Not Your Typical Day

Mom asked, “honey, now who are these people you’ll be spending Christmas with? I need to know…”

Well, where to begin. To sum it up, they are amazing, entertaining, surprising and touching.  Try dedicated, hard working, inspiring and loyal. Most of all, they are kind and generous with their time, their love for animals, and with their heart. I feel truly blessed to be spending my holidays with them.

Julie-Ann and, her husband Clint, both manage Wild Coast Adventures. It’s the Eastern Cape’s leading travel/tour adventure company, giving tourists a full-on African experience whether you’re looking to hunt, fish or do overnight safaris on horseback and day rides along the Indian Ocean or thru private game reserves.

Sunray Farms is the name of the actual horse farm, where Julie-Ann cares for, trains, breeds about 60 horses. Sunray accepts short and long term volunteers year round.  That’s me!

As for volunteers, there’s Roz and Alex. And, Amanda – or Tiny Tito – is the full time Sunray employee, responsible for day-to-day horse riding tours. Julie-Ann also has a full time staff of local tribe people who manage the farm, house and “everything” else.

Roz is a career nomad. And, super cool! Alex and I told her she is “360 degrees perfect.”

Not sure what it means, but Alex said in Italy it means “super cool!” I went along with it. Roz has worked around horses all her life – from training race horses to foals. She works in the UK for about 6 months and earns enough money to spend the blizzardy time of year working with animals, whether it is horses in South Africa or Pumas in Peru. She’s the glue that held us together.

Alex is an interesting character. She will be upset I’m even writing her name in a blog. But, she is FAMOUS! She’s the ONLY female gondola driver in all of Venice. That’s right. The only one.

She has her own boat and works with the top hotels in Venice. The rich and famous all seek her out when they visit. She says, “There are over 170 canals in Venice. I get the stars lost without problem…” She pops cow-boy killers (Marlboro Reds) like they are candy corn and took to drinking beer, instead of wine. Of course, she has that Italian style and attitude that goes along with it. She’s ridden since she’s a child and decided, out of boredom, to take the horseback riders instructors license and passed. She’s a fab rider and loves telling me, the American girl, what to do. Lots of stories to tell.

Little Tiny Tito – aka Amanda – is around 20 years old. Loves to ride. And, loves to party. I remember those days of staying out until 3 am, waking at 6 am for work and not even being phased. She’s that girl. The three of us would watch in “awe.” She has her own horse, Donatello, who she tumbled over in a river during our charity ride. It was hysterical since she survived. Bummer if not. I share a room with her. Really, its a loft. The best is we’re so damn tired after a day of work and riding, that lights go out around 8:30 pm. That is if she’s not out…. Lots of stories to tell…

The five or six or seven Russel Terriers are next on the list. Russel terriers are the “must” have farm dog in South Africa. They are everywhere! Julie-Ann’s dogs are named after.. guess? Yep, Disney characters. So, I felt right at home.

There’s blind Mickey Mouse. Horse kicked him in one eye. The other eye got infected. There’s cancer ridden Donald Duck. Then, needy Mini-Mouse. There’s Junior, with so many indescribable aliments. A terrier called Tabitha and another random dog, whose name I forgot. Bella is the sheep, herding dog that nips at horses feet. All of them lived at our volunteer house. And, all of them have a lot of hair.

I will only give a mention to the ticks, fleas, flies, spiders, lizards, millipedes, beatles, flying thingies and other creepy crawlies living with us…

Say hello to my 2010 Christmas family!

December 6 – 12, 2011

Safari server, “What would you like to drink for the safari?”

Me: “Ommmm… I guess whatever? I mean, what do you have?”

Safari server: “We have anything you want – coke, wine, gin, vodka, beer, whiskey….

Me: “Oh, I will just have water…”

Safari server: “It’s included. It’s free….”

Me: “Change that. It’s gin. Gin and tonic! Better, yet, I will have both – the South African booze and a Gin and Tonic…Is that ok???”

Welcome to my first African Safari.

I have not had hard liquor since Russia – stuck with beer or rice wine for you know what you’re getting. If you order vodka in communist Asia, they more than likely to water it down or just pour tonic water, insisting liquor is floating in there. My word, it feels good to be back to civilization…

Back to a place where people know how to pour a good drink…

Made it to Johannesburg. Jumped in a car and drove six hours to Timbavati, a private game reserve part of Kruger National Park. Staying in a hut with no electricity and an outside shower encased by tall bamboo sticks. Very happy. I arrived yesterday after lunch, just in time for the afternoon wild animal look and see.

Room at the Tambavati Lodge at Kruger Ntl Park

There are ten of us at the lodge – or camp – called Umlani Bushcamp. Two teachers and three students from Durban, South Africa. A couple from Mozambique. An American from Philadelphia. And, me. We loaded into the safari Land Rover with no roof with our guide Moses and animal trekker Hendrick and off we went in search of the big five – elephants, buffalo, lions, leopards and hippos. There are many other animals, but those are the Big five. Right now, I would be happy seeing a domestic cat or dog. Take that back. I’m actually more keen on sipping a gin and tonic.

We rode for 30 mins or so and came across a pack of buffalo. One female and three males. Looked calm. Like you can pet them. Moses said he is most scared of the buffalo and elephant, out of all the animals. WHAT? What about the lion? He said with buffalo they are viscous. Buffalo? Like of the cow family? I took another look at them – and said, “ok, you are going into my fearful animals category.”

Next, we spotted a heard of elephants with their babies. One baby elephant was born 5 days ago. So micro-mini. Found out the hard way, elephants charge you. Charge cars. Especially, younger males who are asserting their power. Scared the be-jezus out of me.

First time, we were charged, we were sitting still and pretty observing a male elephant with one tusk. He was eating. Watching us. Walking a little closer. Eating some more.

I’m thinking, “come closer..want a better photo.” Think Jurassic Park.

Moses said he wants to sniff us. They have poor eyes, and sense things via nose and vibrations/hearing. He waddles closer. Lifts up his trunk. Raises his hears. Snorts loud and runs for us. I freeze. Moses keeps talking like “no big deal.” And, then he stops a few feet from the car. Shows us his butt and saunters to a tree to continue his eating. This is not funny. Moses says this happens all the time. He is just telling us he’s boss. I think, “Let’s get out of here…”

Then, we encountered a heard of 20 elephants grazing together. We pulled up in the middle and stopped our engine. Not feeling all the calm, especially with 5 day old baby. Mama and her girlfriends are not going to like us getting close.

Actually, the mother and baby came up to the car and paid us no attention. It was the teen male elephants that had to bang their chests and snort at us. Typical. Man or elephant egos…all the same.

We saw a bunch of Impala – like Antelope and giraffe. Took many pictures of the giraffe for we are both very tall creatures. We stopped for a break. Next thing I know, Moses is using the hood as a mini-bar. A bottle of gin. Wine. Beer. Sodas. And, some buffalo tongue. I’m in heaven. Sipped on my beverage and began bonding with the group.

The three young students are between eleven and twelve and attend a private school. They are traveling with their Afrikaner language and History teacher – Ms. T and Ms. A. And, yes, Ms. T and Ms. A were the first in line for their double gin and tonics. Wish they were my teachers..

The girls were hyper. Had a lot of pent of energy. By their second cocktail, Ms. T and Ms. A said it was time for relay races with elephant dung. ELEPHANT POO? I told them, “we don’t do this in Florida..” First game was, whoever found the most petrified Elephant Dung, won. They had 30 seconds. Next game was spitting dung. Not sure what type of dung for it was smaller and round. Whoever spit the dung the farthest, won. I wanted to gag.

The last game was charades. Music was the topic. Ms. T and Ms. A went for songs like Footloose, Thriller, Heart Break Hotel by Elvis, Hold my Hand by the Beatles…

The girls pulled songs from Miley Sirus, Justin B and Taylor Swift. I know these young pop stars are intentional sensations, but here I am in Kruger National Park watching South African teens go crazy over these three highly annoying pop singers. It felt surreal. I think more surreal than spitting dung for fun.

We came back to camp, inhaled beef, drank more, sat around the fire and passed out to loud bull frogs by 10 pm. Got a knock at 5 am for the morning safari. Within 20 mins, we’re back out looking for the big five.

It rained the night before, so our tracker was trackless. That did not stop us. About an hour later, we spotted three lionesses napping with their cubs. No men in sight. They were all relaxed and mellow for they had a kill earlier -either in the night or the other day.

Moses said they were no threat to us. ARE YOU KIDDING? They are female lions. And, we are in an open air car. Elephants can charge. But, lions can pounce. We moved on to more eagles, giraffes, antelope, lizards, rodents, random birds, beatles eating dung, baboons, monkeys, and elephants. No need for coffee.

That afternoon, is when we scored big. Hit the big five. Lions, Leopards, Hippo, Elephant. And, Buffalo. We also got to peek at Wild Dogs, Random Birds, Snakes, Lizards, Hyenas, Bamboos and more. What a good day…

The male lions made me nervous. There were 3 brothers who just killed a buffalo. They were ‘fighting’ – I mean FIGHTING – for the food.

Made me uncomfortable for we are food too. But overall, it gives you a greater appreciate of animals and a deeper understanding of how much we are like them – or they like us…

Click on the photo icon with the name African Safari for some more picture fun.

December 5, 2010

Just landed in Nairobi. Flew Kenya Airways. Started in Siem Reap, Cambodia. An hour flight to Bangkok. Lay over for seven hours at Bangkok airport.  Bangkok to Nairobi was nine hours. Now, a five hour layover In Nairobi airport. Then, a four hour flight into Johannesburg

Brain cells are fried. Muscles spasms in random places. And, a head stuffed with snot. Started off with a $2 Cambodian drug for nose-plumbing and upgraded to the $12 recognizable brand name, Actifed.    I now can breath, but am severely dehydrated.  Perfect addition for transport hell.

Landed 30 mins ago. It’s 6:15 am. Walked the pint-size airport in less than 10 mins and discovered no seats. No joke. I made a home for my bum and backpack underneath the only digital boarding monitors in this airport.

Besides no seats, there are no restaurants. Just twenty or so duty free shops all selling the same things – booze, cigarettes, Kit Kats, Mars Bar and an occasional Kenya t-shirt.

Ouch. Something just bit me. Am I to start the malaria meds now? Or, wait until I land in South Africa. Fighting a cold is hard enough.  It’s time to pop the bug pills now. There’s no purpose in waiting.

Just figured out what I left in Cambodia. You know, I had to leave something. Make my mark. Left the Nokia $20 phone bought as an insurance policy in Vietnam. You see, if my V-nam Visa was illegit and I was taken to a dark Vietnamese cell, at least I had my Nokia with all the emergency consulate numbers.  Nokia was my insurance plan.

OMG. Did someone loose a cat ? Because, one just sprinted by me. Nobody seemed phased. Maybe he’s the Nairobi airport mascot. Or, maybe since he’s not a leopard or cheetah, everyone is OK with itty-bitty kitty. Need to pop bug pills now. Can’t risk getting cat scratch fever either.

Just stood up. Had to. Pain in the pelvis from sitting on the terrazzo.  Back to perusing the airport halls. I saw someone carrying a brown cup.  It looked like coffee.  I picked up the pace.  I spied a line. Of course, I just get in it, assuming the line is for coffee. Nope. It’s a line for Khartoum. Uh, can we say wrong line? Don’t need to go to Sudan. Just need coffee.

I smiled. Acted like I know what I’m doing. And, continued down the hall in search of coffee. Then, I saw it. Amidst the rubble, there was a Java stand. And, this line is longer than the line to Sudan. I hope they take dollars. I did not see an ATM. And, have no clue as to the Kenyan currency exchange. I really just want a coffee.

I see a few scattered chairs and tables. I’ll be back to squatting on the floor. Maybe I will blow up my plastic airplane pillow and sit on that. That’s should look cute with coffee.

Guess what? Java lady took dollars. And, I found a chair. Actually, the chair found me. I was blowing up my pillow and a nice African man walked over. He just picked up my bags, took my coffee and said, “follow me.” He spoke English, so I followed. He put my bag down and pointed at the empty chair, with a small table being shared by three other people. I smiled and thanked him. And, deflated my airplane pillow.

It still amazes me how I just follow people who speak English.

I plopped the body and just stared. My mind was numb. Turned on my lap top. And, just stared. The man next to me asked where I’m going. My head was so clogged with snot that I had to ask him to repeat himself please. I told him, “I’m in route to South Africa.” He said, “I’m from Uganda and going to Senegal.” My brain couldn’t locate Senegal on a map. He said, “it’s 11 hours flight.” I smiled. But, my brain still couldn’t locate it. I hope it’s because I’m just sick and tired, not mentally map defective.

He introduced himself as Mayor Charles, the mayor of a small town in Uganda. Right out of the gate, he asked if I liked politics. I tell him, “It’s a love/hate relationships. I love to hate it and hate to love it.” He laughed. He proceeded to tell me all about being a Mayor in Uganda. Mr. Charles has three main goals:

1. Expand access to electricity from 30% to 50% by next year.
2. Start a garbage collection program. He bought two trucks and needs to train the people and find a dumping ground.
3. Beautify a park for the kids.
4. Expand access to clean water. Only 20% of his town’s population has clean water.

He said he works closely with the UN, NGOs and other governmental organizations around the world. He said, “It takes a lot of time…A lot of paper… But that is ok…My people are patient…” In Senegal, he’s attending a Mayor’s conference…Again, brain freeze on Senegal.

He shared with me the level of corruption in the Uganda government. He is part of the DP party, which stands for Truth and Justice. His party is the opposition party to the ruling party. The ruling party rules by guns and bribes. He claims Uganda is one of the worse corrupt governments in all of Africa. I told him, “All I know about Uganda is a lot of churches go there for mission trips…I assumed, it was one of the least corrupt because of this…” He laughed openly. He really thought it was funny or I was superbly naive. Probably both.

Mayor Charles is young, about 36. His next goal is to become a minister but before he can do that, he wants to achieve his goals. I told him that I worked in DC. And, in my opinion, mayors and governors have more immediate power than the President of the United States. They decided whether houses can be built, trains can stop or dogs can play in a park…

He asked about Obama. He said, “I like Bush. Bush helped Africa. He president to give  most money to Africa – ever.  Help us fight disease. Help with Aids…Bush good.” First time I ever heard that in my travels. It usually, the opposite. Then, he bolted. About to miss his flight to Senegal. Before he left, he asked if I had kids? Married? And, invited me to stay with him in Uganda.

