I have started a new private practice in child and adolescent psychology in the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

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Quaint Sagada

A Jeepney. This is the only country in SEA of Jeepneys

The rice terraces in Batad. Each terrace is 20 feet wide x several hundred feet in length and 10 feet high

Clean up crews after landslides

The colonial street in Vigan

I said my goodbyes to my wife and I was off to the Philippines alone. Leah returned home two weeks early but I decided to use that time to explore the last remaining unvisited country in south east Asia (excluding Brunei, but no one really knows it exists). Initially I was excited to see the Philippines but it was tough to say goodbye to the princess. I had second thoughts of cancelling my trip and coming home with Leah but with her encouragement I knew once I got settled in the Philippines I would enjoy myself.

The culture in the Philippines is interesting. They are a little bit loud but very easy to approach. Very religious. Love that Jesus fellow. Everyone speaks English and the people have a lot of gratitude towards Americans. I really felt welcomed.  Several times locals quoted to me General MacArthur’s famous line “I shall return,” which was referring to the initial American retreat in WWII to the Japanese, who occupied the Philippines during the war. Eventually MacArthur did return and kicked the Japanese out paving the way for their independence. They also love American music…especially country music. They love to play it on the bus rides and in the local bars. Why country music of all things to import from America? But I did hear some great covers of classic music.

I landed in Manila but immediately headed North to the mountains. First stop on my trip was Sagada which is a quaint mountain town situated almost 2000 meters high. The accommodations were a bit rustic and the town was empty of tourists due to the rainy season. I did however, manage to meet two really cooky travelers – A 50 something divorced Australian woman who wanted to talk to me about Jesus and a 50 something burnt out hippie dude. Neither one was fun to hang out with so I went exploring on my own. There’s not much to do in Sagada except the hanging coffins and caving. The hanging coffins are exactly as they sound, coffins hanging or perched from the top of caves. Before the arrival of the Spanish, the tribes leaving in the mountainous region would bury people this way to prevent the animals from digging up the bodies. The highlight though, was visiting the caves. So far Leah and I have not had great success with caves but this was the exception and I’m sorry she wasn’t there to share the experience. These caves were a huge labyrinth of water canals that are fed from the rain at the top of the mountains and being rainy season there was water pouring in creating a mini river and a few awesome waterfalls. It was a pretty treacherous climb and afterwards I learned that an Italian tourist dies a few years back navigating the caves by himself. After exploring I hung out and watched the rain for a few days. It was really cool to watch the clouds form around the mountaintop and then slowly make their way towards the town and unleash torrential downpours.

After Sagada I took a jeepney (half jeep/half mini-bus) to the Ifugao rice terraces and then hiked to a remote little village called Batad which is nestled in a valley between two mountains which made building a road a very difficult task…so I was now on foot. The only thing to see in Batad is the rice terraces. Row after row of huge man made terraces built into the mountain that provided this village with enough rice to sustain themselves. I had the entire guest house to myself and a majestic view from my room. I did manage to find some other tourists at another guesthouse where we drank beer (ok they…2 beers and I’m done) and played cards all night. The hike back to town was brutal with my heavy backpack because back to town meant climbing a steep trail and hundreds of stairs. I had to stop every 50 steps or so to catch my breath.

After a week of mountains I decided it was time for some surf and sun so I headed to a little beach town called San Juan where there was little surf and fewer people. It was cool to have the beach to myself for a couple of days but then it got pretty boring so I rented a motorbike and drove up the coast to an old colonial town called Vigan. The town itself was ok despite being a World Heritage Site (not the first time we’ve been disappointed with a WHS). There was 1 long street with the old colonial feel and a town square which had an endless loop of cars and motorcycles circling it. So I decided to really explore the town at night which was a lot more fun.

I was still feeling restless so I decided to go motorcycling up in the mountains which turned out to be a pretty bad idea but a great adventure. Halfway up the mountain it started to rain. Soft at first but it then progressed to another torrential downpour.  And I became so fixated on the roads (there are lots of landslides and flooding) that I failed to notice that I was almost out of gas. I pulled over, soaking wet, to a little store and asked where the closest gas station was. Of course it was at the very top of the mountain, right into the heart of the storm. So I waited. And waited. And waited. I had left at 2pm and it was now 6pm. It should have been a 1.5 hour drive but I was stuck in some little shack on the side of the road, freezing cold, in the fog, with a little bit of gas, while it was pouring and the road was flooding. Eventually the rain softened to a light drizzle and I headed up the mountain in search of gas. I’m glad I waited because there were a lot of landslides and parts of the road were flooded which made for slow and steady driving. I ended up staying the night in the town which meant buying some dry clothes. This was the only time I was really happy that Leah was not with me.

I’m in the airport now getting ready to come back home. It feels weird that our travels are over. The 5 months went by so fast. Whats next? I don’t know but I hope it somewhere cool and dry. I hate the South East Asian climate.

After we left Bukit Lawang we traveled to Jakarta, the capital of Indonesia. Based on what we read in our travel book and what we heard from fellow backpackers the city was supposed to be a big raging mess without many sites to visits. But because we needed to stop over there to get to Bali, we figured that we would hang out for the day, just so we could say that we visited the capital. Jakarta surprised us. Indeed, there wasn’t much to see, but an efficient three lane highway where everyone drove in the correct direction in their own lane and some big, beautiful, air conditioned malls that would put New Jersey to shame. Those sites were enough to make us happy and way more enjoyable then the actual tourist spots that we visited.  

