Stina's Trip » city

Hello, goodbye Hanoi

admin — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 01:09:52 +0000

(Hanoi, Vietnam) — I don’t even know how to begin to explain this place. Hanoi is large, but it’s impossible to tell that as the streets are so tiny and dense with life that it seems impossible that they could go on for miles. I almost think it’s funny now that I found Ho Chi Minh City intense. Hanoi absolutely trumps it on that level. Here, on one little street, there will be bicyclists and pedestrians and a few small, pushy cars, not to mention people driving the wrong way on their motorbikes as they carry everything from their three children to a stack of mirrors (I saw the first instance, and someone told me about the latter). Every time I’m in the traffic, I marvel at how it works together so seamlessly, especially since people don’t use their brakes here. They use their horn instead. Near collisions are the norm, but surprisingly crashes don’t seem to be. I am in awe, even more than I was in Ho Chi Minh.

Must resist beautifully constructed tchotchkes...

The most exciting part about all this is that there is so much going on here that you get lost in the craziness. You are anonymous. I love it, and I had no idea how much I was craving that.

As a side note, last night I had to undergo a couple of painful, pricey rabies shots. They were ones I should have received seven days ago but was given bad advice at the time. Anyway, whatever. It’s all part of the adventure (and the part that will keep on giving for months — as I pay it off). The beautiful thing was how friendly and attentive the medical personnel were. One young guy talked to me about living in Colorado, where he did his studies, and when I asked him if he ever skied, he sort of brushed it off and explained it was too dangerous. When I told him the traffic seemed more dangerous here, he proudly said he’d never been in an accident. Again, the awe is kicking in.

It looks like this beehive will just be a stopover for me. I’m headed on a train to Sapa tonight, and when I get back I’m going to head off to Ha Long Bay for a few days. Part of me wants to sink into the craziness here, but I’ve got forces pulling me east and west. One of my doctors last night summed up Sapa by calling it “very beautiful and very weird.” I don’t really know what that means, but it sounds kind of perfect.

These kids looked like they were having a good time in Hoi An.

Well, I leave you with more pictures of Hoi An, my last stop. So far, that small town has been my favorite of the journey. It has a gentle feel to it, one that’s hard to describe but almost instantly palpable. One of the days I spent there I just rode a bike all across town, and that juicy bit of freedom was enthralling. I loved exploring little back alleys and small country roads and finding slices of life off the beaten path. I already miss the quiet, personal feel of the place, and I’m happy I’ll be there again soon.

Until I find another internet outlet, here are some more pictures of Hoi An.

This woman makes all kinds of pottery at her shop, a mile or so out of Hoi An.

I found this overgrown Chinese cemetery as I wandered around Hoi An on my rented bike.

This 90-year-old woman makes her living selling 50¢ ceramic animal whistles to tourists. Of course I bought a few.

These ruins at My Son (near Hoi An) were created by Javanese people centuries and centuries ago.

A couple looks into the ruins at My Son.

A moment in Da Nang

admin — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 10:58:30 +0000

(Da Nang, Vietnam) — There is so much to say, and there is only so much time will allow me. If I only get to impart one sentence, let it be that every day has been completely different here, but each has been filled with something magical, something disappointing and something wonderfully reassuring. Maybe we play the fool, the hero and the jerk every day at home, too, but something about being on the road makes it so much more obvious to me. The emotions that come along with making a new friend, being duped or getting lost are heightened to a sometimes hilarious degree here.

I met this lady in Hoi An's old town. She never stopped smiling as far I could tell.

Anyway, I’m sitting in my hotel room in downtown Da Nang. I don’t have time to find out whether this big, busy, pungent city has a lot of charm, as I’m flying to Hanoi in a little more than an hour. Soon after, I’ll be off to the northern mountain town of Sapa, which is just a few kilometers from China. I can’t wait. I think what I’m most excited about is getting away from everything. Here or in Nha Trang or Ho Chi Minh, the moment you step outside any building, you feel like prey. Part of the challenge of being here is having literally hundreds of people a day come up to you wanting to steer you toward their restaurant, tailor shop or motorbike tour or whatever. You get to a place where you actually get wary of smiling faces and start to hate answering the inevitable question of where you’re from. You feel attacked from all angles, and you are. It reminds me of being in high school, actually, because the pressure is similarly never ending. You get a point where you realize that it will never change and so, instead, you must. I’m happy to report that I’ve said “no” more times this month than I probably have all year.