I waved, still trying to remember where is Senegal.

December 4, 2010

Bangkok to Nairobi flight on Kenyan Airlines comprised of the Asian and African delegation – Chinese, Japanese, Indians, Africans. The minority passengers were your Europeans and Americans.

Fascinating to watch each country’s personal space policies. Meaning, who pushes and shoves in a line to go nowhere. Guess who won the push and shove war? Chinese. Hands down. They may be small, but they’re fast. The Africans were not at all pleased with this pushing.  But, what do expect in the land of 1.3 billion. China is sooo going to eat Africa one day….

I had a window seat in toilet class. Next two two African ladies wearing their traditional garb. Since I’m American and don’t push and really don’t care, I was one of the last to board the plane. I smiled at the ladies and pointed to me seat, indicating, “Yes, tallgirl squeezes in there…” No reaction. They just stared at me. Didn’t move.

Did they expect me to crawl over? I pointed again. They just looked at me. Fine. I’ll first find a bin for my bag and then throw these long legs over the two of them. That should get their attention. I opened all the bins. Full.

Now, everyone is staring at the tall, white girl. Why is that? We all do it – staring intently as people struggle with their luggage. No one helps. It’s like we have this attitude, “We had to shove, squeeze and s– so should you…” I kept opening bins. Full. Now, I’m at the toilet. Well, that’s not going to work. I found a bin full of soft duffels and purses. I know I could rearrange and shove my bag in.

Knowing everyone was watching, I was deliberate and slow. Why rush. Why look like a fool. Why not teach them the art of patience. Right. I was actually praying that my zipper was closed, my sweat mustache goes unnoticed and these random bags aren’t full of rancid juices.

About two mins into bin reorganizing, an African man stood up and opened another bin. He moved his luggage around and made room for my bag in less than 15 seconds. He was probably fed up with my proper, patient, methodological maneuvering and wanted me out of his sight. That, or my sweat mustache was dripping. No matter. I thanked him. And, thanked him. Everyone still just stared with blank expressions.

I walked back up to the ladies. Point again. Smile. Point. They don’t move. I tilt my head to the side and said, “Excuse me, that’s my seat…” They roll their eyes. Talk in their language. Still, not moving. I noticed my seat was loaded up with their purses, blankets and crap. The seat arm was up and I realized, the woman in the middle was overweight. Looks like there will be some snuggling tonight.

I waited. They finally moved. I wiggled myself in and sat. It’s now 1 AM. The flight attendants start their song and dance. OK. This is not your Asian airline with beautiful, coiffed young girls in suits and heels. Nope. Kenyan Airlines’ flight attendants look more like backers for Miami. All very large men. Don’t think I’ll be asking them for an extra blanket…

I was exhausted. Before curling up with my plastic, blow-up pillow, I checked out the movie options. My remote was broken. Looks like sleep it is… I tried to turn sideways and press my body up against the window. But, was unable to turn for the lady next to me was large and in charge. When Mr. Line Backer walks by, I’ll be requesting a glass of wine or two. I mean, can’t pass up free vino….

Wine came. I gulped it. And, closed my eyes, praying the plane arrives safely to Nairobi. I just hope I don’t wake until we hit the Kenyan coastline.  It’s only 9+ hours away… Think I’ll be ordering a third glass.  The women next to me is growing…

December 2, 2010

No tour of Cambodia is complete without seeing, touching, climbing and tasting the temples at Siem Reap.  For those history buffs, the city of Siem Reap is home to the Angkor Wat –one of the temples in Angelina Jolie’s Tomb Raider movie.  Sure you saw it.  Fab acting…

Instead of verbal vomit of the temples, I opted for a biz-zillion pictures.  Click on the icon on the side of this blog labeled Temples.  And, you can see the amazing temples discovered in this area. Pictures are much better than words here.

I mean, I could tell you how the bike guide of our group tried to convince us that Pol Pot was not that bad.  Or, how my seat was stuck and I looked like a clown in a circus act riding thru temple land.  Or, how I ripped my black H&M leggings.

Or, how the Siem Reap restaurants suck and street food is golden.  Or, how the govt. gave all of Angkor Wat to a Vietnamese business man, in return for ‘free” gas.  Or, how you pay $40 for a ticket to the temples, knowing 90% goes to this  V-nam business man’s homes, cars and women… Or, how “water view” at a Cambodian hotel means looking at a concrete water tower.

Or, how all the old lion statutes don’t have balls, and the new lion statutes do have balls. Or, how the monks cruising thru temple-land smoke cigs.  Or, how the female statues either have their head or boobs chopped off.  Or, how Hindu and Buddhism gods play happily in temple-land.  Or, how the Khmer Rouge shot up the temples, trying to kill the monks.

Or, how I ran into Anastasia and Collin from the Trans-Siberian train journey while temple touring.  Or, how I woke at 4:30 am to see the sun come up over Angkor Wat with two thousand other Chinese tourists. Or, how I found BLEACH in a Cambodia grocery store and socked the shit out of my clothes.  Or, how I met a really hot boy from Sweden.  Or, how I splurged and bought a fancy silk scarf, but still have no underwear.

But why bother with words?    The story is in the pictures… Enjoy! (Click on the photo icon to the right of this blog)

Boy with No Bottoms Riding down Village Road.

December 2, 2010

Before we go into Chet’s life and surviving the Khmer Rouge, I want to share what I learned about Cambodia’s education system.  I found it fascinating, to say the least…

First, kids go to school Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. Thursdays they go to school to clean. Schools are so poor that they don’t have janitors that have placed cleaning as part of the curriculum… Think about it…Our kids don’t like cleaning their room.  Try cleaning the entire school!

There are two school day shifts. Young kids go from 7 am to 11 am. And, the older kids go from 1:00 pm to 5:00 pm. This way, the older kids can work in the fields, slaughter pigs or help sell pineapple or shampoo at their family’s shop. Life is much harder on girls than boys. By the age of seven or eight, the little girl is cooking for the family, washing clothes and raising the younger brothers or sisters. According to Chet, boys are lazy. They have limited chores, compared to girls. In the city, it is worse for boys. No farms, means boys play on the streets… Not good for Cambodia.

About grades: To make a good grade or pass a class, the child brings the teacher money everyday. Teachers are poor. Wages are very, very low. If you miss a day, then you don’t pass the test or are punted from school activities. Talk about learning corruption at an early age! Got to “pay to play.”

If you are rich and want to go to University, you buy the entrance exam from teachers.  If you are poor, then you have to study. Higher the test score means you get a better scholarship.  So, rich kids get more scholarship than poor kids.

Rich don’t study.  Drive nice cars. Pay teachers to graduate.  Many do meth or other drugs, like opium.  Can buy meth behind hospitals.  Pay cops if busted…Not good for Cambodia…

Chet’s Story begins in late 1980’s.

Background: Below is his story about fleeing Cambodia, navigating land mines and learning to farm in a small village. Before April 17, 1975, Chet’s family lived in Phnom Penh, capital of Cambodia.

Chet had one older brother and five sisters. His dad was an engineer, per se, and worked for the Cambodia military, under General Lon Nol, who was seen as a US puppet. From what Chet told me, his father helped the US military and South Vietnamese in their fight against Ho Chi.

Chet’s Mom and Dad were originally from Southern Vietnam and fled to Cambodia in the 1960’s when Ho Chi was kicking things up into high gear.

All of his brothers and sisters were born in Cambodia. Cambodians and Vietnamese look very similar, and it is hard to differentiate the two. Meaning, he/she is “true” Cambodian or “true” Vietnamese.

Also, one thing to point out, even though the Vietnamese army overthrew Pol Pot in 1978/1979, the Khmer Rouge political party/regime maintained power during the 80s and 90s. I tell you this because his story gets confusing.  Well, confusing for me for I assumed when Pol Pot was kicked-to-the curb, then the country was stable again.  Not true.

After 1979, Khmer Rouge changed their name to the National Army of Democratic Kampuchea and actually grew in power by focusing  their conflict on the Vietnamese, an ethnic conflict that has existed for over 500 years.

Moving forward, the KR announcements were prefaced with the fact no one would rest until all Vietnamese and/or Cambodian Vietnamese supporters were eliminated.   This fear led to a civil war between the KR supporters and the new government regime, imposed by Vietnam.

The civil war displaced another 600,000+ Cambodians to refugee camps along the Thai border and the planting over 4 million mines to kill the traitors (Cambodians) or encroaching Vietnamese.

Chet’s Story.

It was 1988/1989. Civil war in Cambodia.  Khmer Rouge very powerful.

I was ten. Had to carry my sister to the Thai border. She was barely two. I’m now the only son.

Brother killed by KR. Sister starved to death. Family goes to refugee camp in Thailand.  Heard if we make it to Thailand, we safe. New life.

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You ask how it started?  Ok…. On April 17, 1975,  family left Phnom Penh for countryside with rest of city people. Pol Pot and KR tells all people must leave homes.  Leave capital city and go to countryside.  Everyone leaves.  Everyone believes Pol Pot’s lie that Americans will bomb city.  We flee.

My mom takes kids. We go one way.  Dad goes other way.  He knew bad things will happen.  Dad no want to live near us for fear KR found out he military and civil servant.

KR stop him one day on road.  Asked if he capitalist, he said “no.  I farmer.” They looked at is hands. His hands have callous. His hands look like farmer’s hands. They let him go. Let him live because of callous. If Khmer Rouge found out he military, they would kill him and find us to kill too.  Kill us because one day, when we older, Khmer Rouge fear of revenge.  So, always kill whole family.

Mom and my brothers and sisters go to a small village. Mom was school teacher, now she harvest rice for Khmer Rouge everyday. People harvest rice to sell to China.

If farmers found eating rice, then KR would kill them and family. Rice only for China. Mom sewed a pocket inside her shirt. She would put little rice in there everyday. At night. Very late, she cook rice for her me. Not enough food. At this time, I was three. I had older sisters and one older brother.

My brother very hungry. One day, he stole a potato from a farm. Khmer Rouge found out. Wanted to make an example. They took my brother. Brought him to center of village in front of all the people. And, took out his stomach in front of all the people. He was alive. Much screaming by my brother. KR wanted to show the people that stealing his bad. KR will kill if you steal. KR will kill children if you steal. Brother died.

My sister was very hungry. She cried a lot. She had no food. Got real sick. Died too from starvation. Mom could not find enough food for her. I was the only one left. That is why she stole rice. To feed me. She did not want me to die too. After brother and sister died, I now was oldest. Mom had more children. I got four sisters.

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Fast forward….

In 1989, we have civil war.  For last 10 years, Vietnamese ruled Cambodia.  Cambodia people tired.  Vietnamese military leave in 1989.  We now have new government.  But, KR said new Cambodian government is run by Vietnamese.  KR now has a new enemy. The enemy is government.  Now, KR wages a war with its own people.  It gets bad.  Cambodian people frightening each other.

Mom and Dad want to leave Cambodia.  We want to go to Thailand.  We can be free there.  Thai border open, if you can get there, and we can be free. But, need to get through land mines first.

Dad hire a guide to take family to Thai border. Guide knows where mines are. Knows where not to walk. Can gets us to Thai border. This is when I carry my little sister. She cries a lot. Other people in our group wants to kill her because she is loud. She cries. If KR finds us in jungle with guide, they will kill us. We don’t kill my sister.

We pay $1,000 in gold to guide to take family. A lot of money. We only carry gold. We have gold made into rings and swallow them when KR comes to village. Only way to have money. To survive. Gold goes to poo in 2 days. You can see it very easy.

We walked for days and days. Hungry. It is hot in jungle.  We look for roots to eat. Poison in roots. We get sick. Vomit. Diarrhea. We eat wrong things. We walk for one week. It rained. Flooded in jungle. No can see in jungle. We close to border. But, Thai people want no more Cambodia people. They open the damn and it floods the border jungle area. Guide now confused where mines are. We ran out of food.

It was midnight. Guide said he knows new way. We walk through field. Guide blows up in front of us. He walk on mine. He dies. We stuck. We had to turn back and run fast. Loud noise will alert KR and police. If find us, we die.

We go to a new village. Mom and Dad very upset. New village people don’t like us. We are new. They want to kill us. We tell them we are farmers. KR Military people in village say we are rich because we have light skin. But, Dad has a friend in village that saves us. Said, no we are poor and farmers.

We build a house. Roof. No walls. We start a new life in new village. I find job and look after cows. I fish for food for village. Every night, KR comes to village to bomb and kill people. They kill my teacher one night. Put her on fire.

We build a bunker that is 4 by 4 meters under house. We sleep there every night. During rainy season, we sleep on roof or in trees.

One day, KR comes to cow field. I work. They ask about situation in village. They ask if my family is “Vietnamese, Chinese or a Capitalist?” I tell them none. Just a farmer. I tell them that village is good. They give me candy, medicine and food. They come and help my family with the rice harvest. They like us. Give my family milk too. Now, I have four sisters. Big family.

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When walk from village to village, you see many dead people on road. Burn people. Everyday. Behind our house and around village, KR planted mines. Cows died. Friend from school died because he play in cow field one day. When people die, we are happy. They go to good place. Next life will be better. People are very sad when have children. Can’t provide for children. Many parents kill children. This is not a good world. Poor people believe in magic. Voodoo. We use this to protect us. And, to put bad spirits on KR.

KR kept killing people in our village until mid 1990s until United Nations comes to Cambodia. They give KR amnesty – soldiers money, house and everything to stop killing. Many KR soldiers take amnesty others go to jungle to kill more.

I did not feel safe until I was 16 or 17.

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My parents divorced only few years ago. I think seven years. They went through soo much. One day, my mom lost motor-bike. Dad very mad. Dad beat her. Dad kicked her out. She left her family. Fled to a Thai camp. Met a new man. And, went to live in Southern Vietnam. She farmer in Vietnam.

Dad very violent. He was solider. Now, he has new wife. Young. She wants to take my family’s property. Me and my sisters’ property. I don’t trust new wife. Dad has more children by new wife. He is nice to children. His children don’t work. They watch TV and eat candy. I get very mad.