The next day we flew to Bali ready to become surfers. I had done the research and found the perfect place for surfing. The only problem that we realized when we arrived was that it was perfect for surfers, not so perfect for learning. The waves were insane, the beach was covered in rocks and let’s just say that the accommodations were lacking. We have been traveling for four months now and while we are still enjoying our adventure, we were looking forward to things being a little easier in Bali. It was going to be the first time that we would be staying in one place for over a week since Ko Lanta, Thailand. We spent a day trying to find a room that had an attached bathroom in our price range. When that didn’t work out we gave up and booked ourselves into a resort in the fanciest village in Bali (still inexpensive by western standards). I cannot explain how nice it was just to unpack a little. It’s the little things that make a big difference.

Once we settled into our resort, and saw how relatively expensive everything was in Bali (expensive for Southeast Asia, super cheap compared to home) we decided it was time to take a vacation from our vacation. Our backpacker’s budget was a thing of the past. We signed up for overpriced surfing lessons (they were voted the number one surfing school in Bali) and just enjoyed. After several lessons and one day of practice we are hooked. True to form, Rafi is disappointed that he is not an expert yet, and I practically made the instructor cry from frustration because I ignored him for two hours. But we are definitely in love with the sport and now have a new slightly dangerous hobby to keep us busy in the summer.

I know it’s not much, but I think that’s it for the update. We surfed, we slept late and hung out by the pool. We visited the ritzy village of Semanyak where wealthy Australians go on holiday. I had clean hair and was even sporting a little makeup (both of which were a big deal) so I figured I could almost fit in. Rafi, on the other hand, still wore the exact same outfit that he has been wearing for the past four months and his hair is a different story all together (as I am sure everyone has gathered from the pictures). We definitely enjoyed our week of relaxation.

We are now on our way to the Philippines, our last country in Southeast Asia. Back to backpacking and back to our budget.

Angkor Wat is supposed to be one of the highlights of all of Southeast Asia and we were excited to finally see the famed temples. It is really an amazing site driving up to Angkor Wat with the entrance gate, mote and ancient temple all basically intact. The only thing that takes away from the majestic experience is that you are sharing it with hundreds of other tourist and of course the local people pleading you to buy their stuff. We spent around two hours wandering around this first temple, marveling at the architecture and intricate design. Despite the fact that the temple is many hundreds of years old (12^th century), many of the carvings are still in excellent condition and it is amazing to see the craftsmanship that went into the building. For some reason we decided not to hire a tour guide (probably because we felt like we had been bleeding money in that town) but nonetheless we were able to enjoy the site even if we didn’t completely understand the history. And we with a little bit of eavesdropping on other people’s tours we were able to piece together the important parts.

The rest of the day was spent visiting some of the other famous temples. We went to visit a royal city that included many buildings and ruins. None of the buildings in this site were as impressive as Angkor Wat and many were undergoing reconstruction. While UNESCO was in charge of the reconstruction and were supposedly taking care to use original materials and maintain the structure, watching them rebuild an ancient temple using modern equipment kind of took away from the experience. The last temple that we visited had been filmed in the movie Tomb Raider and was my favorite temple. While it was mostly in ruins, seeing how the trees had grown through the temple and how natural and political catastrophes had impacted the site was really remarkable.

That night we stayed away from town. We were both tired and a little scared of the shoeless children.

Day two of Angkor Wat, we woke up at 4 am to watch the sunrise over Angkor Wat. We thought that since it was so early in the morning it would be an opportunity to enjoy the temples without so many people. It turns out that we were yet again joined by hundreds of tourists and hoards of locals still selling stuff. The sunrise wasn’t all that impressive, but we did get to enjoy the experience with a man that did not remember that we had met him the day before and felt in necessary to repeat the exact same, not too interesting, complete story for the second time. Rafi got so frustrated that he claimed to want to take a picture of the sunrise and walked away, leaving me alone with the weird fellow and his redundant story.  After the disappointing sunrise, we felt mostly “templed out” and instead of focusing on the ruins, we spent the day talking to the children selling stuff there. We bought more cheap chachkees than we could possibly even need, but it was hard to say no to such hard working, sad children. The day ended on top of a beautiful temple waiting for a sunset that never happened.

The next day commenced the most annoying, aggravating, makes you want to scream and cry, day of our entire trip. While there is no reason to bore everyone with all the painful details, let’s just say the day included: excessive fees at the airport, almost missing our connecting flight, difficulty obtaining a visa, luggage not making it on the connecting flight, sitting in the Medan (Indonesia) airport waiting for luggage for 7 hours, missing the bus to our destination, waiting another hour for our ride and the accommodations that we wanted were booked. The day finally concluded when we were settling into our room (at another inn) and heard a piercing, deafening, terrific fart. Apparently while we were the only two people in our room, we weren’t really alone. The walls at the accommodations were paper thin and our neighbor had obviously found the most polite way of letting us know this.

The reason that we had traveled to island of Sumatra and specifically the village of Bukit Lawang is because it is one of two places that one can see Orangutans in the wild and I was super excited for our jungle trek.  The village is financially sustained by people who come to see the Orangutans and there is a ton of information on the animals and the proper way to interact when seeing them in the wild. We left for our trek early in the morning and we spent the first part of the day in what felt like a traffic jam in the jungle. It is currently high season in Indonesia and all the guides were hanging out in the same area hoping to spot an Orangutan for their clients. Because I had read the “ trekking guide etiquette” I was acutely aware of the fact that many of the guides were breaking the rules to bring the Orangutans closer. At one point I called one of the guides out on trying to feed the animals, but he just mostly ignored me and walked away.

