An honest cab driver is hard to find:

So cab drivers in Thailand are kind of like tailors in Vietnam. They don’t really listen to the location you want to go to, but instead take you to where they think you should go. If you tell them to take you to a specific shopping mall, they just hear the word “shoppeeng” and take you to what they think the best mall is. We learned this lesson the hard way. We left the palace and had a bitch of a time trying to find a cab to take us back to the part of town we wanted to explore next. So we picked a place that had a shopping mall so we could just use that as a point of reference for the driver. We finally found one that would take us, but we had to negotiate a price first. We told him the mall and showed it to him on a map. He nodded “yes” he knew the place. Remember we only picked this place because it was in the part of town we wanted to get to, and it was an easy frame of reference. But the cab driver took us to a different mall in a completely different location because it was “much better shoppeeng.” I guess it’s our fault for telling him the name, the address, pointing to it on the map, and paying him almost double what we would have by the meter. So we decided to just call an end to the day. We found another cab to take us to our hotel, and this time we were even more clear that we wanted this specific hotel, not a hotel that he thinks we’d enjoy more. Then we ate dinner at this restaurant. We both ordered pad Thai. The next day we caught a flight to the beach. We are so ready for the beach. Please no more walking. What’s that Angelica? You can’t wait to take long walks on the beach?

Angelica’s Corner: Where is Kevin?

It’s been a while now. Did he forget our meeting spot? Has the Bangkok heat really gotten to him and he is in the fetal position under the slight shade of this temple? Did he throw in the towel and head to the islands already? Does the Imperial Grand Palace have an intercom system? A Lost and Found? Oh, here he comes. That is an interesting smile… guilty of something.
ASM TO KGT:
So you went into the handicap stall because the rest were squatter toilets?
You pushed the handle and nothing?
Is this going to be a Larry David story?
Then what happened?
The lady attendant made you do what?
She really yelled at you?
So you tried the handle again?
Still nothing?
You thought you could get away?
She made you do what?
A garden hose?
How long did it take?
Are we going to be arrested?
At least I know where you were now. And where to look for you next time…

Bangkok day two:

This was a day of Buddhas, and temples, and boat rides, and heat, and sweating, and sore feat, and the return of the chaffing meter (I know you missed this feature).

We started by going to the golden Buddha. A cab driver took us and dropped us off a block away where there just happened to be a tiny temple with a small golden Buddha visible from the street. We looked at it, huh, not exactly a giant golden Buddha. We looked at the map. Huh, yeah we’re in the right general location. Oookay, so not as impressive as we thought. Then we looked down the street and saw a few people milling about. Ahhhh, we were at the wrong spot. We were so close to flagging down a cab too. We almost missed it. The real thing wasn’t that much more impressive, but it was still pretty cool. It definitely was golden, and it was a Buddha. The best part about this was meeting Johnny as Angelica dubbed him. He was this old guy that wanted to practice his English with us. We told him we were from California and he told us he had relatives there, relatives in Las Vegas California. And he was going to go visit them, then rent a car and drive from Los Angeles up to Seattle where he had more family. He’d been saving for a long time and was ready to go in exactly one year. He was extremely nice and sweet and told us we should take a Tuk Tuk (This is a motorized cart, like a golf cart only street legal and with much more exhaust) to the pier and take a boat ride through the canals and up the river to let us off at the Grand Palace. He even went down and negotiated the Tuk Tuk for us. It was really heart warming to watch this old guy talking to the young guy manning the Tuk Tuk. He told the young guy twenty, the young guy shook his head no and said forty. The old guy gave him a stern look and held up two fingers. The young guy then nodded his head yes, and looked and Angelica and I, and we all laughed at how cute this old man was negotiating.

So we took the boat up the river and into a system of canals. We saw houses built along the river, the places where most of the people of Bangkok actually live. A different side of the city. This side of the city had houses and a river.

The boat let us off close to the grand palace. And although I did not jump off and swim in the river you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at me. I am a sweater. I sweat. The heat was stifling. And what better thing to do in the heat than to walk around a bunch. We started by walking to the temple of the reclining Buddha. I love the reclining Buddha. He’s just this giant golden man, we’re talking near statue of liberty sized, just lying down on his side. But it’s inside a building and at no point in time are you more than a few feet away from it, so you can’t really take the whole thing in at once. One corner of the building had a great breeze coming through. We stood in that breeze for a good ten minutes and thought about cooler times.

We left the reclining Buddha and walked to the Grand Palace. Tuk Tuk drivers along the way tell you it’s closed and they know a great place to take you that is open. They say this despite the stream of people walking into the palace. Well, at least they’re not honest. The palace has a rule against shorts so for the first time in my life I rented pants. I’m sure it won’t be the last, no wait, yes I am sure. We got in and walked around the complex. The buildings to me all looked like giant golden birthday cakes, covered in rippling golden frosting, and colorful beads of sugar. But listen to me, don’t try to break a piece off and eat it, they don’t like that there. They also don’t make it easy for westerners to go to the bathroom. This is where I became an ugly American just a little bit. I’ll let Angelica explain. Sort of.

Bangkok day one:

Bangkok has a sky train monorail type system. It’s easy to follow and get around on. So Angelica and I followed it to this little open air temple right in the middle of the city. We got off and were looking at a map so an older Thai business man asked us where we were going. We told him, and he walked us to it (he was going the same way, but still it was very nice). He and Angelica talked about stuff and I fell behind. Then we got to the temple and the man told us to pray for twins…Ahhhh so it’s that kind of temple, meaning fertility. The temple wasn’t very impressive visually, but when we stopped and looked at all the people praying in this little fifty foot by fifty foot patch of concrete with a statue of a goddess in the middle, then looked at the absolute urban-ness of the surroundings it did impress us. That this spiritual place could exist right in the middle of downtown Bangkok was kind of surreal. Although I have a spiritual existence every time I go to a hot dog stand in NYC, so I guess I’m no stranger to this phenomenon.

After the temple we got on the train again and went to Little Siam. This is where all the young kids go. It was no Harajuku, but it was still fun. Lots of high school kids in their school uniforms going into shops. Lots of clothing stores. Lots of music stores. Hair and nail places. You get the idea.

Then we walked to the Bangkok mega mall. This was eight stories of stuff that included a Dairy Queen. We were thinking about seeing a movie to get off our feet again, but nothing good was playing. So we left and took the train back to our hotel. We may have eaten dinner someplace but I don’t remember.