My father beat us. One day, he tried to kill us with an AK47. We went to house to talk about property. He said we disturb him. He was very drunk. He grabbed gun and started shooting me and my sisters. We ran to pond and jumped in. Hid in the water. People in the village just watched. He is evil. And, will not talk to that animal.

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I learn English from UN. When UN came, we had teachers. I work very hard. I want to leave village and work. I help UN find mines. I help UN. I get scholarship and go to college. I still take classes in marketing at night. I read a lot. Want to learn. Feel like I need to know more.

I got married. My wife is an accountant. We have two girls. They learn English. I put in private school now. I become guide six years ago. Money is good in tourist season.

In not tourist season, I do other jobs. I buy warehouses, repair them, and sell them. I buy old cars, repair them, sell them. I started a computer repair business, but went bankrupt. I gave money to company in US to help me – Company run by Cambodians. They took all my money. I saved $15,000. Lost everything. Had to start over. It’s ok. I learn about contracts.  I now have contracts.  No more shaking hands.

I want better life for my girls. But, this government is very corrupt. Very corrupt. We have problems with drugs. Rich people do opium. Everyone else does meth. Meth comes from Thailand and China. Twain big supplier of drugs to China too.  It is easy to make. We have problem with human trafficking and sex. Moms sell daughters for $100 per night. If Virgin, then can get up to $2,500 for the weekend. A broker will take daughter. They go see doctor to check for Aids and disease and to make sure she is Virgin. She stays with man. Mom gets the money. Mom sells boys too.  Gay is big business too with small boys.  Mom can get a lot of money.

Many Cambodia women see Chinese and foreigner as way out. See money. They have sex for money. You see a lot in capital city.

Normally, old man comes to Phnom Penh and rents apartment for $160 per month. He is retired. Stays here and has sex with women for a few months – until money gone. Then, goes home.  Girl is happy.  She has food, bed and nice clothes for few months.

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Our elections are in 2013. Very corrupt. Party buys votes. There are 11 parties in Cambodia. In 1998, election corrupt and we had bombs. Kill people. Government can’t trust. Can’t trust police. They take bribes.

I have hope.  Cambodia come far since killings.  Very far.  Our people need education.  To learn.  We build.  I have hope for my daughters…They will have better Cambodia than me…

December 1, 2010

I wanted to share a different view of Cambodia thru the eyes of my tour guide in Phnon Pheom, Cambodia. Chet is 40ish. And, endured Pol Pot’s reign of terror.

By accident, I taped our conversation when I asked him a zillion questions about Mr. P. Pot.  The next thing I know he is telling me in detail about his brother being brutally murdered and his sister starving to death…and almost being blown up by land mines…

Cambodia’s wounds are fresh. Open.  And, sore.  They don’t like scratching the open sore.  In fact, it’s hard to get people to go into detail about “what happened” in the 70’s and 80’s.  I was blessed for Chet said, “ask me anything…and I tell you all.”

The blog below is Chet’s version of how Pol Pot came to power, not Wikipedias.  The next blog gives detail about his family trying to escape the terror of the Khmer Rouge (Pol Pot’s political party).

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Let me tell you about Pol Pot.

He was poor. His sister was a dancer. The king noticed his sister and wanted her to live at the Royal Palace. Pol Pot’s family moved to the palace. Pol Pot was young. He saw many things. Many bad things.

His sister was forced to have sex with the king. His sister very young. Sister forced to dance naked for the king. And, king’s friends. His sister not happy. Pol Pot became angry. He saw the King and his friends were very happy. Had a lot of food. Always laughing. In the countryside, people were starving.  Not happy. Countryside people were dying everyday. Struggle everyday. Not the king.  Pol Pot became more angry.

Pol Pot compared life of the people to life of the palace. He saw unfairness. He grew up thinking he must kill all capitalist. Kill all civil servants.  All friends of the King.  He read a lot. Wanted to learn more. He got a scholarship to Cambodia university in 1949. Then, he got scholarship to study in Paris. Remember, France was occupier.  He learned French. Learned about communism. He joined the French communist party with his friend, Ho Chi Minh (Vietnam) .  They studied Lenin, Mao, Tito…

French sent Pol Pot back home ten months before Cambodia claims independence from France. He works with Cambodia govt to kick out French. Pol Pot becomes a high school teacher, teaching French and Math. He joins the IndoChina Communist Party (Cambodia’s Communist Party) led by Ho Chi Minh. Ho Chi called Pol Pot is brother number one. Younger brother. They best friends. Everyone knows it.

In 1961, Ho Chi assigns Pol Pot to be a spy for Cambodia.  To spy on Cambodia govt and King.  Pol Pot becomes leader of Communist Party of Cambodia. Ho Chi still communist leader of all V-nam, Cambodia and Laos — He in charge of IndoChina Communist Party.  Pol Pot works for Ho Chi. Everyone in Cambodia calls Pol Pot, “Brother Number One.” Ho Chi gives him $400,000 in weapons. Not enough to take over country, yet.

At this time, Pol Pot’s followers were the intellectuals who studied with him in Paris. Now these people are in government – ruling party. Pol Pot told them, “Don’t use the government $$ in wrong way. Put $$ to good use. Help the poor. Help the people…” They did not listen. King Sihanouck found out Pol Pot had supporters in government, and he threw them all in jail.  King started kill Pol Pot’s people too.

King Sihanouck was in bad place. Ho Chi ask King and King said yes to allow Viet Cong troops go inside Cambodia.  Viet Cong use Cambodia for safety and to kill S. Vietnamese near Saigon.  King said “yes” for he certain S. Vietnam would loose civil war.  And, certain America would leave.  Certain communist win.  King want be on side of winner.

More bombs come to Cambodia during Vietnam War because more Viet Cong fighting in Southern Cambodia, near border.   Now, King wanted Viet Cong out.  Too many bombs.  No longer trust Ho Chi.

King ask Americans to help throw out Viet Cong and Ho Chi people.  Cambodia People mad that Vietnamese in Cambodia. Cambodia has long history of hating and fighting with Vietnamese.  We no like them.  Our people went to streets. Protesting. Fighting. Want America and Vietnam out.  King scared.  He fled country to live in Moscow in 1970.

Coup happens, since King gone.  General Lon Nol new leader. Americans like him. He puppet for Americans.

Pol Pot happy.  Cambodians hate American puppet more than Vietnamese.  See General as another occupier.  Tired of being occupied.  Pol Pot knows this.

Pol Pot calls King.  He tells King to tell Cambodia people to go with his party, Khmer Rouge. If King tell people, people listen.   If King does this, then he can come home to rule country.   King cared about getting new General out of power.  King agreed to Pol Pot.   King and King party (Royalists) now part of Khmer Rouge.  Together, they kick out the  General.

Royalist soldiers (ruling party of King) joined Khmer Rouge.   KR said all soldiers get amnesty. Broken promise. All  Royal soldiers killed. Viet Cong stays in S. Cambodia. Ho Chi tells Pol Pot if Viet Cong stays, then Pol Pot can have Saigon. It was a “thank you.”  Ho Chi lied to Pol Pot.

After General overthrown, people feel better. No more fighting. On April 17, 1975, Khmer Rouge drive into Phnon Phem, capital. People hold white flags outside door. Surrender. They are very happy General is gone. Americans are gone. Cambodia is free. Independent from occupier. Now by ourselves. Can rule ourselves. See Pol Pot as good. He is friends with King.

Pol Pot went on TV. Said, “Brother, Sister, Grandparents…civil servants, military….ask you move to suburb. Leave city. Americans may bomb city. I want to protect you…Only for three days. Don’t take much. Be back after America leaves…Everyone must leave city in three hours… Walk on streets to leave…safer… ”

All a lie. America not bomb the city. Pol Pot used America.  And, War in Vietnam to throw people out of homes.  After three days, Pol Pot back on TV with new message, “You need to walk to countryside… Can’t move home… After 15 days, you can move anywhere in countryside…Learn to farm…”

This was 1975. No one moved back to capital city until 1979.

Khmer Rouge had check points in route to country side. Wanted to know who was a capitalist…civil servant…military. Said they wanted these people to work in new government.  To help.

All lie. They sent people to prison. Four prisons. Used high schools as prisons. Tortured them. Made them talk and tell on friends.  Pol Pot thinks can’t control smart people. Can’t control capitalist.  So, kill them.  Easy to control poor people.  And farmers.  Have nothing already.

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Our people in countryside tell many bad things. People take breast milk from dead mothers for drink. Starvation. Have baby is very sad for family.  People no want babies.  Can’t feed babies.  They think dying is good.  Much better than life here.  Next life is much better…

Pol Pot closed all borders.  Khmer Rouge military put in mines so no one can leave Cambodia.  Or, Vietnamese can’t come in. KR kill all foreigners.  Journalists.  Tourists.  Anyone walking on roads and not farmer, taken to prison and killed.

Prison first, then Killing Fields.  They say over 300 Killing Fields in Cambodia.  Bullets too expensive.  People dig own grave.  Big grave.  Line people up.  Bash over head with sticks.  Or stab them.  Or, put acid on them.  Or, poison with gas.  Or, tortured them. After, they throw in grave.  Bury people alive too when lazy.

Children killed too.  Soldiers grabbed feet of children and hit them on tree until skulls broke.  Then, threw in big hole.

Changed high schools into prisons.  Tortured people — men, women and children.  Made them talk.  If not, then more torture.  Starvation.  If not die in prison, then go to Killing Fields.  Only way to leave prison is to die.

I have friend — nurse – who worked at a prison.  She’s ok now.  But, tells of bad stories.  Had no choice.  Had to work for KR or die.  She force to marry a solider.  KR tell people who to marry to help their race.  Force you to have babies too.  She still married.  Has her own babies. Life is better now.

After KR killed all capitalist, then killed all middle class. After killed all middle class, Pol Pot started killing his own military.

When kill his own military at Killing Fields, then many soldiers fled to Vietnam. Vietnam not happy. Former Khmer Soldiers and Vietnam troops come to Cambodia and took over. They send Pol Pot away in 1978/1979. Vietnam occupies Cambodia for 10 years.  Until 1989/1990.

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People say Pol Pot killed to keep power, build new people and build a better race. He wanted everyone to be farmer to grow rice.   Grow rice for China.  He saw Cambodia as poor and only way to become rich is to grow rice.  Be farmer.  We only ate few spoons of porridge a day. We skinny. Very skinny people. Fat is good for Cambodia — even today.

Now, our people start over. Need to study. Our Prime Minister today never finish high school.  No schools back then.  Only farmer.  Our people need to study very hard. Khmer Rouge killed the capitalist.  Killed smart people.  Killed civil servants. I think killed more than 2 million.  I think killed many more– many more living in jungle and small villages.  And, killed many babies.  Babies with no record of birth because people scared.  Many more killed than UN says…

KR still here today.  Many still follow KR teaches.  Very poor.  Live in jungle.  Makes me mad.  Government fault.  Need to build more schools.  More teachers.  Need to educate its people of right ways, not wrong ways.  I get mad at poor people for not sending kids to school.  Only chance for Cambodia is education.  Our people are good people.  We must be better people.  One day… I have hope…

Pictures help tell Chet’s story..

November 27, 2010

As we dance our way into the sexy topics of mass graves and genocide – something I’m sure you’ve been breathlessly anticipating – we need to take a step back and do a quick 411 on  Mr. Pol Pot, the man responsible for exterminating 1.7 to 2 million – or  1/4th of the Cambodian population in the 70’s and 80’s.

Quick Soundbite: Mr. P. Pot and his four BFFers led Cambodia’s ruling communist party from 1975 to 1979, under the name of the Khmer Rouge (KR).   The dates answer the question of why there was not a global outcry for his “social engineering” policies.  You see,  it was prime time BOLTING from Vietnam time.    We were leaving as Mr. P. Pot was confiscating Cambodians and Mr. Ho Chi Chi was victimizing South Vietnamese.

More specifically, Mr. P Pot’s mission was to exterminate Cambodia’s intellectual class — capitalists, civil servants, city dwellers, educated…. Buddhist monks, former government officials, soldiers…ethnic minorities like Vietnamese, Chinese, Chams (Muslims), Thais…  Only the farmers and poor peasants were permitted to live.

Pol Pot’s “social engineering eradication”  is up there with the other “great” genocides. We have Stalin who starved over seven million Ukrainians  from 1932 to 1933 by confiscating their entire harvest.  And, then polished off around 30 to 40 million Russians who thought he was ugly.

Then there is Turkey who purged over 1.5 million Armenian Christians – more than half their population – and seized 90% of their land.  In the US, we hear a lot about the 6 million Jews who perished at the the hands of the Nazis from 1938 to 1945. But eliminating the Jews, gypsies, gays and any other misfits were just one part of Hitler’s plan to create a more secure, ethnically homogeneous state.

Hitler removed and transplanted about 12 million Germans. Those that survived, resettled in Eastern Europe, Russia…. After WWII, Poland, Czech, Hungry, Romania and Yugoslavia booted all Germans.  Estimates say over 2.1 million Germans died from hunger, cold, disease…after WWII…in route back to Germany.

We can go on and on for we’ve haven’t even touched Mao’s golden touch in China or the continent of Africa.  I say this because while Cambodia is gruesome and tragic, this people purging is not new or novel. Fascist, nationalist megalomaniacs or religious zealots have ethnically cleansed, removed or transferred groups of people since the Middle Ages, if not before. We did it to the Native Americans.

What I struggle with is why don’t we learn. Why do we commit the same atrocities. Using the same tactics. Same justifications. Same rationale. Why?

While in Israel, I toured the Holocaust museum with my East German friend. We were in the room detailing how Nazi’s confined, starved and killed Polish Jews.  She said, “Just change the word Warsaw Ghetto to Palestinian Ghetto and that’s the West Bank today…Don’t you see that?  I mean, come on….”

At Auschwitz in Poland, I toured the concentration camp with over 100  Israeli soldiers.  God placed them there. I felt it. I was so angry at Israel that I could not even write about her – publicly – after my visit in August. And, I had to giggle, for only weeks later, I’m touring a concentration camp with her military protectors.  I knew what it meant.

