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Photo below: Vietnam coming right at you

As we travel I’m dreaming more than I have in several years. For example, there was a man named Paul who I’d known in the past and who was now dead. I met his daughter and then his son-in-law at a used bookstore and they were talking about him and how he’d cared about me a great deal, but I couldn’t place him. The son-in-law climbed up a display and got down a book by Paul. It was a large “art book” and when I turned it sideways I could see Paul’s image on the book and then I knew who he was.

I remembered him well and with affection. He had been a good man; a good man and a tragic man like Larry of Larry and Nina. I opened the book and realized it was about seeing – as in seeing/experiencing the essence of things. I bought the book for $25 though it was too big to be carrying in Vietnam. I could tell his daughter and her husband really loved him.

Yesterday we ran into Danny and Marloes (the people from Amsterdam we’d met at Halong Bay) in a market alley off Ta Hien/Dihn Liet Street, where people would ride up on their motorcycles to shop for underwear and what have you. We went to the bun cha place on Hang Manh Street where we feasted on bun cha and nem – what else – and then walked to the Intimex Store. While David, Leslie, Marloes, and Danny were shopping I had an espresso in the nearby coffee shop. Then the Dutch contingent was off to take the long bus ride

Hanoi to Vientiane to Luang Prabang and we walked back to the hotel. Photo: David and Leslie near Hue

Our last night in Hanoi David and I again ate at the King Café, where Leslie and I ate several times in 2007. I think we had chicken with chilis, pork with garlic, rice, and beer.

Here is what I wrote on Trip Advisor about the Camellia 4 in Hanoi (written in Hue):

We stayed at the Camellia 4 Dec 4-13 2010. We first stayed 2 nights at another hotel (Sunshine 2), but Camellia 4 was a better deal (larger room,

quieter area, better breakfast buffet, more helpful staff). The room was $25USD (including tax) for a double and went up to $30 when another person arrived and we changed to a triple. Photo: Roadside cafe, the whole thing carried by one woman

The area was good in that there was tourist infrastructure, but most of the businesses were Vietnamese-oriented. It was quieter than (for example) Ma May Street, but really there are few or no quiet areas in Hanoi.

When we went to Halong Bay a mistake

was made with the room we were supposed to get on our return. The night manager was creative and effective in figuring out a solution to solve the problem – very impressive. All the staff were helpful and in pleasant – especially the two women working the desk, and also housekeeping and food service. Photo: The woman in the white shirt patted Leslie as we passed

None of the staff pressured us re booking tours or onward tickets. In fact, the quieter of the two agents explained costs that a better-known travel agency (Hotels-in-Vietnam) intentionally glossed over. Basically the Camellia 4 agent gave us full disclosure and a good trip. He also responded appropriately to a problem with part of the tour.

We flew Hanoi to Hue. The airport for Hue is at Phu Bai, about 10 miles from the city. Phu Bai, where many years ago the Marine Corps had an air base. One night Jeff and I were in a tent, drinking, and a Sergeant told us to quit. He and Jeff came to blows almost instantly and Jeff not only beat him down, but the Sergeant also stepped on a lighted heat tab, which stuck to his foot and gave him a bad burn. The outcome was that Jeff was sent to Khe Sanh. Phu Bai, where I ran to jump on a plane that was taking off for Khe Sanh,

and once on discovered that it was full of 55 gallon drums of aviation fuel, a doubly bad thing as all planes flying into Khe Sanh were fired on by AA machine guns. Phu Bai, where I went for a plague shot when I was supposedly exposed to plague and of course I wasn’t current on my plague shots. Photo: Thieu Tri tomb

On the road into Hue through light traffic we passed the usual series of small shops, many small temples with the elaborate roofs of Vietnam, markets – Vietnam. Our hotel was the Binh Duong III, a nice place in a backpacker alley too narrow for anything other than motorcycles, bikes, carts, and people walking; and 10 steps across the alley is Cafe on Thu Wheels,

a classic backpacker café. The Binh Duong III is a flashpacker hotel – clean, quiet, hot water, aircon – a solid $20 triple room hotel. Photo: Thieu Tri tomb

Our first full day in Hue, Leslie and I walked across the Perfume River bridge to visit a grocery store where we’d been before, while David stayed at the hotel finishing a paper for school. It was a good walk, though hot, and coming back, a sweetness when a woman walking past us carrying one of the sticks with a heavy basket hanging from each end reached out unbidden and patted Leslie’s hand. It was this same bridge that a few years before a girl riding past me on a bike reached out and slapped me softly/firmly on the chest – the wide Suong Huong (river) flowing below.

