Tying up loose ends...

It's been a long time since I've updated this blog. I told myself that I wanted to make sure that I'd capture every detail and essence of my trip. Days turned into weeks, into months and into years. This trip was something that changed my life and I'm proud to say that it is still changing my life.

Whereas my previous posts sought to squeeze stories out of narrative, I think I'm due for a mere catch up. After Vietnam, I traveled in Cambodia with Roy for two weeks. We stayed a week in Angkor, reveling in the temples. I couldn't linger though because I'd already purchased my tickets to India and my 6 month visa was ticking away.

I landed in Calcutta (or Kolkata) and stayed with wonderful people. Sick of the smog, I traveled up to Darjeeling in the foothills of Himalayas where I drank tea and talked to the Ghurkhas. My friends told me to head South to catch the weather. I ended up in Chennai (formerly Madras). From here I traveled to Pondicherry (Puducherry), a former French colony. A few days of lost loneliness lead me to visit a little commune 8km outside of town called Auroville. What was supposed to be an hour long visit turned into 5 months, give or take.

In my time in Auroville, I met some amazing people, made music, made food, learned to ride a motorcycle and birthed the idea of traveling further, but not alone, this time with my musical peers, spreading one of the oldest traditions around the world.

Somewhere in between all of that, I managed to live in Sri Lanka for a month, come back to the states, join up with a crazy Canadian, hitch-hike, busk and travel around Serbia, Slovenia, Romania, Austria, Slovakia, Poland and Hungary. I even traveled to my birthland of Ukraine for the first time in 20 years. It was time to return to NYC.

I have a love hate relationship with New York City, as does everyone else, but it's the place I can most appropriately call him. It's also the only place I could put together the band that would take the beauty and inspiration I found out in the world and keep it going.

Traveling for all of that time, almost 1.5 years, I was collecting stories, songs, rhythms and melodies. Thus in New York City, my band Karikatura was born. The stories continue and the band has finally grown it's own wings, which bring it around the world.

I invite all to continue the stories at my bands blog, KarikaturaNYC.tumblr.com.
The music from our first EP Muzon can be found at Karikatura.Bandcamp.com , each song is a story from abroad. Youtube.com/KarikaturaNYC will carry the visual stories from here on out.

Und of course more photos will be available from India, Sri Lanka, Cambodia et al. on dimakay.fotki.com

The stories continues, not here, but here KarikaturaNYC.tumblr.com

Time to play: Name that Meat!

Our exit from Vihn Long put us onto yet another bus which didn't quite go to our destination. Fortunately, this time we had a heads up. A Couchsurfer we'd contacted from Can Tho informed us that we could catch a ferry nearby. After shoo'ing off the Xe-om's (motorcycle taxi drivers) who'd told us they would take us over the river for a heavy price. We found that the ferry was actually right over corner and costs a mere 500 VND per person.

Upon completing the crossing we were met by A., a nice Vietnamese girl who makes her living as a travel agent and is chock full of information. As it would be highly inappropriate for a girl in Vietnam to have two single guys stay with her and her parents, she directed us to a nice cheap hotel and we agreed to meet for lunch. One of the other things that R. and I had found in common was our love of trying the local food, the more exotic the better!

Sitting down to a lunch of spicy chicken and soup we informed A. of our desires to eat something strange. With a laugh, she told us that there was a place not too far away that serves rat! Naturally, these are field rats who feed mostly on rice and not the disease-ridden street rats that eat everything ... or at least so we were told and want to believe to this day.

Come evening we were joined by a few more people, both Vietnamese and travelers, and were led down some dark streets to what looked like someones living room. A. assured us that this place belonged to a friend of hers and that we'd be well taken care of.

We'd inquired and were told that they did indeed have some of the meat we were interested in as well as a few other dishes we should try. While sipping on some local beer and chatting we got a few other small dishes but satisfaction was not to be had. All were waiting and imagining that special rodent delight that was up next. Suddenly, out of the kitchen comes a big plate with a bed of lettuce and what looks likes fried, marinated cubes of pork surrounded by mango's. Could this be our furry treat?



Funny enough, each of us that hadn't had this dish before, was expecting a full size rat, tail and all on the plate. Instead here were chunks of what could've been any other meet. However, upon taking the first bites and crunching on the multitude of little bones that couldn't be removed, we were quickly reminded as to exactly WHAT we were eating.