The afternoon was amazing! We finally moved away from the crowds and saw three mother orangutans with their little babies and then two adolescents. We were told that they are usually solitary animals so it was very unusual that they were hanging out together. We were able to see some of them up close and it is a little unnerving how their mannerisms make them see so human like. Besides for the orangutans we also saw many adorable monkeys who were looking for some attention and a speedy gibbon. The day ended with a steep trek through the hills of the jungle, down a waterfall and then finally to the river and a raft ride.

The next day we didn’t do much of anything and just relaxed and hung out in the cute little village. It rained for most of the afternoon which made for great napping weather which perfectly suited our mood. Seeing the orangutans had made the awful travel day worthwhile so now we were just happy to do a whole lot of nothing and brace ourselves for the next full day of travel. 

US Transport helicopter at War Remnants Museum in Saigon

Sign posted right outside the museum at the Killing Fields. Most Cambodian people do walk around with grenades so the sign is quite appropriate

Skulls exhumed from the mass graves in a Pagoda (shrine)

Mass grave at the killing fields…the sign says it all

Our favorite poor shoeless little girl. They train them young here. They also use the peace sign the way we say cheese.

Our awesome hotel in Phnom Penh.

We sold our motorcycle. I can’t say that we were thrilled with the price, but considering that it is low season and we put about an hour’s worth of effort into the endeavor, we were satisfied. We were back to public transportation and negotiating with leeching tuk tuk drivers which was ok in Ho Chi Minh city considering we didn’t do much of anything. Our main goal for HCM city was to sell the bike and once that was accomplished we basically spent the rest of our time going from one market to the next looking for a shot glass. We also visited the War Remnants museum (that’s right family, sometimes I visit museums) which was both informative and horrible. All I know is that when we learned about the Vietnam War in school they seem to skip out on some key points, like the torture the US supervised and how the Vietnamese citizens are still suffering from the effects of Agent Orange.

On Thursday we made our way to Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia. The bus ride was such a pleasure that it made it seem like we were missing out on a luxury by motorbiking the past three weeks. They had stewardesses (or I  guess the politically correct term would be bus attendants), they made announcements, gave out free food and drinks and most importantly took care of our visas so we didn’t have to wait online. Six blissful hours later we arrived at the capital, hoping to treat ourselves and stay in a nice(ish) hotel but without any real plans. We lucked out and found a really cool, new hotel that turned out to be just a few minutes from the Chabad House. The hotel was kind of unusual and the rooms were made completely out of concrete. They were decorated beautifully and had a tropical motif pool area. To be honest, we would have been happy just hanging out at the hotel. But that wouldn’t be experiencing Phnon Penh. So we rented a motorbike and went to see the killing fields, which is just one of the many genocide sites from the era of the Khmer Rouge. None of the original buildings are left at the site, but one can still get a feel for the horrors that took place there from the mass graves which have been dug out and the Pagoda filled with skulls. It is incredible to think about how just 30 years ago, 3 million people (including most of the educated people) were killed during the Pol Pot regime and now this country is attempting to bring itself out of the dark ages and catch up to its neighbors. The construction, expensive cars and designer stores are proof of this effort. But the hundreds of begging, shoeless children and handicapped adults are evidence of atrocities that happened not too long ago.

We spent most of shabbos at the Chabad House which is run but a lovely young couple with two and a half children under the age of three. It was nice to have proper shabbos meals (with chicken soup and all) and to spend the time with lots of interesting people despite the fact that we had to sing Avrahom Fried’s “Just one Shabbos” out loud (I am not joking).  And despite Rafi’s best efforts, he was the tenth man in the minyan and was honored with hagbah. Each time we visit another Chabad House I am awed by the sacrifice that these young people make for the Jewish community. I cannot imagine what it feels like to be raising 2 babies and cook shabbos for an unkown amount of strangers every week. To do that in a developing country, far far away from everything familiar and easy is just unbelievable. What’s more is that they seemed genuinely happy and always had smiles on their faces.

Yesterday we traveled to Siem Reap (Cambodia) to see the famed temples of Angkor Wat. Because of the temples the town is incredibly built up and probably one of the most touristy areas that we have visited so far. The entire town is filled with guesthouses, fancy hotels, restaurants, local people selling stuff to the tourist and lots of shoeless begging children. My bleeding heart husband always feels for the poor people (especially children) and took three kids to a street restaurant to get some food. While he was there three more kids showed up and he feed them too. Then a bunch more approached us and we took them to get food and the next thing we knew, it looked like we were feeding the entire neighborhood. It felt great to see all the children sitting together and shoveling food into their mouths. They did say that they were going to remember us for the next day. We might have to stay out of town today. Everything in Cambodia is in dollars and therefore much more expensive than the other countries. I am not sure that we can afford another group meal.

