First steps back in the West

Although my travels are not strictly over yet, upon arrival in Hawaii I am no longer in the East - I have been catapulted in a metal cylinder towards the west and all it holds. After Japan's concrete jungle, the young verdant islands of Hawaii are like heaven on earth. However, the strange feeling of displacement starts at Narita airport. The Star Alliance airlines seem to occupy one set of gates and during the interminable wait for the plane to board I am surrounded by American accents, brattish children, all emitting a level of sound rather unheard of before, even in Tokyo. Landing in Honolulu is similarly strange, but this time because no-one seems to smile... perhaps because I am nothing new - there are white people everywhere - but it strikes me hard. Everyone seems so surly and, regardless of the State's infamous friendliness, I am left feeling like a piece of dirt more than a welcome visitor.

The drive from Hilo airport to Kona is beautiful; there are waterfalls, spectacular vistas and we pass through rain forests, tundra and strange other-worldly landscapes on the two and a half hour journey. Stopping for shaved ice at a small shop I walk to the back to buy a drink and am confronted by 3 refrigerators full of various options on the same theme. It is overwhelming...I have no idea where there is so much choice and grapple with it all while my eyes boggle. Today I had a similar yet far more extreme feeling at the supermarket in Kona. The aisles full of jars and packets and styrofoam containers containing the same things in different forms. How could we need all this stuff? Why can I buy 4 or 5 themes on the same cereal, multiplied by 3 and sold under 6 different brand names? It seems such a waste of time and energy, not only the production of all this...excess, but the energy it takes to decide which of these products to buy. No wonder advertising is such big business - with so much to choose from at basically very similar quality levels, we need a differentiating factor that talks to us on a deeper level. Does it make me happy? Will it keep me healthy? Will it show me as cool? I find it so hard to believe that I was once capable of going into such huge cathedrals to produce and consumption and finding what I wanted among the shelves. I cannot imagine being capable of doing it again for a long time. A new thought: how can such a place be made to be as uninviting as most supermarkets are? The harsh electric lighting, the clinical feel with the items all wrapped in plastic and stored like bodies in a morgue. As cold as a morgue too, so you feel like you need to wrap up or bustle about just to keep your body temperature normal.

On a similar note, I am currently watching The Food Network; some show is on about cakes... the concept seems to be that you give people a theme and they have to make a cake based on it. Today's show is about Ice Age (the film) I think. What strikes me most is that the emphasis is on cake design - making a cake that is huge and looks just like a cartoon character but with no focus at all on how tasty, let alone edible, the cake may be. Maybe this is what life is all about these days - appearances. Who cares if the inside makes you lick your lips for more, who cares if it is good for you or something you treat yourself to every now and then? We've got the technology to take the fat out of things and inject flavour into protein powder. Go on, all the cool kids are eating it!

Narita, on the way to Hawaii

Grinning madly, unable to stop this slow yet wild smile spreading across my face, I arrive at Narita Airport, ready to catapult myself into Western society - Hawaii here I come! I woke up this morning and my lips were already forming this smile. And here I sit, trying not to laugh, having skipped through parts of the airport in joy at the prospect of seeing you and sure that people around me fear for my sanity. But not caring. I've waited for this day for months. At times I thought it would never come. But those are words and sentiments you know, and will soon be no more :) Sitting here with hours of sitting ahead of me, my mind is dancing.

So... Japan. I think that really I may have been too harsh a judge on this ancient, intriguing country. It seemed so sterile and robotic after S.E. Asia, so utterly alien and strangely devoid of life. This feeling was probably accentuated by the Japanese mentality - that very contained yet oddly non-egocentric way of doing things. Go on the subway as a gaijin (foreigner) and experience other passengers moving away from you (when possible) even sometimes opting to stand rather than sit in the seat next to you. Experience the sometimes infuriating prompt disappearance of signs in English (Kyoto was best for this) and the wonderful Engrish: great misuse of the English language, best seen on t-shirts, random signs and restaurant menus.

