Cambodia

Our Cambodia stint was quick and dirty due to our deadline to pick up my sister in Thailand the following week.  I'd like to take a moment to address that "deadline" has ceased to be a stress inducing event involving renewing corporate property and casualty insurance policies (I'll wait while you vomit) and I can now refer to it as an awesome point in time where I am reunited with one of my favorite people in the world.  Hallelujah.  The minor downfall being we were only able to visit Phnom Penh and Siem Reap during this whirlwind.  I can feel your overwhelming sympathy from here.  

For me, Phnom Penh was a slurry of mixed emotions garnished with some hard lessons.  Due to poverty and seriously fucked up recent events here, human exploitation is extremely high.  Most prominent being prostitution and the mass amounts of children forced into panhandling.  I don't like what I'm about to say, but it is the only way I can properly express my feelings; the kids are obnoxious.  Modification; the panhandling techniques which they are unfairly trained to do since before they could even walk are obnoxious.  The pestering is constant, relentless, saddening and leaves you feeling emotionally frail at the end of every day.  You are warned not to buy into it as it perpetuates poverty by rewarding adults for keeping their kids out of school, but somehow snubbing 100 small children a day doesn't make you feel like you deserve the Philanthropist of the Year Award.  One particularly persistent kid got up in Kelly's face, close enough that Kelly exclaimed, "Whoa buddy, you smell like Red Bull".  Nothing like pumping your 8-year old up on stimulants for a productive day of hawking friendship bracelets.  I wonder if Red Bull knows it's product is being abused as a drug by small children?  Right... it's their business model.    

The kids are not the only ones living the hard knock life.  Prostitution also runs rampant in the form of the hundreds of massage parlors in the area.  Our guide book literally cautioned, "Most massages in Phnom Penh are the naughty kind".  I guess Santa isn't visiting Cambodia this year.  Because of this phenomena, there are very few reputable establishments around town.  In fact, the only safe recommendation was for Seeing Hands Massage by Blind People.  You can't even judge me on that one, it's the real name.  It almost sounds like a gimmick, like the nail salons that offer pedicures that use hundreds of tiny fish to eat the dead skin off your feet (those are here too by the way).  I wasn't actually brave enough to get a blind massage, but I like to think they are even better than someone with 20/20 due to their other senses being enhanced in absence of vision (thank god my blog isn't in braille,  this is just offensive).

As a distraction from the poverty and prostitution, we ventured out of the city for some educational site seeing at The Killing Fields.  It is absolutely as uplifting as the name suggests.  In the not so distant past, Cambodia endured years of heinous genocide under Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge.  It was fascinating, enlightening, terrifying and just downright fucked up.  I was, however, grateful for the chance to get a glimpse into a part of history that is hard to absorb via text books and the History Channel.  That is not to say that it wasn't deeply depressing.  I may or may not have had the uncontrollable urge to cry over a ice cream sundae when we got back to our hostel.  

Phnom Penh was a bit of a tourist reality check and I was glad to get some respite when we headed out to Siem Reap.  In contrast, Siem Reap is an adorable town nestled in the shadows of the nearby Angkor Temples.  In particular, Angkor Wat is one of the Top Ten Wonders of the World.  Upon a "must do" suggestion, Kelly and I woke up at Balls O'Clock in the morning to watch the sunrise over the ancient temple.  While I must admit it was majestic as hell, I was not a happy camper about having my picture taken at 5:00 am for my day pass into the complex.  Puffy faced and coffee deprived, it looks like a begrudged mug shot.  Fortunately I only had to show it about 20 times that day to multiple strangers to gain admission into the various temples.  I promise my vanity didn't ruin the amazing day of exploring some of the most fascinating ruins  in the world.  It was one of those things I only ever imagined seeing in pictures and here I was getting to climb and scurry all over these ancient, ornately carved temples that look like they are straight out of Tomb Raider (one of them actually is).  They were beautiful and interesting and so much easier to swallow than the Genocide Museum.  I love the history both cities have to offer, but I am admittedly soft and will have to accept the fact that I prefer pretty things.  

Angkor Wat

Vietnam, So Long and Thanks for all the Dong

Here we are leaving the country and I have completely neglected to discuss the Vietnam currency until now.  The every eloquent sounding Dong.  The jokes never got old either.  "My pocket is  bulging with dong!", "Kelly was low on dong, so I gave her some last night", "Just one dollar will get you 20,000 Dong!" and the adaptable, "I just traded that old lady some dong for this necklace [or insert any other inappropriate noun here]".  Give the Dong Game a whirl at home and see what you can come up with! 

