn’t find out until I was actually ON the plane. I don’t know how I feel about that. I mean, yes, I sort of flirted with her, and yes, we gave her the nickname ‘my wife,’ but I didn’t want her to take it so literally. The concept of marriage is really scary to me, and at best an uncomfortable thought, and taking a plane ride together was just way too intimate for me. Since then, I’ve told her I wanted a divorce, but I don’t think she’s listening. Help. I’ve always wanted a stalker but I now know it sounds cooler than it is.

Is she that bad? Wait let me ask Chad sitting right next to me…

Me: Chad, is she that bad?

Chad: I think so. She’s badder than bad.

I knew I was going to have another relapse at some point, but I didn’t know it would be so soon.

I’ve fallen off the wagon yet again. I had another shopping spree and lost control, but this time with CD’s. The whole time I was searching for my CD’s, in my head there was James Brown’s voice just singing ‘I feel good, na nuh na nuh na, I knew that I would now, na nuh na nuh na’ and damnit I did. To cut to the chase, I now have 33 new CDs I previously didn’t have.

To punish myself for this lack of discipline and willpower, I have decided to try and only spend 8 dollars total today. I think it’s possible, however I don’t believe I can do much more than read and eat a few sandwiches. That’s why I’ve decided to really try and capture some of the sights here in Saigon with my camera, images that a city hinges on to the point where it defines the spirit and vibrations of a city.

The Sights: When one looks around, one will see thin buildings, one after another, that resemble the shot of San Francisco’s famous row of houses (I forget what that row is called, but It’s the row that’s featured in Full House, but without the spaces on the sides). It’s natural to think that they are all connected and the same building, but when one looks up, the different heights of the buildings and the individuality of each become apparent. Also, the tidal wave of scooters during rush hour is really a sight. They are like a swarm of bees or a school of fish flying and swimming through the streets. I’ll try to get pictures.

The Sounds: The yelling of Vietnamese ladies are loud and intimidating at first. However, with some patience, they slowly become part of the background noise, almost soothing, like a sign that says everything is status quo when it’s heard.

The Smells: There’s not much distinct smells. Of course there’s the durian smell at markets, a smell that really characterizes South East Asia as a whole.

The Tastes: MMMM. Pho (Vietnamese noodle soup) is done perfectly, like an art. The blending of flavors and spices perfectly in a bowl of soup and noodles. Mint. Bean sprouts. Pepper. Raw beef. Chili. Raw egg. Sauce. Also, Vietnamese sandwiches are a treat.

The Touch: I don’t much like the walking on the streets. One always has to watch where they are stepping because it’s always wet and dirty. It’s been raining on and off every day for a while now.

And lastly, they last few days we’ve been hanging out with Vivian and Ann, the two girls from Switzerland we had met on our Mekong Delta Tour. We had a great time, and Chad and I were a bit sad to see them leave for home because we felt we were just beginning to become better friends.

In the last few days, I’ve been away on a trip to the Mekong Delta.

Was it cool? Yes, at some points. It was just soothing to sit in a boat and go through these narrow canals, watching how life is lived, literally in boats. Many people in the Mekong Delta live on boats that also serve as fronts for a shop. The boats will have a single long bamboo shoot sticking straight into the air. On this shoot, they will attach the vegetables and fruits, or whatever product they are selling. That way, other boats passing by will know what is being sold by a particular boat. If another boat was interested in buying, lets say, some pineapples and melon, they would dock their boats to the seller that had these particular products on the bamboo and look through their stock. It’s really quite Water World-esque, both dirty and beautifully rustic at the same time.

So the bad points… Well, for one, it rained for much of the time we were on these boats. The floating market, which is usually open, closed because of the rain. However, this little inconvenience wasn’t so bad compared to the long bus rides from hell. We spent way too much time on the bus. But I guess the two cute Swiss Chicks we met made up for it. Oh wait, the crazy British guy that complained the whole time, battering the 50-cent and American Culture neutralizes the presence of cute chicks. All in all, the experience deserves the grade of ‘pretty cool.’

Funny thing is, the best part of the trip for me, besides being on the boats, was coming back… home. I caught myself referring to our guesthouse as home several times during the two days we spent away from it. When Chad and I got off the bus and started walking to our guesthouse, I felt like we really started to sprout roots here, a sentiment that was quickly confirmed by the numerous faces that shouted hi or a whack on the shoulder during the short walk back. We were greeted by a witty girl from the travel agency we nicknamed ‘my wife’ (we discussed the prospect of marriage, and she playfully gives us the hardest time in the world when we are in there), the chubby woman who shouts in Vietnamese like she’s in an argument, always giving us a high-five, through the ally which our guesthouse is in, we were greeted warmly by the security guard, the little girls in our guesthouse who we play games with, and the family who runs the place, genuinely happy to see us back because we spend so much time with them. When I looked down from our balcony, the deliciously familiar sight of the 37 year-old MILF, who’s been my crush on the very first day, was right below. People are becoming recognizable, the drug dealers don’t pitch to us anymore, the taxi drivers barely offer, the hawkers don’t bother. It’s wonderful.

Right after this, I’ll be heading to get a liter of beer at the spot we always go to.