See, I think I did love Japan with all its oddities yet was also rather nonplussed by it. After the overabundance of vitality in S.E. Asia, I think most countries would be somewhat of a...not let-down but certainly rather lacking in vibrancy. It does make me wonder what Montreal will seem like... Further along these lines, I've been slightly disturbed by the thought that Montreal may not feel like home anymore when I get back. The city and its inhabitant will not have changed much, but I have. Perhaps really it is my priorities and I really, truly no longer want to do jobs I do not enjoy, or that drain me of the will to be creative. I do concede that that could have been due to my outlook on life in general after years of feeling like I could not get where I wanted, years of feeling like trapped. It is interesting, yet not surprising to fully comprehend that a lot of that was probably in my own mind. Many of us are trapped by ourselves more than we realise. So, the key thing here for me is to keep from not falling back into those negative, destructive mindsets.

While I'm typing, one of the most annoying, persistent children I've yet encountered (on this trip) has been continuously asking what time it is, shouting at his Mum to do things for him, demanding his sister turn the volume up on the mp3 player whose earphone they're sharing. He must be bored out of his skull!
Whereas...I am excited. So happy at the thought of seeing you, of being on these gorgeous islands, of being surrounded by nature again instead of the seemingly never-ending concrete jungle of central Japan. I would be happy not to eat rice for another few months. I would be happy to be able to strike up a conversation with locals. I would be happy, am happy to know that my return to Montreal is imminent, or at least far closer.
Bizarrely, I am happy to think of the challenges that lie ahead: getting a job, making a career for myself, deciding what to do with my life (would think I'd at least have some idea by now). I'm happy at the thought of seeing my dear friends - it's been so long. Of stroking Morpheus and seeing his purry face in the morning. But the thing that's fuelling this smile the most, the one that even as I write keeps coming and going, fading out and whamming back in again, that I cannot help but feel is helping to radiate this happiness from me, is the knowledge that, very soon (in under 12 hours!) I will be seeing you. Will be able to hear your voice, see you, feel you there. Laughing, talking, smiling. Just being. This makes me jump and skip and grin like a rather addled monkey.

Another side of Asia: Stop 13, Tokyo

I was thinking that Tokyo would be overwhelming, this vast city (the metropolitan area has over 35 million inhabitants) seemed rather intimidating after what was now the relative known of South East Asia. How many people would speak English, how much of the signage would I understand - or not? In the end, Tokyo seems oddly like the western world - and so very quiet! So clean and calm. Where are the people setting up cooking stoves in the middle of the pavement, where are the children running around, the motorbikes beeping and hooting all over the place, the colours, the noise, the litter, the life? It is so clinical in comparison with Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos etc. that it seems a bit like a ghost town. What I thought would be overwhelming is instead very calm and rather odd...it feels a little bit dead.

This however I am putting down to being exceedingly tired - my flight left Hanoi at 11:30pm and flew in to Narita around 6:30am. Just over 5 hours flying time was filled with the very talkative Vietnamese man next to me asking numerous questions and making conversation, which was nice but when I apologised and said I was tired and needed to sleep the questions continued regardless... oh well, it was nice to have a connection with another person on their way to an as yet unknown city. I am relishing the calm collectedness of this island country and intend to explore it's capital more tomorrow....

Hanoi Airport

Sitting at what seems like the saddest airport in the world for even just 2 hours while I wait for my plane to board is a rather dismal experience. I am not sure if it is due to the communist leanings of the nation's capital, but Hanoi's airport (once past security) leaves a lot to be desired. Maybe this is only because I want something. Since my deodorant stick fell to pieces on the floor this morning (hastily put back together) I have been on the hunt for a new one, and am not looking for a whitening one, which makes the search rather hard. However, I was certain that at least the airport would have a better selection. Oh how wrong I was!

Having got through the vast, slowest-moving airport check-in queue I have ever seen, aided by the continual, non-stop repetitive announcements in a recorded voice conglomerated into words and numbers telling you which flights at which counters are checking in, over and over and over and over again, I finally get through the laxest security ever and into the glories of the duty-free area. Although my eyes have already seen the state of things, my mind refuses to believe it and I obstinately – then dejectedly – walk around looking for something resembling a chemist or at least some signs of toiletry sales. To no avail. However, should I wish to buy chocolates, something from a bad selection of perfume, cigarettes and alcohol or tacky souvenirs of Vietnam, I am in the right place. I guess I'll just have to put up with crazy Japanese prices (or smelly armpits for just over a week)... In the meantime I sit in my hard, cold metal seat while a rather chubby Japanese/Asian child sitting in the seat behind me moves around like someone with ADHD on crack.