We ate this day, as every other day, at Thu’s – so much good food:

banana pancakes with honey of course, omelets, baguettes, pork many different ways, luc lac, pho, nem, morning glory, curry, shakes, café sua da, so on and so forth – all fixed in the closet of a kitchen by the same ancient woman as before, now even more stooped. Photo: A break in the rain at Thieu Tri tomb

The next day it was raining and cold, so we hired a car to visit several of the many tombs around Hue. The tombs are very small tombs surrounded by elaborate buildings, platforms, fences, and gates. The ride into the countryside was wonderful – rainy, green, narrow road, Vietnam. We first went to the Thieu Tri tomb, which isn’t listed in some guidebooks.

It was a little run-down and completely deserted. Perfect. Photo: David at Minh Mang tomb

The rain was really coming down and we slogged through mud puddles and made our way carefully across very slippery paving stone platforms, up stone steps, across more slippery platforms through amazing gates, to mossy buildings with dragon-cornered roofs and across more platforms and run-down mossy fences inlaid with latticed tiles overlooking lakes and beyond them more platforms and buildings and fences. Finally back to the car we were wet and happy.

The second tomb was Minh Mang’s, which was larger, more elaborate, better maintained, and with a few tourists around. It was still raining and cold (for lowland Vietnam), but we went through most of the area and came out pretty wet. We spent a total of about 2.5 hours at the two tombs + time getting there. We had clarified with the woman who arranged the tour that we would go for about 4 hours. The driver, however, wanted to bring it to a stop since we’d gone to the places on the agenda. We talked on the phone with the main driver,

who said that the woman didn’t say what I said she said, and then said, “I want you to help me” (by overpaying), but didn’t want to take a lesser fee for less time. They ended up agreeing to take us to a shopping center … to dry off and warm up and visit to the Big C food court for decent banh, bun bo Hue, French fries, pad Thai, pineapple shake, and bubble tea. Photo: At Minh Mang tomb

The next day we went to the Citadel, the former imperial city – a huge complex of old gates, halls, platforms, and so on. I was there in 1967 when it was utterly deserted. Then in 1968, the VC captured Hue from the

ARVN and executed at least 2,000 people. Marines then took the city back and in the process damaged some of the imperial city, where the VC where holed up. All the damage seems repaired now and of course

there is no acknowledgement of the massacres in any guidebooks. It was another rainy grey day. Leslie pushed us onward and we covered the whole complex. Whew. Photo: Bun bo Hue and some kind of banh

After this trek, Leslie was ready to walk to Big C to get some this and that. Have mercy! Away we went (David staying back at the hotel) for another trek, rewarded by seeing a woman apparently on her firsts escalator ride clinging to the rail with both hands, close to panic. Then Leslie had an encounter with an older woman (one of the few betel chewers we saw) who couldn’t turn off the water in the toilet –

and neither could Leslie, so of course some young women also in the toilet had great fun helping the old people. Apparently Big C is a destination for country folk, because several groups of young people approached us with, “Hello!” and then cracked up laughing. My response of, “Hello, what’s your name?” sent everyone into confusion and laughter. All in all a good time was had by all.

Tomorrow, Saigon.

The journey began in the Old Quarter of Hanoi, a maze of narrow streets, French colonial buildings, cafes, street vendors of everything imaginable, shops selling aromatic herbs, old people sitting in doorways, motorcycles, bikes, and wandering foreigners seeking whatever it is they seek walking incessantly along the streets. The blue bus picked them up one by one, two by two, three by three. There was the besotted banker from Hong Kong, barely able to walk,

sleeping or passed out for the entire bus trip. There was the simple-minded American “English teacher” from Saigon and his “student” who was accompanying him on this journey. There were two Portuguese couples, each with a Chinese daughter and each in Hanoi to bring home the Vietnamese babies they had just adopted. There was the serious Belgian Air Force officer making his way through Southeast Asia; the American family on their journey through Asia; the kick-boxer and her boyfriend from Amsterdam. And there was the Eurasian (she said, not me) woman from Hungary who had had too many cosmetic surgeries and injections and was too fond of drama.

From a harbor with a faint smell of urine (or strong, depending on where you stood),

they set sail on the Angelina, this ship of fools, sailing into the mist. La-la-la-la-la.