Just because you dont have pants doesnt mean you shouldnt have candy

War monument (Russian tanks supplied to the north) in Kon Tum

Us with the Frenchies (Aurley and Alistair)

Elemaphant ride at the resort

Rafi is the bike with the green bag, I’m on the bike in front

Me with the talented Mr. Chinh and his awesome bike

Goodbye dinner with Mr. Chinh and his family

A beautiful rode in the mountains from Dalat to Saigon

Houses on the river on the way to Saigon

Monday morning we headed out with our guide Mr. Chinh to begin the second leg of our journey. When we had been riding by ourselves, we would drive all day, see very little mostly stopping for directions or get gas. Riding with Mr. Chinh was a nice change of pace as we got to stop and see different local villages, arrive at destinations without getting lost and never had to worry about mechanical problems. Mr. Chinh is easy going, pleasant and incredibly competent and it almost felt like we had a guardian angel during this part of the trip. I was able to just sit on the back of his bike and relax and Rafi was able to enjoy riding without worrying about everything else.

On the first day we stopped to visit My Son, which is an ancient Champa ruin. The disappointing thing about all the Vietnamese Unesco sites that we have visited is that there isn’t any description or explanation of the site so while ruins are always great for photos; we really had no idea what we were looking at. After exiting the site we went to meet our guide at the café.  When we arrived there, Mr. Chinh was talking with a French couple (well mostly French, their English was just as good as ours) who were in a big fight with their bike. Mr. Chinh broke open a fresh watermelon and after chatting for some time we invited them to follow us as they were headed to the same town. Later that day while riding the accelerator on our bike actually fell off while Rafi was driving and we were quite far from a town or a mechanic. Mr. Chinh’s motto is “no problem” and he was able to somehow magically drive the bike without an accelerator. Once we had that fixed, several minutes later, the gear shifter fell off the bike. This too was not a problem and Mr. Chinh was able to ride our bike the rest of the day, mostly staying in the same gear and when necessary shifting with his hand. Watching as he drove down the mountain, leaning forward and to the side to struggle with the shifter, with his head popping up just enough for him to see the way was just amazing. And he did this all with a smile on his face.

The next morning we attempted to get an early start. We said good bye to the Frenchies who were staying in town to fix their bike. Early on in the riding, Mr. Chinh’s fancy bike got a flat tire. Mr. Chinh handled the situation like a pro but it made me wonder if I was jinxed or maybe just gained a little too much weight since Burma (this was the fourth flat tire while I was on a bike). When he saw his flat his first reaction was “big problem” which of course was slightly alarming coming from Mr. Chinh. He took our bike and his tire back to another town to be fixed and Rafi and I sat on the side of the road, singing cheesy songs, chatting and enjoying not being responsible for once. Mr. Chinh returned shortly, with a big smile on his face and ready to get going. That day, we had lots and lots of stops planned before we got to our final destination. Though we had several more minor mechanical problems along the way with our bike, and we were running late, Mr. Chinh was insistent on showing us the full itinerary. We visited minority villages, climbed a waterfall and attempted to zip line on a cable that the local people had put up to get to the other side of the river. The zip line consisted of a wheel and one piece of rope. When we asked Mr. Chinh if it was safe, he responded “no problem” which I guess means that nobody had died yet.

That day, while checking out yet another beautiful view, our French friends caught up with us. We were excited to see them and just when we were ready to get back on the road, their bike died. Mr. Chinh was able to help them out and get all of us moving again. The rest of the ride was kind of hairy and there is no need to get into the details, but let’s just say that I was singing Shir Hamalot to myself on repeat and was extremely relieved when we all arrived at the hotel alive and well that night. Despite, Mr. Chinh’s constant can do attitude and boundless optimism; he stated that it was an unlucky day and probably one of the hardest of his career. He then ended that statement with an “I’m easy so it’s no problem” and a complimentary smile.

Though we had only initially hired Mr. Chinh for three days, we quickly fell in love with him and the security that he brought us and asked him to bring us on the five day trip to Dalat. We convinced the French couple to join us and the rest of the trip we were busy visiting different plantations, minority villages, enjoying hanging out with our new friends and basking in the glow of Mr. Chinh’s positivity. While he must have completed the exact same trip hundreds of times, he was still super excited to show us everything that Vietnam had to offer and committed to ensuring that we had a positive experience. Several times he told us about the beautiful resort that we would be staying out on Luk Lake. The resort turned out to be more like summer camp and the pool was lacking more than just the necessary lounge chairs and umbrella cocktails. But we got to ride elephants through the bike, watch the minority people perform some of their traditional dances and songs and enjoy some fun with Mr. Chinh when he had just a little too much rice wine before dinner.

On Friday we finally arrived at the mountain top city of Dalat. The town is 2,000 meters above sea level and about 20 degrees cooler than anywhere else in Vietnam. We arrived soaking from the rain, exhausted from the continuous traveling and looking forward to checking into our rooms and taking a nap. It turns out that the hotel that we were supposed to stay out was already full as were most of the decent hotels in the town because it was a Vietnamese holiday. Luckily, the boys managed to find us great, clean cheap rooms in a small guesthouse. All of us have had a little bit of separation anxiety and it took two good bye dinners for us to finally go our separate ways from Mr. Chinh. We also weren’t ready to separate from our new friends (the boys have serious guy crushes on one another) and we decided to stay an extra day just to hang out even though we had planned on traveling on Sunday. So it turns out that our luck did hold out. We were smart enough to hire Mr. Chinh who took amazing care of us and we met great friends to share with us the journey.