I followed the soldiers. Observed. And, wondered what they were thinking when touring the chambers where Nazis forced the Jews, gypsies, gays – for being born into the “wrong” group – to stand for days at at time. Or, were shoved in small cells in solitary confinement. Or, given only one small meal a day….

From what I have read, Israeli prisons employ the same type of tactics today.  So, what were they thinking? I mean, were they justifying treatment of the Palestinians with the same nationalistic zeal as the Nazis? I  don’t know. I just don’t know… Again, history continues to repeat herself…

I write this and ask.  Ok.  So, what can we do?  What we CAN do is one thing.  What we DO, do is another.  If history is any predictor of the future, then here’s the deal.

We stand back.  Let others deal.  We watch.  And, we wait.  We wait twenty or thirty years for the Palestinian, Iraqi or Guantanamo Bay prison museum to open.  We wait for the historians to tell us what “really happened.”  We pay our $5 to walk thru mass graves.  To tour killing chambers.   And, to be shocked by the torture.  Appalled by the death.  And, vow never to let something like “this” happen again.

But, for now we just wait.

I’ve got my $5 ready, do you?

Get ready for massive verbal vomit. This is not a dry heave, we’re talking massive expulsion of words, thoughts, verbs, pictures and adjectives about Vietnam and Cambodia.

Now, let me give you some direction for the slow readers or skimmers.  For those who have not even read about Thailand excursions, I recommend starting with Bangkok by Night blog and work your way up.  All of Thailand was written in November, so if you go to the button under “recent posts” and click on November,  all the fun, filled and exciting Thai tales ranging from dildos to Tiger Woods will be before your bright eyes.

As for Vietnam, I had a few challenges.  The blog started off chronicling my journey into “adventure, outdoorsy” travel – with massive biking, trekking and kayaking.  Then, it turns a 90-degrees when I had my identity stolen.  Yep, passport, Visa, credit cards, $$ stolen in a country we terrorized 30+ years ago.  Try that one for size.

The stolen identity tales all have the title “Stolen Identity.”  Please start with the first one labeled “Stolen Identity,” and then move up to Day of Reckoning and end with Snowballing in Halong Bay.

I’m well aware that violence, crime and sex sell, so many will want to start with Stolen Identity.  But, don’t forget to read about dead bodies, Ho Chi, pelvis pain, marriage proposals and the Vietnamese DAY tribe tales starting with the blog called Good Morning Vietnam, Hanoi…

If it were me, I would start with Good AM Vietnam and work my way up to get the full story for the adventure travel and stolen identity are all wrapped together.  But, that is me — I lived it.

Cambodia takes a bleaker tone.  I went Cambodia primarily to understand Israel.  Sounds strange, I know.  Trust me.  I know.. The Cambodia story is told through Chet, my guide.  He survived the Khmer Rouge’s terror in the 70s, 80s and 90s.  And, his story is powerful and haunting.

While in Cambodia, I did hit temple-land.  Check out the pics in the pic section.  Much better than the words.

Again, thank you for your comments, questions and random thoughts about my journey. Keep them coming.

Everyday, presents itself with a new gift. And, finding the world is a very small place… Enjoy the ride…

I’m on wine glass number two. Perched at the Foreign Correspondence Club hotel bar in Phnon Phem, capital of Cambodia. Outside bar. Overlooking river front. Just had dinner. Something called fish run Amok. Just realized the “cool” bar is on the roof top, not where I am.
A hottie just passed by heading to the rooftop bar – tall, tan and messy hair. Tan. Wait, I already said tan. No ring. Need to take a closer look.

A pasty, pissed single dude, sitting next to me, just bolted for the roof top bar. He looks Russian. I’m on wine number two, getting’ ready to order my third. And, thinking I look kind of cute. Can’t waste this cuteness on the Russian.

What am I wearing? Well, I’m glad you asked. My $3, red “linen,” breezy, no-fitting blouse… My black breezy, hippie skirt with a coconut clasp and elastic waist. My hair has the frizzy, humid, bangs-are-growing out look. My eyes are bright after sixteen drops of Visine. And, if you look closely, mascara residue from this morning’s Cambodia customs graces my lashes. Yep, looking hot in Cambodia. Must do something with this super hotness.

I flew into to PP from Vietnam around lunch time, the day after 400+ died in a stampede only 1,500 feet from my hotel. The Cambodian people are shocked. Walking around lightening incense. Crying. The men in orange sheets – the monks – are walking the river front. Praying. Sitting. Staring. The energy is below low. It’s non existent. Outrage and anger has not set in yet. They are focused on counting the dead and creating conspiracies.

After I checked in, I slowly walked the waterfront to orient myself and capture this moment. Let me step back. Cambodians from all over the country came to PP to celebrate the Festival of Lights. The purpose is to celebrate a good harvest. It is three days of festivities from food, rides, selling goods, parties… All culminating in the last night of fireworks, which was the night of the stampede.

I signed up for a 2 day tour of PP – it included airport pick-up and “tour” of the Killing Fields. Chet was my guide these next two days. In route to my hotel, he gave me his version of last night’s stampede. Chet first said he had a premonition something bad was going to happened. His Italian clients (tourists) insisted on going to the waterfront – by the island – to see the fireworks.

He said, “No. I will not go there– too many people…especially by the island…island is new….just opened…too many people…” Italians don’t like being told “no” and reported him to his agency. It was only a few hours later, more than 400 young kids are trampled to death crossing the bridge to get off the island.

Chet said he went to the hospital this morning. He wanted to help people. Give them money. Buy them caskets. Anything. He said, there are no more caskets left in the country. And, the hospitals are full. People who are alive, can’t find their loved ones.

He heard a story where a woman called the hospital inquiring about her son, the hospital said, “he’s dead.” She had a heart attack on the phone. Died.

Chet said, the story on the street is some kids yelled “Fire! Fire! Fire!” into the crowd as a joke. There was NO fire. But, the people did not know it. There are only two bridges – one going to the island and one leaving. The island is “new” in that some developer – sister of the current Prime Minister – has built a casino, entertainment area, the works. People go to the island for concerts, celebrate birthdays or get married. Weddings are a BIG business in Cambodia. The opening of the “entertainment” island has been heavily promoted on TV, radio, newspaper. Those traveling from the countryside wanted to experience it first hand.

Chet said, the night of the stampede, about 1 million people gathered for the fireworks. Let me put this in perspective. It’s like a million crammed on Park Avenue in Winter Park. We’re talking only six or seven blocks. And, a small bridge to a an island the size of a super Wal-Mart.

When the stampede occurred, it was around 11:00 pm – or teen time. Meaning, the families with small kids and elderly had left for the evening. According to Chet, when they heard “fire,” they panicked. Teens crossing the bridge pushed, shoved and trampled each other. Some jumped into the river, but the water is very shallow and they died on impact. Others jumped by accident into electrical wires. The police were there, but did nothing – to direct crowds before, during or after.

It has taken only a day, and the conspiracy theories are out. After spending some time here, I found Cambodia to be conspiracy capital. Also found out, the conspiracies later turned out to be right. This conspiracy said the incident was planned. One of the Khomer Rouge’s tactics in its killing hey-day, was to gas/poison people. The stampede survivors said around 11 pm, it was really hard to breathe by the bridge. People panicked – and that is why even more people died. They were gassed. Could not move. “They” are blaming the wedding businesses. That’s right. Weddings… The island has taken a very lucrative profit stream from wedding planners, wedding halls, wedding caterers…. Reasoning is if “something bad happens” then the island would loose business, and money would roll back in to these other wedding folks.

The other theories have to do with the corrupt Prime Minister. His sister owns the island – given to her brother. The Bank of Canada wrote the loans. Somehow, Canada and the PM family is involved in this – or people are trying to get back at them.

In this morning’s paper, the Prime Minister equated the stampede to the killings by the Khomer Rouge political party … Now, that is going on a limb for KR and their leader, Pol Pot, killed over 1.2 million in three years. Bad comparison buddy. And, bad politics… KR political party is still around. They must have ticked off the PM earlier in the week for him to say something so stupid.

On November 25 the government declared is the national day of mourning. I will still be here. Very interesting. Interesting that God placed me here. Why? By the way, is that Thanksgiving? When is Thanksgiving?

Also, the government said it is giving a couple hundred dollars to each family to help pay for funeral costs. Talk on the street is it is “hush” money. The other talk is the people will never see it and government officials will pocket it. Which one do you believe? Survey says, number Two – embezzling the money.

I’m now listening to the guys next to me. Why do foreigners have to smoke. Gosh, this guy is HOT and then whips out a cig. Buzz kill. They are talking about number dead. They think it is closer to 500. CNN said it is 300, but CNN has it wrong. Imagine that…

I noticed some guy “ogling” me out of the corner of my eye. FREAK alert. Some old man. Wearing hot red, flowy pants. And, a white flowy shirt. Big belly. Grey hair. Smiling at me. I can see him. I’m ignoring him. Pretending I’m working. Typing faster.

Damn, I can tell he wants to talk to me. NOOOOO. I want to go to the third floor. I now want the Russian…. WHY do the freaks have the confidence and NOT the hotties.

Please stop. Tell him to go away. Someone. I will take small, petite smoker dude over guy in red flowy pants. I think I’m going to get my check soon. Go upstairs. I’m getting my check. FUUUUUUUUU.

He just walked over to my table. He just asked me what wine is best – REALLY? We are in Cambodia, not France.

He said, “Anything but Chardonnay…I’m from Austria… From the wine country and I don’t drink Chardonnay…” Well, my response? “I”m drinking the $2.45 wine. And, it’s chardonnay…I like it.. It works..”

He said he will try the wine and invited me to sit at his table. I could NOT say NO. I should have followed the Russian. I bet Red flowy pants will buy me a glass of the $2.45 wine? What do YOU think? OK. Let’s see what he has to say…I’m upgrading on the vino. Going for the $5.00… UGH…

I made it out of Vietnam! The whole passport/border control gig at the airport was uneventful. So uneventful that they did not check my passport, visa or asked me to undress. Impressive for me. Even more impressive for future terrorists. I’m just happy I’m up in the air in route to Cambodia. That sounds very, very strange to me. I mean, Cambodia???

Before I go any further, I do want to announce that I DID receive my ATM and Credit Card today – Day 5. Ultimately, FedEx did their job. Delivering my cards on time so I can do the American thing – spend more $$$.

Taking in these last few days. I have not had time to journal. But, I do feel compelled to share a little about about Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). It will be brief.

The adventure junket ended in Halong Bay. The three of us returned to Hanoi to catch flights to our next destination. For Tour-burn, it was off to Siem Reap, Cambodia to tour the temples . For me, it was Ho Chi Minh City – for more cycling. No resting for this pelvis.

When I arrived in Ho Chi Minh City, I noticed all the signs said Saigon. I was confused. What is the proper name for the largest city in Vietnam?

This is what the locals told me….Saigon’s name was changed to Ho Chi Minh in 1975, after US bolted and Viet Cong ate Southern Vietnam. The folks in S. V-nam haven’t taken to the name – or communism for that matter – and still call their city Saigon. People in Northern Vietnam – taken to communism – call the city Ho Chi Minh. But, when you’re checking luggage at the airport, the AIRLINES call it Saigon.. Yet, the AIRPORT calls the city Ho Chi Minh. We’re back to confused communism, Vietnamese style…

If you ask me, which I’m sure the Vietnamese welcome my opinion, I prefer Saigon. Has nothing to do with communism or the embalmed bearded man. The name Saigon sounds more exotic. Has more energy. Seems eccentric. Fitting for a city with 6 million motor-bikes and 10 million riders. Think about it. Say Ho Chi Minh City and what comes to mind? For me, I picture a desolate, dusty Indian Reservation being corrupted by gambling. Not exactly fitting.

Focus. What did I do in Saigon for 1.5 days? Took to peddling. Wanted to see the city and tour the tunnels. Sam, the bike guide, arrived at the hotel at 8 am. I had the routine down. Grab a helmet. Raise the seat. Pop some pills for pelvis relief. And, start peddling. Our destination was the Cu Chi tunnels, built by Viet Cong to fight their enemy – their South Vietnamese brothers and our troops. Jungle warfare at its finest.

I want to share how V-nam tourists’ materials describe these famous tunnels. Needed some tweaking so I made some edits:

The Cu Chi tunnels are a historic revolutionary vestige and the base for the Viet Cong in the Anti-American resistance during the American War…. Tunnels were used as a place of eating, accommodation, meeting as well as unique battle formation, which took its part in the fight against the enemy for saving our country.

It was also the place where over 20,000+ of our soldiers were killed. Take a look at the pictures below of the tunnels… Small. And, the government expanded the tunnels 40% so tourists could crawl though to experience the full effect. Let’s just say, my H&M black leggings now have holes in the knees. Had to crawl. There were NO tall people in Viet Cong army. Or, fat people for that matter.

Other “must do” tourist attractions at the Cu Chi tunnels included shooting your choice of guns – AK 47, Automatic machine guns, pistols, riffles… Pay the dude $5 and fire away. I opted for that AK 47. My shoulder will never be the same. I hit my target, thanks to taking riflery at summer camp… Only in America, can kids grow up learning to shoot weapons at camp. I digress..

After tunnel crawling and rifle shooting, we jumped back on your bikes. I popped some more Advil. We toured through the country side of Saigon. I noticed group of people gathered in the distance. Sam slowed down. Stopped. He said, “Stop. Try this…” I whipped my leg over the bike seat and missed. Pain again. I limped up to the group of people. Notice furry creatures in cages. Furry creatures were rats. People are lining up to eat rat. Doesn’t get much better than this.

Rice farmers catch the rats in their fields and the women sell them on the side of the road. And, here I was the tall foreigner scared of something they ate. Damn straight. Scared is not the right verb. It’s more like repulsed. And,vomiting was not part of the day’s scheduled activities.

So, here’s this cute woman in her PJs. She’s about 20 or so. Her kids are running around half naked.

Her job is to grab the dead rats in the bucket, and with a pair of scissors in one hand, cut off the legs, tail and head and toss the body into another bucket. The next woman wearing Pjs, grabs a knife. Opens it up. Pierces it with a stick and cooks it on an open fire, on the side of the road.