I walked up to the salon, where the Eurasian woman, Christina was sitting with our tour guide, Lucky. “I want to ask you,” she said, “Do you have medicine for me? I have, what do you call it, the sickness of the ocean. I want to womit.”

“No, I don’t have any medicine like that.”

“They have no medicine for the womit! No penicillin, no paracetamol. They have a bad business. They boolsheet.” She sits, rigid, staring into space.

What could I say? “Yeah, well, uh.”

Other people began filtering into the sal0n, each one queried similarly, until the man from Amsterdam said, yes, he had some of the medicine she wanted. She took 1 pill (of ginger, it turns out) and was miraculously healed in less than a minute – and stayed sickness of the ocean-free for the rest of the voyage. Meanwhile, the gala welcome meal began, with the waiter taking drink orders.

“I thought non-alcohol drinks are included.”

“Drinks not included.”

Course by course, plate by plate the food arrived. There was cucumber and tomato salad, seafood soup thickened with a lot of cornstarch, weird little cutlets, tofu with fish flavoring, a whole fish – enough for each person to have 2, maybe 3 bites since the English teacher didn’t eat fish. “I take many medicines and they don’t agree with fish.” As we talk about places we’ve been we discover that he’s taught English in Vietnam for 11 years – 3 months on, 3 months off and has never been to Hanoi or Cambodia. “Do

they eat a lot of rice in Cambodia?” he asks. I can see we’re going to have some heavy philosophical discussions.

Christina continues to complain, the Vietnamese student is basically mute except to ask for chili sauce (via the “teacher”), my wife is starting to snarl at Christina, and the Belgian man is monosyllabic – leaving me, the least social person on the bleeding boat bravely trying to carry this shipboard conversation. “Where have you been? Oh, where are you going?” And so on.

By now we’re into Halong Bay, where several thousand

limestone islands rise up, often vertically out of the green waters of the gulf of Tonkin. I’ll let Lonely Planet describe it: “Magnificent Halong Bay … is a UNESCO World Heritage site and one of Vietnam’s natural wonders. The islands are dotted with innumerable grottoes created by the wind and waves … Ha long means ‘where the dragon descends into the sea.’” It is breathtaking, unfolding near and far slowly as the boat glides through the water.

After the meal we rest in our cabin to talk about the other passengers. It may just be a two day cruise, but we’re quickly into the spirit of cruises.

“Why don’t you try to be nice to Christina?” I say. “Oh please,” my wife answers. “Why should I?” “I don’t know. Because it’s nice?” She shakes her head, saying in essence, because she’s a “boolsheet” person. “Well, it won’t hurt.” She just shakes her head. Our son leaves on an excursion with most of the other passengers to climb 142 steps to a cave and go kayaking and swimming.

Then it’s time for dinner! More sparkling repartee! Christina is sitting where I sat at lunch, at the head of the table and seeing my wife’s Belgian-like one word responses to Christina, I switch places with her. Good move, CK – weird on my left, wife on my right, and the Belgian man having almost nothing to say across from

me and then the English “teacher” … I was thinking about Mick Jagger singing, “If I could stick a knife in my heart, Suicide right on stage.” Another cucumber and tomato salad, fried fish, fried potatoes, rice, vegetables, and the piece-de-resistance, another whole fish – another 2 or 3 bites for each person. Really, pretty good. After dinner I go back to our cabin to read.

“Be sure you leave the key in the door” my wife said, so, after reading awhile I put the key in the outside lock Homer Simpson style and hang around outside to see her reaction. She was slow to come back, so missed my joke. While I was gone the Belgian man had opened up and turned out to be an interesting companion, which was good because from the start he seemed like a good guy. Our son had gone up to the top deck, so I joined him up there for awhile, talking

quietly in the foggy night – another memorable time. Photo: The freshwater lake in the middle of an island

In the morning my wife stayed with the Portuguese people to play with the babies (in her natural habitat) while my son and I went off to visit another cave. As caves go it was okay, but past the cave we hiked up a trail to an overlook above a freshwater lake in the middle of the island and surrounded by steep mountains like in an Edgar rice Burroughs book where pterodactyls might swoop down and fearsome creatures rise up out of the water and somewhere along the way the Belgian man told Christina to quit complaining, so she starts talking to me about what a rude

person he is, “I tell him he boolsheet!” and I’m like, “Uh, what can I say?” And she’s quivering with indignation, sitting at the back of the little boat (but at least she didn’t womit on the ride back

to the boat) keeping on with the breast (or should I say, falsie – why she didn’t have them babies embiggened I can’t say) adjustments.