The verdict? It tastes somewhat like pork only slightly more chewy. Kind of like the difference between chicken wings and frog legs. To the chef's credit, it was well prepared and the spices perhaps helped the taste buds to conjure thoughts of other more familiar dishes. However, it was of course the little bones which when crunched sent sharp reminders of little rodent skeletons. Despite that, it was a good dish! We were also told there was some good snake in town but alas we couldn't locate it in time.

Next morning we woke up before dawn to go and arrange a row boat with a nice girl from Hong Kong that we'd met the day before in order to go check out the famous floating markets up river. Quite popular in these parts, since so many people actually live on boats. These markets are essentially a docking of many boats. Each boat will be jam packed with a type of fruit or a variety. The locals then go from boat to boat haggling for deals. Aside from that, there are a plethora of little boats going around providing breakfast, tea or coffee for both the shoppers and sellers. The result is a veritable bazaar on water.



Nothing is quite as refreshing as having fresh coconuts and pineapples being brought to you from an adjacent boat while being paddled down the river and taking in the sites. We loved the experience so much that we'd asked our amazing rower to take us further up to the next market and then through some more jungle canals. Once again, R. and I reflected on the sheer bliss and sunburns that a life on the water could provide.

Alas, these were to be our last days in Vietnam for we were about to make the journey up the river to Cambodia, a place that would excite our senses and wallets! Tune in for the next posts to find out the strange creatures we ate there!

Evidence of crimes referenced can be found here:
http://public.fotki.com/Dimakay/travel/cn-th
und
http://public.fotki.com/Dimakay/travel/chau-doc

Mekong River Cruising

Hello all, I'm back in India now for awhile. This next part was written by hand in my little notebook, sitting on a buzzing boat bound for Phnom Phen, Cambodia on the Mekong River. It's a bit detail heavy but I guess at the time I didn't want to forget a moment of the trip. It took place in first weeks of January as we were leaving Saigon.

An early rise led to meeting R. in the street for a quick breakfast of buns and coffee. We caught a taxi bound for the bus station sanctioned by the, in this case, Phoney Planet. Upon arrival we were quickly shuttled onto what we thought was the right bus. Smiling, they'd reassured us in our protests of our destination, My Tho. A quick bargain got us tickets which seemed awfully cheap. The worries were quickly answered when not even 20 minutes later we were rushed off and onto yet another waiting bus, still haven't had left Saigon.



This bus was far seedier. Nevertheless, we were assured it went where we needed it to go and were told that the tickets were 300,000 VND each! Bargaining ensued, including some anger on behalf of the completely non-English speaking and semi-toothless ticket seller. At one point, we were sure that we'd get kicked off the bus any second now. Holding steady, we handed him a 100,000 bill for both of us . With all of the other passengers now watching, he threw his hands up and flew off in a huff. From 300,000 to 50,000 each, our bargaining skills were being sharpened! I'm sure we still over payed.


Naturally, we were dropped off six kilometers from our destination, the waterfront where we were to arrange a boat. A kind old man getting off with us, simply handed us a paper that said "Honda, Mekong, 10,000." This meant that a Motorbike taxi should cost 10,000 VND to the water. We didn't get our price from the drivers gathered and proceeded to walk. The small trek, which brought us some great views of a small village and a giant Buddha, led us to a market which while being in My Tho was still quite far from the river. Yet another kind man helped us to arrange motorbikes to the tourist offices.


Just over the bridge we'd entered into a virtual ghost town. This was where we were to set off on our river adventure? After getting an outrageously high quote on what we wanted we were approached by a tattooed man who spoke decent English. Asking us what we were looking for, he invited us to his cafe to "discuss." Though he wasn't an official tour guide, we decided to hear him out. It came up that he was a former soldier and had many stories of the days when the Americans were around. We told him we were Canadian. In the end, we ended up cutting a deal for a boat tour, a home stay in a village and another boat tour the following day. Little did we know the adventure about to ensue.


Having shook on it, we were led to his boat just across the river. The vessel was to be piloted by his older brother and a young man who was dressed in a collared shirt and dress pants, looking quite clean, at the time that is. R. had noticed, unbeknownst to me, that the man was drunk. Onwards!

