New Photos

Photos from Hong Kong, Macau and Hanoi are online here (follow the corresponding links along the top of the page).

I Saw Dead People...

...well, one dead person.

I now can say that Ho Chi Minh is the most famous person I've ever seen... Dead. It was almost Chairman Mao, but he's just too darn popular!

I had no intention of seeing Ho, alive or dead. It was my last day in Hanoi and I wanted to see his mausoleum (from the outside). I got in what I thought was the correct line with all the other mostly Vietnamese tourists. We were ushered into a theatre showing propaganda film footage about how great a person Ho was, kissing babies and stuff like that. Then we had to form a single file line and follow a guide past a dozen or so uniformed police officers and guards to a security checkpoint, where all cameras and cellphones were confiscated. I should've realized at this point I was probably headed for more than just an exterior view of Ho's mausoleum, but onward I went, following the masses, a worker among workers...

Ohhh...umm, sorry about that...just getting a little too caught up in the spirit of the place I guess...

We passed another security checkpoint where we were led through x-ray machines, and then continued single file behind our guide towards the mausoleum. And continued inside. Everything was marble, in that mausoleum-ly kind of way. Uniformed guards stood at attention at every corner.

Up a flight of stairs and through a large set of double bronze doors, and there he was, lying in state. Four guards dressed in white stood at attention, one at each corner of his body. They were so motionless they may have been preserved dead bodies as well, I'm not entirely sure. There was no stopping - we continued around and out the other side. Ho was quite pale and I'm guessing a large part of the reason we weren't allowed to stop for a longer viewing was that a closer look would have made him look more...well, dead.

I'm in Bangkok now, and frankly I felt like kissing the ground when the plane landed in Thailand. Hanoi was fascinating in many ways. I expected to see much more Soviet-style 1950s architecture, but there is very little.

Most is what I would call "crumbling French colonial," although there are also many restored and very beautiful buildings as well, including the stunning 19th century Hanoi Opera House pictured here.

But the relentless noise of horns blowing, the non-stop motorbike traffic, the thick exhaust fumes, the cold, gray, overcast weather, and a similar gray coldness in many of the people I encountered made me so ready to leave after four days.

On the way to the airport, the cab had to make a detour since the main highway was closed a few kilometers before the terminal entrance. The cab driver was determined to get to the airport on time regardeless of the detour. In the pouring rain, we sped across country roads at 70 miles an hour, passing motorbikes, oxcarts, and bicyclists. And in true Hanoi driving style, his hand stayed on the horn for pretty much the whole trip.

Playing Real-Life Frogger in Hanoi

Answer: A cage of live chickens. A half-dozen boxes. Three kids. Grandma.
Question: How much can you fit on the back of your motorbike?



Yes, everything you've heard about Hanoi traffic is true. Thousands of motorbikes come at you like buzzing hornets from every direction. Traffic lights are really only suggestions. There are crosswalks marked at certain intersections, however these are only observed (in vain) by huddled, terrified tourists.

Last night was Christmas eve, and oddly enough, it actually felt like Christmas here. Trees and shops were decorated with lights. Vendors were selling Santa hats (and full Santa costumes) at every other intersection. Parents strolled hand-in-hand with their children, many of whom were wearing those brand-new Santa hats. Couples on motorbikes circled the lake, again and again (and again). Everyone eventually headed to the plaza in front of the Cathedral, where Christmas carols played and an oddly enormous neon-lit manger scene was prominently displayed.

And it's surprisingly cold. Dom flew from Chiang Mai to meet me here. If I'm cold, I can only imagine how he must be feeling. The first thing he did was buy 2 scarves and a hat...without even bargaining! We spent the morning wandering around the Temple of Literature, which was tranquil, lovely and quiet.