 Today we completed the last, way too long leg of the journey (300 crazy kilometers). Our bike behaved amazingly and the first 250 kilometers were enjoyable and even relaxing at times, but when we were about 40km outside  Saigon (Ho Chi Minh) it was like driving in  the wild wild West. It is just craziness! We hope to sell our bike while here and let another foreigner get a feel for the insanity.

 Motorbiking has certainly been a memorable experience but strangely I am actually looking forward to some good overnight buses again.  But I am going to miss Vietnam and the people here (they are a little like Israelis just…Asian).

For the past week we have been traveling almost every day and have barely been able to catch our breath let alone update the blog. This part of our trip is all about the motorcycling experience and we planned on biking around 2100 kilometers in just over two weeks. This meant that we would have to put in some very long days on the bike.

The first day we spent hours just trying to get out of Hanoi. There are no signs in city (or at least ones that we can read) and if there are any traffic rules we certainly didn’t understand them. People on their motorbikes will literally stop short to talk to their friends, make u-turns without looking and drive on the wrong side of the road if it’s more convenient. Add in some cars where the drivers believe that they can do whatever they want because they are bigger and badder and it is sheer insanity. After we finally made our way out of the city, the rest of the day was easy breezy and we arrived at the little village where we would be spending the night relatively early. We were fast asleep by 9.

The next morning we knew that we had a lot of ground that we wanted to cover so we woke up early to get ahead start. Fifteen minutes after we left the village we had our first flat tire. Luckily there was a “tire shop” (a man with some tire supplies in his bamboo hut) just 200 meters down the road and Rafi was able to push the bike to his shop. An hour later without one common word spoken and we were kind of on our way. Day two was our first day driving on the back roads and we were having a difficult time confidently deciphering the way to go. We spent a lot of time stopping in villages, pointing to a city on the map and trying to communicate with the locals. Each time we stopped we became the main attraction of the village and everyone who could see us would stop what they were doing to try to get a piece of the white action.

At around 1, our progress was stalled by our second flat tire. This time we weren’t so lucky and when Rafi was done pushing the bike ¾ of a mile, he was drenched in sweat and huffing and puffing. This “tire shop” was only slightly more impressive and the kind man was willing to interrupt his lunch with his wife and baby to help us out. One hour later, a brand spanking new tire and we were on our way again. This time we were able to ride for about four hours until we had our next flat tire. From what we could understand we were very far from the closet “tire shop” so a very lovely woman invited us to her house to have her husband fix our tire. They offered us drinks and watermelon and when they didn’t have the right equipment the woman got on her bike and went to town to purchase it for us. We spent around two hours at their house and met the entire extended family. They didn’t speak any English, but with the help of our travel book and exaggerated hand motions we were able to communicate. This family was truly generous and kind and they only sent us on our way when they felt confident that the bike was ok. Ironically, it was this layman who was able to finally solve our tire problem. When we arrived at our destination, which turned out to be a very tacky but fun Vietnamese version of the Jersey Shore, we were beyond exhausted.

The next couple of days of traveling were mostly uneventful. We stopped to visit the Vinh Moc tunnels which are a series of tunnels where the Vietnamese hide to protect themselves from the evil imperial Americans. It is slightly uncomfortable visiting these sites as an American and when we met a man who was born in the tunnel and subsequently became deaf from a bomb, I almost felt the need to apologize for our country. Instead we gave him a $1 for his ad hoc tour and he seemed very happy. We then continued on for a shorter than usual ride and arrived at a tourist town called Hue, excited to spend two nights in the same guesthouse and to be in a town where at least some people spoke a little bit of English. While in Hue, we visited their main attraction, the citadel, and took a boat ride down Perfume River because that is what our book said one is supposed to do in this town. It was here that we unequivocally confirmed that we weren’t missing anything when we didn’t do the “touristy stuff.” At this point in our travels, what we enjoy most is simply hanging out in a town, getting a feel for the energy and speaking to the locals and other backpackers. Over priced tours  are just unnecessary and not a whole lot of fun.

Friday afternoon we arrived in the ancient town of Hoi An. We planned on spending several nights in this town, reenergizing, and enjoying this rest stop at the half way point on our journey. We have spent our time here in probably one of the best guesthouses that we have ever stayed in. The rooms aren’t that great and our air conditioning didn’t work for the first two nights, but the owner and the staff are so remarkably nice and attentive that it makes it all worthwhile. Hoi An is a very small, very charming city that is known for its beautiful beach and row of tailors and shoe-makers who are happy to create anything your heart’s desire all for very cheap. Initially, we hadn’t planned on buying anything, but two days later, Rafi has a new wardrobe and I bought way too many shoes for me and my sisters (happy birthday girls). Some of the clothes have turned out better than other garments, but when you take into account how much money we saved, the hit or miss aspect was worth the gamble. Tomorrow, we are heading out and continuing our expedition to Saigon. We hired a local guide, Mr. Chinh, to ride with us for the next three days and show us some of the sites that we would have otherwise missed. We hung out with him for several hours yesterday and he seems competent and knowledgeable and most importantly his English is intelligible. He also has a real motorcycle with a very cushiony seat which I am very excited about.  

Overall, the motorcycling so far has been exhausting, at times remarkably frustrating but exciting and fun. When we are the only ones on the road and the scenery is beautiful and the sun is shining (and our bike is riding well) nothing can compare. We have been able to visit non touristy towns that we would have otherwise missed and met incredibly kind hearted, generous, passionate and caring people. So far we have been very lucky and the worst thing that has happened to us is that what have suddenly fallen upon some really bad air conditioning karma. I am just hoping that our luck continues for the second leg of the journey.  