Angelica’s Corner: Hotel Rooms for Cheap

We’ve learned that it is a constant toss up whether the $12, $30, $65 or even $180/night room will be acceptable to Kevelica. I did the research, I read the reviews but still, that moment you unlock your door is still filled with hope and dreams.
We liked the $20 room in Ho Chi Minh City. One for our team. And we like our current “deluxe beach bungalow” on Koh Lanta. Funny that they label it Deluxe, since it is the cheapest, but nice that they gave us a title too. We have a view of the ocean, a little porch with chairs, a/c. We do have the bathroom-shower-all-in-one-so-that-you-have-to-remove-all-toilet-paper-for-it-not-to-get-wet-during-shower-process. And, we have a giant blue towel for a bed cover. No top sheet, just the towel. It does its job but there is that second during the night that you think, is this terrycloth? I’ll call this one even, half for us, half for the establishment.
Then there was our $30/night room in Bangkok. We arrived just before midnight from the airport. The lobby was as the pictures in Wallpaper showed- art deco interiors, books on the walls. The signs warning against Sex Crimes or any other bad behavior didn’t shock us. A sprightly bellhop lugged both our bags to the 4th floor with us trailing behind. He quickly and silently opened our door and turned on the a/c. It had a/c. It also had a swarm of mosquitoes, mental institute lighting that buzzed, sheets with holes and a plastic curtain for the bathroom door. Kevin, still suffering from the head cold, went to sleep right away. I finally took advantage of the Ambien samples and also passed out. Next morning at 9AM, Angelica was off to find us a new place, Conde Nast Traveler card in hand. By 11AM, after wearing our luggage as backpacks and sweating like the orchids that we are, we entered the glorious room at the Majestic Grand. We had marble and wood floors, heavenly beds, a fancy central controller for all lighting in the room and a concierge with a sense of humor. An ugly $30/night situation turned into a beautiful $130/night.

Kevin’s comment on Angelica’s corner: Now I am not a tough man, so this one night in Bangkok made me tumble, then it slapped me with the back of its hand, then it told me to go make it a chicken pot pie. That night in Bangkok and I are not on very good terms. But Angelica saved us. I’m still sick as a dog at this point and that room was going to keep making me sicker, one night in Bangkok at a time. Angelica went out and got us a room at a really nice place for nearly half price just by being a negotiating samurai. After one night in the new hotel I felt almost like Kevin again. Still not a tough man, but much less sick.

Bangkok

Flew into Bangkok. Exchanged money. Everyone we had talked to put the fear of god into us about cab drivers. We were sure the driver was going to swindle us somehow. But no, he was a nice guy, although he took the highway when we said we didn’t want to, so as to see more of the city and night. But that’s ok. He got us to our hotel. And at this point Kevelica learned something about itself. It has to do with how we will choose hotel rooms from now on. I will let Angelica explain.

Han Oi Vei these puppets are freaky:

When we got back to Hanoi we got to our hotel and then went to a water puppet show. You go into a little theater, where instead of a stage there’s a pool of water with a screen behind it. The puppeteers are behind the screen controlling the puppets with long sticks that sit under the surface of the water. If you don’t speak Vietnamese the story of this show is completely lost on you, but the puppets are kind of cool in a freaky sort of way. But after five minutes I got all I was going to get from this, and sadly I fell asleep. I was so so tired and sick. I didn’t mean to disrespect this cultural phenomenon but I didn’t think that Vietnam would mind. I mean, if Vietnam came to America and fell asleep at a baseball game, I’d just take off my jacket and tuck the tired little fella in, then carry him out to the car and drive him home after the seventh inning.

After the puppet show we went to get ice cream and then walk around in the old quarter. The thing about the old quarter is that it’s streets are named for what they are. I like that and do the same thing (my hammer is named Hammy, and I had two turtles growing up named Greeney and Swimmy). So one street translated to English would be Candy Street, and there’s Paper Street, and Kitchen Street, etc. One other thing about the old quarter that freaked Angelica out is their use of vermin. They dump all their garbage in the street so that rats and cockroaches can eat what they want of it, according to Kaelin our tour leader, they do this on purpose to get rid of all the biodegradable stuff. Then all the garbage that’s left over they simply burn. It smelled like, well, burning garbage. It made me so hungry. And by “hungry” I mean “not hungry.” And this was just in time to meet the rest of our group for our last dinner as a family.

It was subdued as both I and Alice (the token Italian) were sick. But it was still fun. Dan ordered roast “farm bird” off the menu out of curiosity for what a “farm bird” would mean to the Vietnamese people. We think it was quail.

After dinner we walked back to the hotel and I went right to sleep. I felt bad because I was so sick that I couldn’t get up the next morning to say goodbye to people. I could barely get out of bed until later in the morning. But I knew that Angelica still wanted to see the French Quarter, so I sucked it up, took some Sudafed and a much needed shower and we went. As nasty as the Old Quarter was, the French Quarter was nice. Big wide streets, lots of trees, pretty buildings. We went to the post office and sent some post cards (sorry if you’re reading this and didn’t get one, we lost our address list, so we were operating from memory. Chances are we tried to send you one and got your address wrong). Then I had to sit down. We sat until it was nearly time to leave for the airport, then took a cab back to our hotel, then split another cab with Jayson and Colleen as their flights were at the same time.

At the airport Jayson invented a game called Dong Asshole. The idea was to get rid of as many Dongs as you could. The person closest to zero wins. I had one caveat, that I could hold on to two five Dong coins for my nephews. Jayson and Colleen got down to almost absolute zero, they were left with one coin, but was less than one Dong so they had to be paid in what I think was a Cambodian penny. And then they got on their plane before Angelica and I were done. We had exactly 67 Dongs remaining. We went to a little stand and bought a water, it was 17 dongs. Then we noticed that Oreos and Ritz crackers were exactly 26 Dongs each. We used Angelica’s awesome haggling skills to get her to take 67 Dongs for the whole shebang. (Wow, shebang doesn’t register as a spelling error. Who knew?) We achieved absolute zero besting our Canadian friends. Ok, we’re away from the Cu Chi Tunnels…I think it’s ok…Here goes… U-S-A….U-S-A….U-S-A….

Ok, the last part about the boat trip I swear:

We took our little rowboat to a crevice in the rock, we paddled through this crevice and found ourselves in a giant hidden cove. Like being in a bowl of bright green soup. A bowl of soup for giants. But for giants that like a thin layer of gasoline and garbage on their soup. See if I was a giant I would order the gasoline and garbage on the side, then you could control how much you wanted. It sounds like I’m being really negative, but it was a really beautiful spot, and we were the first ones in there so it was completely quiet and serene, except for when I sneezed, or blew my nose really loudly, a beautiful sound made even more beautiful by the echoing effect that followed. And then we were on our way back to Halong Bay. Then a three hour bus trip back to Hanoi.

The rest of the boat trip:

We cruised out to an island with a lookout point on it so we could overlook the entire bay. This was fun, except it was all damp and foggy, I was sick as a dog, and we had to climb up about five hundred stairs to get to the top. But when we got to the top it was totally completely sort of worth it. We could see a lot of rock formations, but it wasn’t as epic as it could have been because of the fog. But it was exactly how it looks in magazines and movies, like giant fangs of rock jutting out of green water. Very impressive. This island also had a beach where we were told we could go swimming, but this leads to the part of the trip that was a bit of a bummer. The water in and around Halong Bay is completely trashed. There are so many boats that a layer of gasoline exists over almost every square inch of water, along with plastic bags and Pringles cans and various other forms of human garbage. So the bay looks awesome from look out points and from a distance, but when you get down close it’s pretty damn nasty.