Now, if you don’t want to eat now, you can always just buy the no extremities rat. The Pjs women plopped the rat in a clear plastic bag. And, off you go on your motor-bike or on foot with a rat in hand. Kodak moment…

Saigon by Night

Sam struck a cord yesterday. He complained how foreigners come to Saigon just to tour the war, talk about the war and leave thinking about the war. They don’t want to see the NEW Saigon. He said, “Saigon is not war. Young people don’t even know about war. Business people don’t care about war. War is old. I want show you Saigon not for tourists.. Tonight…” I’m IN!

So, off we went on his motor-bike to see the NEW Saigon. This NEW Saigon is suburbia.

We’re talking four or five story homes. Lawns with sprinklers. Screened windows. Streets with speed bumps and stop signs. Sidewalks for people. Gate guards. This is NOT your one-party, communist controlled country. It’s Reston, VA. It’s Lake Mary, Florida. It’s reeks of wealth. It reeks of inequality. It reeks of excess.

Sam: “Homes here are $1 million to $2 million US. Pay in cash. We don’t trust Vietnamese dollar. People here invest in gold for years and years. People rich. People here are government workers. Shipping. Textile manufacturing. Work with US…Work with China. Rich…”

Me: “People are sitting on $2 million in cash? No bank loans, home loans, car loans in Vietnam? Not even credit cards?”

Sam: “No. No credit cards either. We save. We don’t understand how you buy on credit card. We know each penny we have and spend everyday. I save between $1,000 and $2,000 US a month. Took me two years, and I bought my house with cash. Saved everyday…”

We zoomed passed homes, town homes and apartments ranging from $250,000 US and $2,000,000 US. Sam continues to be amazed only ONE family lives in a house with four or five rooms and three bathrooms. He screamed into the night, “Look! Only one family… Look! Only one family. This family only have 2 kids. And, four rooms. Have three stories. Only one family! Look! Only one light one. Whole family in one room. Look!”

In Vietnam, they squish a family of four, six or eight – we’re talking grandparents, aunts and uncles and randoms – into a one story house with just two or three rooms. He’s amazed by space.

I was amazed by paying in cash, investing in gold and automatic garage doors. I bet these families have washer machines, dryers and bleach. NO underwear, sheets or Pjs were hanging from these pricey windows. How bad did I want to knock and use their washer machine and dryer…

We cruised on over to his neighborhood. He wanted to show me his new house. San was proud. He bought his home two or three years ago. It has 4 rooms and he rents THREE of them to families. We darted through dark streets. We turned left on a dirt road filed with water. He said, “this is temporary. Govt. building a 20 story apartment building at end of my street. Next to my house. Take 2 years. A lot of flooding now. Putting in new sewage system…water…very good for me.” Yea, not good for me for this nasty sewage is forming a new life on my clean jeans.

By this point, he has proposed. When I said, “We just met…little early?” He changed tactics, “Then, you come and live with me. You single. I single. Same age. It works.” I said, “Oh, is it that easy. You single. I single. Boom, that is it.”

He said, “Yes. Easy. I like you. When you see my house, you will know.” That is a lot of pressure because I can’t insult his home for I feel certain he lacks closet space, kitchen counter-tops and water pressure. We pull up. I see two pad locks on his patio door. Barb wire around the roof. Home sweet home.

He unlocks the first padlock. Then, another one greets us on his front door. I giggle inside. When he show’s me his kitchen, he’s proud it is NOT attached to his house. He said, “Too messy. Too smoky. It’s better out in patio.” Fab.

His house is nice. Clean. One bedroom downstairs. Two working bathrooms. No closet space. Super-small fridge with space for only a twelve pack of Coke Zero. And, a Buddha shrine to boot. The decibel level of the construction site and padlocking the doors would drive me to drink. I just don’t see Sam’s home as my final resting place. Don’t feel it. I tell him as much. He really looks sad. I’m not taking time to analyze this one…. I’m about to land in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. The capital.

Last night, over 300 people were killed in Phnom Penh. Trampled. I saw it on CNN this morning. They say too many people were crossing a bridge? I don’t know the details yet but it is bad. Cambodia government said worse crisis since Khomer Rouge. The dude that killed over ¼th of the population. That’s hard to swallow.

Welcome to Cambodia. Two for one. Killing Fields. And, Killing River. I just hope they let me in…

Snowballing. That is what they call it. When the mind just goes to the unimaginable places. When you run through worst case scenarios, and the next thing you know you’re sittin tall and pretty in a Vietnamese prison or scaling a fence into Cambodia. That is where I am now.

I’m waiting. Waiting to hear if “they” secured a legit Visa. Waiting to hear if I can leave the country. … Leave for Cambodia. Can we please laugh? Cambodia out of all places… Surreal. This is surreal.

I arrived in Halong Bay about two hours ago.

Halong Bay is in North Vietnam, surrounded by untouched coastlines and islands. Limestone rock. Clear blue water. Think Avatar but in the water.

My transport was perfect Vietnam. Perfect. No foreigners. Just me chugging along side of beer drinking, motor-bike riding men. My soul inhaled every second. An adventure for I really had NO idea where I was going. I just kept moving from car, ferry, motor-bike, bus, feet, boat, ferry, boat….until I reached what Handspan Travel calls a resort.

Let me step back and walk you through how I got to Halong Bay. Ha dropped me off at the hotel after we stuffed, crammed and cajoled Christmas presents in a box to be shipped to America via a ship. This took over an hour.

I had about twenty minutes before my driver was to pick me up to start my three, four or five hour journey to Halong Bay – depending who you asked. I perched myself on a one-foot stool outside our hotel and watched the world go by. I get why men and women can sit for hours on a sidewalk in this country. This place is sensory overload and pure entertainment. Much better than Mad Men, Price is Right or the Amazing Race.

A V-nam policeman in one of those nasty green uniforms was approaching. The rank color of his uniform and sour expression caught my eye. He looked about 21. And, he wore his angry proudly. Like a badge of honor.

He was searching for his prey. With each step, his eyes darted to V-nam to V-nam finding who was in violation of whatever the rule was for the day. He spied her. Unlucky for me, she was sitting a few feet away. He did not notice the tall, white Westerner. His legs picked up the pace. And, bee lined for the older woman sitting on her hind legs – you all know the yoga pose that kills your Achilles…that one.

Her bamboo basket was full of nuts and potatoes for $.15 or $.25. She comes from the countryside to make a living in the big city of Hanoi. Thin frame. Face lined with sun damage and wrinkles. When she smiled, she showed off only a few teeth. Her hands were gnarled, weathered and muscular. Her white shirt was now stained with cooking grease and picked-off dirt. Her brown pants were made out of what looks like burlap fabric. She tied her fashions together with a brown, orange and blue scarf. Worn plastic flip flops encased her tired feet. Clearly, she was out of place among the shop keepers of Hanoi.

I watched.  She smiled at the Foreigners. Please buy. She smiles at the V-nam residents. Please buy. I can feel him approach. Within seconds he was hurling insults and her. He raised his hand and hit her. In the street. Next to me! I’m taken back. What do you do? I stood up.

She looked embarrassed. Mortified. Now, all were watching. She collected her things. Bowed her head and walked as fast as possible. He looked around to receive admiration and respect from his fellow V-nam-ers. But, all he got was coldness. They all just stared at him and turned their heads. They don’t want to be next.

I just stare at him. His eyes settled on me. I could tell he did not see me standing there, but it had little impact.  He probably believes he was protecting me. And I have to wonder. Is his assault because of me? I reported a crime on this street. Now, I see street patrols everywhere. Is the word out. Foreigner’s passport and visa was stolen – look out – the police are watching.

I feel sick to my stomach for an old woman from the countryside was not the thief. She’s the target. And easy victim. I bet it was a V-nam teen on drugs. A rich kid. Not a poor peasant. I inhaled. Exhaled. Tried to comprehend what I saw. And, understand that I had no power to do anything. I asked God to protect her.

Off to Halong Bay…

The driver picked me up and I settle in for a good 3 hours of bad driving to a flat-bed boat for motor-bikes. I later found out my driver was a bus driver in his previous life. That is why we did not pass trucks and yielded to motor-bikes. I wanted to pop him along side the head and tell him to move it. Slow drivers KILL me.

I’m typing away to distract me. I mean we are moving at a snails pace. I look up. We are in ship yards, passing by hundreds of thousands of containers. There is no tour bus or foreigner in sight. No one. Where in the hell are we? Is the driver lost? He picks up the phone. Talks. I try to make out any hint of stress in his voice. Nothing. We are not lost. I can not believe any travel agency would take foreigners out here. It’s like an episode of the Sopranos – V-nam style. My time is numbered.

We make a slow left down another dirt, rocky road. Yep, this is the place they shoot people. We slow down next to a makeshift hut on the side of a ship yard. Looked desolate. This is NOT a ferry station. No dock in sight. Men – only men. There’ all sitting on foot stools smoking cigs and drinking beer. Staring at me. I’m staring at me too.

My driver hands me my bag. Points to another hut with words and set’s off in that direction. I follow. But, he motions for me to stay. Great, now I standing in the middle of ten beer guzzling V-nam motor-bike men. Just standing. I stare at them for they are staring at me. Stare game is on. What seems like 3 years later, my driver reappears with a cig in his mouth and a ticket. He points down the road.

I guess that is were the ferry is? He nods. I motion do leave now? He shakes his head. Wait. I sit down. He goes over to the car and gets on his phone. Why do I think we are in the wrong place. The only thing keeping me sane is we are near a canal. Water. About an hour later, a put-put boat pulls up . It’s a flat bed boat for motor-bikes. And, another small hut for people. This is the ferry? Ferry for foreigners. Think again. Loving this adventure for I’m so at their mercy.

All of a sudden the men jump to their feet. The must have heard a bell. Or, one of those silent signals only certain species can hear. They finished their beers, start their motorbikes and leave me in the dust. The driver points. And, motions to me to follow on foot. I do.

He picks up my bag. Together we navigate the rubble and dirt roads to the mini-ferry boat. By the time we arrive, the motorbikes are on and everyone is waiting for tallgirl.

I get on the boat. Only one seat left up front. Everyone is quiet. Staring at me. Gosh, I hope I don’t trip or burb or fart. They’re look is of “what are YOU doing here?” This type of scrutiny is unnerving. It’s like I’m in a freak show – what will the white, tall woman do? Will she sit? Drink water? I decide to sit.

The motor starts and we are off. I think to myself. Wait… I did not ask for details of this transport. I’ve been so consumed with Visa, passport and money – that I have NO idea the name of my final destination. It’s in Halong Bay.

But, it like saying, I’m going to swim in a lake in Central Florida. I just hope and pray I can figure this out. Calling all travel angels again. They must be resting for I’ve kept them occupied these last few days. So, I settle in and just wait.

We putter on. About an hour later, we arrive at another desolate ferry stop. I stay on the ferry. Not sure if this is my stop. I show the ticked to the boat driver. He motions to me to get off – NOW. I did. No one is there waiting for me. There are NO foreigners. Just V-nam men on their motor-bikes. I walk over to the ticket lady. Show her my ticked. She smiles and motions this is the place.

But, the place to do WHAT? I’m to hop on a bus. There are four buses sitting in the dirty parking lot. Now what. I breath. I walk around and take pictures. I will give it 15 to 20 mins and then ask to use someone’s cell phone. I have Ha’s phone number. I watch the people. Someone caught an octopus. They are playing with it now. Guess, it’s super for later.

I wait. Take pictures. Wait. Give it another 10 mins. Then, another 10 mins. I figured no harm in calling Ha. I reached for some Vietnamese dollars. I look around and I’m down to three people. Octopus players and me. Then I heard some loud voices. A man in blue appeared. He is staring at me and saying loud things. I smile. He motions for me to follow. I do. Love how I just follow people I can’t communicate with. He points to the four buses. I smile. I stop. I mean, which bus. He grabs my hand and walks me to the red bus. Red is my favorite color. YEA for me. He points. I get on. I smile. He grunts. Clearly he had to deal with foreigners before… I sit down. No one is on the bus. I just wait. Wait. And, wait.

Within in 20 mins, the bus is bombarded by heard of Vietnamese families, teens and elderly. Packed in minutes. And, we’re off. The scenery is amazing. Limestone mountains standing tall in the bay.

Winding through small villages. Doors and windows open. Families sitting on the floor eating rice. TV playing in background. Kids playing outside. The world marches on. The bus starts to make random stops. People get off. Where do I get off? I decided I’m not moving until I see lamp post lights. Electricity. Need to see electricity. I’m sure my resort has electricity. Little did I know…

We arrive at a mini-town. Looks like a fishing village. Outdoor restaurants. Cafes. Hostels line the street. I’m the last one off the bus. The driver asks, “where you go…where you go..” I respond, “I don’t know…I don’t know…” And, just smile. A man appears in motor-bike helmet. My name is scribbled on a piece of paper. AM-DAY. Yep, that’s me! He smiles. Grabs my arm and leads me to his motor-bike.

Someone how he gets my one piece of luggage on his bike along with my 6 foot bod. We set off. Streets are dark.

We zoom along the bay. The moon is full, guiding us. I feel like I should be cold, but I feel warm all over. I look out over the water and think, “Are you KIDDING me? I’m in Vietnam. Riding by moonlight on some RANDOM man’s motor-bike along the water, windy roads, over the mountains to an unknown destination.

I’ve been robbed of an identity. But, right now, feel so rich inside. Overwhelmed with gratitude that I’m here. I mean REALLY. Who is this person? It’s not me – Not the tallgirl who is Ms. Marketer/Communicator worker-bee. Not the person who gets up at 5 am and works until 10 pm. Works weekends. Works and works… Has no life outside of work. Who needed to blow it up big to fill her cup up with joy – again. Well, ladies and gentleman, my cup is being filled. Being replenished. Renewed by a country with a generous spirit and complicated culture….

We stop at a shack. Motor man gets off. Tells me to stay put. He grabs an oar and a life preserver. Tells me to put on the preserver and he will carry the oar. I follow directions. Now, I’m sporting a helmet and life preserver as we jet off again in the dark night. This is a sight.