The journey from Luang Namtha, Laos to Vietnam was supposed to be a treacherous two day journey so we decided to split the traveling in two and rest for one day at a little town by the river called Muang Khua. This leg of the trip seems like a very long time ago and relatively easy compared to what was yet ahead. But at the time, smooshed on a minivan next to a teeny Laos man who was taking up way too much space for his size, listening to very loud, very bad Laos music, we were incredibly uncomfortable. We finally arrived at Muang Khua at around 3 in the afternoon, found the one guesthouse with a western toilet and settled into what we thought would be a peaceful, relaxing and rather boring Shabbos. It turns out that after almost three months of traveling, Rafi and I no longer have any qualms of striking up a conversation with just about anyone who almost speaks English. Our first night in this itsy bitsy town, where the locals do not speak a lick of English, we met a lovely Midwestern couple who had been living in different areas of Asia for the past thirty years. I am not even sure how the conversation got started but after two hours of discussion we learned that they had originally moved to this part of the world as missionaries, they now work for a not for profit helping local villages and they are sympathetic to the challenges that Israel has with its neighbors. We also met this really sweet Canadian kid named Brent who had been separated from his friend in Vietnam when his friend’s motorcycle broke down. Brent was waiting in Muang Khua for Peter who had his pack, phone and his passport.

Rafi and I spent most of shabbos sleeping. By this part of our trip, when we are not traveling or seeing the sites of the new destination, we take every available opportunity to relax and rest up.  During one of our many naps, I heard lots of people speaking outside our door and I caught some pieces of Hebrew. I jumped out a bed to get a glimpse of the action and met a sweet 14 year old Australian girl who had been traveling with her parents, older and younger sisters. After 15 minutes of conversation I found out that they were traveling Southeast Asia for four months before moving to Israel in September. We recognized our mutual connection, met the rest of the gang and almost immediately we were treated like part of the family. The Australians had picked up some other stray travelers along the way, a couple that had stupidly crossed the border without any money and a really kookie Irish girl. We all ended up hanging out together until Sunday afternoon when they left. The noise, yelling and evening a little bit of whining made me feel right at home and I was just a little bit sad to say good bye to them. Sunday evening we bumped into Brent our Canadian friend who had still had not found his friend and was running out of money. Truly understanding the challenge of an empty wallet (from our Burma experience) we gave him the $20 Sheemon had given us before we left, explained the concept of Shaleach Mitzvah money (designated charity money to ensure a safe trip) and told him to pay the money forward when he had a chance. Who would have imagined that the week spent in Luang Namtha and Muang Khua, two little towns in Northern Laos would be some of the most “Jewish” intensive times of our entire trip.

 The next morning we woke up at 3:15 to make sure that we were on the other side of the river in time for the 4 o’clock bus. We had tried several times to confirm that there would be boats that early in the morning, but as I mentioned before no one in the town spoke English. We arrived at the dock at 3:45 and it was completely dark and empty. At 4, it was still deserted except for a couple more tourists who had showed up and a dog that we had been feeding the entire weekend. Finally at around 4:30, the locals arrived and the boatmen started their slow long tail boats. We boarded the minibus at around 5 and hoped that the journey would be just a little easier, a little less dirty and maybe just a teensy bit safer than what had been reported by the Australians. Of course that was not the case.

I am not going to spend too much time belaboring the point, but this bus ride was the only time on our trip so far that I was certain that we were going to die. The first part of the trip was not too bad, we drove through a couple of rivers, which I thought was kind of interesting, but the road was wide enough that the muddy conditions were not too scary. Several hours into the journey, I was clinging to the seat in front of me and to Rafi and gasping as we made our way through the mountains on a muddy path that was by no means any type of road. Several times, Rafi had to say to me “relax, just relax.” The other foreigners on the bus were equally terrified and discussing amongst themselves our driver’s ability to control the van. And then we got stuck. After five minutes of spinning tires without any movement we were told (in Vietnamese) to get off the bus and pull. Someone tied a rope to the bus, took out some shovels to dig out the tires and the boys attempted to pull the bus out of the mud. After 30 minutes of no progress the girls got involved as well and the scene looked like mud tug of war and the bus was winning. Each time we thought we made some progress, the bus driver would set us back further. Frustration began to sink in and that’s when Rafi’s innate leadership skills began to shine through. He started to dig a path and asked the other English speakers to do the same. He then tried to show the driver were to direct the bus. They dug and we pulled and finally after another 30 minutes we got the bus out of the mud and to the top of the hill. Filthy, sweaty and caked in mud, we arrived at the boarder an hour later.

We had been warned that the Vietnamese are very passionate and aggressive people so when we arrived at the bus station and everyone was up in our faces and grabbing at us asking us if we wanted a bus to Hanoi, we weren’t surprised. I tried to explain to a man the concept of personal space, but he didn’t seem interested and kept on grabbing my arm and trying to get me on the bus. We boarded the bus at 3:30 and prepared ourselves for what we thought was a 4 hour journey. At first we couldn’t understand why the bus was $15 a person and felt ripped off. We couldn’t understand why they made us take off our shoes when we got on the bus. We definitely didn’t understand why there were blankets and people were sleeping on the floor. When Rafi saw a sign that said that Hanoi was 400 kilometers away we finally understood. The driver had not been saying that it was a four hour ride, he was trying to tell us that we would be arriving at 4’oclock in the morning. Dirty, tired and slightly starving, we settled into another 12 hours of unexpected traveling.