Our mission since then has been to find some good (and spicy) Vietnamese food. It's becoming harder than I thought. The highly-recommended Indochine was a big dissapointment. Koto was good, but more western than Asian. Our favorite place has been Quan an Ngon - a sort of upscale indoor street-food marketplace. He also liked Pho 29 - a big bowl of (cheap) noodle soup and an assortment of chilis on the side can keep him happy for a very long time!

Back to Christmas Eve: Random bursts of fireworks - along with the incessant beeping of horns - continued late into the night. Oh, and that little Christmas tree you'll see in the video above is nothing...today I passed a guy cruising by on a motorbike while balancing a full-grown 8' live tree.

Holy Macau!

It can be somewhat of a hassle to get to Macau from Hong Kong. It's an hour ferry ride, plus another hour going through customs on each side. But the hassle is worth it. Not because central Macau is an architecturally preserved World Heritage site. Not because the brand new Venetian and MGM Grand Casinos are said to be even more over-the-top than their Vegas counterparts.

Go to Macau for the egg tarts. They may be the world's perfect food.

You can buy them on the street fresh out of the oven - a small, buttery flaky pie crust enclosing a filling of sweet egg custard.

I dreamed about these egg tarts last night. They are that good. Really.

Macau, like Hong Kong, is now a Special Administrative Region of the People's Republic of China. Sounds like some poor office clerk somewhere is kept busy filing lots of paperwork.

Until its handover to China in 1999, Macau was administered by, and originally a territory of Portugal. It was the last remaining European colony in Asia.

Aside from a historic center (now a World Heritage Site), Macau is also the world's new Las Vegas, with gigantic casinos popping up like weeds. Very big, very tacky weeds. I had heard that it can get very crowded in Macau on Sundays, but that was the only day I had to go there. I left at 8:00 am, hoping to beat the throngs, but alas, they were all waiting for me at Hong Kong's China Ferry Terminal. Do these people ever stay home??

The center of Macau is very charming and most definitely worth seeing if you are in Hong Kong. It feels as if a part of historic Europe has been dropped into the center of what otherwise seemed to be a rather ugly, dirty, Chinese city. Cobblestoned streets with swirling inlaid tiles. Soft pastel yellow and cream colored churches. Narrow streets full of local shops and restaurants that wind up and down the hills.

By noon, the ferries from mainland China had arrived. The town was jam-packed with Chinese tour groups. So if you're looking for a quaint and quiet afternoon of sightseeing...go to Vermont.

Oh, did I mention those egg tarts??

Weird Sign of the Day

No apologies necessary, I've still got my other leg...

Hong Kong: Take Two

I am finally back in Asia (and thank you for your patience, I have gotten over that whole French thing that was going on).

I was first in Hong Kong for 1 night in December 2004. Hated it. I felt like I was in an Asian Times Square, with even more people, more touts, and more tourists. I has also just fallen in love in Chiang Mai, and frankly, I didn't even want to be in Hong Kong at all.

So now, 2 years later, I'm giving it a second chance. And after 5 days, I feel like I could almost live here. Almost...

Hong Kong is comprised of over 200 islands. Many are uninhabited. Others, like Hong Kong Island itself, hold many of the city's 7 million people. Apparently, most of those 7 million people never stay home because the streets, subways, and shopping malls are jam-packed day and night.

This is such a city of contrasts. It's an exhausting yet exhilirating place. The crowds are sometimes unbearable, and almost unescapable. Even though it has one of the world's best public transportation networks (subway, bus, minibus, double-decker bus, tram, ferry) you'll still find yourself walking. A lot. Often up and down some killer hills. Imagine the crowds of Midtown Manhattan with the hills of San Francisco. Throw in the harbor islands of Boston. Make everyone Chinese. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Yet solitude in Hong Kong is only a 40 minute ferry ride away... a 90-minute hike across central Lamma Island looked like this.

On the surface, this seems very much like a modern, new city - the architecture of Hong Kong Island is stunning and contemporary, one of the most breathtaking skylines anywhere on earth. Yet each of those buildings was carefully planned and constructed according to the ancient Chinese principles of fueng shui.