So we got back on the ship and took it to a giant rock island riddled with a cave system that you can walk through. This is where we came even closer to dying than at the pier. We were once again in our little rowboat maneuvering through the giant ships to get to the dock. Somehow we got positioned so that one boat was coming towards us from the island, and two were coming up behind us towards the island. We were in the slot formed by the two boats coming towards the island and the third one was going to slide in between them, narrowly missing both. We were caught in the middle. It seems very dangerous to me. But that’s how they roll. As the boat in front was steaming towards us we saw a member of their crew up on their deck looking down on us. He was just sitting in a deck chair looking at us. We thought it would have been obvious that he should tell his captain that they were about to kill twelve people, but I guess it wasn’t. Finally our guide started waving at him and screaming and he got the idea. He yelled to his captain and the boat started slowing down. I still thought they were going to hit us and mash us into one of the other boats. I was once again sorry about the toe nail clippings. I was honestly considering grabbing Angelica and telling her to hold her breath as long as she could and diving under the water. But the boat slowed down just enough. They sent a giant wave of water over our side and into the boat. Once again Colleen had to push us off. Even our guide was freaked out which says a lot.

We survived and made it into the cave. It was all geological and shit. I remembered two things from my time as a geologist. You can tell which ones are stalactites and which ones are stalagmites because stalactites have to hang on tight to the ceiling or else they’ll fall. I forget what the other thing I remembered was.

Our guide had a little laser pointer and he kept pointing it at formations that looked like things. There was a hawk, a turtle, amazingly enough Napolean Bonaparte, and several others. I kept pointing out the ones that looked like giant penises and boobs, but only Jayson laughed (I really only did this once and quiet enough so that only Jayson could hear). Finally we got to a formation that looked like the Happy Buddha. This is a big jolly fat man, and you rub his stomach for good luck. I rubbed my stomach and said quietly to Jayson “happy Buddha.” The guide overheard this and pointed the laser at my stomach and said “Ha ha ha ha Happy Buddha.” This got a big laugh from our group, and another group of French tourists following with us. I let everyone rub my stomach.

We went back to our boat, thankfully no near death experiences this time. Spent the night playing more euker and fishing for squid. Since there are probably no squid in the Halong Bay left, nor could they probably survive on Halong Bays mixture of 70% water, 20% gasoline, and 10% other, I feel like this is a joke the boat crews play on their passengers. Every ship had these bright spotlights that are supposed to attract squid. Then we had long poles with a lure on the end that the squid are supposed to latch onto. Jayson and I stuck with it for a good hour before stowing the poles.

Then we went to sleep. I did not get sea sick. But we still have several boat rides left in this trip. Pray for me.

Angelica’s Corner: Canadian As*hole

We were on an overnight junk boat cruise in Vietnam. It was nighttime and the Canadians-slash-Michigander were done playing their many rounds of Yuker. Someone suggested playing asshole. Kevin was in the bathroom at this moment. Me, having fond memories of this card game both in Ann Arbor and Pittsburgh, jumped at the chance to play. But then my fun quickly turned sour and my smile turned into a frown on the inside. They had their own rules, these Canadians. They didn’t do “4s are socials” or having call “last card.” They didn’t move positions so that asshole had the bad, most uncomfortable chair. They didn’t even deal according to hierarchy! And they weren’t interested in my suggestions. I was outnumbered- one American, our token Italian (she hated the game too, who could blame her with the lack of rules!) to six Canadians. They weren’t interested in cracking open more beers so that we could really start torturing the unfortunate Asshole! When Kevin finally returned from his bathroom visit, I practically threw my hand at him and excused myself to find freedom on our small boat. It was all I could do to escape this Maple Leaf torture. You know what they have in Canada? –really nice people, great health insurance but a game of Asshole without any of the fun.

Han Oi Vei

We arrived and took a bus to our hotel where we stowed our stuff then got back on a bus to take us to Halong Bay. We got on a small boat that would take us to a junk boat where we’d cruise through Halong Bay for a day and a half. “Junk” boat doesn’t mean it’s junky, this is a type of boat seen on post cards and tourist brochures for Vietnam. Our Junk boat was actually very nice, but because we were a relatively small group and on a smaller junk we needed to take a rowboat from the pier to our ship. The problem with this is that there are also giant boats in the same water, couple this with the same mentality as used for street traffic (meaning the last person to blink has the right of way) and you end up with several near death experiences just getting to our junk. I’m serious. I really thought we were going to be smashed. I don’t know if the big junks couldn’t see us, or didn’t care, but our row boat pilot was rowing with everything he had to get us out of the way of one of the big ships. And even still Colleen had to push us away from one of them. I was apologizing to Angelica for every bad thing I’ve ever done (All I could think of was this one time she got really mad at me for leaving toe nail clippings in the bathroom sink). But then we survived and I told her I wasn’t really sorry.

We got on our boat. It was pretty cool. It had a big upper deck we could go sit on, and a little area with a table we could play euker on. Oh yes, I must continue to commend the Canadians for knowing how to play euker. I thought it was just people in Michigan and Ohio. God bless Canada. They also play the game Asshole. But Canadian Asshole is different. I’ll let Angelica explain.

The night train to Hanoi

As Angelica said we took an overnight train to Hanoi. And you haven’t lived until you’ve used a Vietnamese train bathroom. I’ll try to start posting pictures as this thing was pretty gnarly. Just a moist dank room that smelled like fish that had been left in the sun for far too long. The flush was simply a hole letting your pee and/or poo drop down onto the tracks. This has spawned a rule of thumb in Vietnam. This rule of thumb is “don’t walk down the center of the train tracks.” Now I know why!!! The funny thing about this is that when the train came into the station you could see in the windows, so we could see someone standing up but not what he was doing, and then sure enough a few seconds later we saw liquid drop down splashing in the center of the tracks. How nice.

Enough about the toilets.

The train ride was pretty much as Angelica described it. We went to sleep, although I was not in my aqua blue silk sleeping bag, I just used mine to cover the pillow. There wasn’t much to see out the windows, a lot of rice fields, which was interesting the first couple times. And then they just become rice fields.

The only other thing of note was the chicken lady. A woman with a cart that would roll up and down the car opening your door and shaking a chicken leg at you yelling “YOU WANT CHICKEN???!!!” and yes she did use three exclamation points. In her defense she did wear a plastic glove, but then if you asked for a coke she grabbed said Coke with her gloved hand smearing your coke with a thick layer of luke warm chicken grease, which was nice of her. This became a fun recurring joke for the rest of the trip. It’s a close second to the waiter at the Chinese food place in Ann Arbor who would ask, “you want balk balk chicken??!!” He was great because he added the “balk balk” to make sure we knew what chicken was by the sound chickens make, but he only used two exclamation points. Let’s call it a draw.

Angelica’s Corner: Over Night Train Car

Kevin and I had secretly hoped to be matched up with certain people from our group for the over night train ride (four to a car). We had both been sick though and thought maybe they were all conspiring to ditch us and stick us in a cabin where strangers could enter and join us at any stop. Lucky for us, we got a good match. Kevin and The Ladies: Alice, the Italian and Kalin the leader, were our companions. Kevin was having a serious case of snoring (I knew well) but needed rest so he went right to sleep with me hovering to stop any sudden snoring in front of our female companions. Here is the funny part, we all purchased silk sleeping bags from one of the towns we visited. The train beds were simply gross and dated from about 1958 so we all whipped out these colorful, silky bags and got in. Kevin’s was aqua blue and yes, he slept in it.