Ho Chi Minh City was the finale of the Vietnam tour.  Like Hanoi, it's another big ass city but with astonishing statistic that it has even more vehicles. Many people still refer to Ho Chi Minh City by it's maiden name, Saigon, though the change was official in 1975.  It's like trying to get everyone on board to call PacBell Park by it's newest name (who's the current corporate sponsor?).  Many of the maps I've seen still label it "Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon)", just in case.  This may be a reflection on the IQ of your average traveler.  

I'd summarize my Vietnam adventure as surprisingly awesome.  I had very little expectations, probably due to my very little research.  Everywhere I went the people were delightful, the food was delicious and the beaches were beyond gorgeous.  The one void in the awesomeness that is Vietnam was the lack of FaceBook.  Gasp!  The horror!  We had to endure this injustice for almost three weeks.  To my shock, and I'm sure most of your's, my brain did not implode from the lack of a stalking outlet and we even found out about Whitney Houston's overdose with out the help of the mass postings on FaceBook.  Contrary to popular belief, it was actually possible to function without the hourly emotional updates posted by my ex co-worker's after changing her relationship status to "single" or without knowing how many sit-ups your cousin did at the gym yesterday.  All possible, just not preferable.  I was probably (definitely) inappropriately excited about getting to check my FaceBook page when I got into Cambodia this week.  Only to be instantly disappointed to find out that absolutely nothing had happened in the past three weeks.  I would have at least hoped someone had got a puppy in that time period, subsequently posting 579 new pictures in their new album My Puppy is Cuter Than Your Puppy.  Did that dissuade me from checking it a second time that day (just in case somebody got that new puppy within the last two hours)?  FB, such a strange drug.  

You can all breathe easier now knowing we're in the FaceBook accessible country that is Cambodia.  In another stroke of fortune, Cambodia also uses good ol' American US Dollars as their primary currency.  It's a total trip to see those familiar greenbacks after all this time.  It's even stranger that I don't have to struggle through the arduous mental math of calculating the conversion on every single transaction.  It gets confusing when the entrance fee to the art museum is less than the entrance fee to use the public restroom.  The nostalgia of seeing our native currency is unexpected, I even find myself liking the distinct smell of those dirty little notes.  Ah, home!

Fashion Weak

After traveling for several months, I've finally come to fancy myself a professional traveler.  I'm not sure what qualifies the new title since I'm not getting paid to do this (yet), but passing judgement on the mistakes and faux pas of the surrounding amateur backpackers now just feels right.  Fit from our professional traveler training, we decided to brave the 17 hour bus ride from northern Vietnam to Hoi An.  Even with the new self proclaimed elite traveler status, I am shockingly not as seasoned as I thought.  Luckily for myself and my equally tough travel partner, we packed a curiously large store of Dramamine and Xanax.  It's a cocktail that rightfully puts the Sandman to shame.

Hoi An is a darling little town, a severe contrast to Hanoi where we had to worry about being run over even on the sidewalks.  Hoi An's attraction is not the quaintness or scenic lantern lined river that lazily flows through the center.  The stars of Hoi An are the 600 tailors and clothes shops lining the streets that can replicate any long coveted vintage Dior gown or gecko printed parachute pants that you haven't been able to find since 1991.  You can literally point to anything (and I mean anything) in a magazine and in less than 24 hours your wish is granted at the low, low price only a local sweat shop could possibly manage.  Our deep desires were not for designer gowns, custom leather jackets or even the lost fashion that is coolots (who didn't love those).  No, no, no.  We sauntered into our new home away from home and had three custom rompers (each) made and tailored for our white, towering, western bodies.  I am perfectly aware that there has been a resurgence of romper fashion in the United States and Target sells them in numerous styles and colors for just $12.99.  My jealous obsession with the jumper stems from my inability to wear the store stocked versions of these wondrous gems.  Simply, us taller ladies suffer from the ever glamorous camel-toe effect and it's about time I enjoy the ease of my shorts and shirt being comfortably connected and with my dignity intact.

The women who run these tailor shops should be god damn time share salesmen.  Not only did they talk me into THREE rompers, but they made me feel like one hot piece of ass too.  During the final fitting the Vietnamese seamstress pulled a move I haven't experienced since the dance clubs of New Zealand by winding up and slapping me square on the ass while exclaiming, "it makes it look good"!  I'd be lying if I said it didn't boost my self-esteem a few notches.  I felt damn sexy in that romper.  If only car salesmen were this adorable and pocket-sized.  

I know what you're thinking and no, we didn't just blow a bunch of money on rompers.  We got shoes too.  I had to put myself on a shoe diet for a year to save up for this trip so it took all the restraint I could muster to prevent myself from purchasing all the custom shoes I could get my paws on.  The saving factor being that they had to charge us extra for our big American sized feet.  I get it, they have to use more material, but way to make a girl feel like a tranny.