Back from the excursion we all gather in the salon, my wife and I sitting at a different table, soon joined by you-know-who, complaining and me with my stock answer, “Uh, I don’t know, what can I say.” And finally she moves to the end of the table, thus ending another stellar interaction.

We cruise through the bay, across open water, and

into the harbor for (another gala) meal, this time at a restaurant with a vague smell of urine about and several big, wide bottles as in 2-3 feet high full of pickled cobras and assorted snakes with the tops of the bottles covered in something like Saran Wrap (I’m not kidding), this time with the kick-boxer and her boyfriend, both of them fun and nice, the vastly more conversational Belgian, and “Do they eat a lot of rice in Cambodia.”

Ah, the bus ride back to Hanoi. It starts with a new “tour guide” telling my wife and me that we need to move to the back of the bus because “Two people get

car-sick. Cannot sit in back.” My wife, diplomat that she is, says, “No.” The tour guide says “Seats in back good,” and my wife says, “No.” Guess who wanted to displace the two older people? Yep – Christina and her new buddy, the banker. So we didn’t move and the “guide” figured out how the two darlings could sit in front, Christina directly in front of me, ever ready to start it up again.

We stopped at the typical SE Asia bus way station for people to use the toilet, buy drinks, snacks, and of course there were any number of sorry-ass souvenirs. Back on the bus, Christina gets out some “pearls” and “jade” she’d bought and a cigarette lighter, holding her new treasures over the flame to test their authenticity and

when she wasn’t doing that she was fiddling with her hair and adjusting those remarkably movable breasts.

It was raining and traffic started stacking up and the bus driver tried a muddy side road, which didn’t work so there we were, backing up and around as people honked and motorcycles flowed around us in a never-ending stream. Back on the main highway, designed for two-lanes, but now create-a-lane 3 and 4 lanes wide we were part of an endless maneuvering for advantage, sometimes coming to enough of a stop that people were getting out

of buses and cars and milling around the highway and Leslie talking with the Dutch couple and me with some young men from Ireland and I was so happy that I’d dehydrated myself and didn’t have to use my pee bottle and in the back the Portuguese families singing and playing games with their children (these were some truly outstanding parents) and then, from behind the Dutch couple and behind our son sitting behind them next to the Belgian man, we hear the English teacher and his student, “la-la-la-la-la” as they work on singing happy birthday in Vietnamese and our son, the Belgian man, and the Dutch couple cracking up.

And, in a perfect ending to the trip, the bus driver and his accomplice, the “tour guide” started letting people off in more or less random places, saying things like, “One way street, cannot go. Hotel very close.” My wife said, no surprise if you’ve paid any attention at all, “No.” the guide says, “Street too narrow. You can walk in 5 minutes.” “No.” So we ended up back at our hotel, several hours late. La-la-la-la-la.

We met David at the Hanoi airport this morning. Waiting for him was grand – people waiting for relatives, holding bouquets, greetings with smiles and tears, hugs, happiness. I’m thinking some people together after a long time apart. Being here at the airport as well as on the streets it’s like when I’ve been in Vietnam in recent years, thinking about what a shame about the war with these people – I mean, look at them! It’s not that I think we were necessarily wrong to fight the war (remembering the exodus and pain of millions of SE Asian refugees), but more that we were caught up in a matrix of karma related to colonialism, international communism, South VN’s struggle for independence, and

other factors. Whatever the issues and complexities, it’s sad to me that we were fighting these people (as if all war isn’t sad). So there I was at the Hanoi airport, waiting for my son seeing the smiles and flowers and tears and of course tears in my eyes. Vietnam! Photo: Proud relatives of one of the new PhDs (see below). This post begins and ends with beauty.

Walking around Hanoi we pass many women’s clothing stores selling some pretty bad looking clothes, but we hardly ever see a woman who doesn’t look good, showing that the woman makes the clothes rather than the clothes making the woman. The fact is, the huge majority of Vietnamese women are very very spiff, and a pretty large percentage are very good-looking.

