Toes to the Nose

New Delhi, India
Have you ever taken a yoga class? Try sitting on your knees with your feet beneath you pointing backwards, grabbing your heels behind you with each hand and then arching your back as far as possible and holding it for a minute. Camel Position. Now stand on one leg and balance your free foot against your upper thigh to form a triangle, and for a minute or so stretch your arms high above you with palms flat together. Tree Position. Now go over to the wall and do a hand stand, using the wall to keep your balance if you must... I was best at stretching my toes close to my nose, I don't know why. Perhaps it was my high school karate skills coming back. I still seem to have some basic flexibility, but the instructor definitely told me to stick to the beginner poses. Overall, I enjoyed yoga for it's breathing, meditation, and slow pain. You come out very sore in weird places and very refreshed.

So we're back in Delhi killing time before our 4am flight to Istanbul. We spent our final 3 days in Rishikesh, relaxing and taking yoga classes on the banks of the mouth of the Ganges. The water is very cold there at the edge of the Himalayas where it has melted from ice, but pilgrims come from all over to bathe and pray to Ganga, especially at this time of year. The water is also cleaner at its source, and we were more comfortable jumping in for a swim. Does anyone happen to know why Lord Krishna is always depicted with blue skin?
Since Pushkar we have been through Jaipur, Agra, and lastly Rishikesh, opting to skip Varanasi on this trip. Varanasi is said to be more poverty and ritual and stench and humanity, while Rishikesh is known for its ashrams (Scott tells me the Beatles came here to study and learn the sitar) and peaceful ceremonies by the water. Leaving Rajasthan meant our final long haul by poorly ventilated, swastika decorated Tata Motors two-by-two buses (by the way, "svasti" means power in ancient sanskrit, and the hindu symbol is thousands of years older than backwards Nazi pervertions). The remainder of our trip was on 2nd class air conditioned sleeper trains!! Boy did I feel spoiled to high heaven. I actually grew to loathe arriving in a new city and having to exit the train, it was so cold and comfortable.

We've had some bizarre run-ins lately with other travelers. The coincidences abound. For instance, we ran into Aussie friends from Thailand in Pushkar and had dinner. OK. Then in Jaipur at the city palace we ran into the same Indian family we had met on a bus (I made origami for the kids) near Jaisalmer. Weird but great. Then we sat down with an Argentinian traveler on the roof of our hotel in Jaipur that evening and it turns out he was from San Isidro and was in fact old friends with the only other group of Argentinians we had met while traveling in Thailand. Finally, in Rishikesh, I again ran into a different Indian family I had met at the Jaipur city palace. We're talking about hundreds of miles between these destinations. Crazy. I guess with schools out the Indians really do some extensive travelling themselves. Other than that, it's all Israelis as usual.

The Agra experience was as expected. Despite all the horror stories you hear about the city and its filthy environment, you cannot skip the Taj. It is the most polluted city I've ever visited. So we did the customary 24 hour visit, rising to see the Taj at sunrise (first tourists in!) and boating across the drying up river behind it for sunset. The grounds of the Taj itself are immaculate, and it is an impressive monument. But the dirty state of the surrounding city takes away from the memory.

After seeing the Taj Mahal we were left with a day to kill, and I took a local bus to Fatepur Sikri to check out Akbar's abondoned city and his famous Jama Masjid mosque (rumoured to be an exact replica of a great mosque in Mecca). The mosque was a good experience, aside from the non-stop offers for tours. I broke down and gave a young kid a dollar to show me around since I didn't understand what I was looking at anyhow. I also unloaded a box of pencils on the poor young kids there, who promptly had them sharpened and put to good use drawing evil pictures of me and eachother on shreds of newspaper.
The highlight of my day trip to Fatepur Sikri was a stroll through the modern town and market there where I met Chandra, a local man gearing up for his exams to become a teacher. After struggling to order fresh squeezed lime juice and trying to figure out where the hell I had wandered off to, it was unexpected to encounter a man wanting to discuss poetry and literature. His favorites were Whitman, Frost, and Dickinson. Most people speak english very poorly and it is a victory for them to shake your hand and say hello; this guy is proclaiming "Oh captain, my captain!" I hope he passes his exams.