Hue

Our next city was Hue. Hue is like the Pittsburgh of Vietnam. If Saigon and Hanoi are the New York and Los Angeles. And Hoi An is like…Hmmm…Yale Michigan, a small city known for one thing. In Hoi An the one thing is tailors. The one thing Yale Michigan is known worldwide for is it’s annual bologna festival, ok instead of “world” wide I should have said “metro Detroit area” wide). Hue is in between these two levels. It’s a city, but not a giant. It has parks, and a river, and city-ish stuff. It even has a stadium. Nothing like Heinz field. But comparatively, to the Vietnamese Hue would be at about the Pittsburgh level within their country’s city hierarchy.

We had a day tour where we went on this riverboat that took us to a pagoda where we learned all sorts of things about Buddhism, but not really. We learned that turtles are important and the number 108, and all multiples of 3 for that matter. But our guide was not really good at explaining why these things were. But whatever, they had a giant bell that weighed eight tons, this bell would make the city of Philadelphia feel like a little girl, a little girl with a bell that’s tiny in comparison to the one that they have in Hue (this little girl would also say things like ay yo because that’s what people in Philadelphia say. Oh and she would eat cheesesteaks.)

The actual pagoda was pretty cool. It had nine levels. Each level representing a different king, or something like that, I was too busy imagining how big I would have to be before I could wear that bell like a big hat, and let me tell you, I’d be really big, god I wish I had super powers.

Then we learned something really cool that managed to keep my attention, the layout of this complex was set to mimic a dragon. The pagoda was the tail sticking out of the ground, but once we walked past the pagoda to the rest of the grounds we saw different buildings that made the entire area seem like a dragon frozen half in and half out of the ground. Then I stopped listening because dragons. And anyway this is probably way more blog space than this particular site deserves.

One other interesting note. We saw kids training to be Buddhist monks. Their parents bring them to this pagoda because they can’t afford to feed them. So, the monks take care of them. It’s nice but kind of awful at the same time. They’re not allowed to eat meat their entire lives. They have to do all of the manual labor around the temple. They sleep on wooden palettes. They have to get up at three am every day to ring a bell (not the giant one) 108 times. The rest of their time is spent studying. And it seems as if they have no choice from birth through death, they are brought up to be Buddhist monks. That’s it. No switching majors and taking that fifth year of college. No thinking, I’ll either be a fireman, a cowboy, or superman when I grow up. You’re going to be a Buddhist monk. I could be wrong but I don’t think they have 401K’s or vacations, just spiritual enlightenment. It’s a close call, but I really like vacations.

We left the Pagoda and went to a tomb for one of their kings. But it wasn’t really a tomb in the Indiana Jones sense. It was more like a nice park with statues all around, and a few temple-esque buildings. This area was also set up so that all the buildings together would resemble the king laying down on the earth. This is a popular theme in Hue I guess. It was a really beautiful area, with a lake and gates and statues of crazy firey hellish cats (which our guide told us were unicorns, this started a debate in our group as to whether a Vietnamese unicorn could beat one of our unicorns. I said our unicorn would win because it doesn’t matter how fast that cat is our unicorns horn is SHARP!) but in the end I was a little disappointed. I mean, when I think tomb, I’m thinking I better get to make a torch from a skeleton’s arm and some crude oil that’s seeped into the lower levels of this tomb. Or at least like a mummy or something. But none of that happened. Also I was starting to get sick.

Angelica’s Corner: Bartering for Prices

The thing I may miss most from the US of A (other than some wardrobe options) is set prices. Everything we buy can be negotiated. We’ve gotten better at this although it now seems set in our relationship that I am to play the bad cop. The one to say to the Konverse woman who used her choice of stitching instead of Kevin’s, “Madame, who is wearing the shoes? You or him? You should have made what he asked.” My recent secret weapon- find the shop where the owner’s neighbor or cousin is watching while he is at dinner. This guy isn’t interested in spending the time discussing what price is, or is not considered “happy hour” here in Thailand. I found this man, and I think I finally came out ahead. I will find more of these shop-watchers before the end of the trip. 20 baht for water? I think not…

Angelica’s Corner: Kevin riding a Cyclo

(The following post is a little out of order, but Angelica just wrote it after the fact. It’s her take on the cyclo ride.)

The cyclo seat is made for one, and maybe a little hand bag. It is not designed for an ex-Michigan boy-water polo player. My cyclo driver took off first so it wasn’t until the first stop light that I actually saw Kevin in his cyco seat, holding one arm across his chest and the other arm holding the elbow, and hand slightly covering his mouth as if to say to everyone we passed, “this was not my idea.” I started to shake with laughter, and my driver joined in a little for good measure (they get tips so he was willing to join in on my giggling fit).

Ugly Americans

This phrase is so not true. The Americans we came across were always very polite and quiet and nice in dealing with locals. We didn’t see any fanny packs or any college football sweatshirts. American tourists simply were not ugly anywhere we came across them. The ugliest tourists by far were German. Sorry to any Germans reading this, but you guys really kind of suck. Loud. Pushy. Often angry. Lots of aggression. We should keep our collective eye on those Germans, or the next thing you know they’ll be annexing part of Czechoslovakia and marching into France.

The second place prize for ugly tourism goes to Australians. Just as loud. Not as angry as the Germans. Although we found ourselves in an Australian bar at one point and Angelica was hit on by, not one, but two old Australian men who both told her that she was the loveliest sheila in the room. She’s still got it.

Ugliest tourists: German

Second ugliest tourists: Australian

Nicest tourists: Canadian

Second nicest tourists: American

Third nicest tourists: Believe it or not…French people!!!

Konverse

I had some shoes made. They didn’t really know what Converse were, but I sketched the star and chevron and the girl said, “yes yes, I make, yes yes.” And that was that. I went back the next day and there they were. Not exactly what we agreed on. And not quite believable as Converse. Kind of like krab, it sort of tastes like crab but you know it’s some other substance, and yet it’s still enjoyable. I think it’s usually made from abolone, which I believe is some kind of fish, krab not my shoes. So I decided to have another pair of shoes made, a pair of Chucks of my own design. I asked for black with white stitching and when I got there they did black with black stitching which leads me to a very important trait of the Vietnamese people. They will not give you what you ask for, but what they think is nicer themselves. When I told the person black with white stitching she said, “yes I make, I make.” But then she thought to herself, “why would he want white stitching, it will be visible, I will give him black stitching this is much nicer.” (she thought this in Vietnamese, I’m translating roughly). This is true in just about every facet. At dinner once I asked for grilled chicken in lemon grass and they brought me a chicken curry because “it is much nicer.” I of course asked her why she did the stitching in black after I specifically said white about seven times, and even pointed out the white stitching on another pair of shoes and said, “same same,” which I thought everyone there understood. And she just said “black stitching much nicer.” Ok, I’m making this story way way too long. You get the idea. And that in a nutshell was Hoi An. Also there were rats and stray dogs and lots of Germans and Australians and mud.