Incense filled Tin Hau temples are scattered across the city, where residents go to pray for good luck. Most have a resident fortune teller or two. Traditional Chinese medicine shops sit side by side brightly lit modern drug store chains.

And this city has more malls than Los Angeles. They're virtually unavoidable because you'll often get off the MTR (subway) and be inside one. The striking thing about these (all very high-end) malls is that they are jam-packed full of trendy 20 year-olds. The 20 year-olds travel in groups, whispering into faux-Prada cellphones, taking photos of one another with ultra-compact digital cameras, and mobbing the counters of brightly lit gelato stands. And generally, they all have fabulous hair.

Ne me quitte pas

"Another French blog entry? What happened to flying all over Asia???" you loyal readers might be wondering...

Well Bastille Day is quickly approaching, so what's wrong with a little homage to La France? And frankly, that Piaf film has really gotten me stirred up. What?!?! You don't own Jacques Brel Olympia 61??? Okay, stop whatever you're doing right now and buy it today, it is one of the greatest live albums ever recorded.

The song mentioned above, 'Ne me quitte pas' (translated as 'Don't Leave Me,' but doesn't it sound so much more... desparate in French??) is one of Jacques Brel's most famous. Brel wrote the lyrics, which are haunting but simple yet deeply romantic and quite sad:

Don't leave me
I offer you
Pearls of rain
Collected from lands
Where rain never falls...

Don't leave me
I will no longer cry
I will no longer talk
I will hide myself
To watch you dance and smile
And to hear you sing and laugh

Let me become the shadow of your hair
The shadow of your hand
The shadow of your dog

Don't leave me..

La Vie en Rose

Today I saw an amazing film, La Vie en Rose, the life story of the great French singer Edith Piaf. The lead actress Marion Cotillard gives an incredible performance.

Here's Piaf live in the late 1950s...

Edith Piaf - La Foule

Bali & Java photos

updated: photos from Bali and Central Java are online here for anyone interested.

Bye... for now

I'm back in Bangkok and it's time to go home now. I feel so melancholy about leaving Asia. Usually I feel ready to go home, but this time, I feel ready to stay. I believe now for the first time that it's very possible that I might someday be living here. When-where-why? Who knows?

I am so drawn to this city, yet there are things I hate about it: the traffic and mosquitos come immediately to mind, followed closely by the oppressive heat and humidity. No other southeast Asian city I've been to has the heavy, sultry air of Bangkok. I'm outside walking and within five minutes I am drenched with sweat. But I can't stop walking because...this place is a fascinating, non-stop assault on the senses.

It's the smells in Bangkok that hit me in the gut, though. Immediately upon exiting the airport, the sweaty, exhaust-filled 95-degree heat smells... like home. The Chao Praya River. Incense. Pungent baskets of dried fish. Jasmine garlands. Ecalyptus bundles boiling at the Thai Traditional Massage School. Duck soup simmering in a wok on a sidewalk corner. And incense again.

At the airport, a rowdy group of obnoxious drunk Americans (wait, is that possible???):

"Fuck you, you fuckin queer," one yells to the other. I realize that I haven't heard language like this in the almost three weeks I've been in Asia. (Then again, maybe I have since I don't speak Indonsesian and barely understand a few words of Thai... ). What I haven't heard for sure though, is anyone here raising their voice. Ever.

Maybe it's that peacefulness that attracts me most.

Back to Bali

After three days in Central Java, I returned to Bali for three more days, this time to the Seminyak beach area. Seminyak isn't nearly as charming or as rural as Ubud, and after living in California for almost ten years, it takes a lot for me to get excited by a beach. The beach at Seminyak is... well, it's fine.

What does make it somewhat unique is that in one 15-minute walk I was offered everything from Balinese paintings to cold beer to intricately detailed kites to "massage: complete!!"