The trip commenced with some beautiful jungle canals which were straight out of "Apocalypse Now" or any other Vietnam War movie.



This brought us to a fine restaurant in the trees where we shared a giant Elephant Ear fish which we rolled (read: someone rolled for us) into Spring Rolls. It felt weird being the only two eating with the other guys around but they refused when we offered and we were starved.


Next stop was a little Island on the tourist trail which houses a coconut candy factory. We sampled some fresh ones until our host called us over to sample something a bit different, Banana Whiskey. Apparently, this is a speciality in the region and was on sale here a well. Neither of us being quite enchanted with it other than for the novelty, opted out of buying it.


A few minutes later, for some reason, our guide left the boat, claiming he had other business and left us in the company of the pilot and the drunk. It must not have been many more minutes later before Mr. Drunk, as he shall now be known, had crouched up behind us in the boat and offered a shot of some alcohol. Mind you, it was only about 1pm. Not wanting to be rude, we accepted the offer and swallowed the awful sweet liquid with only minor gagging. What we came to find out was that while we were inspecting coconut candy making machines and trying fresh sweets, our pilot had snuck behind the scenes and purchases not one but five bottles of the Banana Whiskey!This began a ritual that would repeat itself many many times over the next day and a half.


Despite some refusals we must have had five or six shots in the next hour. R., being the non-drinker having less and myself being the appeaser, consuming more. Mr. Drunk was getting drunker and was as we came to understand through vulgar hand gestures, kisses and sly winks, offering us hookers!? Oddly enough, these shenanigans actually enhanced the trip and in no way distracted from the sheer beauty of the wide brown river Mekong.




It was a pleasure to watch the greenery of the coast, the smiles of the kids frantically waving and screaming "hello" and the peacefulness of the passing boats and their crews. Our journey was long and the pilot suggested we lay down and take naps. He got out some life jackets for pillows and put up a tarp as a curtain to block out the sun. Taking his suggestion we were knocked out instantly.


Perhaps an hour later, woken up by the sun peaking through the curtain, we were plunged into a river of tranquility. Having arranged our own trip we were taken far out of the tourist laden course. Without a single sign of a foreigner nearby, even the drone of the engine seemed to disappear. I found it a good time to take out the ole guitar and play a few tunes. It was a bit hard to hear over the roar of the motor but R. seemed to enjoy it and the setting brought me into a state of euphoria. What can be better than nature and music?




This got the attention of our pilot who had by this point handed over the controls to Mr. Drunk and had come to observe my playing. He seemed to like it and of course offered more shots of the Banana Whiskey. Euphoria and random shots continued until we'd reached our first stop, a small village market by the water. Here we picked up some small watermelons and some colorful prickly fruits which were similar to Lychee but were called Rambutan's. Noshing on fresh fruit, consuming shots and dodging kisses from Mr. Drunk, we continued into a colorful and serene sunset.


Observing the calm ship crews reclining in hammocks as they cruised by, R. and I exchanged opinions on the simplicity of life on the water. Of course we also understood this was purely relative, because these people had no choice and we were merely catching a glimpse of what is otherwise most likely a hard life. Darkness came and it dawned on us that our pilot had no idea of our destination, assuming there was one to begin with. Still enthralled, we weren't worried.



The sun had set and the sky was pitch. After some asking around and navigation in the dark shallow waters with the help of a flashlight, we approached an island with what appeared to be a guesthouse at the end of the dock. It dawned on us that this was probably not the village we'd made a deal for but in our state of elation we were liable to agree. This place ended up being interesting nonetheless. It was indeed a guesthouse on stilts and entirely engrossed with the vegetation we'd been seeing everywhere. Our room was a separate shack on stilts with no walls and two cots shrouded in blue mosquito nets.


We sat down to dinner with the pilot, while Mr. Drunk slept in the boat. Much to our surprise, they brought out a rather big Elephant Ear fish, much like the one we'd had for lunch. This was a big meal, we thought until they brought our even more dishes. Most likely, for our two companions. Soon we were joined by the owner of the place, a young worker and finally a weary Mr. Drunk.