Most heard phrase: Same Same

Angelica’s Corner: Same Same

In Vietnam, somehow a saying started. That saying is “Same Same”. All food stall sellers and store vendors say this to you if you for some reason may look doubtful about their product. I attempted to have my wedding dress made in Hoi An. I went for the fitting and it was too short, not what we measured before. My lady continuously said “Same Same.” No, not same same. Different. She said 108 cm, I said 110 cm. Cute, but not same same.

Tour Day 3: Hoi An

We woke up early and went to the airport where we flew into Da Nang and then took a bus to Hoi An. Hoi An is a mecca of cheap tailors that can make a suit for you in a day. It’s not always exactly what you ordered, but it does have places for you to put your arms, and sometimes there’s a hole for your legs as well…Sometimes.

Actually some of the tailors were really good. We didn’t go to one of the good ones though. Well, we did, but they were so rude that we couldn’t stay. We left and passed one called “Cali” so we though “eh, maybe it’s a sign.” We went in and Angelica tried to have a dress made.

They took measurements and all that. They seemed to understand what she was describing. And then the dress came back. It was almost not quite good. See, you’d think that they’d at least have the fundamentals down if you call yourself a tailor shop. And by fundamentals I mean thinks like sewing in a straight line, or using the right measurement. This would be a good time to post another of the most popular segment on this blog, yes another Angelica’s Corner

Day 2 of the tour, the Cu Chi Tunnels:

This was the tunnel system outside Saigon where the resistance hid from the American Imperialists as everyone referred to us. We took an hour bus ride out to the tunnels and first sat through a documentary about the war. It was really hard to make out what the voice over was saying, but I think the documentary was about the number one American killers of the war. One guy was responsible for killing over three hundred Americans all on his own, through various booby traps he invented. Another guy’s specialty was taking out tanks. There was a spotlight on one woman that was “lady number one American killer.” I wish I understood more of it, as it was pretty interesting.

Then we went out and walked around the tunnels. There were tunnels preserved that you could actually go down in and walk through. Well, not really walk, but hunch down and crawl through. They were not however “Kevin” sized. So I went down to the entrance and looked and then popped back up with the rest of the ladies. That’s ok, I don’t dig on tunnels all that much. We learned a lot about the war and how the communists in the south resisted the American presence, and why they did what they did. It is a fact and point of pride in Vietnam that they defeated the USA, and in terms of the war we are referred to as American losers. The best part of the day, though, was a giant mural showing how different booby traps worked. It looked like a picture from a children’s book with smiling GI’s being impaled in several different ways on sharpened stakes. There are more ways to be impaled on a stake than you ever thought possible, but according to the smiles on the GI’s faces, getting impaled on a stake isn’t all that bad. The more you know…

After the tunnels we went back to Saigon and had a free rest of the day. After a hot day full of depressing images of the atrocities of war and being called an imperialist pig what do you do?

Ange and I got massages.

Most heard phrase during tour uttered by a Canadian: Eh?

Most heard phrase during the tour whispered by Ange to me: Ha ha ha, he just said “eh” again.

Chant I was least likely to try to start: U-S-A...U-S-A...U-S-A

Our first group outing

We all just went out to dinner together. It was fun. Four people got this chicken curry including me. Everyone got sick from it but me. This made me feel invulnerable, like a cyborg.

Then we all walked around for it was New Years Eve. The song “Happy New Year” by Abba was playing everywhere. I love trying to figure out how the Vietnamese view the psyches of the westerners, somewhere in their collective minds they decided that this song by Abba must be the anthem for New Years in the west.

It was kind of nuts. Every person that had access to a motorbike was out cruising around. There were lights up everywhere. People singing. Just overall craziness. And this isn’t even their new years. They put on this show for the westerners. But all I really wanted to do was go to bed.

A quick snapshot of the people on our tour:

Our Group:
Jolly James and Peppy Paula:
If being nice was a super power the tall bearded James would wear a cape and defeat villains using nothing but his niceness. He is a tenth degree black belt of nice using his utter lack of any evilness to break six boards at once. Paula was also nice. They had the most positive outlook of anyone we’ve ever met. Everything was nice or amazing, sometimes both “nice” and “amazing” depending on which one of them you asked. They were from Calgary eh.

Dan and Jen:
From Windsor. Which I count as being from Michigan. Also extremely nice. They were both engineers, although Dan is back in school to become a teacher. The thing about Dan I loved was that he bought a grilled octopus from someone on the street and ate it. Jen told him, “You’re so gonna get sick.” But Dan ate the whole thing. And then he got sick, but he swore it wasn’t from the octopus, “I think it’s from the rice,” he would later say.

Alice (Alee-chay)
The token Italian. By way of Norway where she teaches English and Italian to Norwegians, and translates the occasional children’s book from Norwegian to Italian. She was such a language teacher. My mind kept flashing back to Madame Burnay my tenth grade French teacher. She was from a city bordering the town in Italy where Angelica’s grandfather grew up. Small world.

Jayson and Colleen:
Sorry to everyone else, but these were our favorites. Jayson is my new hero. He’s something called a SARtech, or Search and Rescue technician. He’s one of those guys that drops from helicopters attached to a cable and pulls people off of sinking ships. And he was also a Newfie which means he had the funniest of all the Canadian accents. We kept making jokes about how if our bus broke down or our boat tipped over Jayson could save us. Ok, by “we” I mean “me.” Colleen was also very funny. She bought conical hats and kimonos for all her family and made Jayson buy a kimono as well. He referred to it as a housecoat which made me love him.

Day 1 of the tour:

We arrived at the new hotel in Ho Chi Minh City where we’d be meeting our GAP tour group. There was a note for us from our tour leader saying we’d have a meeting in a couple hours. We went up to our room, it was more of a hotel than we’d experienced at Madame Cuk’s. There was an actual front desk with a guy in a uniform. There was no giant retarded man standing a silent vigilance. And the room was a real room. Beds with sheets and blankets. Ahhhh, a shower curtain, sweet.

We settled in and then went to a bakery that advertised wireless, and by “wireless” they meant not wireless. But they did have what looked like an Oregon Trail era computer that did have Internet access. Then we went to the Vietnam War Museum. Hmmm, all I can say is that I will no longer make any Vietnam War jokes. Probably not, anyways.

We got back in time for our meeting with Kaelin our group leader. She’s Canadian which made me immediately like her. She was white with dreadlocks which made Angelica immediately like her. She was one of those people that looked like she could be 22 but if you told me she was 38 I wouldn’t be surprised. She said “eh” a lot, but what do you want? She’s Canadian. We’d come to find out that she doesn’t have an apartment, or a room of her own. She lives from tour to tour with a few days off in between each where she lives in a hotel in Thailand, or with a friend in Thailand. It’s an interesting way to live, and I mean that in a good way. It’s a job I would envy if it didn’t mean having to go on regular cyclo rides.

The cyclo is a a seat attached to the front of a bike that you sit in while a little Vietnamese man pedals you around. We saw them around town and I vowed to Angelica that I would never ever ride in one. I pity the pour dumb bastard that would have to pedal me around.

