Pieceing it Together

Well, it was bound to happen. Arriving in Cambodia pushed me past my saturation point, and all that I learned in Thailand, Laos, and Vietnam are now scrambled together in a cultural, architectural, historical, political, religious blender. Histories and destinies are woven together and each country has a slightly different recollection of the region's history. Invasions from Siam, Kemer, Cham and China in earlier days and recently China (again), France, United States Russia, and Vietnam played, and continue to play their parts. Hinduism, Buddhism, communism, capitalism, Confusionism, royalism, imperialism. We traveled with a guide whose grandaddy was a North Vietnamese official during the war, and another guide whose dad was a South Vietnamese soldier who stayed in the country to face two years in a "re-education" camp after the war. We traveled with two guides in two different countries who had been Buddhist monks before they were guides. We traveled with one guide whose dad avoided death in the killing fields of Cambodia by having dark skin, like a peasant, not an intelectual. We met young girls who cherish light complexions.
Culenary school, land mine museum, village kindergarten, POW museum, Cambodian circus, typhoon, Buddhist shrine, old market shopping, slick shopping center.  Bus, van, plane, taxi, skytrain,  tuk tuk, boat and bicycle. All fitting together into a puzzle.

 

Ha Long Bay

The remains of the largest typhoon in recorded history is headed towards us in Hanoi, but we are scheduled to leave before it arrives. The last two days on Ha Long Bay were fabulous, but with an undercurrent of concern as news of the devastation in the Philippines reached us. Our guide, Hung, kept a happy face as he gave us updates and discussed alternate plans if the typhoon were to hit Hoi An, where we were to head next. Happy face, but concern on the inside.

The bay is home to multiple small floating fishing villages, pearl farms, and thousands of tourists. For much of the time, we are happy that our boat avoids the other boats. Sometimes, however, there is an attraction that draws the tour boats into a wet traffic jam and the experience is diminished. The landscape is eye-popping and carved into thousands of small islands; formed by the thrashing of the tail of a giant dragon - a long, long time ago.  Of course!

Now, we are in the boarding area for our 5pm flight to Da Nang and our hotel in Hoi An. At this moment, it seems that fortune is smiling on us.

 

One day in Hanoi

I am on line to visit Ho Chi Minh. His body lies preserved in a mausoleum in central Hanoi,  near the simple stilt house that served his modest presidential palace. The line snakes along a covered walkway, under the watchful eyes of the honor guards whose elaborate white uniforms look à little baggy to me. They remind us to take off hats and sunglasses and hold gloved fingers to lips to politely shush us. The line moves quickly and in twenty minutes we reach "Uncle Ho" who lies in a dimly lit large central room but his body glows in the illumination of his glass chamber. Hard not to get goosebumps. We visit Ho's house which is remarkable for its simplicity  and the simple French colonial style furniture. In his study, a lone bust of Lenin catches my eye.
There are very few reminders of  "The American War" in Hanoi now; most of the seven million Hanoi residents have only read about it in schoolbooks. Our young guide says Vietnamese people say let bygones be bygones and I believe him and that the country has eyes very much on the future. We do see some reminders of the war - some wreckage of a B-52 bomber lies in a small lake in a busy old part of town, ignored by locals and commerated only by a small plaque on a nearby building. We also visit the prison (the "Hanoi Hilton") that housed American pilots, captured down during the war. Significantly, most of the prison has been torn down for the construction of a slick new shopping center. The propaganda in the museum is pretty understated, but still makes me uncomfortable. The prison gates must have seen horrible things, but I must take photos for my door hardware portfolio.
With the war behind us, we visit the central confusions temple and are swallowed by a crowd of young students who have come to take graduation photos. The women are all fabulously pretty and stylish,  the men are trying to look cool in dark suits; there is an exhausting energy of laughing an posing for pictures. I much prefer this memory of Hanoi.

Hmong Visit

In Laos for only a few days but they are busy days. All around Luang Prabang yesterday and today was are all wearing strands of magic string around our wrists as reminders of our welcoming ceremony last night - keep them on for three days then hide them in a secret place to ensure good fortune. Now we are on a nice six mile walk (hike?)  from a traditional small Hmong village through fields, hills and jungle to a sweet public park with a lovely waterfall.

Hmong.  These are representatives of the region's hill tribes that have fought to maintain their traditional ways since the dawn of time, when they moved into the region from Southern China. These are the guys that fought beside US soldiers and against communists in the 60s and 70s. These are the guys who are independent even today, maintaining language and religious beliefs separate from Buddhist Laos. We start a walk at a village that displays structures built from nearby materials; lumber,  bamboo, and thatching for roofs. Before we begin our walk, our guide Toubee, who tought us hello and thank you in Lao yesterday now repeats the process for the Hmong language. I notice him slipping some Lao kip to a villager to greese the wheels as we entered their domain. As we wander, we are regarded with either indifference or tolerance by the adults but curiosity by the children who wave in the street or just peek from doorways. We are walking through a classic history textbook only updated by the TV satellite dishes at each house.

 

Morning Encounter in Chiang Mai

Been in Thailand for three nights but I am up with the roosters and still not adapted to the change of time zones. I think I'll walk to the nearby temple that my friend David mentioned and see if there is anything interesting to photograph in the soft dawn lighting. Now I am on the street that was so busy when I arrived yesterday but this morning it is empty and I feel a little conspicuous in the unfamiliar city. Chiang Mai is much busier and more "urban" than I have imagined,  and I wonder if street chrime might be a possibility. I soon see another early morning riser; a man jogging towards me on the narrow sidewalk - a very tough looking guy - shadow boxing as he runs. I imagine him as a brutal and cunning Thai kickboxer; a feared Muay Thai fighter. I get a tighter grip on my camera as he nears, but as he passes he is breaks his cadence as he puts his hands together in a traditional wai greeting, including the small bow. I can't help but smile.