We had heard rather negative reviews of Vietnam and in particular Hanoi from other backpackers so I was all prepared to hate this city. In fact, we had considered skipping the country all together. That is why it came as quite a surprise that Hanoi has been my favorite capital city so far. We love Hanoi! This city is a remarkable paradox of modern and ancient. Walking down the street you will see women wearing bamboo hats using a balancing bar to carry heavy baskets of produce standing in front of a Burberry store. Some locals still sit outside at night on their bamboo mats eating dinner as a community and playing games. But this is also one of the few cities where we have seen the locals frequent the same coffee shops as the tourist. The city is chaotic, the traffic is crazy and after 6 days here, I still don’t feel confident crossing the street without holding Rafi’s hand (sadly that is not even a joke). The shops are filled with beautiful and colorful crafts and silks. The people are passionate, loud and have absolutely no respect for personal space (kind of like my family). Above all else the people are incredibly entrepreneurial and are enjoying their new found wealth. It is an amazing and exciting city and we have been spending our time here just walking around different areas of the city and enjoying the energy.

 We are leaving tomorrow and beginning our journey south to Ho Chi Min City (Saigon). We bought a used motorcycle and plan on riding the entire distance and spending the majority of our time on the famous Ho Chi Min Trail. Don’t worry, at full throttle our bike can only go around 45 miles per hour. It’s really more of a scooter than a motorcycle but we are still excited to feel the wind in our hair (under our helmets of course).

Rafi and I woke up early to be ready for our trek through the Namha protected forest (still in Laos). We were supposed to meet at the office at 8:30 and being the good German girl that I am, I made sure that we were there right on time. We should have known that we would be the only ones there. The Israelis, were being Israeli and operating on their own time schedule and the Australians were actually only waking up. Laos people are known for being laid back and slow moving, so our guides didn’t appear to be too concerned about our schedule. We finally got ourselves in the tuk tuk at 9:30 when we had to stop at the Chinese market so that the group could purchase ponchos in case of rain. I am not exaggerating when I say we spent a half hour at the market because the Isarelis insisted on hondeling and would not back down until they got the price that they wanted. In the end, they needed the ponchos and the woman selling the ponchos knew this and wouldn’t lower the price. This was not a defeat that one of our Israeli friends, Yehuda, took lightly.

At 10:30 we began our trek. At 11 o’clock we were ready for a break. The terrain was mostly hilly and we spent the majority of the time either climbing up a mountain or bracing our knees as we carefully made our way down slippery slopes. The Australian couple led the group walking closely behind the guide, then came me and Rafi and the Israeli boys. The Israeli girls, Liat and Ella, were at the back of the pack often stopping whenever their passionate argument (discussion) required more intense gesticulations. When we finally stopped for lunch our clothes were sopped through with sweat and we were starved. Our guides had cut down some banana leaves while hiking and lined the floor with them. They then placed some sticky rice, vegetables and whole smoked fish on the banana leaves and invited us to dine (with our hands).

The terrain in the afternoon was very similar to the morning and we finally arrived at the village where we would be spending the night at around 5 o’clock. This village was particularly large (around 650 people) and we would be staying in house on the outskirts of the main area. Filthy and covered with sweat we all obviously wanted to take a shower. Most of the villagers, which we have seen in the past, either bathe in a river or by a water faucet that is usually in the center of the village. The women use their sarongs to cover themselves and the men shower in their underpanties and we had been told the day before to be prepared to bathe like the villagers.  This particular area of the village did not have running water so our guide directed us to the river. When we arrived at the river side a couple of villagers had stopped on the bridge nearby to watch us.  By the time we had all entered the river, the bridge was full of people, pointing and laughing at the spectacle of white people bathing in the river. It seemed that entire families had come out to watch us. We were at the zoo but we were the animals.

After the not so effective bath (it’s hard to feel clean when bathing in mud colored water) we went back to our host and waited as the guides prepared dinner for the group in the dark. That night all of us slept in one of the villager’s houses. We were told that our host and that is why he had the supplies and means to put us all up. Each couple was given their own mosquito net, thin “mattress” and pillows (which, by the way, smelled like it never had been cleaned). The rustic accommodations coupled with snoring of our guide who had too much to drink the night before, the cats meowing and roosters crowing did not make for a great night sleep.

The next morning we got a slightly earlier start, but the steep incline at the beginning of the trek left us all exhausted. Rafi’s knees were hurting him from the day before (he was the old man of the group) and the Israeli girls had had their fill of trekking and were not interested in moving too quickly. When we got to the first bamboo hut to rest, everyone could barely catch their breath and Liat announced (in Hebrew) over and over again that this was going to be absolutely the last trek of her life. Despite everyone exhaustion, we had many more hours of trekking before we would be back at our guesthouse in town. As the day progressed the path evened out and became easier. We enjoyed ourselves as we talked, laughed and sang Hebrew songs. I would guess that this was probably the first time that Yerushalayim shel Zahav was sung in the Namha forest.