So of course the first leg of our tour would be a cyclo ride around Siagon. We still hadn’t met the rest of the group as they had gone on the cyclo ride earlier, so it was just me, Angelica, and Kaelin. I was feeling kind of apprehensive about having another human being pedal me around but Kaelin, perhaps reading the look on my face told us that this is how they make their livelihood and that the government is trying to outlaw the cyclos from all the main areas of Saigon which will ruin these poor guys. So us taking a cyclo ride right now is helping them.

Ok. I would do it, but this was going to be really uncomfortable. Time for the fat American to be pedaled around town by the tiny Vietnamese man.

We walked and met Terry, our guide for the tour. He’d arranged the cyclo drivers and spoke pretty good English so he would be giving us little bits of history and trivia as we went. He was chubby for Vietnamese people, had glasses and was wearing a polo shirt. So the tour guide racket must be where the dongs are at in Saigon (If you missed it “dongs” are Vietnamese money, I know funny right?). When we met Terry he came up with a big smile and said, “Hi I’m Terry, I’ll be your guide on the tour, ok. Ok. Ok. Are you guys ready to rock and roll?”

Angelica would later say, “Terry, you had me at ‘are you guys ready to rock and roll.’”

Then we looked and saw our four cyclo drivers. Me and three people all about half to three quarters of my weight.

You know how every group of friends has that one guy that gets picked on? You love him or her, but you also think they’re kind of an asshole and you rip on them non-stop. I now know that this is a universal phenomenon. I could tell that three of the cyclo drivers were “cooler” than the fourth and I could see the three of them teaming up to guide me to the fourth one. I could not understand what they were saying, but I believe it was something to the effect of…

“hahahah, give the fat one to Jerry,” said cool guy 1

“Oh my god, totally make Jerry push the big one, what do you think he weighs?” said cool guy 2

“You think maybe 500 kilograms?” said cool guy three as they ushered me into Jerry’s chair.

“Oh thanks a lot assholes, you always make me push the big ones. I hate you guys,” said Jerry.

The tour was pretty boring. We went to the post office, and the main market which Ange and I had already gone to on our own where they had bags full of live frogs and a dude clubbing live fish, so that part was pretty cool. Then we went down a street full of electronics and by a church built by the French in miniature of Notre Dame. Throughout the tour when we came to a stop my driver would have to hop off and push the bike going then hop on and continue pedaling. But only my driver had to do this. Embarrassing? Maybe a little. But I tell you this in the spirit of full disclosure.

After our cyclo tour we finally met the rest of our group. All Canadians. I knew that I would be saying “eh” before all was said and done.

Food in Vietnam:

So Good. Way better than what we were eating in Japan. And so cheap. I ate something called a bulbul in a clay pot. I know Bulbul is a fish of some sort, but I can’t tell you more than that, only that it tasted really good. But to me it sounded like something they would serve up in Mos Eisley Cantina. “Hey Luke, what are you having,” “Oh, I’ll just take a bulbul please.”

We had lots of spring rolls. Some fresh, some fried. Fish sauce. Noodles. Grilled crab. Lots of crazy blended juices. I got mine with ice. Angelica looked a little worried when I drank mine with the restaurant ice, she heard you’re not supposed to drink the water in Vietnam, or even use the ice. I’m a little worried that I may get diarea. But I’m also a little excited.

Ok, that’s all the writing I can do for now. Next time I’ll begin telling you about the tour. A little preview: Everyone is Canadian. They all say “eh.” A lot. Canadians rule.

Angelica’s Corner: Human Shields

When crossing the street in Saigon, best to use one of the locals. That is to actually use them as human shields. You see, every street is a bit like a game of frogger. The Saigonians (Siagonites?) have been down this road before and can sense the ebb and flow of maniacal motorbike traffic. So if you follow their lead, you know you won’t be run down by an errant bike. These people are local. They know what they’re doing. Go with the flow.

Walking Ho Chi Minh:

So our first day was a little nerve rattling. At least the morning. We read in the guidebook that crossing the street takes some practice. It’s true. The motorbikes literally never stop. They really do come in a constant stream on every street. And there are very few lights. So what you do is just take a leap of faith and begin walking. Like Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade... “Only the penitent man can pass, only the penitent man can pass…” As you step into the stream of motorbikes the drivers part around you as you go. You shouldn’t run, or flinch or hesitate, just walk, and they will miss you…Usually. Angelica created her own theory on this as well, which I will let her explain.

Madam Cuk

When we arrived in Vietnam we had a few days to kill before our tour began. (I mean our group tourism tour, not our military tour). So we stayed in a part of town called the backpacker’s district, and through some weird cosmic coincidence we saw tons of backpackers there. Your traditional backpacker eats a lot of granola and very possibly will be white with dreadlocks. We stayed at a place called Madam Cuk’s. Wiz ze Germans.

This place was hysterical. There were these three young girls that ran the place. So nice, and so enthusiastic. The actual place looked like a storefront on a busy street, you’d go inside the small lobby and then there’s a stairway that leads up to a few small rooms, almost like a hostel, but with private rooms. Sadly our room wasn’t in the main building. We had to cross the street and walk through a small stand selling batteries and blank CD’s, and also offering to take your portrait. Past the stand is someone’s apartment. It’s lived in by an older man, and his giant hulking son who spent his entire days watching TV, but it’s important to note that the TV was never on. But he always gave us a big smile and seemed to be having a good time. His father was a very nice man and would open the door for us at night if we got back after the battery stand closed. Then he would lead us through to the stairway that led up to a number of rooms above. There were other people staying there too. Mostly Germans.

The room was pretty great. It was clean I think. And if you were picturing bright red sheets that had kitty cats on them with the year “2008” embroidered in big pink numbers. Well you’d be so right on. The bathroom smelled a little like poo, but in a good way. And the shower was just a nozzle coming out of the wall with a drain on the floor. No curtain or stall or anything. It was kind of right over the toilet too, so we’d have to dry it off before using it again.

This seems like it would be a very strange situation to be in. But somehow it wasn’t. Maybe we were just in the right state of mind. It worked. We were happy. The people were all nice.

Most Common Used Phrase:
-German tourists kind of suck

Ho Chi Man oh man there are a lot of motorbikes:

There are a few key differences between Japan and Vietnam, one is whether people will or will not pee in the streets. Another is the amount of motor bikes. Vietnam has more. Actually there are rivers of them. And this is one of my rare good analogies because these motor bikes tend not to follow any set lanes of traffic, more like currents. And there are no strictly enforced rules of the road, more like suggestions. And also if the road gets too packed it will often flood up onto the sidewalks.

In the US, a family of five will usually drive around in a minivan, or an SUV, but in Vietnam there is the motorbike. You can fit a family of five and several boxes and bags of groceries if you balance it just right. I think the Vietnamese people have balance in spades. (that means a lot of balance).

A quick note on Vietnamese currency

It's called the Dong. This can lead to hours and hours of jokes if you let it. Which I did.

Vietnam:

We’re here in The Nam. I won’t sugar coat it, we’re in “the shit.” I’m just keeping my head down, trying to do my time and make it home in one piece. I’m not trying to be a hero. I know if I get captured behind enemy lines my government will pretend I never existed. It’s happened to me before. Twice. No not really.