But God, please don’t think I’m having a bad time. I’m having the time of my life. Every day, I feel lucky to be here, challenges and all. My mind might be full of half-formed plans and I might spend about 23 hours of every day covered in layers of sweat, but part of me feels refreshed. I think it’s the part that has now been reminded that I can still surprise myself.

This is more of Hoi An, a small, touristy fishing village on Vietnam's coast. I just left it, and I already miss it.

Anyway, there is much more to be said, but I’m about to hop on my plane. I know it sounds decadent, but the alternative is about 35 hours on buses, and while I can be insecure, but I’m not that masochistic.

I can’t wait to see what the north has in store.

Children and animals

admin — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 10:45:53 +0000

This post is for my friend and Mountaineer columnist, Paul Viau. Before I left, he joked that I shouldn’t only take pictures of little kids and animals, as that’s kind of my thing at the paper where I work. The funny thing is that I feel even more of a desire to take photos of these subjects here. There’s some sort of familiar safety in making a baby smile for my camera, and I’ve been loving it. Pretty much everything else is new and challenging here, but little kids wanting their picture taken is one thing I understand.

So long, Nha Trang. It's been good to know you.

I’m in Nha Trang right now, but I’m just about to head out to Hoi An on a “sleeper bus,” which will be an adventure in itself. The bus will consist of maybe 30 “beds” — seats that look like a hybrid of a plush bus seat and a poolside lounge chair. For about 10 hours, I’ll be almost completely horizontal, except for a slight incline against my back, and I’ll see the dark Vietnamese countryside go by until (hopefully) I squeeze in a couple hours of fitful sleep. I’ve chosen a bed on the upper level of the bus, which kind of adds to the excitement, especially since Vietnamese bus drivers seem to look at pot holes as more of a challenge than something to avoid.

In the last few days, I’ve had so many experiences, from being bitten by a dog (the rabies vaccine is surprisingly easy to come by in Nha Trang) to snorkeling in a murky section of the ocean, to drinking 45¢ beer with a lovely, young British couple. I don’t know how to distill all this, how to boil it down and come up with cool little anecdotes. Everything is happening so fast, and I’m constantly fearful that I’m not doing enough or that I’ll run out of time. There is so much to take in that I don’t know where to start, but I suppose trying to figure that out is part of the fun and challenge of being somewhere new. I love traveling, but it’s humbling and perhaps perfect to know that it’s not always easy for me. Not at all.

But, at least I know how to do one thing, and that’s snapping pictures of children and animals (well, as long as the latter don’t attack my ankles again).

Paul, these are for you.

Jessica's dad is Australian, and her mom is Vietnamese. I met her right before a fateful run in with a dog.

I know ... this one's a little hard to take.

At home in Saigon (5 a.m.)

admin — Sun, 02 Oct 2011 21:55:27 +0000

Dear Readers,

I apologize, again, for dropping off the face of the earth after my last post months ago, but I have been in that sweet, comfortable normalcy that comes along with being somewhere that kind of suits you. It’s strange, being in one place for more than a year, and part of me has loved it, and another parts has been itching for adventure. Well, the later half of me recently won out. I’m writing from Ho Chi Minh City. I’ll be in Vietnam for three weeks.

Outside a Chinese pagoda, outside the center of Ho Chi Minh City.

Not much has happened yet, good or bad, but I have to say that just being out of my everyday routine is so sweet that I’ve been smiling like an idiot on my flights and taxi rides and even when I walk into my tiny yet clean hotel room (it’s a windowless cell — but it’s my windowless cell, and it even has cable). I am awakened by the beauty of being away, and more excited, overwhelmed and nervous than I can say.