We passed the French-fry alley today, right past

the bun cha place on Ha Tien (according to noodlepie, one of the best). The bun cha place is closed for the day and what was a place to eat is now a living room and what was an alley earlier in the day is now a hang-out for high school or college students eating fried potatoes and fried something else – just like the last time we were here. Just like the last time it’s the wonder of the streets that calls us. Photo: As I’ve told you so many times, do not eat vegetables and fruits that haven’t just been peeled (leave ’em for me). This is bun cha, a great dish and good for you.

So, happily we’re together with David (who is tired after a stout flight SFO to Taipei to Hanoi), going to Halong Bay day after tomorrow, then flying to Hue a few days later. Trains in VN are pretty grand, but we’re getting a little old for a squat toilet on a train rocking along down the tracks.

At the moment DK and I are headed for a walk around the block and to the satay lady across the street. Well, that didn’t work out too well. Photo: The satay lady. You can dine in or take it to go.

When we first saw her she had plenty of satay left, but by the time we got around the block she only had 3 sticks and 5 pig feet left. So we got the satay on a bun for Leslie and left the pig feet for someone else. 15 minutes later the lady had packed up and left. We took the sandwich to Leslie and went back to the King Café and had pork with onion and extra garlic + rice. Can you get extra garlic in Vietnam? If you took the garlic, nuoc mam, and sugar out of Vietnamese food, the whole place would just collapse.

Listening to Jerry Garcia singing these Visions of Johanna …

Ain’t it just like the night to play tricks when you’re tryin’ to be so quiet? We sit here stranded, though we’re all doin’ our best to deny it … Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues, You can tell by the way she smiles … 10,000 or more Mona Lisas sitting straight and fine riding motorcycles through this city and if you could see the woman sitting on her tiny stool defining elegance as she fries the nem at the bun cha place on Hang Manh Street you’d know what I mean or if you’ve been to Vietnam with eyes wide open, you know what I mean. Photo above: On the street

Thursday

At breakfast I talked with two (South) Vietnamese men from, wait for this, Mississippi on their first visit to Hanoi. There was also a table with some French women on their way to Saigon to work with an NGO. We’re Americans, one of us Khmer-American. And of course the people working at the hotel are Vietnamese from the north. We were like a microcosm of the past 50 years of VN and SE Asia history,

representing a lot of shed blood – by ourselves, our families, our people.

David stayed at the hotel working on a paper while Leslie and I went to the Temple of Literature (where for a 1000 years scholars took exams for higher learning based on Confucian principles) for an hour or so of sheer magic. It was graduation day for one of the universities and there were students all over the place, posing for photographs, laughing, having a grand time, unimaginably beautiful in their ao dais and happiness. They were more than happy to share with us, posing for our photos, sharing the joy. As we

went further into the complex we came upon a group of about 8 people in their 40s and 50s – PhD candidates in the final moments of receiving their degrees. Serious men and women receiving high honors in a country and culture that honors learning, families bursting with pride, an American couple deeply moved by it all. It doesn’t get much better than this either.

Dedicated to mrmookie and the joy and beauty of Vietnam. We’re lucky alright.

We flew Dragon Air to Hanoi – a good flight, except for an obnoxious woman sitting next to Leslie doing some serious monkeyfying (playing with her toes) and complaining. We got in a little after 7pm and cleared customs/immigration before 8. Our hotel, Sunshine 2 had a car and driver waiting and were in our okay $22 room around 9. Photo below: Produce sold door-to-door

We’re staying in the “old quarter” area of Hanoi – streets ranging from narrow with room for one car to very narrow with room for motorcycles and bicycles only. The basic road rule of Southeast Asia is in place: bigger always has

precedence, i.e., buses and trucks trump cars, cars trump motorcycles, motorcycles trump bicycles, and everything trumps people. There are countless motorcycles on the road (not to mention parked packing/blocking the sidewalks) and so far we’ve seen only one traffic light. The way people cross the street is to spot some sort of a slight break and start walking, never slowing or hesitating and let the traffic flow around you. Rotten people that we are, we try to walk next to an old person or women and children, in hopes that this will increase our chances of survival.