We make it to another dock. This time we are greeted by an old, delapidated boat with a bamboo canopy. A woman is there to greet me. Not really. She’s giving her husband, the motor-man, the 411 on me. She’s in her Pjs.

Motor-man then grabbed my hand. Looked into my eyes and apologized for his country. I was taken back. What in the world was he talking about? I just smiled. Again. Just smiled. I nod. Then, he said his wife just told him I was robbed. Everything gone. She looks at me with sadness. Motor-men grabs my arms and says, “sorry for you…sorry for you…some of my people are bad… sorry for you… Vientiane good country. Good people. Not all bad. Please come back…” Tears welded up. Am I really going to cry wearing a motor-bike helmet and a life preserver? NO. I smiled. Told him I will be back and jumped on the rickety boat.

The boat driver looked about 90 and no teeth. But, he was strong. He hand cranked the motor and we set off. The only light was the full moon.

He’s navigated these limestone mountains and floating fishing huts for years. I felt safe.

Once again, I pinched myself and thanked God. How am I here? What is it I need to learn? Observe? See? Take with me?

I am so grateful. Even grateful for this experience. God has blessed me with so many angels to carry me these past two days. I was not in control. Still not for I’m in V-nam and NOT Cambodia. My mind keeps saying – you will relax when you get to Cambodia. I have many more hurdles. And, need to hear back about my Visa.

In the meantime, I am puttering through the waters of Vietnam with an old man. He looks at me. Looks at me with a sense of sadness – for me, not him. I get the feeling they are embarrassed by their countryman’s action of harming a foreigner. How much things have changed since Vietnam War. Think about it.

I’m thinking about it all. And, inhaling the air around me. Its one of those times I want engraved in my heart and soul. If I ever loose my short term memory, I pray this day, this hour and those minutes of traveling to Halong Bay will be seared into my soul.

After an hour of puttering, we pull up at the resort. This is a NO star resort. It’s a negative star. Why? No electricity or water. Water tank busted. And, back up generator down.

The resort is on a remote island. I could care less. Ang met me. He led me to my bungalow. Mattress on the floor. Bamboo with holes as a roof. Rustic is a good word. I smiled. Very happy to be hear with Ang and Tour-burn.

I wonder outside my hut to the patio area and order a beer. I’m telling the guys my story. I say the word Visa and my body tenses up. My mind snowballs. I’m trying to act cool. I believe we call this an anxiety attack. I keep talking. I wanted to blurt out to Ang, “Hey. Call Ha NOW and ask for a status on the Visa. It’s 8:00 pm at night. She should have heard something – no word means I’m screwed. CALL NOW…”

Instead, I calmly talked about my ferry trip and wonderful motor-bike ride. They did not notice that I’m having a complete freak out attack inside. By the time I’m finished with my story, my mind has placed me, once again, in a V-nam prison. Irrational, I know. But, the mind can do that to you.

I sip my beer. Sit back. Act cool. And, calmly say to Ang, “Hey, can you call Ha? I’m curious if she heard about my visa. Status?” He said, “Sure. I go now.” He gets up from the table and walks off. I start to over analyze. He’s leaving the table. Not good. Why can’t he talk in front of me? He knows something. I’m screwed.

I strike up a conversation with Tour-burn… “Tell me about kayaking today? What did you see? Do?”

He wraps it up in 45 seconds… You have GOT to be kidding.

I’m looking for a distraction. Give me something here. Anything. I can’t feed off this information. I just smile. Forget it. I just sit in silence. If he wants to talk, fine. But, I’m not doing the work here. I have more important things to think about, like breaking out of V-nam prison.

Minutes pass. No Ang. We are hitting the 10 minute mark. Next is 15 min. Clearly, no visa. I’m starting to make contingency plans. OK. What if I can’t make it to Ho Chi Minh City. Just fly straight from Hanoi to Phnom Penh, Cambodia on Wednesday instead. That will work but my CREDIT CARDS and ATM will be resting in Ho Chi Minh at the travel agency. Then, what… It will work. It will work. I have options. Always options. I’m FIIINNNEEE… As Stephanie would say. FFFIIINNNNEEEE.

We’re hitting the 20 min mark. I blurt out to Tour-Burn who is just sitting and staring next to me, “I’m screwed. No Visa. Ang is not back yet. I’m here for the long term… I do LOVE rice….”

He actually agrees with me. Idiot. Doesn’t he know I need reassurance, not agreement. Men can be so clueless sometimes. I smile at him. Shake my head and stare out into darkness. Where was that inner peace. Joy. Nirvana I felt only an hour ago. Gone. I think back willing it to calm me.

I hear Ang behind me. He is silent. Bad. I hear his voice. “Good news! You got the Visa… We are good.” I wanted to scream, “Where have you BEEN? It took more than 20 mins to find out this news??? I mean, I’m at the point of buying a cemetery plot in V-nam.”

Instead, I jumped up and hugged him. No need to freak him out. I thanked him. Thanked his company. And, told him that I was nervous because it took so long. He said, “Oh. Bad reception. And, I got other calls I had to take…” I did not want to hear that because this was all about me. I’m the customer. And, I’m top priority. Let it go—

I felt my body relax. Check another box. Got the Visa. Question now is it real? Who is this “expediting” agency. And, will it work? Faith baby. Faith. I pray for faith. Protection. And, mounds of patience. We’re not there yet. But, we’re getting there. Travel Angels unite! God, just get me to Cambodia.

It’s 7:45 am.

I’ve been in the hotel lobby since 6:30 am. Emailing the bank. Travel insurance companies. And, contacting the travel agency I’m working with in Cambodia.

Yes, there ARE travel agencies in Cambodia. I went ape-crazy on them the night before. I got an email saying they did not receive payment for my flights OUT of Vietnman to Cambodia or anything else. My credit card told me differently. I pulled out my “this is unaccepable” card. And, put a PS in there that my whole life has been stolen in Vientman. So, this is NOT a good time to try and rip me off.

Yea, got a response on that one. I felt bad. Of course, they found the money. The company actually is amazing. I mean superb too. It was all bad timing. They are so traumatized by my situation, that they are meeting me at the airport in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) to take me to dinner. I email Vo, my travel agent contact, that I need my confirmed flight information that says I’m officially scheduled to leave Vietnam on the 23^rd. This is a MUST for immigration. She sends it to me in a matter of minutes.

Ha walks in. It’s maybe 70-degrees and she’s buried in a red, ski jacket and a new pair of jeans with rhinestones. She smiles, grabs my arm and off we go on her motor-bike. She brings me a better helmet today. One that fits. And, one I can get off. I think I embarrassed her yesterday walking around the bank and immigration with my motor-bike helmet on.

We pull up at the former French prison – aka V-nam immigration. And, sprint to the Visa for foreigners desk. Our girl is there. She smiles at us. We sit. Feeling confident. We’re next. Ha shows her our paper work. She touches the paper. And, starts chatting up a storm. Ha looks upset. Annoyed. None of this is good. I just wait. Trying to ready body language and expressions. Other people walk up to the desk to look at my paper work. I wonder what they are saying. I just stand there. Reminding myself that I’m not in control. Ha still is holding on to my arm, reminding me to be still and silent. She huffs. Grabs my paper work and sits down. I follow. Sit down next to her in the plastic chair.

Me: “What? What happened?”

Ha: “She said need 3 to 5 day for Visa. Business days. Today is Friday. Not good. I make call…”

Me: “Wait. If I need to change flights, I can. I mean..there is a solution here?”

Ha: “I make call. Not good. Not happy. You stay here. Don’t move.”

She walks out. Walks back in. Opens her purse. Grabs $200,000 VND (Vietnamese dollars). Then, shoves the money and my passport into an envelop. Stands up and walk to the V-nam immigration agent.

NO. NO. We’re NOT bribing the communist… Not worth it. I want to get out of Vietnam, legally, not through prison time. I grab Ha’s arm and whisper, “Not good. No. I don’t do this…I will change flight..”

She shakes her head. Motions to me to shut up. And, continues to talk to immigration lady. I can tell immigration lady is not budging. Ha’s hand is on the envelop. I’m starring at the envelop. If she moves it, I’m grabbing it from her. I don’t do this. No way. I can tell Ha is exasperated. Her voice sounds annoyed. But, she is smiling. Her hand never leaves the envelop. She waiting to play her card – or not. She decides to fold, grab my paper work and walks out of the office – leading me by the arm.

She whispers, “I have a friend. Take care of this. May cost you $$. Like $100 US dollar for Visa. Ok? You Ok?”

Me: “Ha, not a problem. As long as it is legal. In US we have companies that are in business to expedite passports and visas. That is all they do – if this company is legit, that is good. My country just charged me $135 for an emergency passport..ok? It’s ok…I have travel insurance. Money not a problem. It must be legal..”

Ha: “I make phone call. It’s legal. Ok. Don’t move.. OK?” She assumes I have some great place to go…

She returns a few minutes later. “Ok. Let’s go. They get you Visa in one day. I negotiated. You only pay $80.” Her smile returned. Yep, she is my travel angel.

On with the helmet. And, onto the motor-bike. We speed through the streets in search of a random office. We pull up. I wait outside. She’s gone for a while. I wait. Find a curb. I’m turing into a Vietnmese. Love curb sitting. This time, I’m not wearing my bike-helement.

She walks out – smiling. “Ok. We good. Get Visa in one day.  Now, you go to Halong Bay to Kayak with Ang. I get you there. Bus pick you up in 2 hours. Take ferry. A bus. A motorbike. And, another boat. Spend one full day at Bay. Ok?”

I respond, “ROCK ON Super star! I did NOT think I would see Halong Bay. I’m so grateful that my heart hurts…

No sleep. Maybe 2 hours. I wake at 4 AM. Need to repack for prison or kayaking. Either way, there is a full hour of sorting, folding, tossing before I kick off today’s festivities at 7:45 am.

The hotel lobby greets me around 6:30 AM. I’m back on the phone with the ATM folks at USAA. It’s 5:30 pm Central Standard Time. The real people are working. Real meaning NO night answering morons telling me my ATM card will be in my hands in 15+ days. I go through it again with New ATM gal. She puts me on hold forever and ever. I took it as a good signs. She’s either asking questions or going on a cig break. Either way, she’s meeting my expectations. She’s doing something.

For whatever reason, I keep reminding these ATM gals they are working for an international, military bank. It’s like I want them to take ownership in their brand promise. It seems to have zero impact.

New ATM gal looks into other rush options and it seems like night ATM gal was right. We’re talking about ATM in hand in 4 to 5 business days via FedEx, no guarantees. My heart says – there is a faster way. But, I’m in Hanoi. In a lobby with poor internet connection. Without an identity. So, not much I can do right about now. Release it. Purge the I’m in control monster.

An email pops up from Dad. It’s the secret code needed for Western Union. God willing, Benjamen Franklin and I will be celebrating a la rice wine tonight. But, I must prove my identity to get the money. Government issued ID, which leads me to the US Consulate’s office in Hanoi. This whole day hinges on an emergency passport. The worst part is to get me out of the country, hinges on a communist immigration bureaucracy.

Hello, anxiety? I pray – “God, help me let it go. Protect me. Keep me safe. Send me your top travel angels. Allow me to give this day to you – be gracious, humble and thankful…Thankful I’m NOT in Russia…”

And, then she appeared. My pint-sized travel angel. Quite frankly, I’m not feeling all that confident. What is it about size, clothes, and, overall, first impressions that can set you in a tailspin.

She walked over to me wearing a big smile and introduced herself as “Ha.” I asked her, “Like in HA?” She said yes. I hear myself saying… “ha..ha…ha…This is soooo NOT funny…Please, God…we’re not doing funny today…”

Ha is about four-foot eleven. Sporting jeans, with colored rhinestones spelling the word BeBe. Her little purple polished toes are squished into black, open toe flats. It’s chilly out – like 75 degrees – so she’s bundled up thick glow-in-the-dark blue sweater. Her black hair is slicked back into a tight pony tail, making her look like 16 instead of 22. She’s wearing no visible signs of makeup. Has a few acne scars. And, her mouth carries too many teeth for her small mouth.

She tells me she’s the office receptionist. REALLY? The office recptionsit? Ha…Ha…Ha… Yea, this is getting funnier by the second…

We sit down for she comes up to my arm pit. She describes, in broken English, our game plan for the day. I just listen. Control my breathing. And, take in this little person who is going to find me an idenity and an exit out of V-nam all in ONE day.

Ha: “Get taxi. Go to US consulate. You get passport.  By taxi, go to police to get stamp. Office manager take you to police. She know people. By taxi, we take police stamp and passport to immigration to get Visa…ok…ok…You call US consulate now. Tell you’re coming…ok?”

Me: “Ok?”

I’m trying so hard not to overwhelm her or me. I have so many questions. I quickly determine which questions to ask now and then pepper her with in the taxi on the way to US Consulate. Because, this is NOT that easy – way tooooo many variables. And, I need to calculate and debate. Role play scenarios. Do a decision tree analysis. Game theory…. Just can’t walk into this blindly, can I? Is it possible for me to let go control of these three ginormous “to do” items without questioning, understanding and over analyzing? Inhale. I look at her. My God, I don’t have a choice. I’m in Ha’s hands.  God, are you listening?  It’s time to call in for reinforcements.

Inhale again… “Ok. I do have a few things I need to tell you before we get started…. My father…..” Voice trails off. Tears sprout from my eyes. You see, I have not cried yet. So, why not just let it rip in the lobby. Why not cry so much that black mascara showers my cheeks. Cry so much my lips blow up like Angelina Joelie. Cry so much that I finally have color in my checks. Perfect timing for guess what today is? New passport photo day. I got up even earlier to shower, blow dry the hair and apply cover-up, eyes and lips. Because we all know this photo will haunt you for years… ha…ha..ha..

When I said my Dad’s name, feelings of genuine love and relief overcame me. I miss my family so much – especially in times like this. And, just having their support and prayers is truly indescribable. There are no words. But just tears of gratitude. Tears of thanks. Tears of love.

Ha grabbed my hand and looked into my eyes, “I’m here. No worry. I take care of you…No worry…” I looked into her deep, dark, soulful eyes and knew her little 80 pound frame would be carrying this 6 foot body these next two days. God sent her to me. And, I’m grateful. We’re going to do this – No worries.