I am nervous about Japan – am I going to get by okay? I am also very excited and trying to prepare myself for what I think will be the biggest culture shock of my trip; not only because of the contrast with where I've been for the past 4 months or so, but because Japan is so very different a place from anywhere I've ever been. Well, in about 7 hours' time I will be there and jump right in!

Heading north on the Reunification Express (SE6)

About 2 hours in to the 12 hour train journey from Hue to Ha Noi, the air conditioning in carriage 1 breaks down. Unfortunately, I would only know this if I was traveling in said carriage. As the metal box filled with over 50 people lumbered slowly through the countryside, the heat sneakily increased and the trip, which was previously quite comfortable, became rather unbearable. Unlike the bus, on the train there are no windows in the coach that can be opened to let air through. The only reminder of a breeze comes from young children running past (eventually even they lose the energy to do so) or officials and others walking past. Questioned by the lack of cool air they reply that it will be fixed. This is not a lie - I am sure it will be, just whether in the immediate future remains to be seen.

In the meantime, we fan ourselves with whatever we can find and let our sweat soak steadily into the seats. At least they're not plastic. I hope more people mobilize as the slight movement of air their passing makes feels unbelievably refreshing. The TV plays some Vietnamese comedy show while young children screech and wail in the background noise that my iPod is unable to overcome without deafening me. When not wilting at such a steady pace, such things barely scratch the surface - now (on top of a severe lack of sleep partly due to my obstinate desire to communicate with people back home) it all works to frustrate. I know there is no point in this so close my eyes...maybe sleep will come. The formidable oppressive humidity and heat is like a sauna, the shrill yelps of the woman ostensibly talking on this show jab their way through my skull. How a language can be so beautiful yet so bloody piercing is beyond me. Were this England or North America people would be complaining and demanding some sort of compensation for their discomfort. The people in carriage 1, however, all seem to take it in their stride. Oh well, only another 5 hours to go!

Reflections from Hue

Traveling has taught me that I have a lot, yet need very little. That a smile not only makes you happier, but breaks the ice that words cannot: it is universal. That we humans are, on many levels, the same – dreams, hopes, fears, needs and desires

I've learned that no matter how much you sweat, there always seems to be enough fluid inside you to produce yet more, that water and paper napkins/toilet paper are real commodities and that no matter how far you go, how much you see, there is a place called home. This home is more within you than without out, and is ever-evolving (if you let it) and only you really hold the keys that determine what you'll find when you open the door.

Traveling has left other impressions: no matter how hot and bothered you may be, how frustrated and annoyed, anger generally fuels that and staying calm gets you a hell of a lot further. that you should trust your instincts, and that however many new friends you make, you still wish the old ones were there to share moments. That family is a wonderful, amazing thing wherever in the world you (and they) are.

Last but not least this trip has rekindled some of the belief I'd lost in myself and the world around; that i should work towards fulfilling my dreams and that I am a very blessed person. I have so many things I am grateful for and although I don't often understand how I deserve them, I hope that when I return to my 'real' world with all its daily niggles and stresses, I remember to focus on them instead of the negatives. There is so much wonder and beauty in this world, so much to smile and laugh about...hardships (I have seen many) can crush you if you let them. I hope to let them highlight all the good that exists instead.

Hue

Rambutans are red coloured and hairy on the outside, like a very odd testicle or strange hairy egg. The inside is creamy white and though I used to compare it to a lychee it is surprisingly – given how many I have eaten since I arrived in Asia – only today that I realise how different it is. The flesh is far firmer like a squid, and so much sweeter...in fact I keep tasting hints of homemade strawberry jam (in turn making me think of my Dad, who makes excellent strawberry jam, pots of which I cherish as though they represent pieces of time I missed) mingled with the unmistakable taste of something exotic. This phrase makes me laugh – what is exotic after all? What a cop-out too...but I cannot find words to describe it when other ones are already taking the space needed in my brain.