Reasons are accumulating for why we are pleased to be moving on to Turkey. India is a very difficult place to travel. For one, it is more crowded than you can prepare yourself for. Second, the smells accumulate; you do not grow more used to them as we thought we might. Third, the sight of Indian food starts to make you feel ill after you eat it for 3 weeks straight. You find your veggie standard dishes, but nothing is ever a "safe" order. Consequently, we have lost weight and look forward to more options, more energy and more meat. Fourth, the complete and total disrespect for the environment could bring you to tears. It is not only the poor who discard trash and waste on the streets and where they lie. Conductors toss plastic bottles from the fronts of buses and trains, policemen spray snot and throw trash into the holy rivers, and all people relieve themselves in the street gutters that line main roads. Trash cans do not exist, and cities and villages become colored in plastic lining like landfills. Fifthly, it is not overall the friendliest place to travel. You must work harder to meet nice locals and make friends, and even other tourists have become so hardened by constant gnagging on the streets that we meet less people than before.

Still, there are always great people to be found. Like two Californians we met in yoga class who shared some of our likes and dislikes, and who we may see again in Budapest or Bucharest I hope. This morning we arrived by train in a car full of seven, count'em 7, Indian families traveling together on vacation. How much fun would that be!? And last night in Haridwar before the train I met a rich Indian kid on a local bus who is going to Thailand soon and who had lived in Dubai for 2 years working. He had great things to say about the UAE. So you either run into hustlers, or you run into kind and generous souls. That's anywhere I think.

My email hasn't been working for about a week, so I may have to change. I'll let you all know. I apologize for the movie theatre scare - I was wrong, we were never at the same theatre, just a similar name. I should probably work for Newsweek, making mothers worry like that. But we did see Star Wars the other day, it was amazing, the best of the new three, and I hear Lucas is gonna make one more prequel that predates number 1! Security at the theatres here is so crazy - worse than the airports. We thought it was tough before the bombings because they made us keep our bag in the manager's office. Well, this time they didn't even allow women to bring purses in. We had to trust a coffee shop owner down the street to watch our bag before passing through a metal detector and two full-body pat downs. That was worse than the Taj security, although the guard at the Taj seemed to like to grab your asses.
Enjoy the work week!

Purnima

Pushkar, Rajasthan

Just a quick note, we are safe in Rajasthan. There were bombings at two theaters in Delhi this weekend, one of which we went to when we first arrived, but we are fine. Apparently a film opened that was offensive to some Sikhs.

Two mountains flank the city of Pushkar, each with a temple dedicated to Brahma's two wives Savitri and Gaitri. Last night by chance we ran into three Aussie girls we met in Thailand a couple months ago who told us not to miss the sunrise from Savitri's mountain, so we rose at 5am today to hike to the 750 foot temple. There are more than 50 temples aorund the city's lake, but only from this distance were we able to see the blue hues of Pushkar's architecture and housing. There on the mountain I finally unwraveled the mystery of all the weddings (50 more people married today) from a vendor at the top and a hindi-speaking Japanese girl from Tokyo. Today is Purnima, a full moon and one of two during the year that are special. This is the quieter festival, drawing tens of thousands of worshipers who bathe in the lake, but the purnima in November draws 300,000 complete with street festivals, dancing and camel racing. People pay 300 rupees just to rent a tent as the city swells.

Got to get over the hump

Pushkar, Rajasthan, India

Hello from Pushkar, a small, more religiously oriented town nestled between some small mountains around a lake in southern Rajasthan. Beautiful. It's the sort of place with temples all around a lake, where there's this holy feeling as everyone bathes and prays by the water's edge, and the restaurants are more strictly vegetarian. We're rounding off our Thar desert tour on an interesting week; it is prime time for marriages during this special time in the Hindu calendar, and they have dancing and fireworks and drums and decorated horses carrying brides and grooms through the streets in each town we visit, every day. Scott saw an elephant in the street yesterday. It reminds me of the Sicilian wedding style in The Godfather, when Pacino is made to parade through the streets with his bride and her family. There were about 30 people married in Pushkar today, and several times I had to politely refuse to join in with the processions and dancing.

I say "got to get over the hump" not because I've been listening to too much Parliament (although I do have a few friends who still call me PFunk from time to time), but because I'm nearly halfway through my trip now and quite frankly India has been kicking my ass the past couple days. Yesterday I wished I was home for the first time, for about 2 hours. Then it passed. I was lying sick on the 4th floor of a crappy hostel in Udaipur (famous city for the Lake Palace hotel seen in Octopussy) where we had no electricity, no running water, I had no pillow, the showerhead was broken anyway, my boxers fell off the balcony, and it was hot as hell. AND! the "included" pool was closed because it was too dangerous to swim with falling rocks from the higher stories under construction...I didn't eat for about 40 hours except for juice and water, but now I'm back in action and still moving!