Food soon turned to music and magic tricks. I got my guitar and started entertaining as usual. Soon the pilot asked for the guitar and sang us some Vietnamese songs. Not to be outdone, or out drunk, Mr. Drunk kept reaching for the guitar. Getting it into his grips he proceeded to bang on it loudly until one of the other guys would take it away from him and hand it back to me, flashing a thumbs up.

Apparently, our Pilot was capable of being quite the entertainer himself. While I was back playing tunes on the guitar, he'd taken to showing card tricks to R.. He had a few other slights of the eye up his sleeves and actually managed to keep us enthralled for a few hours. Being the only guests in the place, we managed to gather the whole staff around the table. Naturally, the banana whiskey was still flowing (and still disgusting) as we couldn't possibly offend our new hosts by not drinking with them.

We had an early rise the next morning and the Pilot insisted that we turn in early. Elated we said our goodbyes and were happy to once again prove that the more alcohol and music you have, the less you need those pesky conventional forms of communication like language. I still don't like Banana Whiskey.

The next morning we had a quick breakfast and loaded up for 3-hour ride up the river until we were dropped in Vinh Lohn for our bus to Can Tho. Of course it didn't go off without a hitch. We were surprised to find out the ride up was only an hour. We had to argue and threaten in the end to get our moneys worth. This was a bit tough being that we'd struck the deal with the absent tattooed guy and the Pilot and Mr. Drunk had almost no English skills. Despite the arguing we managed to part ways on a good note. In fact, Mr. Drunk had taken a fancy to my blue sunglasses and asked to trade me for his. I let him keep both as a memento and went on my way.

Off we were to Can Tho where we were to meet a nice Vietnamese girl from Couchsurfing, tour floating markets at dawn, eat rat and make arrangements for our invasion of Cambodia, but that is all for another tale. All in all, the trip was nothing like what we'd expected and for that we were thankful. We'd arranged it ourselves were glad to let the adventures play out as they did. I hope Mr. Drunk remembers us in the morning.


More photos @ Dimakay.fotki.com though I shall be uploading more in the coming days.

Saigon, something tastes Western.

Out of the Jungles of Hoi An and into the buzzing metropolis of Ho Chi Mihn City. What's that? Never heard of it? Perhaps, Saigon rings a bell then. That's right, after the Vietnamese drove the Americans out and united the country, the name was changed to reflect their leader and hero, Ho Chi Mihn, or Uncle Ho as he is affectionately known and depicted.

Having wandered a bit, it was easy to see that Saigon was far bigger and more developed than Hanoi. Even now, it was easy to see just where the French-American stronghold was in the country. Downtown boasts many tall buildings with various western corporations taking up seats in them. The main streets are wide, well lit and lined with various shops selling everything from western apparel to touristy souvenirs.

The seedier backpacker ghetto is well developed for the young and sandalled. Translation,everything was more expensive. Once again, I rented a scooter and went out into the craziness that was Vietnamese street driving.

As if there wasn't enough traffic on the roadways, they have a tradition where every Sunday evening EVERYONE goes out on their motorbike/scooter and goes cruising around the downtown area. This is a viable activity for the evening and entails doing nothing but riding around, inhaling copious amounts of fumes and talking to friends. Once more I took a deep breath (though this smog was making them less deep!) and headed out into the insanity.




Riding to the outer districts of the city also gave me a good sight of how "the other half" lives. These areas were more reminiscent of Hanoi. Families sitting around on the floor in their open houses, enjoying a meal together or going at it on the ole Karaoke! It was great to see that Saigon was more than just the mammoth structures and proganda relics of the downtown districts. Though, there is nothing quite like seeing the hammer and sickle flags hanging across the street from the Hilton.



The last days in Saigon brought a pleasant surprise in that I'd found myself a travel partner. R. had been on a similar trip to mine but seemed to have more ideas as to what he wanted to see. Despite his planning, we had similar styles of travel and one of the merits of being solo is that you can have no plans, no pressure and set off into any which direction the wind blows you. This time, the wind was to blow me south and west to follow the famous Mekong river to the delta and into Cambodia.

I knew little of the route or area but my new travel buddy had it all figured out, sort of. So off we set on a journey that would take us by taxi, motorcycle, bicycle, bus and boat to new adventures in Vietnam and Cambodia!

Stories to follow.