For some reason I really like Hue. Arriving in the early evening from a long (I lie, only 4 hour) bus journey where the air conditioning was little more than a thin drizzle of cold dog breath (buses here are rarely as advertised: never leaving on time – well, not the time you're told – never stopping at the scenic places they're supposed to, the air/light consoles above the seats nothing other than a courtesy to design,) and finding a reasonable hotel, I walk along the river to the railway station. I love and am intrigued by the feelings you can get from a place. Like people, whose personalities surely play a part and are therefore far more understandable as a source of getting a vibe from them, though I don't think it is the only factor in it, places also seem to send out signals and you can like (or dislike) them on first arrival. Some places grow on you over time...others you may never like, however hard you try. There is something about Hue. It just feels good to me, not like home necessarily, but it resonates somewhere within me.

I am tempted to stay an extra day without having even really seen anything of the city but book my train ticket to Hanoi for the 10th as planned. I'm excited about the prospect of taking a train in Asia, especially as I am taking the day train... over 12 hours of travel: lots of things to look at! Things that, no matter how many photos I may take or words I might use, I don't think I will ever be able to properly portray. This is one of the bittersweet facts about traveling – everything that you'd love to share with friends and family that you can't, because those things are in the air, in the every day experiences you have, in the way lots of Vietnamese people have of breaking out the most endearing, heartfelt smiles; in the diminutive plastic chairs and tables set out in eateries and cafes as though for a herd of dolls; in the people who set up cooking pots or ice buckets in the middle of the pavement to sell grilled meat, rice, drinks; in the incessant stream of bicycles and motorbikes streaming around you as you cross the road; the dust in the air; the bitter, tangy taste of greenery at the bottom of a bowl of noodles and meat or inside hand-rolled rice paper pancakes; the lush green hills in the distance contrasting with the parched sandy earth beneath your feet; the continual calls asking where you are from, how old you are, Manchester United, Vancouver...alright mate, eh?

Maybe some of these good feelings come from the temperature when I arrive. Having come from Hoi An (a town near the coast to the east of Hue) that I thought I would love and continually tried to get the energy to explore more than the intense heat and humidity would allow – and I thought Thailand and Laos were hot! - it seems somewhat cooler here, though that may simply be the time of day. Hoi An is a beautiful town with small streets strewn with tailors, souvenir shops, old buildings and eateries all lit up at night by atmospheric paper lanterns where many tourists go to buy custom-made clothes. I must admit that it was not my intention to make any such purchases while there, however I saw too many things that caught my eye (and were available for crazily low prices, compared to how much they'd cost at home anyway) that there is yet another parcel winging its way to me. My bag however, has somehow gained even more weight and mass than before...I blame it on gifts, which I don't want to send in case they don't reach their destination.

Either way, I spent most of my time in Hoi An relaxing and feeling an underlying tremor of guilt that I should be doing and seeing a lot more than I did. My experience was enriched, however, by following one of the hawker cries that I usually ignored. I was in the market, having just come back from having my second coat fitting and the prospect of a $1 pedicure lured me deeper amidst the wooden stalls selling knock-off, made-to-measure shoes, traditional hats, jewelery that all looked the same, and all manner of knick-knacks and souvenirs to a small stall sweltering beneath a corrugated iron roof, a lazy fan trying to stir the fetid air. Pedicure under way (soaking toes in a decorative bowl, the dirty water, once emptied onto the dusty concrete floor is flicked dry before being carefully stacked back into the pile for sale), Mi starts asking the usual questions. “Where are you from? How old are you? (Answer to this one always seems to surprise people, but I cannot tell if it is genuine or a ploy to win my affections) Are you married?” However, Mi is very friendly and has really great English, so talking with her gets beyond these salient points (conversation in Viet Nam is dependent on a great many factors, including seniority, which is probably why so many questions are asked) and in the end she offers to show me around the town a bit. We go to the beach in the evening where mats are laid out with flickering hurricane lamps on each one, a network of lights leading to the moon. Then it is off to drink ice tea (as in the rest of S.E. Asia, Vietnamese women are very rarely seen drinking alcohol). The next evening we go swimming before heading to her house for dinner the off to a pop concert. Entering the amphitheatre to throbbing bass and a dancy beat, I was starting to think it might be a big party until a break-dancing competition of sorts starts up on stage (rather impressive some of them were too) followed by various singers standing like abandoned kittens in the centre of this huge stage, singing Vietnamese pop songs to a young audience. Reminiscent of the heyday of Top of the Pops, several of them seem to be channeling Michael Jackson with gloves, dances and all... however the majority of them have good voices, although I have no clue what they're saying. Mi is hilarious, commenting on how dup jai (handsome) some of them are. Recently broken up with her boyfriend of 8 years, she is, however, not on the search for another handsome man: all she wants is love (preferably in the form of a Canadian or Australian man, she thinks they are the most attractive – no clue where this preference comes from).