So forget all that; we just had a great dinner with two South African girls, Francis and Olivia, who have been on our same route and some other passersby from Wales and Australia, and I'd rather tell about my first impressions of Rajasthan. To new beginnings!
One thought about the South Africans first: I can't get my mind around what it was like for these girls to grow up during Apartheid and watch it collapse at age 12. They attended liberal, private schools and their families are not racist, but what about their education? As they describe it, it was as if they were simply learning about a different era, and they didn't realize until later that they were actually living it. They speak Africaans because it was required then, and they were taught separation within. I wonder too, what they were taught about foreign dark-skinned leaders. Did the racism apply only to South Africans or to impressions and evaluations of people of all nationalities? Would Colin Powell have been welcomed into Jo'berg as a respected equal? My only possible understanding of the situation is from trying to compare it to the civil rights movement at home, which I did not experience.

India, for me, has really been all about new commotion. After the comforts and ease of Southeast Asia, it has certainly been a re-education. What strikes you first are the differences in attitude; the stares and unfriendliness are not what you expect. Just getting out of Delhi was a small victory. It doesn't matter that you have enough money for whatever you want. People just don't speak English (the Times of India said only 30 million) and it's impossible to secure tickets on trains and buses in any fair and comfortable way. This sounds like a terrible first impression, but that is because we landed in Delhi. Nobody likes Delhi. The truth is the more people we meet, the better it gets. People are warmer and more hospitable every step of the way. I've had wonderful conversations with locals on buses, like the father of two children I made origami cranes and balloons for, or a family of 16 on holiday from eastern India who took pictures with us and bought us ice cream.

Delhi, one of the most polluted cities in the world and very overpopulated at 13-15 million, was simply a huge pain. The best part was our trip to the US embassy, where we were given the red carpet treatment and given additional passport pages for free. You do feel bad for the lines of people waiting for hours as you scoot by...Delhi was overpriced, McDonalds didn't serve red meat!, and we opted to go the movies in a rich suburb rather than battle the tourist traps (of which there is nothing good anyhow). Perhaps we were just exhausted. It was fun to see Hitch in a state of the art, a/c theatre. Young Indians seem to love Will Smith. In Delhi we had a mediocre time, but we got things done.

The crazy thing about India that struck us immediately was the remarkable lack of women. This country has 1 billion people, right? Why then, when you enter each town, are there only men working, lining the streets, and serving you in the restaurants and guesthouses? Where are the ladies hiding, and who from? We are told they pray early, watch the children, and mostly stay within the home. Cultural differences I guess. You will never see a young girl walking alone; she is always escorted by a member of the family.

Our first leg west was an overnight sleeper bus to Bikaner without a/c. Tough shit. In town we were overcharged for poor accomodation but had a decent time and visited a landmark temple, Karne Mata outside of town. In the streets that night we were almost bulled over by cows charging and trying to get it on in the roads. Cows are everywhere in every town, and live quite well. They are fed by the poor or scrounge in the gutters, but are holy animals and therefore respected and left to themselves. It is not odd to take a walk around the block in any of these towns and have to dodge 10-15 cows congregating in alleys and squares.

Our second leg was an all-day local bus (no a/c mind you) all the way to Jaisalmer. 6 hours turned into 13 as we stopped too frequently and tripled the capacity of the bus. [The desert averages about 44 degrees celsius right now at mid-day] People don't care about personal space, they sleep on your shoulder, lean on your head, and sit on your lap. Two seats hold 4-5 people. You drink 2-3 liters of water but never need to pee because it is so damn hot. But local is sometimes the most fascinating way to go, if you can stomach the stench and heat. Just the colors, contrasted so starkly against the nothingness of desert terrain outside your window are asounding in their variety (as my new SA friend Olivia put it so well, they are subconsciously battling against the bleakness of their arid surroundings). Desert gypsies clothed in reds and pinks and greens and oranges and browns and blues and purples and mixes of every variety, etc. - all covered in jewelry and embroidery and body piercings and gold chains and necklaces, stare out at you through veils and clutch infants and young children masked in dark, thick black eyeshadow. Some women completely line their wrists with multi-colored bracelets from wrist to armpit. Curiously, when I offered a necklace I had purchased in Bangkok to a gypsy for her daughter, she would not accept. There seems to be stronger values of modesty and cultural lines not to be crossed than in SE Asia.