About a year ago, I saw a photograph in a travel book of a lakeside temple in Bali. It seemed so serenely beautiful. That photo is really why I came to Bali. I wanted to see things that looked like that!

Since it's a copyright image, I won't use the original here, but it looked very much like this. The temple is called Pulu Ulun Danu Bratur. It's about a 2-hour drive from Seminyak, and on my last full day in Bali, I was going there, again with Herry.

I was afraid this might turn into a long drive ending in dissapointment. What if the photo had created such anticipation in my mind that seeing the real thing might be a let-down. It was not. I was especially lucky because there was a special ceremony happening there that day. Dozens of women were carrying offerings on their heads into the temple. A gamelan orchestra was playing. Priests were blessing the offerings. The temple was adorned with gold and white drapes and umbrellas.

On the way to the temple, driving up a narrow, twisting mountain road, we passed a sprawling isolated hotel overlooking spectacular rice terraces. The entrance was locked and overgrown with weeds.

"Bankrupt!" Herry scowled. "After the bomb nobody want to come to Bali. They start to build many new hotels. But so many hotels bankrupt now. Still very bad for us here."

I believe him. Just a few weeks before the start of the high tourist season, the streets of both Ubud and Seminyak were very, very quiet. The hotels I stayed at were all far from full.

Across the shore at Lake Bratan, Herry pointed out another abandoned hotel.

"BANKRUPT!!" he exclaimed with disgust.

I wasn't sure if he was upset with greedy developers for overbuilding, or at the fucking terrorists who planned the 2002 & 2005 Kuta bombings, or at the tourists for being afraid to return to Bali. Possibly with all three.

Driving back to Seminyak, we were stopped at a police blockade.

"Shit," muttered Herry. "Black tax."

He exchanged a few words with the cop, handed over some rupiah, and we passed through.

"What was that?" I asked.

"You don't know black tax?"

"No..."

"Police, they stop cars and we must give them money."

"Money for what?"

He laughed. "Money for their coffee, haha. For nothing. It goes into their pocket. Some days if I have bad luck, they take everything I make."

As we made our way back to Seminyak, Herry and I said goodbye. He was a great driver and I feel lucky to have met him.

"Too bad you going home tomorrow," Herry said. "Very big cremation here!"

Well, maybe next time. It's yet another reason to return to this enchanted island.

Celebrity Status at Borobudur

I had two very different experiences at Borobudur Temple. Located in Central Java in the shadow of Mount Merapi, one of the world's more active (and forboding) volcanoes, 1,200 year-old Borobudur is the largest Buddhist monument in the world.

I went there first on Saturday afternoon. A sea of Indonesian schoolchildren - hundreds, maybe thousands of them - were climbing the steep stairs to the top of the temple. I wandered around the massive temple, trying not so successfully to avoid the crowds. Clearly this day was not going to be about peace and serenity...

Gradually kids began to approach me. "Hello, mister. Take photo?"

"Sure," I said, assuming what they wanted was for me to take a photo of them.

But, no, that wasn't quite it: they wanted photos of me! All of them did.

So one by one, each kid came and stood next to me while their friends snapped away with their camera phones.

Later a teacher approached me.

"Would you mind if my class takes a photo with you?"

"Um... sure, okay."
(but why?????)

All 20 kids gathered around me and he took their photo.

This continued for the entire time I was at the temple. "Hello mister. Take photo?" These kids weren't interested in seeing Borobudur... there was a tall white guy there and he was way more interesting.

The next morning I awoke at 4:30 to watch the sunrise from the top of Borobudur. Four Japanese tourists were the only other people there. The only sounds were, first, the call to prayer from the surrounding mosques. Then, roosters crowing in the distance. Then gradually, as the sky lightened, the purring of motorbike engines somewhere out near the horizon. Sunrise was an awe-inspiring experience. And I probably wouldn't have appreciated it nearly as much if I hadn't gone through the camera-clicking circus act there the day before.