Even though I didn't get to see the sights I had planned to, I did get to experience a slice of Vietnamese life that I may never have seen had I not followed my desire to get rid of the old scratched colour on my nails for cheap. Moral of the story – there isn't really one. Just have fun and see where paths take you.

Tunnels and the Mekong Delta

One of the tourist attractions in the Saigon region is the Cu Chi Tunnels, a subterranean web of tunnels that the Viet Cong built during the war that was home to hospitals, kitchens, and armouries, stretching all the way to Cambodian border! Despite knowing that the tour would be crammed with people, I decided that $5 was a great price to go and visit a part of modern history. On the way to the tunnels the bus stopped at a few places where we had to get off... after a while you get used to being expected to potentially buy something but that doesn't mean it doesn't get tiring. This time around we stopped at a factory where disabled people made decorative homeware (plates, screens, paintings etc.). We walked around looking at people doing their work - imagine someone coming to your office and walking around, camera in hand - then were ushered through a shop and, after a while, back on to the bus.

To get to the tunnels you first have to pay two different entrance fees. Tourists milled around like confused bees... Then there is a 'trek' through the 'jungle' (read walk through some sparse woods). Disregarding the whole mass-tourist feel of the place, I must admit that I was rather impressed - being shown the small tiny places where the Vietnamese soldiers hid from the mighty U.S. army, the ingenious (and ghastly) traps they made, the air holes they constructed and concealed... these were some clever, determined people. My favourite part of the tour was having the chance to walk in the tunnels themselves. There were 3 different levels during the war - one closer to the surface, the second underneath then the third which were even smaller than the previous two, and deeper...with an escape into the Saigon River. The first section we went in had been made bigger for westerners though we were still crouched over and shuffled slowly along, the tunnels dimly lit by low wattage bulbs. The second level was far smaller, and only 5 of us went down. On hands and knees we crawled through the darkness (it was pitch black), down slopes, around corners, over puddles and through some rather tight places. Although I knew people were behind me, and others in front, I felt rather alone down there and, at times, had to calm myself down in the pitch black. There were no reference points other than my hands on the floor and the feel of the walls near my shoulders, my knees rubbing on the floor. I just kept telling myself that I would not be trapped down there, crawling around forever. To think that the soldiers not only built such a tunnel system but moved around them so fast and stayed in them so long (normally up to 8 hours a day) is incredible. Even more incredible is that, at the tunnel site, you can fire AK47s, M1s, machine guns and more! I was hoping to find a rocket launcher there (don't ask) but in the end didn't even fire a small gun as you have to pay for the bullets...the price shown per bullet doesn't seem that bad, but when you add it up (have to buy a round of 10), it comes to about $15. So no shooting range for me.

The next day was another early start, this time to go on an overnight trip to the Mekong Delta. Sold as the place where 'the country comes alive' I was expecting to see lots of rice fields, buffalo and horse-drawn carts. Instead I discovered coconut candy, tourist traps, the Vegas of the Mekong Delta and the unbridled joys of ... the Bonsai Gardens! ;) Having met some really nice people on the tour, we enjoyed meals together and chatted a lot on the long, bumpy, beepy bus rides around the place. I was very excited to go to Cai Rang, a floating market, on the second day of the tour. Having woken up very early in order to be ready and breakfasted at 7:15am, the group walked to the pier and were taken on a boat trip up the river. The market was...smaller than we expected but still a great thing to witness - farmers bring their products to the market, advertising their wares by sticking an example on a long pole in front of the boat. They stay at the market for 3-5 days until they sell all their stuff, and take other products back to their villages. Potatoes, pumpkins, cabbages and other wholesale fruit and vegetable items were plentiful, and even though the season meant there were less vendors, it was a worthwhile trip. And now I have coconut candy to eat on long bus trips!