I shook my tears away. Repeated out loud…. “Brain… need to be focus… Brain…find logical, rational thoughts…Emotions are for later.” I am NOT kidding. I really said that. I laughed at myself and that my emotional, wackiness subsided. I uttered Western and Union and Daddy in the same sentence without having a nervous breakdown. We’re off to a good start.

Next thing I know, we are in the back of a cab in route to the US consulates office. Ha asked me within 30 seconds of our trip if I have a boyfriend. I laughed. GREAT distraction. I said, “No…Not as of 5 mins ago… Why? Do you have a tall, smart brother?” For whatever reason, she thought that was so funny. She said, “No tall in Vietnam. We short.” She told me about this boy – in high school – with whom she has a crush. They go out with a large groups – eat sunflower seeds and drink green tea. They’re just friends, but she likes him more. The taxi stops in front of a big, ugly yellow building.

We get out. She grabs my arm to lead me. She’s not letting go – and never did for 2 days.

We march to the building with my country’s flag. Wanted to climb up the pole and kiss it. The guard said, “you in wrong place. Passport office moved…” Ha looked shocked. And, then she turned it on. My word, she’s got it. She has the FLIRT gene. God is GOOD! I got a Vietnamese Choppy! (Choppy is my stepsister, BFFer.. She’s one of the top flirts out there..) Next thing I know, V-nam military leaves his post and is escorting us down the sidewalk. He points the building. Ha smiles, never letting go of my arm.

As we are crossing the street she asks, “What do you do when you’re sad?” The question startles me. It’s a little out of context as we fight traffic with our feet. I scream over honking horns, “I write. I have a journal. When I’m sad– I go to a place –by myself – and write…and pray…later, like 1 week or 1 year later, I look back and see how much I’ve learned…and, you? What do you do when you are sad?”

Ha said, “I write too! And, listen to my favorite music. I go outside of Hanoi, where it is more quiet. I like to write. I have a journal…” Perfect. We have something in common. And, by this time, we are in front of a gray, oversized building. I head inside to see what the US consulate has in store for me.

Second floor. Second window. There are only two or three people in the lobby. None are from the US. Not sure if this is a good sign. I ring the bell on window 2.  A Vietnamese lady speaking perfect English greets me. I tell her my situation. She nods. She says she received my email and has a copy of my passport. Then, she uttered words I longed to hear, “We’ve been expecting you…” I LOVE my country. L-O-V-E!

Relief flooded the body. She told me where to go for new passport photos as she handed me a stack of documents. As I wait for the photos, I can fill out all the paper work. Wanted to kiss the woman. The words, “she’s been expecting me” rings in my ears as I skip down the steps.

Ha is waiting for me outside. We head down to the Kodak store to pose for pictures. I pass by a mirror. Damn, this is going to be one ugly photo. I quickly whip on some lipstick so I would not fade away. Kodak V-nam dude takes one photo and tells me to wait. Only one photo? Can’t we go for the best of five? Back to ugly. I just nod and smile, reminding myself it is out of my hands. I start to fill out the paper work. Ha is holding my arm – still. I told her I’m not going anywhere. She says, “Friends hold each other when sad and happy…” I smile. Look over at the Kodak V-nam dude and he’s touching up wedding photos. Yea, we will be here for a while.

About thirty mins later, I have the passport photos. Not that bad. He photo-shopped the dark circles Red puffiness. And, kept my oversized lips. And, my skin looks flawless. Like HIM! And, like the photo. Who knew redesigning your face was included in the $1 price?

Back at the consulate’s office. I turn in the paperwork and sit down. Wait. Wait. The Director of Passport (I guess that is her title) called me over. She is a fellow TallGirl too! We bonded. Good energy. I told her what happened. Told her I’m taking time off to travel. Told her I’m thankful I’m NOT in Russia. She agreed. Or, China. She agreed. But, she DID say, “BUT you’re in Vietnam…” I smiled. And, later found out what was behind those words.

Tall consulate woman said, normally, she only issues a three month emergency passport. But, she will extend it to 7 months for me. She recommend once I get to Cape Town, for I’ll be there for 2 weeks, to contact the embassy and have them issue me a REAL passport. This emergency passport will cost me $135 US. I told her, “I have NO money. Nothing. And, I can’t go to Western Union without a govt. issued ID. “

She told me to borrow from the Travel Agency. She said to come back between 3:00 – 4:00 pm to pick up the passport. In the meantime, I need to go to the police now to get a formal incident report with a stamp. Bring it back and the US consulate will write a letter to the V-nam immigration requesting an emergency Visa. I thanked her profusely. And, thanked God the place as not packed so all the govt. worker bees can focus on my issue. I’m serious too. The place was DEAD.

I tell Ha about the $$ situation and ask to borrow $200 US dollars. She smiled and said, “Ok. I call friend. Wait 20 mins, Ok? We get green tea.” We sit on two stools for micro-mini people on the sidewalk, in front of the US consulate building. And old woman with narley hands, dirty fingernails and no hygiene hands us two dirty glasses full of tea for $.15. I take. Drink. And, say a silent toast to Tour-burn for gifting me his cold for I’m consuming large doses of antibiotics to kill all bacteria on sight.

Ha and I watch the world pass us by. We go through different scenarios of our day. “What if… What if… What if….” Next thing I know, a kid who looks about 12 pulls up on motor-bike and pulls out a wad of cash. Hands it to Ha. She giggles, bats her eyes, touches his arm and yanks the $ from his little grubby hands. He blushes. My word, she is good.

We got the $$. Next stop, her travel agency office to tackle the next cog – Vietnamese police department. I have to file a formal report with the police if I’m to get a Visa. Ha said, “Office manager know police in neighborhood. She take you. On motor-bike… You go with her..” I nod. What am I going to say, “no?”

We arrive at Handspan Travel Adventures and the Office Manager introduces herself. Didn’t catch the name, so I called her Ann. She hands me a motor-bike helmet. Next thing I know, I’m straddling little Ann as we fly through the busy streets of Hanoi. I’m actually smiling. Having fun.

We pull up in front of the police station. Buzz kill. Fun is over. The Vietnamese police station is like something out of a military, war movie. Like Platoon. This station is sandwiched between an assortment of shops — coffee, stuffed animals, handicrafts, stolen movies… We park the motor-bicycle out front. Ann reminds me of my story. We rehearsed it several times. “Stolen passport. Stolen $200.”

I believe she was more concerned about the street names than anything else. Apparently, Hanoi is divided into police districts. The police departments are judged by crime reported in their district. Less crime reported, the better for the police station. Some areas – like the touristy areas – the police departments are HYPER sensitive to reporting crime. If something bad happens to a tourist, then the department is severely reprimanded. I did NOT know this. I would have been vomiting in a toilet if so.

We walked up the three concrete stairs. No doors. Few plastic chairs scattered to the side. Two men in olive green, polyester uniforms look up. NO smile. They said a few words to each other. Younger man leaves. Older man of 50+ sits and stares. He is wearing German, style square glasses. Faint gray mustache line his lips. Skin is smooth. Shirt is open. No hair on his chest. Ho Chi Minh portrait hangs above him. His, uniform is too large and swamps his small frame.

His eyes say it all. He does NOT give a shit. Only thing he cares about is good sex and good rice wine. He looks past us as we walk closer to his desk. His desk is perched in the middle of the room. It’s his thrown. I look over my shoulder to see what is holding his attention. Then, I look down in embarrassment. GIRLS GYMNASTICS is on the TV. He’s entranced. So, I revise my comments. Let’s add good sex with little girls to the list.

We sit. I slump over a tad. Body language of the submissive foreigner. Ann sits up. Leans forward. Tilts her head and smiles. Everyone is listening. I notice police from the backroom got word a “foreigner” is here – so now we have a party. Shit. V-nam Police Pervert is not going to cave. I slump over more and look down. I repeat, “look humble.. respectful..listen..”

Ann starts. Police Perv is intent on watching gymnastics. He looks at me a few times as she continues to tell my story. Does not say a word. Nothing. She stops. He’s silent, like he did not hear a thing. He tilts his head. After a few moments of silence, he looks at me quickly, turns to Ann and says, “was not stolen…she lost her passport.” Ann translates. I give him a look of confusion. And, shook my head. I said the word S-T-O-L-E-N very slowly. He sighs. Great, he’s part Russian.

A younger man looking on says something. Police pervert reaches for a folder. Starts to go through it while looking at the gymnastics. There’s no motivation to find the document. Younger police man opens a file cabinet and yanks the sheet out. Hands it to Ann and smiles. Maybe THIS is her friend? She fills out the form for me. Her writing. Police pervert is paying no attention. But this time, the room has cleared. It’s anticlimactic. Maybe its a blessing he was distracted by flat chested, little girls twirling in leotards.

Ann writes my passport was lost. I grabbed her pen. Wrong verb. I scribble in caps STOLEN. What is it about verbs. They can make or break you. It’s always about the verb. If it is lost, I get no stamp. She looks embarrassed. She keeps writing. Then, hands it to me to sign. I sign it hoping it will not come back to haunt me. I mean, it’s all true – but signing a V-nam police document in a communist country… Makes me skirmish. Again, calling on my faith and travel angels.

Police pervert looks over the document. Says a few things. Puts it down and continues to watch TV. Now and then, he looks outside to see what’s happening. Ann says, “he can’t speak or read English. I need to translate to Vietnamese.” I reminded her, “Please say the word stolen…” She finished. Pushed the paper back to him. Police pervert sighs. Not happy about missing his gymnastics. Stands up. Shakes his head and walked in the back room, leaving us out front.

Ann and I move to plastic seats in the corner. I notice more and more people are coming in to sign a paper and give the police money. I ask, “What’s going on? Crime reports?” Ann laughs, “No. The police charge for parking motor-bike out front. Money business for them.” Of course the do… Got to love seeing capitalism at work in police departments in communist countries.

We wait. Watch. Ann is nervous, but tries to appear calm. I’m reading every expression in the room. I ask, “what’s happening now?” She said, “Police meeting. Decide to sign or not. No like signing…Bad. Crime needs to be low here. No good to have crime with foreigners…” This was my OH SHIT wake up call. I knew what she meant. I just sat there, praying. Ok God, it’s ALL in your hands. I’m just watching. I tell myself – it’s a movie…I’m really at the movie chomping on family sized popcorn and supersized Coke Zero. I’m just an observer.

Police pervert walks out about 20 mins later and tosses the paper at us. Ann looks surprised. I mean, shocked. I just smile not knowing what happened. She thanked them, grabbed my arm and ushered me out with great speed. Those red high heels can walk fast. She said, “Helmet fast. Get on motor-bike.” I did. We sped off. She starts to laugh. I can’t hear what she says, but I scream PART-AY really loud. She giggles even louder.

We pull up at Handspan Travel Adventure’s office. She gets off. Looks at me and said, “You lucky. Very lucky. Very lucky. Three or four hours at police. Never sign. You lucky. Lucky…” I said, “No luck. We’re blessed. Travel angels are with us…” She giggled, “Yes, angles… and dragons…” She kept on rattling off more. I smiled. And, asked her to make several copies of this police report.

I ate some lunch. Big bowl of carbs, washed down with a beer. Next thing I know, I’m on the back of a motor-bike heading to US Consulate’s office. Ha is in the driver’s seat. We pull up around 2:30 pm. I’m to pick up the passport around 3:00 pm, but hoping to get it sooner so we can make it to immigration and Western Union. The guards now know me. I sprint up to the second floor. Ring the bell at second window.

They gals ask for my police report. I gave it them. They were surprised I got one – and got one so fast. They said, “That is not normal in Vietnam… Usually takes days for police report…You are lucky…”

Hmmmm… maybe police pervert wanted me out of his country for I’m not his type… Or, he had to make crime quota for the month… Or, saw that I was NOT one of those narly backpackers who drink, vomit and poop all over his streets. I don’t care. Just blessed. I sit down. Thank my travel angels. And, wait. And, wait..

About 30 mins later, I walk out of US consulate’s office with my passport in hand. I have a 7 month extension. Hurray! I have an identity. I will say the passport looks fake. Looks like some kid did it on power-point. As long as it gets me out… Gets me to Cambodia…

Ha and I are back on the motor-bike and race to Western Union. I smiled. It’s now almost 4:00 pm. Ha and I bet we can get the $$ in minutes and be at V-nam immigration by 4:15 pm. It’s right around the corner. We submit my paperwork and pick up Visa the next day. Life is good.

Snag.

The V-nam bank using Western Union services was slower than slow. The girl who helped me had trouble dialing a phone and using the fax machine. I did NOT know what to do. I can’t tell her to hurry it up b/c I need to get to “immigration” in time. She has my money. I need to be nice.

Then, Ha stomped in. Highly annoyed. It’s been 15 mins and she not tolerating slowness right now. She lays into little girl in a pretty suit. The girl looks mortified. Ha and shy girl come to a solution. Make a copy of my passport for Western Union files. We go to immigration and come back after to pick up my money. Done. We bolt. No need to put my motor-helmet on, because I was wearing it in the bank. Saving time. And, we’re off… zooming through the crowded streets. Going a zillion miles an hour.

We pull into the V-nam immigration. The French used the building as a prison back in the day. Perfect setting. As we’re pulling in, everyone is leaving. It’s 4:28 pm. Govt. workers going home. Ha ignored this and motored through. She was making fun of them – their schedules – and the fact they don’t work.

We park the motor-bike. I can’t get my helmet off. It stays on. Ha grabs my arm. She guides me through the crowd. Smiling. Talking. Responding to these govt employees. They all look at me. Who knows what she is saying. They smile back. I look like the Jolly Green Giant wearing a blue bike helmet. I feel it too.

We are walking up some stairs. Ha still has my arm. A woman asks where are we going. Just so happens she works in the Visa department. She looks through my paperwork and says we’re missing a document. I need a stamped letter from the hotel saying to confirm I was there. Ha looked very upset. She was trying to convince the woman to follow us to HER office to start processing my Visa now. Ha REALLY wanted to wrap all of this up in one day. From where I sit, I have an identity and money waiting. That’s called a miracle…

Back on the motor-bike to Western Union. She stops. I hop off and run across the street. The bank is closed. A large garage door covers the entire storefront window. Workers can’t see out. I can see them through the cracks. I’m NOT leaving without my money.