More fotki @ dimakay.fotki.com

Out to the Jungles of Hoi An

In my last days in Hanoi I took a trip out to a place called Ha Long Bay. These rock formations and floating villages in the water seemed like a popular destination as there were advertisements for it everywhere in town. The boat was a tad shabby but it was great to get out of the city and see natural wonders, which incidentally made for some great photos.

Perhaps it was this brief taste of nature or my burning lungs or my ringing ears or just my desire to have a slightly slower pace but off we went on the overnight train to Hoi An. Situated right smack in the middle of the country it was supposed to be a low key beach town with a nice old city as well. I'm sure that's the case in season. When we'd arrived the water was too rough to swim in and for the most part it was overcast.

The views coming in however, were amazing. Lush green jungles on one side and steep cliff sides descending into dramatic ocean views on the other side. One can almost imagine himself as a U.S. soldier touring the jungles, fighting strange insects, sweating through socks, looking for landmines... maybe not. Regardless, the views absolutely justified the train ride.

The town itself was quite small and apparently the area is under development as we passed a large number of resorts being built on the coastline. As it turned out, Hoi An is a popular destination for clothing. We came face to face with many shops and touts offering us custom made suits and dresses.

Due to the incliment weather and the tight schedule my companions were keeping, we actually set about booking a flight OUT of town as soon as we'd arrived. Feeling satisfied, we went to dinner in the old town. The charming and quiet nature of the place, situated on a canal, made us wish we didn't have to leave so soon.

A quick note, in Vietnam they have this beer which has no preservatives. It is very cheap, quite light and usually served out of a giant metal vat. At 4,000 Dong (roughly 27 cents) a cup it's easy to have many servings, however, by the second cup it can be quite effective.

As mentioned earlier, we were to spend only one night in the town. However, not wanting to make a complete waste of the journey, we'd decided to visit some ruins the next day. The place, called My Son was only about two hours of travel from Hoi An. After discussing some tourist options we got the idea to rent some scooters and head out there ourselves.

Perhaps the better title for this post should be, "The Beginning of an Addiction." You see, it had been a long running desire of mine to try a scooter. Sure I'd been curious of motorcycles for ages but all of those gears!? I simply had no idea how to operate one. A scooter (motorbike) seemed like the best solution and what better place to try one than the empty streets of this small town, right?

Constant rain and the ever looming fear of insane Vietnamese riders from the North made us a bit weary, but we decided to bite the bullet and go for it anyway.

The next morning we awoke around 5:00 am. To do the trip as planned, we had to be back in time to catch our taxi to the airport. Out in the pitch black morning, we were disappointed to find cats and dogs coming from the sky. Upset, I went back to sleep. Some hours later, I'd woken up to find the rain had stopped, the skies were still gray, but better off. We'd calculated that we probably had just enough time to ride out, stay for 30 minutes and come straight back.

Sure it was a crazy feat and perhaps not everyone in the group felt like risking it, but when that temptation of a scooter ride through the jungle hits you, you just have to go. Off we went. After a few kilometers of bumpy roads and stopping for directions we were out onto the main road that would take us to My Son.

Finally, we were off into the real Vietnam. No touts, not hotels, no souvenir shops. Just rice paddies, lots and lots of rice paddies.



Random animals toiling in the fields. Just about every kid we'd passed waved hello to us, perhaps they weren't used to the foreign people not being on giant buses roaring past. Oh, there were those too! We learned to avoid them.

After about an hour, we'd started to notice the clouds getting grayer and the air getting heavier. Next we started feeling the little droplets followed by much larger droppings, before we knew it we were in a tropical rain storm. Being only about 20km from our destination we thought it prudent to pull over and take cover at some building we found off the side of the road.

The property didn't appear to be occupied and there was a nice porch for us to stand under to wait for the rain to pass. Surrounding us were rice fields and small houses where families lived. Naturally, we thought this to be a great photo-op.




Some 15 minutes later a local guy started walking towards us. We couldn't tell by his expression just what he wanted but we'd assumed we were on some private property and he was coming to investigate what trouble we were up to. Weren't we wrong.

In his limited English he explained to us that he and his family live just across the road and that they'd wanted us to come by and have tea with them! Surprised, we headed on over in the rain. Apparently, this created a lot of excitement for his whole family. He promptly introduced us to his father, who makes rock sculptures, his wife, his brother and kids.