Monkey Love

The Ubud Monkey Forest...Technically, it's the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary. And it's the home to over 300 or so monkeys (or grey-tailed macaques, for you National Geographic readers). And I was afraid. Not generally afraid - I love monkeys - but more specifically, afraid of being bitten or attacked by one of the wiley rascals who roam freely throughout the Monkey Forest.

"You will have no problem, just do not bring any food," said one of the Wayans at my hotel as I left.

No food, no sunglasses, no hat, no shiny dangling objects... I was prepared.

Within 20 minutes a medium-sized monkey was on my right shoulder. Now his hand was reaching down the back of my shirt..but there were no claws, no teeth. Just a soft, warm and gently inquisitive monkey palm. And I liked it...

Then he began inspecting and cleaning my hair, as monkeys love to do to each other, when they're not busy riding tricycles or peeling bananas. His hind paw gently caressed my right ear.

I was in love.

A few seconds later, he was gone.

I went back the next day. Had he thought of me? Would he even remember me? Was it too soon to bring flowers? Would it be better if perhaps I didn't shave today??

My monkey was nowhere to be found. It was over.

But please, if you're ever in Bali and happen to see this guy, do me a favor and let him know that I haven't forgotten our brief but special time together in the forest.

Just Call Me Wayan

My driver from the airport to my hotel in Ubud, Bali introduced himself and handed me his card. "My name is Wayan," he said.
"Hello Wayan, nice to meet you."

We arrived at the hotel. At checkin, I was greeted by a young manager. "Welcome to Alam Jiwa. My name is Wayan."
"Hello Wayan, nice to meet you."

Later that evening I was walking through Ubud after dinner at an Indonesian restaurant recommended by my hotel. The name of the restaurant? Perhaps you've already guessed: Cafe Wayan.

As you're walking, every other guy you pass on the street in Ubud calls out to you, "Hello sir, you need taxi?" or more simply, "transport???" They'll take you with their car (or motorbike) anywhere around town you want to go. I was tired so I accepted one of their offers. After the required price haggling:

"40,000!"
"20,000!"
"30,000!"
"okay, 25,000!"
we were off.

He handed me his card. "Maybe you need driver tomorrow?"

WAYAN POLLOS - DRIVER
the card read.

"Every guy I've met here is named Wayan," I told him.

"Yes, have many Wayan."

His English wasn't great, and my Indonesian was non-existant, so that was basically the end of the conversation.

I spent the next day seeing Eastern Bali with Herry, my driver. When he dropped me back at the hotel he handed me his card.

"By the way, do you know you're the first guy I've met here who's name isn't 'Wayan!" I said. Then I looked down at the card:

WAYAN HERRY - DRIVER

Aaaaggghhhh.....

Herry, being a very kind and patient driver (and a Yankees fan to boot, go figure) wouldn't let me leave without explaining:

The first born son in a Balinese family is traditionally named 'Wayan.' The naming system continues with the second-born named 'Made,' the third 'Nyoman' and the fourth 'Ketut.' And if there's a fifth, he goes back to 'Wayan' again! Thanks for the lesson in Balinese culture, Herry. Now watch out for that cat!!!

Please Don't Hit the Cat

A perfectly arranged half-circle of white frangipani blossoms laid at the entrance to a temple... a row of brown ducks following a farmer across a rice field...somewhere, always, the distant sound of gamelan music, or roosters, or frogs, or often all three at once...

The island of Bali is one of about 17,000 that make up the country of Indonesia, the world's fourth most populous nation. Luckily, most of the country's 200 million residents don't live on Bali, a predominantly Hindu region of a predominantly Muslim country. It's hard to talk about Bali without talking about religion, as it is everywhere - from the temple-like airport to the small banana leaf offerings that magically appear along with sticks of burning incense at your doorstep each morning and evening. Hinduism in Bali takes one of the world's more complex religions and multiplies that complexity tenfold. The Balinese believe that spirits, both good and bad, are everywhere and that they must be acknowledged daily.