Wearing my motor-bike helmet, Jolly Green Giant starts banging on the metal garage door. You can see the scene now. Tall blond. Jeans. White long sleeve t-shirt. Pink hiking boots. Striped socks. Pounding with both hands as hard as possible. People behind me stopped. I feel their eyes. I hear Ha, “Amanda…No! We ok…No more bang…Stop!” I started to laugh.

Ha grabbed my arm and says, “see what happens when I let go of arm…you go crazy….I take care of this…no worry…”

Don’t ask me how, but we find our way into the building. A security guard waits for us in an some random garage for motor-bikes. We walk through a long hallway and enter the bank through the back door. I see slow Western Union girl. She smiles. Hands over the Benjamen Franklins. I LOVE him. I ask for a receipt. Slow girl takes a good 10 minutes to turn on and make a copy of the receipt. My word… I could NOT work here.

We’re back on the motor-bike. It’s getting dark. Ha drops me off at the hotel with instructions. “You ready at 7:45 am. Sorry about immigration. No worry. My country slow. We fix…”

I thanked her again and again. Told her she was my present. My gift. And, to keep holding on to me so I won’t go crazy. And, I needed her more than she knows…

Wanted adventure.  Got adventure.

Entire identity was stolen from me last night. Passport. Visa. Credit cards. Driver’s license. Cash… You name it. Gone. All in the name of shopping. The first time I’ve shopped since I left the land of free press.  BAM.  Talk about buzz kill.

I’m sitting at the US Consulate’s office in Hanoi, Vietnam. Waiting.  Thought now is a good time to start chronicling these last 18 hours.

The US Consulate’s office is what you imagine. Grey blue walls. Gray tile floors. Obama, Hilary and Joe all staring at me – smiling. I’m not taken much comfort in their rosy disposition.  Instead, I want to cry. I need to cry. I feel it in my throat. The enormity. The violation. It’s settling in.

Last night was just adrenaline. Today is –oh shit. I’m in a wanna-be Communist Country with out an identity. I keep pushing my mind to the positive. God is good. I mean, I could be in Russia. I could be in jail in Russia. They they imprison you for being without a passport.

I keep going to the positive.   Well, I could be in China. I could be in a jail in China where I would be a just another faceless number buying my time.

God is good. I’m in Vietnam. This capitalistic communist country recognizes tourist dollars are needed for their economic survival. I’ve got that on my side. God is good.

So, what happened. How in the world am I seeing the inside of one of our nation’s consulates  in a country we terrorized only 35+ years ago.  It goes back to shopping. Two main points here. Vietnam is on sale. And, US dollar is one degree stronger here than other Asian countries. Oh, I almost forgot, the post office is in walking distance from my hotel. The shopping stars aligned. So, I took to the markets to spend US dollars.

Wait. The US Consulate’s office is blasting God Bless America over the sound system. They have a video of clean, happy Americans eating pie, BBQ, riding motorcycles, drinking beer and smiling. Who are these people? I want to be them right about now. Kudos to the video editor for it looks like the US is diversity sensitive. I look around. Is anyone watching the video? I’m the only one. Have tears in my eyes. I love our country. I’m soooo ready to cry right now.

Back to yesterday.

Of COURSE, I was pick-pocketed five minutes away from my hotel. Just bought a bowl with a hole for chop sticks. Yes, liking the chop sticks thing…. I paid with cash. Put my mini-wallet in my backpack. Walked out of shop with three bags. Meandered down the street looking at counterfeit Northface jackets and Gucci shoes. Cruised into the hotel lobby. Reached for my purse. Noticed my zipper was slightly open. Hmmmm.. Yes, I did the hmmmm thing. Felt heart start to race. Felt light headed. Felt sweat. Body going straight into adrenaline mode before I even reached for my bag. Spirit knew I was FUUUU before the mind did.

Breathing got labored. I started to wave my hands next to my face, thinking it would cool me. I took a deep breath and went into search and destroy mode. Dumped everything on the hotel lobby marble floor. Two mini-Vietnamese front desk girls looked on in horror. Words have not been uttered yet. Just crazy flapping of the arms and shit spilled on the floor. I look up at them and bellowed, “Call Ang now. Call Ang. Call Ang. Call tour operator. Passport stolen. Need him here now. OK?”

Within seconds, I’m out the door. Walking as fast as possible – if not jogging – back to the last store. Trying to navigate motor-bikes, taxis, bikes and walkers. At this point, I didn’t care if I were hit because I would feel NO pain. I’m now sprinting. Within minutes, I’m back at the shop. I walked in calmly. I wanted to see the expression of the girls’ eyes – afraid or questioning. If it’s afraid, they are going down. If it is innocently curious, then they are scratched off my “who done it” list. By now, I had a long list for everyone I passed on the street are guilty.

The two girls were helping another customer. One waved. The other smiled and walked over.  They are excited to see me.  They don’t have it. I hastily ask about my wallet? They look frightened now for their store will possibly be named in a police report.  No longer my problem.

I sprinted out the door. I’m actually surprised I found the shop for Hanoi is one big cluster of streets, markets, shops and traffic. Each street looks and sounds the same. Run down French architecture and a lot of honking. I spied a $3 pedicure place. Damn, I wanted to get a pedicure, but now can’t because I have NO money. Not even $3! I’m screwed…

I’m back at the Hotel Serenade in minutes. I shouted, “Where is Ang? Call him? Where is he?”  I called Tour-Burn and asked him for Ang’s number. No, I did not have his number for it was in my WALLET. The front desk lady handed me the phone.  She was clearly frightened of me. I told Ang what happened. Twenty-six year old appeared at the lobby minutes later.

By this point, I’m back in my room. For whatever reason, the hotel hooked me up with an AWESOME room overlooking the streets of Hanoi. Big king size bed and over-sized tub. But, no internet connection. How do I know? Well, I called the front desk. Raised my voice in hysteria about “no internet connection.”

Seconds later the hostess at the restaurant appeared with a cable cord in one hand and hot water for tea in the other. Why can’t it be vodka. After she fiddled with my computer, she declared “Room no internet. Near street and far from router. Cable no good.”

It did not makes sense but I had a solution.  I will take Magic Jack and the 1980’s phone from Wal-Mart to the lobby and work off their computer. I had to call the bank to cancel my life line of $$ and have them reissue new cards ASAP.

It’s around 7 pm. I’m seated in the hotel lobby with my 1980’s phone. French tourists were walking in from a day of touring. They were loud. Ang is sitting next to me –just watching. He won’t leave my side, yet has zero solutions so far. I ask, “I’m sure this has happen before. This is common, no?”   He responds, “First time happen to me… Vietnam is very safe…” Great. Got a newbie here.

On the phone with USAA ATM hotlink. I’m mentioning their name because I’m floored. Here it goes… This is after hours lady…

Me: “Hi. I’m a USAA member. Bank with you. I’m in Vietnam and had my passport, ATM and credit cards stolen. I need for you to cancel my ATM and reissue me a new one.”

ATM gal: “Wow. That is terrible? Where are you?”

Me: “Vietnam. Hanoi. Capital City. Yes, it’s bad. Can you please stop my ATM.”

ATM gal: “Not a problem. I will take care of it. Your new card should arrive between 14 to 21 business days.”

Me: Pause. Shake my head. Brain was screaming, NOT AN OPTION. “That will not work. I need for you to FedEx the new card immediately. I need you to overnight it.  It must be here in 2 days. I leave Hanoi for Saigon in 2 days. ATM is the ONLY way to get any money. Don’t forget, I’m in Vietnam.”

ATM gal: “With international express mail, I can’t guarantee you when it will arrive. You didn’t carry checks?”

Me: Did ATM gal really just ask me about CHECKS? All credibility just flew OUT the door. “Yes, you CAN guarantee international shipping. Fed Ex has a tracking system. Their whole business model is based on the premise of getting random stuff to people anywhere in the world in matter of hours or days – not weeks or months. You pay up the nose. But, they will get it to you. I think there is some confusion here. I need my ATM fast. I need for FedEx to deliver it to my hotel in 2 days. I leave in 2 days…”

ATM gal: “You will need to call Fed Ex.  Do you have a pen.  It’s 1-800-Go Express. It’s an easy number. Tell them you have the $8 option. That is what USAA uses…”

Me: “$8 option? I will pay the $80 option….. And, don’t I need a tracking number before I call them……. And, what I’m hearing you say is if I call this 1-800 number and say “$8” option they will know what I’m talking about? Look… I need my ATM. And, you are a military bank – you have people living all around the world. I’m SURE you can send cards to people within days… I’m positive..”

ATM gal: “Let me check for you. It looks like we can’t guarantee it but there is a chance we can get it there in 4 to 5 business days. So, we’re looking at next week sometime. Do you have a physical address?”

I think to myself. FedEx ships on the weekend too. Has this lady missed the memo on international shipping? And, does she realize she works for an international bank, not some community bank in farm-town USA where Fed-Ex stands for former Federal employees? Yep. This is what you get when working with the after hours on call folks. I WILL be calling back.

Now, I needed to think through dates. Where in the hell where will I be in 4 or 5 days. I don’t even know what day it is. My bottom has been glued to a bike seat for 3 days and, after that, I’ve been trekking for another 3 through the jungles and rice fields of Vietnam. It could be Thanksgiving for all I know. Mind is calm. The day Tuesday pops in my head. It’s the 17^th. So, in 4 days, I will be in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) in route to Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Couldn’t get any less civilized right about now. And, I’m not staying at a star hotel with a reputable name. So, sending my cards to a random, no star hotel in Ho Chi Minh or Phnom Penh was not an option.

I turned to Ang. I needed to make this kid useful. I asked, “Hey, does your company have an office in Ho Chi Minh?”

He said, “Yes. We do.”

I responded, “Write down the address. Do they speak English there? And, is it a physical location or just a PO box….”

He answered my zillion in one questions. Who knew I could come up with so many questions about an office location… “speak English? Receptionist speak English? Manger at this location? Telephone work at all times…Back up generator during power loss… Open on weekends? Hours of operations? Do they understand what signing for mail means? Have they heard of Fed Ex? Do they have the authority from their manger to sign????” Questions kept coming until I felt assured that this travel agency, Handspan Travel, can handle the signing and holding of an envelop with precious goods. Yes, Tall Girl is still in control, bully mode..

I get back to ATM lady.

Me: “I got an address for you in Ho Chi Minh. Yes, that is right. They use both Saigon and Ho Chi Minh. Today, we’re using Ho Chi Minh…. What do you mean the computer won’t let you put in Ho Chi Minh…what do you mean there is not enough lines for the address…what do you mean the address defaults to ‘Street’… what do you mean that the phone number does not fit…”

Yes, this was the call. So, in my mind, I will never see the ATM card. I need to think of another option. Next was the call to the credit card side to shut down my card. Another dozy. I never thought getting a credit card would be SO impossible. They give them out to students at college campuses. My word, they were mailing them to us when Enron was crashing. Giving them out to people who can’t pay, yet can’t get it to those that can pay. And, you wonder why they are in such a mess. Shock city. Focus.

Call with credit card lady at USAA went something like this…

CC lady: “Glad you are OK. Of course we can stop payment on your credit card and reissue you a new one. Do I send it to your home address listed in the system?”

Me: “No. I said I’m in Vietnam, not Winter Park, Florida. I need it sent to me in Vietnam….that should not be a problem for you are a military bank. An international bank with clients living all around the world. And, credit cards seem to fly by themselves. So, I’m confident there will be NO problem getting me my new credit card in 2 days…”

CC lady: “It normally takes longer. It will be in for an emergency credit card with Master Card. It’s up to them on when they process and send it to you. We ship by FedEx and you should have it in 7 business days.”

Are these people mad? I’m mean REALLY!!!! I have NO money. Nothing. Not a cent. I’m thinking of opening up a Viet-Comm banking account right about now. I’m thinking they can get me a card in an hour, not days and days and days. Unreal.

ME: “What I don’t understand is you are an international bank. And, you can’t get me a new card faster. I need this expedited. I will pay.”

Turns out, she can get it to me – NOT guaranteed” in 3 to 4 business days, if I’m lucky. Turns out that her system allows enough room for the address, but not enough room for the company name. Computers…. UGH. I hung up and decided I will be looking for a new bank. Citibank is everywhere.  This is truly ridiculous. I have no money. Need to figure out $$. So, who do you turn to in crisis situations, DADDY!

I called Dad. It’s after 7 am there. He’s up. He’s probably at work. I got him before he walked out the door. I tell him the situation. Calm, cool and collected, he says, “I’ll wire you money. Western Union. No problem.” What is it about Dad’s and daughters? They have that gene to solve problems of hysterical, emotionally wrecked daughters who are sitting penniless in communist countries.  I felt confident I would be seeing the green back by the next day. Love DADDY!

Ang gets a call from his agency. He informs me that a woman from Handspan Travel will be at the hotel at 8 AM to take me to the US consulate’s office and local police department. Told me not to worry. By this time, I’m not worrying about anything. All I wanted was a beer and some rice. It’s out of my hands. I am no longer in control. Bully, demanding, I’m in control of everything Amanda has been purged. And, it SUCKS. So need a drink because the next 48 hours will be a wild ride.

Ang, Tour-burn and I head to dinner. We opted for a restaurant with windows and chairs over 2 feet tall. I ordered steam broccoli with my dinner. They brought me steamed cabbage. I told Ang – this is not what I ordered. I’m in a mood. Over it. And, I’m fighting for my steamed veggies tonight.

Ang and the waitress go at it. I mean, he is attacking her. She’s attacking him. They get the menu out. I just watch. Mind is checked out. Mind is in a far away place. Ang finally says, “They fry broccoli, not steam. Only steam cabbage.” This would NOT fly in the states. I just nod. Reached for the soy sauce, chillies and chop sticks, and began to consume my steamed cabbage.  No need to ask questions, just salt the shit and move on.

Back at the hotel, I crawled into my super-sized bed. Can’t sleep. Mind races to random places. Somehow my neurons find their way to V-nam police station.  And, V-nam immigration offices…. I think I slept about 2 hours. So, I was emotionally primed when I met – who would later become my travel angel… The adventure continues…