Friday

Like most other budget hotels, the Sunshine 2

includes breakfast in the price. We had a nice, leisurely meal with strongly strong coffee, baguette, noodles, egg, fruit, but skipping the barely cooked bacon. Then out to the streets to fin

d another place to stay. It was too late to check out of our current place so

we put a deposit on a room at the Camellia 4, which is half a block from where we stayed the first time we were in Hanoi. Then it was a major expedition to change money. We’re so old-fashioned that we still use travelers checks and not many places change these, so we made our way through the maze of streets (the map makes it look straightforward, but it’s not) and part way

around Hoan Kiem Lake to a bank that does change TCs. Had a late lunch of cheese, tomato, and onion sandwiches and fried potatoes at the King Café near the Camellia. Then back to the hotel to rest. Are we getting a little old for this? Probably. We’re pretty tired. But here we are, together again. Photo: Flowers door-to-door

When we left the US, plans were being made for Leslie’s sister Becky to start chemotherapy in early December. We just got word that Becky died a few days before chemo was to start. She was diagnosed just about a month ago, so progression was shockingly fast. What a terrible thing – early 60s, seemingly healthy, big family, a good life. I’ve known her since she was 15, such a beautiful girl. It’s all too sad.

Last year we cancelled our trip to Asia because Leslie’s father was sick. This year we decided to go ahead with our plans as Becky would have gotten only 2 or 3 chemo treatments by the time we returned, so the long haul of cancer –

where we could have truly contributed – would be still to come. Another part of our thinking was that we don’t have many, if any Asia trips left in us. So here we are and there they all are and it’s impossible to return in time for the funeral. After talking with another sister and David, we decided to stay here and continue the trip because, really, what else is there to do?

No good options in this deal.

Walking in a daze around the streets of Hanoi, where people know something about death, with life and death close to the surface, we walk. Unreal.

Tuesday

We moved hotels from the Sunshine 2 to the Camellia 4 – a good move. Our room is twice the size, better breakfast buffet, an

d better (quieter) neighborhood for $25/night. Like other budget hotels in VN, the Camellia is very narrow with about four rooms on each floor. Our room is on the top/7^th floor and has a good view over the rooftops of the Old Quarter. The roof covers a work area above us and we’re treated to random pounding, clattering, and what you might call unrestrained conversations among hotel staff. Photo: Room at Camellia. Photo below: This is an entire portable cafe – they’re everywhere.

I met an internet friend at “chicken street” for a good time and good food. Chicken street, a block of nothing but places serving grilled chicken. We had 2 orders of great chicken served with cucumbers and vegetable in sweet vinegar and garlic, grilled bread, and chili sauce + beer over ice and I’m flashing back to the 1960s going to little lane-side stands in country villes and drinking beer over ice (don’t drink the ice

– they put ground up glass in it and you’ll die a horrible death – whatever, man) and one time going on a night ambush with a “civic action” squad somewhere near Danang, but what we really did was set up on some elevated railroad tracks not far from the ville where their position was and hung out on those tracks for hours drinking ba muoi ba (33) beer over ice getting pretty loaded and now in Hanoi, sitting on (what else) a little blue plastic stool next to a faded yellow stucco wall eating grilled chicken and drinking beer

and talking about the magic of Vietnam (and make no mistake about it, this IS a magic place) with an old Asia hand and then a motorcycle ride through the

matrix of motorcycles beeping, bicycles, people, people people, narrow streets, dark streets, light streets, markets, voices, voices voices and believe me when I say it doesn’t get much better than this. Someone else’s blog description of chicken street: http://www.pikeletandpie.com/2010/01/pho-ly-van-phuc-aka-chicken-street-hanoi/

All I can say about blogger.com is I wish I was using another blogging program. Sentences broken, photos lost, blech. Wednesday: Back to Fa Yuen Market for breakfast. The woman at the café where we’re eating is willing to work with us on varying orders, so Leslie ended up with soup with spaghetti, ham, egg – which was okay, and worth getting, but not twice. It was a

leisurely morning with time spent in the office, talking with an English

man about our age – a regular Asia traveler, on his way to China. Photo: Breakfast place in Fa Yuen Market

We caught a bus down Nathan Road (the main road running north/south bisecting the Kowloon peninsula) to the Star Ferry, ferry across harbor, then bus #15 to the Peak at $4.9HKD/person senior rate. Most tourists take the tram straight up, but we learned awhile back that the bus is slower, more scenic, and way cheaper. Had a long, leisurely double espresso high, high above this great harbor, a super favorite thing for us to do. Bus back along Queen’s Road and getting off at exactly the the best place to walk to (surprise) Tsim Chai Kee Noodles for another bowl of shrimp wonton soup, vegetable, and coke and Leslie making friends with a majorly cute server. Our table-mates were an old woman and her somewhat strange son. Photo: These stores selling aromatic things are all over HK

On the way to the ferry we walked through the IFC Centre, a massive shopping mall and office complex. We saw a crowd around a store and went over to check it out. It was an event, including several glam models and assorted beautiful people.