We were sat down and quickly given hot tea as he tried to make conversation. With the use of hand gestures and limited English we were able to discuss things as varied as his favorite brand of cigarettes, fashionable validity of torn jeans and finally as to why I was without a woman, clearly a crime at my age in this country.

As the skies cleared we were sent on our way with warm smiles, handshakes and the almighty exchange of MSN screen names so popular in the countryside. Mounting our beasts we rode on.

We'd reached our destination and realized a few key facts:
1)The cost to get in was 60,000 Dong each.
2) It would take roughly two hours to traverse the whole site.
3) We had to be back in 2.5 hours.

Back on the bikes we went for the race back! This ride was far quicker and we took some liberties with pictures in motion as well as of the countryside. We weren't in the least disappointed by the fact that we never made it in to see some old ruins. We got to meet some living people and see some great countryside.

In the end we caught the cab and the flight with some time to spare. And of course, as usual we came to see that the pleasure is always in the journey, not the destination.

More foto @
public.fotki.com/Dimakay/travel/halong-bay
public.fotki.com/Dimakay/travel/hoi-an--jungles

The Peaceful Red Riot

A quick recap of an event that we'd witnessed in my first days in Hanoi.

Myself and the British guys I was hanging out with, had heard there was to be a big soccer match between Vietnam and Thailand. Not really knowing much about it other than the fact that everyone in the city seemed to be quite excited about it we'd decided to head out and find a place to eat outside the would also have a TV.

The match itself wasn't much of a spectacle. Thailand scored early on and Vietnam was trailing until the last minutes when a surprise header made the equalizer. Though the game ended in a tie, this was apparently a tournament and Vietnam had just beat Thailand for the first time in 11 years. That was NOT the interesting bit.

As we were departing the restaurant and started heading down the street of little restaurants we noticed people celebrating. The ones we came across were visibly happy and we had a few high fives and waves as we walked down the street. This didn't prepare us for what was to come.

Before our eyes was a roaring sea of red. Every piece of this huge intersection was suffocated with screaming Vietnamese on motorbikes. Each was wearing a red headband and usually with a passenger or two waving giant Vietnamese flags. The flag, though I'm sure you knew this, is just red with a big yellow star in the middle.

The ones who weren't randomly screaming were chanting something that sounded like "Vietnam # 1," later we found out it means Vietnam is the Champion. For some reason they were quite amused that there were foreigners present and seemed quite intent on having us share in their excitement. All who stopped next to us made sure to give us high-fives, handshakes and smiles.

We kept commenting to each other that had a foreigner just stepped out of their hotel and observed what was going on, one clearly could assume this was the coming of the second communist revolution and the Americans were getting kicked out ... again.

My mates decided to buy some flags, quite convenient that the flag makers are everywhere, and we proceeded down to the big lake which makes up the center of Hanoi. When we caught sight of the scene at the lake, we'd realized that the intersection was just the tip of the iceberg.

There was a virtual parking lot around the lake. It seemed like every person in Hanoi had come out to join in the celebrations. Each screaming, waving a flag. Here were also some small cars and trucks, also loaded to the top with people. Some blasted music, other sang songs, complete strangers embraced each other.

The Brits took notice that what was unique about this was that unlike a typical sports riot, not a single person appeared to be drinking. Moreover, there was no violence or damage being created. We barely even saw any police. We postulated that this may be due to the mind control the authorities have exhibited over the years but who knows for sure, but that's a tad speculative.

Everyone was friendly, no one seemed drunk or violent. Of course, we being the rowdy foreigners went and purchased beers and sat on the sidewalk and just watched it unfurl. Many people came up and talked to us, despite their limited English, to share in their happiness.




At one point, one of the British guys hopped onto a motorbike and went for a cruise around the lake waving a giant flag. In a flash of an eye, he'd disappeared into the crowd. The remaining guy and I made wagers as to whether he'd ever return from this "trip" on a strangers bike.

Around 3am we started to head back to the hotel, the parade/riot was still going at the very same intensity. We wondered just how much of the country would make it to work the next day. Both of us, still not quite sure what we'd just witnessed.