Following our fashion week soiree, we took a comparatively breezy 12 hour bus to the beach town of Nha Trang for some relaxation (shout out again to the Xanax!).  We've been spending our days kicking the South China Sea's tail, duck diving under the huge waves, frolicking all over the sandy beaches and if I didn't succumb to social pressures I would also admit to peeing in the water.  An obvious victory for us until we realized the ocean had a sneaky teammate; the sun.  Nature is now ahead by two very crispy white girls.   

Viet-awesome!

Vietnam is rad (that's right, so cool that I'm going as far as to use the abbreviation for radical).  Our first destination was the capital Hanoi, a bustling city of a billion motorbikes and noodle soup.  You would do well to brush up on your Frogger skills before visiting this city.  From what I can tell, the few street lights are but a mere suggestion and the pedestrian right of way is a figment in my western imagination.  You just grab your balls, step out into the never ending stream of traffic and pray as the motorbikes grudgingly part around you (they definitely do not stop let alone slow down).  Alternatively, my favorite technique is simply to wait for an old lady to step into the frey and scurry behind her.  

We attempted to get our tourist fill of the grand capital setting off to the Fine Arts Museum, the Ho Chi Minh Museum and the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum where they have embalmed, their fondly nicknamed, Uncle Ho.  As our guidebook tells it, Uncle Ho had specifically requested to be cremated, so the country did the exact opposite and sent him to Russia to be permanently preserved for public viewing for the rest of eternity.  On arrival, however, we were sadly informed that the pickle viewing was closed for the day.  Not all was lost.  We did get into the nearly deserted Fine Arts Museum where we found the Children's Creative Room.  In addition to the language barrier, the Creative Room supervisors were highly puzzled at our request to sit at the knee high tables to color.  I think they acquiesced more out of confusion and made sure to tell us more than once that only very small children usually used the crayons.  

We wrapped our Hanoi experience by going to the acclaimed water puppet show (look what good tourists we've become!).  It must be told with respect to the serious irony of two grown women sitting at a water.puppet.show. halfway around the world that it was truly the weirdest three dollars I've ever spent.  I would like to use a different word than "weird", but I think I've already offended the Vietnamese enough for one blog after referring to their favorite deceased leader as a pickle.  The show is merely a splashy parade of some old, paint chipped, half-working puppets.  The special feature being that they are water logged due to the unconventional use of a pool as the stage.  Only about half of the geriatric puppet's limbs work anymore, giving the effect that they are just twitching and twitching out of synch if I were being honest.  The show has performed six times daily for the last 50 years.  How is it possible the puppeteers are out of synch?  The challenge of being a part of a generation raised on Sesame Street and The Muppets is that I can legitimately be considered a connoisseur of puppetry; my standards unachievable.  Mostly I think the blame goes to the guide books, blogs and other tourists for lying their faces off.  Lonely Planet ranked this in the top 5 things to do in Hanoi.  Trip Advisor's website reviewed this as, "A cultural step back in time, a true Hanoi experience".  A tourist review touted, "Back in Hanoi after four years and the water puppets were still as fantastic on our first visit.  A must see!".  Shame on all of you.

Following a few fast and furious days in Hanoi, we ventured to Halong Bay.  After many years of campaigning, Halong Bay recently made the list of Asia's Top 7 Natural Wonders.  It turns out the title is well deserved.  Kelly and I took an overnight cruise to the turquoise bay composed of 1,969 islands.  The islands harbor some of the most mystical caves I have ever seen.  Not that I've done a lot of spelunking in my day, but I still haven't been able to close my mouth after gawking at the unreal beauty.  It's so much unlike anything I've ever seen, I kept expecting Disney Land's Indiana Jones Roller Coaster to come whizzing by.  I desperately wish I had the vocabulary to articulate how crazy the stalactites and stalagmites looked (I can't even remember which point up and which point down, thanks a lot 4th grade).  

Post cave exploring, Kelly and I kayaked ungracefully (but at least slightly more synchronized than the water puppets) around the bay.  Funny thing about the dry season though, the kayaking areas were more like glorified puddles.  Still breathtakingly gorgeous, but our two sizable asses kept bottoming out in the shallow waters.  A Vietnamese couple found us very entertaining, laughing at us as we struggled to dislodge ourselves while their slighter frames gracefully glided to our rescue, shoving us to freedom on more than one occasion.  The night wrapped up with a huge feed aboard the cruise and the country's favorite pastime, karaoke.  The crew was more eager to sing than any of the passengers and kept us "entertained" at an earsplitting volume until bedtime.  Kelly's rendition of "Man in the Mirror", however, brought the house down and  an enthusiastic British girl insisted that her voice was perfect for Disney cartoons.  I'm not sure Kelly took it as a compliment, but I hope it inspires you all to adopt a new nickname for her.  My vote is Ariel, though I will consider Jasmine, Belle or Simba.  

Puddle kayaking (you can actually see where the water line should be in the background)

A rare look into the wonder of water puppetry