Getting to Vietnam:

We got to the airport. Checked in with the help of about seven different attendants. They like to help in Japan. Then we were on the plane to Bangkok to get our connection. We accidentally went through customs when we didn’t need to and then back through. The guy checking us back in laughed at how short our stay was. He said something like “How you like Thailand? Ha ha, very short vacation!!!” It would have been funny if I wasn’t so annoyed at the time. But we had plenty of time to make our flight so not a big deal. Got on our flight and made it to Ho Chi Minh City, or as the people of Vietnam call it, Ho Chi Minh City. They also call it Saigon.

Back to Tokyo:

Went back to Tokyo for one more night. Stayed in a new hotel, that we loved. The only problem was that it was a big shiny building, which is actually a good thing, unless you’re surrounded by other big shiny buildings. So we found ourselves just using process of elimination when we were trying to make our way back. We had a nice night spent in toy stores, then bought food at the food show of Matsuya Department Store. Then went to bed, and woke up early to get on our flight to Vietnam.

Most used phrase on our last night in Tokyo:
-Is that one it?

Christmas Kaiseke:

Then it was Christmas. Our first Christmas together actually. And we were in Kyoto. So we decided to do the traditional Kyoto feast which is something called Kaiseke (I may have spelled this wrong). This is a ten course meal full of things like tofu, raw prawns, and pickled salmon cheeks. So while you were most likely eating turkey, mashed potatoes, and most likely some form of pie, angelica and I were eating fugu. This is also known as puffer fish, which if not prepared correctly will kill you. I guess it happens about once a year. Angelica thought it tasted great. I just thought it kind of tasted like fish with a lot of bones. But it made for high comedy as we pretended to die over and over again. There were other things too. It was a fun experience, but I felt a little bit like Ralphie in A Christmas Story. Although the wait staff did not try to sing us Christmas carols.

List of ingredients of our Christmas dinner that could have killed us:
-Fugu

List of ingredients that were once part of a salmon’s face:
-Salmon cheeks

Kyoto:

We checked into the Westin Miyako hotel. Our room wasn’t ready so they told us to come back at one. We got lunch at the hotel, then headed back down. Our room still wasn’t ready. Pretty weak Westin Miyako, pretty weak. But the girl behind the desk did some clerical Kung Fu and found us a different room. We stashed our stuff then went for a walk.

I think we actually enjoyed Kyoto more than Tokyo. We’d be walking along city streets and then there would be a trail that leads off through some trees, and when you go through there’s a giant gate leading to a giant temple. There would be a lake and beautiful well manicured trees, completely hidden from the streets and sidewalk just fifty meters away. It was like magic, only based on the laws of science that govern our universe, so not really magic.

So. Lots of temples. The Golden Temple. The Silver Temple, although the emperor died before he could cover it with silver so it’s silver in name only. But that makes sense. If I was a worker, and the boss died I’d probably be all like “Ok done here,” too. There was also the Nijo Castle. It had a moat and everything. But we couldn’t go inside. It was closed. But the guy who built it was paranoid, so he had all the rooms and hallways around his room built with creaky floors. See I would just think this was annoying, but then again no one wants to kill me to claim my throne…Or do they?

There was also the Imperial Palace, which we also couldn’t go in. But it was surrounded by this big cool park. So we walked around inside the park and could see all sorts of cool buildings. I feel like the Imperial Palace is a place were stuff like intrigue happens. And by intrigue I mean poisonings, assassinations, and possibly sword fights and karate. I didn’t see any though.

Then we walked along something called the Philosopher’s Trail. This is a long winding trail, about two kilometers along a pretty little stream through the outskirts of the city. It is said to be the place where royal poets, and yes philosophers, would walk and think and write poetry and philosophize. I stroked my chin a lot as we walked this trail it seemed like the right thing to do. I also kept saying things like, “I think therefore I am,” and “E=MC squared.” Angelica was all like, “Kevin, that’s not even philosophy, that’s physics,” and I said, “Is E=MC squared physics or is physics E=MC squared?” Then I raised my eyebrows. I’m good at philosophy.

We saw some other temples. They were all beautiful and inspiring and serene and a few other adjectives. We’ll show you pictures.

Most used phrase in Kyoto:
-That’s a temple all right

The Bullet Train:

We were advised not to take big bags on the bullet train, so we checked our bags into The Asakusa View Hotel lobby. We weren’t quite sure if they understood we were leaving the bags there for three days, but I think they got it in the end. Then we walked to the subway and took it to Ueno station, which would have been perfect except for our train departed from Tokyo station. Usually this type of mix up is my fault, but for once it was all Angelica’s. I immaturely reveled in this for a short period of time. For a second I wished I knew the Japanese phrase for “nyah nyah.” But of course I said nothing and kept my mouth shut, as this was a once in a lifetime mix up for her, and a weekly occurrence for me. But since we were nearly an hour early for the train we had plenty of time to get to Tokyo station. We still had twenty minutes to spare before the train’s departure. So I bought a supply of rice balls. Let’s make this train ride interesting.

Maybe you’ve seen pictures of the bullet train. Coincidentally it’s shaped somewhat like a bullet. Only a giant white bullet. Like maybe a bullet designed for giants. Or Godzilla. The inside of the train was nothing spectacular. It was just a train. The seats were comfortable. And they have a roving cart where you can buy beer or coke or Pringles. The attendants all bow when they enter and leave the cars. Angelica started making a gong noise every time someone bowed. It was pretty funny, but I think it was probably offensive in some way too. But only I could hear it, and that makes it ok.

We saw some great mountain views as the train cruised towards Kyoto. Mountains. The ocean. Fields. Cows. Refrigerator factories. You know, all that good stuff.

A quick backtrack to Mr. Doughnut:

I forgot to mention Mr. Doughnut. This is a doughnut chain in Japan where Angelica and I had breakfast a couple times. Mr. Doughnut has “the world’s best doughnuts.” At least they claim this. This is a subjective term, however, and even though I enjoyed their fine product on two separate occasions I cannot agree that the doughnuts I had were the world’s best. I would not even rank them in my own personal top ten.

Angelica’s Corner: Cell phone daemons

For all the Golden Compass fans- In Japan, PEOPLE HAVE DAEMONS! They carry them on their cell phones. They are attached by a thin cord and sometimes make jingly noises. EVERYONE has one, young, old, laborer or man in business suit with briefcase. His may even be a mini version of Sylvestor Stalone from Rambo, or just Hello Kitty. The daemons peak out of people’s pockets and bags, ready for action or companionship when needed. The pressure to have a daemon myself was immense. I thought all my friends should have one for their cell phones too but I resisted. Daemons belong in Japan only.

A quick lesson in the Japanese language:

The word, “Yo-yo” roughly translates to “Yo-yo” in Japanese. This came in handy roughly never.

Day Five: Asakusa

We finally decided to stay in the area of our hotel on the fifth night. Our legs needed the rest, and by this point I had taken to carrying a bottle of baby powder with me wherever we went, although this might be more than any of you ever wanted to know about me.