This place is so awake with activity. Everywhere I go, I am surrounded by an absolute sensory overload. Within a couple feet of each other, kids are playing and a is rooster jumping on cars and various women are trying to sell you sunglasses from their portable stands. The traffic feels like absolute chaos, but I have a sense the locals somehow understand it’s random, aggressive flow. The motorbikes, taxis, buses and bicycles somehow coexist here, though when they whizz by one another, they usually leave a few inches to spare. The crush of motorbikes is particularly impressive, and at every stoplight, there’s an army waiting for the change to green. In the last 24 hours, I’ve seen three adults riding on one of those mopeds. I’ve seen moms hold babies on the back of those things, and I’ve seen drivers doing everything from smoking to talking on their cell phone as they navigate the motorized zoo. The lack of rules is scary and breathtaking in its audacity. I also kind of love it, and there’s not-so-small slice of me that’s jealous.

Today, I met a lovely Austalian lady and two friendly Kiwis, and we toured a few ornate Chinese pagodas a little ways from the city center. Later, we drank a few beers together. Sitting next to these three strangers, I was blown away by how lucky I felt. I don’t care if how many friends you have — to connect with someone, especially when you’re far away from home, never gets old. It elated me more than I can say, and I floated back to my budget hotel, and didn’t even get disturbed when I lost my a bit.

It’s hours later now, and lounging on my bed thin, slightly hard foam. I have no idea what tomorrow holds, but I’m excited to get up early and see what it might be. Just like that race I did a few months ago, this place has me awake. I’ve never been here, but something about the space I’m in now is familiar. I’m so far away from home, but I feel in my skin, and it feels wonderful.

Incense at a pagoda.

This is Dave, one of the friendly travelers I met today. He's taking a look at a pagoda's intricate details.

I wasn't sure if I should even take this, but this is the reality for this kid — and many others. The poverty here is immense.

North Carolina and her girlish charms

admin — Mon, 11 Oct 2010 00:10:21 +0000

(WAYNESVILLE, NC) — The longer I stay in Western North Carolina, the more its beauty tries to seduce me. Its small, country roads bat their eyelashes at me, and those pristine, babbling streams give me a come-hither look. On my ride to work, I see pastures and cornfields and lush mountainsides licked with fog. Constantly, I am lulled into a major sense of awe and a minor feeling of security.

It’s almost enough to make me forget that I’m pissed.

Of course, this isn’t a constant feeling. My anger hides in the back of my mind and waits until I see a Confederate flag or the newest lineup of terrible, popular movies at the local theater to spring into action. Then, the floodgates open. I retreat into my head. Maybe I call my dad or a friend. If I’m in the car, I turn up my music, sing along and pretend I’m somewhere else. The other day, this very feeling prompted me to buy a bumper sticker that reads “What Would Morrissey Do?” Even if I don’t say a word, in my mind I am complaining and complaining and complaining. In these moments, I do believe that I am an asshole.

I tell you all this because I’m trying to change it. People here are friendly and warm, and they deserve better. I can say my discontent is due to my low pay or my lack of understanding of the genteel South that surrounds me. But that might just be crap. I think I’m still simply having a hard time settling into normal life. I miss my trip. I miss being outside of everyday culture and being able to leave a town whenever I want. I know this sounds like complaining, and I sincerely invite anyone who wants to slap some sense into me to do just that. But my goal here is not to complain. I swear. It’s to ask a question.

How am I going to make my life work? How does anybody?

I want to commit to whatever that answer is. If it means staying here a long while, settling into the down-home atmosphere and writing stuff for the paper I can be proud of, OK. If it means going back to California and waiting tables until I figure out who I want to be, bring it on. If I let go of my fear and worry, I can actually get excited for a moment. Something is going to change soon. It has to. And it has to be new and invigorating enough to get my attention.

For now, here are some pictures of Austin, ones I took months ago. Maybe it seems random, but for some reason the segue works in my head. This is my favorite street in the city, a wooded, residential lane that runs parallel to South Congress Avenue. Even on the days I was terrible at my job, the beauty of this little area always woke me up. This street somehow made me feel like an artist.

OK, time once again to remind myself of the possibility in the world.