Back across the harbor I left Leslie and took na bus to the Chungking Mansions to change money and walk around among the Chinese, Middle-Easterners, and Africans. There were fewer angry looking men with beards and whatnot than in previous years. I saw the Everly Bros – one of them with his dentures out – in their little store. Meanwhile, Leslie was sitting on the couch in the Dragon office with a German woman with a roach tattooed on her ankle shouting into her computer/skype on the one side and a Brit doing the same thing on her other side, and then a crowd of Chinese people came in talking loud (no surprise there!) with an old man with them wearing a spor

t coat, cable-knit sweater, slacks of dubious cleanliness, white socks, and felt shoes and lighting up what Leslie called “a big cigarette.” Photo: Dragon office/commons area

I’m not sure about Leslie, but I’m already prett

y much outside of time by now. Later she confirms the same. Random notes: Our first room was $240HKD ($31USD) and second was $280 ($36USD).

The second room was 6.5 feet wide, 9.5 feet long, and the bath was 27 x 66 inches. Sign on the wall: “Please DO NOT use the Bath Towel as floor mat,, or clean the stain (such as curry, food, hair highlight color …”). Stenciled on trash cans on Cheung Chau Island: “Beware the shaft.” On Star Ferry: “Take care when crossing the gangplank.” We ate for <$10USD/day/person. Photo: From Pacific Coffee on the Peak. Tram in lower right of photos

Thursday

An easy departure day – same café for breakfast, with “Jenny,” the woman running the place giving Leslie another variation on breakfast noodles. We bought some apples and coconut tarts for the trip. Walked to some gold stores to look at 24K jewelry. I’d looked for in 2005 and again in 2006 for good gold, but couldn’t find any. Leslie noticed a couple of nights ago a crowd of people in a jewelry store and was thinking there would be gold there. Then she talked with a woman waiting for the ferry who said that Yau Ma Tei is the place for gold, thus confirming the reason for the crowd. Sure enough, there was all the gold anyone could want – we’d just been looking in the wrong part of HK. But the price is >$1300USD/ounce, so too much for us. Looking at all the good gold, it’s easy to see why people

get gold fever.

Back at the hostel, said goodbye to Stanley, caught the A21 bus to the airport, going across amazing bridges over deep water channels with huge ships going under the bridges, and here we are in a true world-class airport. Photo: BBQ place in Mong Kok – this is the place where I stopped on a day when I got totally lost in 2006. Check out the goose with its head hanging out.

Hong Kong photo album is here

Weird blogger program, breaking up sentences and even words and there’s nothing I can do about it. Sorry. The 14.5 hour flight from San Francisco to Hong Kong was fine, with okay seats – the first and second seats of the middle

section, with, thankfully, a nice person in the third seat. I slept some, but Leslie never was able to s

leep. We got into Hong Kong a few minutes after 6am, changed a few dollars, and caught the A21 bus to

Mongkok. We dropped our bags at the Dragon, had breakfast at the Ho Fun Café, and caught

a bus to the Chungking Mansions to change $200. Rode back up Nathan Road and

checked in to the Dragon, where sure enough, we got a room with shared bath. Photo above: Mong Kok sidewalk

We walked around the neighborhood some, including to the Sino Plaza, a very busy collection of mostly tiny shops selling electronic gewgaws. By now, Leslie was shak

y-tired, so we went back to the Dragon and she stayed in the room while I went on a fruitless

search for Wing Hub Roasties. Unable to find Wing Hub, I went back to a place we’d gotte

n take-away (what they call to-go) pork and duck before. The duck was good, but the pork was just brilliant. The best. This day, Sunday, was kind of a lost day as we’d been quite a few hours with little or no sleep. By the end of the day Leslie had gone 48 hours with zero s

leep – not bad for 65 years!!! Photo above (by Leslie): bird fancier at Cooked Foods Court, Fa Yuen (people’s) Market

We slept like logs. In the morning fixed coffee with the filter holder (kind of like a Mellita) that Leslie got for traveling), and walked a few blocks to the Fa Yuen Market. We had planned on getting dim s

um for breakfast at the 3^rd floor “Cooked Foods” food court for breakfast, but changed our minds and had a western breakfast (eggs, ham, toast, coffee)

at a place where we’d talked with the owner several years ago – and it was here that the trip seemed to really begin, with a friendly woman at a nearby table, men with so

ng birds in cages, and Leslie and I planning our day in this amazing city. Photo: random lane Cheung Chau