Bali is about the size of... I don't know, maybe Conncticut?? (forgive me for that terrible analogy - no two places could be more different). You could drive around the entire island in a day, but... would you want to? Plus, many of the roads are narrow and twisting and Balinese drivers are not especially known for being cautious. So for about $4.50 an hour, I hired a driver to take me into the mountains of Eastern Bali.

Herry was my driver, a kid really - only 27 years old, but still one of the more sought-after drivers in Bali. We were on our way to visit the water gardens at Tirta Gagna. After about 45 minutes, we stopped to take some photos of rice fields. Standing out in the middle of nowhere I heard children calling, "Hello! Hello mister!" At a small school across the street, an entire class of 2nd graders had come outside to watch me. I crossed the street to say hi to them, and couldn't leave until I had high-fived every single kid... a few I think more than once.

We got back in the car and continued on our way. An orange cat darted across the road in front of us. "Ohhhh...If I hit a cat," he said, zooming into the right lane to pass the slow-moving truck in front of us, "it is very bad."

"We will need to take it home and bury it in the ground right away. If we leave it, the spirit of the cat will follow us around for all our life."

"Please don't hit a cat." I said.

"I did, about two months ago," Herry said, looking a bit worried. "But... not so many cats here."

"What if you hit a dog?" I sort of nervously wondered.

"Dog?? Dog no problem, so many dogs here."

and the winner is...

Bali!!
More details to come...

Somewhere With a 'B'

For those of you who might have been wondering: no, I am not moving to Thailand.

And I do not recommend long-distance relationships.

After an amazingly long (all things considered) 18 or so months, mine has unavoidably ended. Well... sort of...or maybe not...

In any event, I have a new love of Thai culture (and Thai men). Plus hundreds of photos (Dom does love cameras, especially, ahem, when they're pointed at him...).

And about 130,000 frequent flier miles.

So where am I going next?

Well, I've narrowed it down. To somewhere with a B.

And your votes will help me decide!! (well, maybe...)

1. BALI
a lush Indonesian tropical island - rice terraces, volcanoes, gamelans and monkeys!
(oh yes, and also the occasional Islamic fundamentalist terrorist bombings)

2. BHUTAN
a tiny, insular Himalayan kingdom where tourists must spend a minimum of $250 per day and be accompanied at all times by a government-issued guide (How do you say, 'Beat it, Fred?' in Bhutanese? Come to think of it, how do you say anything in Bhutanese??)

3. BURMA (Myanmar)
the last undiscovered country in Southeast Asia, and home to the ancient temples of Bagan, rivals to Angkor
(note: country is possibly undiscovered due to the evil repressive military regime in control since 1988).

Oscar Day

Today is Oscar Day here in Los Angeles - that's the day of the annual Academy Awards presentation, if you've been living under a log in the woods for the past 50 years. I've lived here for 8 years now, and this always seems like an unusually bizarre time in a city that is already unusually bizarre to begin with.

As that magic hour of 5:00 pm approaches, the air is still (except for the dozen or so circling helicopters) and the streets get incredibly quiet. It feels very much like a national holiday. Which, at least in Hollywood, it sort of is.

Your cool factor is measured by how many Oscar parties you're invited to. Multiply that by 10 if actual stars will be present. Multiply by 50 if one of the starts is either Nicole Kidman or Leonardo DiCaprio. And if one of the stars is Jude Law, I HATE YOU.
(fyi my cool factor is... well, sort of lukewarm...)

Yesterday - the Day Before Oscar Day - all over the city traffic was a nightmare as people rushed around doing.... whatever it is people need to do on the day before Oscar Day... Car washes were jam packed because you just can not have a dirty car on Oscar Day (whether you're actually attending the awards or not is irrelevant).

The first year I lived here, a friend called in a panic to see if I had plans: "I wanted to be sure you weren't alone on Oscar Day!!!"

It's that kind of wierdness.

Happy Oscar Day everyone.