Arriving in Jaisalmer was as good as expected. A fort city deep in the western Thar Desert and very close to the Pakistani border, the city walls seem to rise majestically from surrounding desolation. The day we arrived however, there was a tragedy in the small community. Two Hindu youths aged 20, one royalty, were killed in an oncoming collision with wo Muslim men. I spoke with Maneesh, a friend of the deceased, who described the tensions brewing and the blood that he believes may boil over after the customary 12 days of mourning. Although locals insist everything will be fine, and everyone agrees nothing can be accomplished through violent retribution, the situation was alarming to me. I hope Maneesh is just venting in his own way; he insisted that he had been raised not to be weak and cry, and it was all I could do to simply listen and advocate for peace. That night we dined with an Israeli, Etai, on the roof of our fort guesthouse, a fine Kingfisher beer in hand for the sunset.

Our desert safari was an absolute pleasure. Scott and I set out with Rahim and Metur, just the 4 of us, on an overnight 50km trek by camel, riding in the morning and evening, cooking and napping in the shade of infrequent trees from 1-3pm and sleeping in the windy sand dunes breathing through shrouds over our faces. My camel was Ratu, Scott's Lala. The great thing was you actually had full control of the animal, alone and sometimes far from the group. It does hurt your ass after 5-6 hours a day though. Though we stopped in several poor desert communities, Scott and I regrettfully had nothing to offer the children but a few hours of horsing around and taking pictures. They claw at your bracelets and sunglasses and ask for candies and chocolates and rupees, but there is little you can do for so many poor kids. Even pens are in high demand. More brilliant than the desert sun are the melodious tunes emanating from the mouths of the guides. I think they are actually incapable of riding without singing, but it is comforting to listen to. It was especially funny when Matur sang the female parts of the songs in falsetto.

Back in Jaisalmer we toured the fort museum and Jain temples, and then wandered the street markets outside the fort for 2 days. It is easy to make friends in such a small town, and shopkeepers have you in for Chai as part of the schmoozing process (strong masala tea with sugar and milk). It is not odd to have 5 invitations for Chai with locals the next day. After much haggling and little progress, you always buy something. My prize purchase so far is a pair of gold earings I now wear, a popular style of the average male in this region and shaped as a lotus flower with a ring of red gems. After a few hours everyone in town knew us, and we were escorted to see havelis (carved out facades of houses from stone) and seated at juice bars learning hindi with locals. After mistaking Scott for every type of Asian across SE Asia, the Indians all seem to think he is Japanese. I call him Japanese now sometimes just because I know it pisses him off.

With Jaisalmer behind us we trained it to Jodpur (with no a/c on the train through the desert we awoke with a layer of sand sealing our eyelids and coating our sweating bodies) and bused it to Udaipur to toast to our friend Kyoko for recommending the city of Octopussy and miniature art. A young Kashmiri boy from Srinigar showcased his miniature painting for us and we bought a little. All profits go to him and his fellow students, who are on their way to international art shows in California and Iowa next week! [God I hope they were telling the truth on that one]
This morning Scott bought a young barefoot boy a fresh-squeezed mango juice on the street. We joked with him as we do with all the kids, and he offered to help us get the "Pushkar Passport," a bracelet you're given after praying by the lake and making a donation. It was sad when he told us he had to find us a holy man for the process and I asked him if he aspired to become one himself. He simply answered that he is not a Brahman. It is never going to be a possibility. I wondered at what age you realize that you are born into a lower class and have no ability to change your status. At what point do you realize that your life is literally of less value than your neighbors? And so it is...

One more night in Pushkar and we're off to Jaipur, where hopefully we can see Star Wars. I hope all is well on the homefront. Thank you to those of you who post comments sometimes, it is nice to know people are reading and I hope I'm entertaining. I gotta say, I never thought this dominos thing would cause such an uproar. It's just a simple, old-fashioned game!

Now Running On Empty

We arrived in New Delhi late this afternoon, a four and a half hour flight with rather poor service and no perks - when I asked a stewardess to borrow a pen she just said "no." Indian Airlines. I'm much more excited for Emirates Air to Istanbul in a few weeks because it was such a pleasure just to reconfirm the flight.