We took a bus down the canyon of Nathan Road to the harbor. What kind of a day would it be without a ride on the Star Ferry across the harbor? We had thought we’d go up the Peak, but it was a hazy day and so decided we’d take a ferry to Cheu

ng Chau Island. It was a nice 45 minute ride on the “fast ferry” (no smoking, no gambling, passengers must stay in the saloon) to the island. I guess if we’d not been to Lamma Island several times in the past Cheung Chau would have been more engaging. Maybe the best way to say it is it was a good trip to a kind of gritty (as Leslie would say) island town. We were tired by the time we got back to our room. We cleaned up and went out to Good Hope Noodles for shrimp wonton soup and a plate of Chinese broccoli. And finally back to our room where we are as I write this. Photo: Star Ferry, the very same ferry that Suzy Wong and her lover rode back and forth across the harbor, falling in love.

Sorry about all the broken-up sentences and words!

The trip started in Berkeley where we had Thanksgiving with David and Kevin. In a few hours we’ll take off for Hong Kong, where we’ll stay in Mong Kok at the Dragon Hostel. Photo: $4 worth of dim sum from Chinatown in Oakland. Starting the trip with a dim sum binge

http://www.worldisround.com/articles/336394/index.html

My amazing wife is fine with us staying 2 nights in a room with shared bath (hopefully without a turtle – see link above), then 2 nights with attached bath. The thing is we really like the Dragon – it’s well-run, it’s 2 blocks from the MTR and a main bus line, half a block from the Ho Fun café, 2 blocks from the Fa Yuen Market, and it’s in the most crowded area of a very crowded city with the most amazing crowds in the streets.

Then to Hanoi for about a week while we wait for David to join us. Depending on the rains, we’ll go to Sapa up in the mountains or Halong Bay. Then on to Hue (beautiful city of ghosts), Dalat, Saigon, Phnom Penh … deep into the lands of the Mekong …

“Whole generations of westerners who went out there as soldiers, doctors, planters, or journalists lost their hearts to these lands of the Mekong … there are places that take over a man’s soul.” Jon Swain

Two excellent short films by Jun, my cycling buddy. Jun did the video on Leslie and me cited elsewhere in the journal.

State Fair of Texas

Greenwood Cemetery

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Sometimes I find myself wishing I wasn‘t working. Mostly it’s just laziness, but also the fact that I’ve lost a step. I’m not as adept at keeping track of the multiple problems of multiple patients and the multiple questions and issues that come my way in a busy clinic day (I can keep only about 6-8 windows open). So I’m slower. But then there are realizations that I’m doing a good job for the patients and that I can have some fairly deep clinical insights; there is the pleasure of working with my colleagues; and there are moments like in this photo. What joy to see three generations together like this! What joy to provide care for people who really have their act together, like la abuela in the photo.

For obvious reasons I hesitated to write this, but it’s true, so … I became enlightened and nothing other than this life, including the service, would do. That’s why. Of course it was transient. But those few days spent in that state (and Leslie’s profound influence) were enough to keep me on the path for >40 years. Photo: David and me

An email from a former student, very nice to receive: “Just wanted to see how things are going. J told me he was heading to the clinic, so I asked him to get your email address for me. School is going really well. They are definitely keeping me busy here. Seems like I literally study all day. Fortunately, I am a big enough nerd that I don’t mind all the reading. I did not get a chance to come by before I left, but I did want to thank you for your support and encouragement. I remember as a nursing student the professors would always ask us about our plans post graduation. I would tell them that I intended to go to CRNA school. You were the only professor who told me I could actually do it, and supported me. I learned a great deal from you during my clinical rotation, and one of the most valuable things I learned from you was how to be a caring clinician. I admire how you reach out to the patients. Hopefully if all goes well, I can one day offer my services as a CRNA to those in need.” Photo above: Highway Colorado headed into New Mexico

Part of my answer: A nerd in understanding the patho, the procedures, the meds, etc., makes for a stud out there at the literal edge of human existence, where you’ve been spending your time.

Photo: Chocolate chunk cookies (the best recipe) and whole wheat bread (Tassajara recipe)