A quick follow-up to the comment about police control in Hanoi. The bars officially close a midnight. These are meant mostly for foreigners as it seems the Vietnamese prefer nightclubs or just staying at home. However, as it seems, a system has emerged where one or two bars pay off the cops every night to stay open. People from the UK and Ireland would recognize this as an old fashioned lock in. Essentially, the lights are turned out and the front door is locked, yet all the patrons remain drinking.

In other bars, the police will come and sometimes even blow a loud whistle inside the bar. Everyone is told to leave. If you happen to be in the lucky bar that night, the bartender will come around with a wink and tell you to stay until the cops leave. If you are in the unlucky bar for that night, you will be escorted out and probably proceed through the streets which at this point are completely empty, to the bar that is open.

Gotta love being in a communist country.

A few more blurry pics @ dimakay.fotki.com

Hanoi an Introduction

After months of traveling in Europe, a continent which despite its differences still bears a striking resemblance to the place I had come from. A place where I could disappear in the crowd and observe from within, a place I had come to find quite facile and familiar. Departing Berlin, a city enveloped in winter, I was off to the origins of my desires to travel, Asia.

Though not my focus, Europe provided for great training wheels from a purely traveling standpoint. Things were available, sometimes you would search, you had to learn and yet you could ask as things were needed. Of course, the ability to blend into the crowd came in handy.

After boarding a plane with what seemed like a whole orchestra of drunken Czechs, I'd commenced my 18 hour (with a stopover in Beijing) flight to Hanoi, Vietnam.

Naturally, my Soviet eyes caught the clear communist insignias on the uniforms of all of the police and soldiers working the airport. Having mostly seen these things on little pins and badges back home or in the form of kitsche items warn by hipsters, it made for a nice first impression. After procuring the visa, I had my first taste of Asian bargaining ( a skill I would later polish, no really) when I got my taxi into town.

It was night time and the rain was coming down hard. Despite this I couldn't help but notice the plethora of tiny motorbikes on the roads. Imagine a skinny scooter with gears and the high pitch buzz of a lawnmower. Most had 2-3 passengers, didn't use headlights and were somehow undeterred by the buckets pouring down.

A key defining factor of the Asian rules of the road is this: It is you against the world. My taxi driver made a point of driving exactly ON the divider line, honking furiously at all other vehicles as he overtook them in all manners of death defying feats. No, I didn't dare insult him by attempting to wear my seat belt.

Hanoi on first impression was dark and crowded. Though a sidewalk existed, it appeared to be seldom used as most people either park their motorbikes, have little sidewalk restaurants (read: tables and pots over a fire) or the sidewalk itself is under construction (perhaps eternally.)

Asia, here I was.

Having spent a few days in Hanoi, I still found it to be insane, but one gets quite used to things. Though there were no traffic lights, it was quite easy crossing the street. The trick is to put aside instinct and walk in a straight predictable line right through the chaos. The riders in their infinite experience manage to avoid all pedestrians as well as each other. Eye contact is key and road rage seems to be non-existent. Logic says that traffic accidents must happen, but in all my time in Vietnam I didn't witness a single one even when I was quite convinced that would be the outcome.



A few Brits and myself decided we would eat where the locals eat, which is usually in the street. As mentioned before, restaurants are set up by putting tiny plastic chairs and tables in the street. The food is also cooking in giant pots or makeshift grills right on the street. Often these sidewalk eateries only serve one or two dishes, so everyone knows where to go when they are in the mood for a particular dish.

This is how most of the Vietnamese eat. The food is fresh and usually better than the tourist restaurants. A full meal including a big beer will cost at most 17,000 Vietnamese Dong or $1 USD.


As I was going to see much more often through my travels in Asia, it was surprising just how much daily life happens right on the street. Everything from restaurants, dental practices, motorcycle repairs, tailors, flag makers to cafes can be situated on the same street. Everyone will be sitting or working outside. Of course, as mentioned before this makes the sidewalk non-negotiable, but it is interesting to see the creative ways people utilize space. Like these powerlines...





Sure it means the food that was just cooked in the giant pot outside will have essence of exhaust pipe in it, that just adds to the flavour! If one is interested in seeing how people live here a nice wandering will do the trick.

foto @ dimakay.fotki.com