I say we're running on empty because we've been moving so much I barely have time to digest the different cities, let alone different countries. We figured out that in one 12 day stretch we took one flight, six long distance bus rides including 3 overnight, and stayed in 7 different cities. Our arrival card today asked us how many countries we've been in for the last 6 days. My mind raced: bar hopping and dancing in Saigon with some local waitresses we met and a very cool guy from Vail (great conversation for Scott) until 4:30am; firing heavy machine guns after crawling 120 meters underground through the Cuchi Tunnels with a guide who lost two brothers and his father in the war; bribing the border guard to get into Cambodia because my passport is full (yes, I'm happy to report that corruption is alive and well in Cambodia); My Li, a beautiful local girl I played dominos with all night on the riverfront in Pnom Penh, working towards a law degree in five years time; watching some new crappy movie at the hostel with Sean Penn and Nicole Kidman; waking early to tour the killing fields and S-21 by motorbike (where the Khymer Rouge killed so many innocents); touring the ancient temples at Siem Reap from sunrise to sunset, stopping only to eat and lie around in hammocks in the heat; and finally the 13 hour bus ride back to Bangkok on dirt roads that are so bad you literally bounce up and down the entire ride, your voice vibrating like you're talking into a fan between major bumps that send the minibus seats lurching in different directions in unison.

From Phnom Penh all the way to Bangkok we hung out a lot with a pair of Israeli chicks from Haifa. They found my knowledge of Israel and miserable hebrew skills to be cute I guess. Who would've thought we'd find some nice Jewish girls in Cambodia?! Actually, the Israelis have been everywhere, except Malaysia where they're not allowed. We also had a great conversation with a couple teaching English in Korea - Korea and Taiwan sound like the best money if you go abroad to teach, and they even cover your flights and living expenses. Today we actually met an American couple on our flight living in Tokyo and working at Disneyland there; she is a singer and he is Aladdin!

I have to take back a thought from a previous entry. I said I didn't like Vietnam, but after Hanoi I fell in love with Vietnam. Saigon was certainly my favorite, and I had a very hard time leaving. We met amazing people, especially the locals we actually became real friends with. A local girl named Elsi who's family owns the pizza parlor we ate and drank at each day took us out all night with her friends Lien and Nanh, very cool.

"Same Same But Different." This is a phrase from S.E. Asia that makes no sense at first, but rings more true each day as you move along. It's a sort of deja vue phenomenon. The hawker stalls, the beggar children and street vendors, the dirty guesthouses and untrustworthy travel agents, the minibuses and tuk tuks - everything that wipes you out mentally and screws you over financially. Everywhere you go, same same but different. Cambodia though, was an all new level in terms of exposure to serious poverty. You just don't see the numbers of children living barefoot in the dirt and alleyways that you see there. I've started buying little gifts to give them when they beg at the windows for anything you have. My cousin Billy gives out pencils when he travels, perhaps a good idea for the kids. You can't help but want to make them smile. I must return to Cambodia. Phnom Penh was unexpectedly spectacular with its grand riverfront and wide boulevards, not exactly the wild west experience of lawlessness and danger you dream up. I'm expecting to see more terrible poverty as we move through India.

In Cambodia we ran out of money. Whether you think that's funny or scary we can discuss later, but we left the country with three dollars between us. There are no ATMs. Scott's pants are despicable, dirty and stained (we both wear the same thing evry day and I'm not kidding). We barely paid off our bus ticket out. We actually didn't eat very much at all for the final 24 hours...(obviously in a real emergency we'd work something out at the bank, don't worry mothers)...but Scott chuckled that his father predicted our eventual fall to the gutter. Every country from here on in has ATMs, I think.

But let me get to the real heart-warming part of this entry, because these are the moments that make you appreciate where you come from and literally reflect on what you got in this world...
Before finishing our backbreaking day of temples at Siem Reap, we spent several hours just hanging out in the drizzle on the top level of Angkor Wat, the most famous of the area's temples. The surrounding tree tops and jungle look like a scene from Crouching Tiger. Now there are many beggars and trickster's who attempt to sell you postcards (an adorable 9 year old girl conned me into buying a pack of ten - she knew the capital of Madagascar!) clothing, bracelets, information, etc., including even monks, but we finally met some nice kids that didn't ask for anything but conversation. I ended up chatting for almost 2 hours with a group of 20 year olds who bike almost 2 hours every week to the temples from their small village just to practice their English with foreignors on days off from school. The government subsidizes their english and tourism schooling because their fathers were in the army, but they still have few opportunities and little access to information. I was happy to speak with them, knowing how important a role model I must look like to them, and answered their questions honestly about America and how I felt about Cambodia and my experiences there. It could seriously make you cry when these kids tell you how happy you've made their day just to spend time with them - one kid said he wished he could be my little brother. I took some photos of these guys and got their addresses to send them along later. It'll have to be old-fashioned snail mail, they do not have email yet in their village. They're actually very bright. One guy explained to me how Cambodia, as compared to Thailand, is just now rebuilding and emerging as a developing democracy, attempting to shake off the lingering effects of the Pol Pot era legacies. Recognizing that they will never have the opportunity to obtain serious higher education in fields like law or business, tourism is the most promising avenue for success in their individual futures.