So we stayed close, and finally made it to our first temple. I think it was called the Senoji Temple. A long street of stalls selling little gifts led up to the giant wooden gate, which in turn led into an open square in front of the actual temple. It was very temple-esque. By that I mean it was a giant wooden building with rippling eaves, with huge statues.

Most common statue form: Dragon

Second most common statue form: Woman with dragon tail

Statue form I would have liked to see: Ultraman

At this point I thought maybe I’d see some guys flying from rooftop to rooftop, but no such luck.

So the rest of Asakusa is basically row after row of noodle shops where real Japanese people go to eat. We probably should have gone in one of these and just pointed to something that looked good, but we were a bit chicken and instead went into a slightly more western friendly place. It was basically the Japanese equivalent of a Big Boy. A family style restaurant. It still served Japanese food but there were lots of parents with children. There was even a kids meal where the waitress brought out a basket of toys. The kid next to me ordered it and I was jealous. He knew it too, and spent a great deal of time examining each toy slowly, occasionally looking over at me as if to say “nyah nyah” or whatever the Japanese equivalent to “nyah nyah” is. He finally decided on the yo-yo.

We bought some stuff. Took some pictures. Bought more snacks. Went back to the hotel and got to bed early. The next day was an early morning bullet train ride to Kyoto.

Angelica’s Corner: Pretty girls in heels

Women in Japan remind me of the ladies of the 50s and 60s that I admire… not poodle skirts but the A-line dresses with a sideways hat or a fitted dress that has a matching fabric little jacket- Doris Day stuff. They’re not stuck in the 50s but they dress in their best, as opposed to dressing like you’ve got to get to the gym sometime in the day. Tall boots with heels are on everyone. They walk all around the mega subway stations- and run too if they are late for their important date. Click clack, here they come. They run with pizzazz and don’t break a sweat. And they walk the cobble stone streets in Kyoto in these tall boots with heels. I didn’t see any girls in an emergency pair of Melanie Griffith Working Girl kicks, or hear anyone complaining, but they could have been, I just don’t speak the language.

A note on Policemen in Japan

In Japan policemen don’t carry guns or nightsticks. They carry ninja stars and nun-chucks. No, this isn’t true. The truth is, there is almost zero crime in Japan. Osaka, their crime capital has 3 crimes per 10,000 people. New York by contrast is about 153 crimes per 10,000 people. And NYC has a relatively low crime rate for big cities in the US. So what does this mean? Policemen are seriously bored over there. So if you’re lost and need help getting around just find a policeman, even if he doesn’t speak a lick of English he will be so grateful to you for breaking up his monotony that he will most likely drive you where you need to go, he may even let you hold his gun and squeeze off a few rounds into the air. But don’t try to do this without making sure he understands what you’re asking. Angelica learned this lesson the hard way.

A note on CNN International

CNN International is hilarious. It’s like the high school JV team, if doing the news was a high school sport. The motto of CNN international: “cues are optional.” I also believe which camera to look in is optional as I've seen anchors do full segments into the wrong camera. The unintentional comedy was outstanding.

Day 4: Tsujiki

Day Four Angelica and I did what every tourist in Tokyo is supposed to do (And I don’t mean stand on the street corner and bow to each other, then pretend to hit our heads together, although that was funny every time we did it). No I mean get up at four in the AM and go the Tsujiki fish market. We took a cab, the nice driver pointed us in the right direction (which didn’t really help us all that much) and then we started walking.

We finally found our way, all the while dodging motorized carts front loaded with giant refrigerated barrels. They looked like something that would be driving in the background of a gritty futuristic sci-fi movie, one with some time of organism that must be stopped. This was very fitting.

The fish market is basically a football field sized hangar with tightly packed aisles full of ocean life. Beautiful, majestic ocean life that shows you just how varied and interesting life on this earth really is, all waiting to have their heads chopped off, mostly likely by an old man with a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth.

Anything that exists in the ocean and is edible in some way shape or form can be bought there. Giant tuna that go for $10,000 each, Octopi writhing in giant barrels, plastic boxes full of bloody water and fish that have one or two flips left in them. And the best part was, I was wearing these jeans that dragged on the ground so they soaked up all the bloody fish water, by the end of the morning it was nearing my knees. This made me feel pretty. Angelica took lots of good pictures.

After we had seen enough, we found this place that serves a dish called sushi. Get this, Sushi is RAW FISH!!!! Can you believe that Japanese people eat raw fish? What will they think of next? And this place served stuff right off the boat. My tuna was alive an hour before. I had maybe even seen the guy cutting this fish’s head off. Seems kind of brutal. Like when I pretend my animal crackers can speak, and I eat them from the feet up so I can hear their screams.

Then we made our way back to the hotel and slept for a while. We had no itinerary for the rest of the day so we went back to Shibuya (Ange’s favorite part of town) and got lost again. There was a church group giving out free hugs, I made Angelica get one. The guys loved the tall blond gaijin. We ended the night with rice balls and other Sunkus food in our hotel room while watching CNN international.

A note on masks

Another fad that is sweeping the nation of Japan. Surgical masks. It’s a city with nine million people. You find yourself in close proximity to strangers quite often. So, many Japanese people have taken to wearing surgical masks to keep unwanted micro organisms from taking up residence in their bodies. But like anything once the concept of wearing a surgical mask takes root, it is then ripe to become a fashion statement. Cute Japanese girls wearing masks with Hello Kitty or Winnie the Pooh. Kids wearing masks with flowers or little ninjas. I bet there are people that aren’t even worried about germs and just like to wear the masks for the look. Like fashion glasses for the mouth orifice.

A note on Japanese toilets. AKA. Sitting in the lap of luxury.

(This entry references doodie, if this offends your delicate sensibilities then you’re way too sensitive. A great philosopher once said “everybody poops.” I think it was Plato).
The Japanese have applied the same forward thinking they have to computers, video games, cell phones and vending machines to another beloved appliance. The toilet. Every seat is heated to your preference. Of course they all have bidets with streams that are fixed to your preference. And every toilet I had the pleasure of using had an automatic deoderizer. I don’t know how it works but no bathroom ever smelled like doodie or poopie, not even when you could hear the person in the stall next to you making some serious noise. Nothing. Japanese people are truly brilliant.

A note on Family Mart and Sunkus and rice ball roulette.

These are like 7Eleven’s, only they have real food there, stuff that Japanese people do not look down on eating. Well maybe they do, but we saw a lot of people buying dinner at these places. There are racks of prepackaged food with people working at the store constantly checking what time that food had been put out so they can take the stuff away if it had been out for too long. It was at Family Mart that I discovered the rice ball. It’s exactly what it sounds like. A ball of rice wrapped in seaweed paper. And each one has a different filling. They are color coded but I tried on purpose not to remember which flavor went with which color, that way every time I bought rice balls I could turn it into a game. A game I like to call Rice Ball Roulette. If I was lucky it was salmon or tuna on the inside, but sometimes I got this red pickled stuff. Not sure what it was but it tasted kind of like chilled barf. But that’s part of the game. You have to eat it!!! Ange never got in on this game with me. She chose a game called sake roulette. But it wasn’t really so much roulette, it was more like she just bought a couple bottles of sake, and drank them over the course of a few days. Yeah, not as exciting as Rice Ball Roulette.