It's not until Saturday, but I just want to wish my older brother Marc and his girlfriend Clara a huge congratulations for their graduation ceremony from business school. I can't wait to visit you soon in London. Now it's time to crash/

Latest Photos

Chiang Mai through Laos and Hanoi

Running Like Criminals

Vientienne flight to Hanoi - overnight bus - Hoi An - overnight bus - Nha Trang - overnight bus...
There are bizarre checkpoints for buses every hour or so. I feel like a criminal, flying through Vietnam in a week just because we got lazy and stayed too long in Thailand and especially Laos. What are we running from!? It is a shame; it's like we came to Vietnam just to see bus stops and sunrises from grimy windows. But in all seriousness, we came to Vietnam to purchase suits!! Custom-made, tailored suits in Hoi An, where over 500 tailor shops make anything and everything for you overnight. You should have seen us carrying bags to the post office like 16 year old girls with mommy's credit card (although it easy to meet new girls while shopping). For a little over $200, I got: 1 three piece suit, 1 black suit, 1 custom made dress shirt, 1 custom made pair of dress shoes, 1 pair of heels with straps up the ankles for Erica (right out of a magazine), one pants suit with an awesome jacket for Mommy, and 2 sports jackets for Daddio. Oh, and they stitched up our shorts that we wear everyday in Asia for free. Lovely ladies, really.
Now we're at the beach in Nha Trang, down the coast a bit and inching closer to Saigon. The only touristy thing we'll end up doing is hopefully seeing the Kuchi tunnels. Tomorrow we're going to some spa to bathe in mud, and maybe do some parasailing in the afternoon. Nha Trang is rich, and reminds me of Nice, but with sandy beaches not stones. There are 6km of beach and nice trees and promenades lining the way. Best of all, we haven't been hassled here as much as expected. I actually relaxed, read my book, and flew a kite with some kids for a few hours without any women chasing me down the beach trying to give me a massage.
After we rode to the beach on the backs of motorcycles in Hoi An (nicer beach I'd say but quiet), I started thinking about all the crazy transportation situations we've been in. There was the time Tom slept on the floor of the mini-bus with his head sandwiched between the doors as we hugged the corners of the mountain passes of Laos between Luang Prabang and Phonsavan. Then there was the next journey to Vang Vieng, where I watched Scott jump and bring his legs up in the air each time the man across from him (dozing) let his AK-47 slip and slam hard against the bus floor. The dude was in civilian clothes and never smiled, but we think he worked for the bus company to help foil hijackings...I offered him bananas to make sure he was cool with us (40 cents for a bag full off the side of the road!). That same trip our tire actually exploded, which really sounded like the gun went off! I guess one good breakdown story was a must. In Hanoi the other night we hired crazy rickshaws after dinner - the guy sits behind you so you're in a carriage in the front facing traffic (and the fear of death) at every intersection. The picture I took of Scott next to me looks like he's in a wheel chair! In Hoi An I almost forgot cars existed. There are so many types of bikes and motorbikes that when you see a car you're almost shocked. Last night our seat on the bus were broken and each time we hit a bump (just imagine how smooth and consistent the roads are) our seat-backs would lurch into new positions and scare the nice girl behind us. Craziness, but I actually slept a bit, and awoke to a gorgeous sunrise over the rice paddies. You got to focus on the good parts of the trip - that's what you'll remember and that's what gets you through with a smile.
Basically traveling has been crazy lately, and I am sore in strange places! At some point we're gonna have to slow our pace - I think India. Camels in the desert of Rajistan, that will be nice and slow.
The communist thing is really a joke for foreigners. Landing in Hanoi is like LAX or West Palm Beach, not what you'd imagine from some old movie about Vietnam. And tourists never really feel the politics - at least not unless you do something very wrong. We spoke at length with some Americans living in Beijing who described China as an entirely different story - fake news, propaganda, censorship, Japan-hatred and bizarre forms of educated xenophobia. Laos and Vietnam might as well be democratic as far as a brief traveler can tell. Laws are lax and the people care much more about their livelihood then their leaders.