That day at lunch our guide informed us that this time of year the animals were breeding and that he had seen a cobra last week in area that we would be walking. Therefore, he had us all carry a lemon in our pockets to protect us for the snakes in the forest (a Khamu tribe folklore). The thing about our guide was that he was an unusual fellow that would let out this very unsettling demonic laugh at inappropriate times. None of us knew what to make of it so we would just laugh along with him. He seemed fairly knowledgeable about the forest but I wouldn’t feel confident if we had to rely on him to protect us from a dangerous animal (not that we would have a choice). As we entered the “snake domain” we began to walk slowly as our guide and the local villager guide carefully inspected the area for snakes. The guides stopped suddenly, yelled something to one another in Khamu language and then told us to wait because they had found a “one bite and die” snake. I of course ran to the front of the group to see if I could get a glance at it.  First, the guides smashed the snake with their walking sticks. Then the local guide cut off its head with his machete and threw the dead corpse to the side. It was all pretty exciting though we are not certain if it was a poisonous snake or if they were putting on a show for our entertainment. We then continued on with our trek and arrived back at the town smelly and exhausted three hours later. That night we said good bye to group who were all traveling together to Louang Prabang the next day. Rafi and I decided to rest our old bones for a day before journeying to Vietnam. There’s nothing like hanging out with kids in their young 20s to make you feel your age.

There is a common saying in all of Southeast Asia which is “same same.” This is the local people’s way of telling you that what you want to buy and what they have to offer is all the same. Every once in a while you will run across a “same same but different” which means it is basically the same but just slightly different, but obviously similar enough that you should still close the deal. The saying is so prevalent that tourist use it to communicate with the locals and it has become part of the colloquial backpacker speech. There are even t-shirts being sold with this phrase on it.

When we arrived in Luang Phabang on Wednesday, our first impression was same same. I was still feeling ill and weak so I parked myself in the lobby of a guesthouse that was way out of our price range (a girl can wish, cant she?) and sent Rafi to find us a clean, nice place to stay. When he returned he let me know that he had done well.  Indeed our new home for the next 5 days was a nicely decorated room with a flat screen tv and sheets that smelled like fresh clean laundry and all for just $25 a night

Luang Phabag is considered the most beautiful, sacred and historic city in all of Laos. Just like everyone said, the town is very charming, quaint and has the feel of a small French countryside town (or so I’ve been told) with the addition of Buddhist monasteries and temples. Nonetheless, for those first couple of days when we walked around the town, all we took away was same same. It didn’t look that much different than the other towns that we had visited in the past two weeks. My grandmother in her constant attempt to get us to come home already, said to me, doesn’t it all look the same and at that point I had to begrudgingly agree. Rafi and I honestly felt that it was all starting to look and feel a little redundant.

On Friday we decided it was time for an activity (because sitting in our air conditioned room was not seeing Laos) so we hired a tuk tuk driver to drive us the waterfall. When we first arrived, our driver dropped us off at an outdoor mall of locals all selling the same same products for tourist. We then walked further into the park were there were amazing black beers, in a large fenced in area, playing on swings, hammocks and other toys. Apparently, black beer bile is used for ancient Chinese medicine and there is a huge black market for the animals. These particular beers had been saved from poachers and were enjoying the good life. The beers were really lazy, (but still majestic animals) so after watching them for a while we headed to the waterfall. We climbed halfway to the top of the hike when we decided that we didn’t need to always be so hard core and instead leisurely went swimming in the rather chilly turquoise water. While we were swimming, it started to rain and the scene of the waterfall, clear blue water pools and the trickle of raindrops was like out of a movie. The effort of making plans, sitting in the tuk tuk and swimming left us drained so we then went straight back to our hotel room to take a nap.

When I woke up on shabbos morning it was like the sun was shining for the first time in a week. We walked around the city, and saw things that were the same as we had seen the past couple of days, but just because I felt better, it looked a little different. I was able to enjoy the tropical atmosphere, see the culture through different eyes and make jokes with the tuk tuk drivers when they asked us for the hundredth time if they could drive us to the waterfall. Rafi took the opportunity to educate the little girls selling stuff on the street and to give them some business advice. He suggested that they sell stuff that tourist actually want to buy like candy and gum instead nick nacks. Later that night when we walked through the night bizarre I was able to appreciate and enjoy the colorful handmade items instead of feeling annoyed that every other vendor was selling the same thing. It is amazing what not feeling intensely nauseous and starving all at the same time will do for your mood.

On Sunday we traveled up north to a town called Luang Namtha (still in Laos) looking for a little adventure. We were hoping to do some trekking but to organize a trip with only two people is prohibitively expensive. So I decided to walk up to every white person we saw and ask them if they were interested in a trek. After a couple of slightly awkward encounters, we met a group and have planned a two day excursion for tomorrow. We are about to spend a whole lot of time with a Jewish Australian boy who is going to Israel in a couple of months to learn in a Baal Teshuva Yeshiva, Esther his beautiful and lovely non Jewish girlfriend and four Israelis who still don’t really understand why we understand Hebrew but can’t speak it. Without a doubt it should be interesting. Definitely not same same.

Before arriving in Laos we weren’t sure what to expect. After many years of political unrest, Laos only opened its doors to tourist in the past ten years. It is often compared to Thailand 30 years ago and several people that we have met said that it is only slightly more developed than Burma. So when we arrived in Vientiane and found many comfortable guesthouses, free wifi and streets lined with restaurants offering western style food, we were pleasantly surprised. As capital cities go Vientiane is pretty modest and the city center is quite small (only a couple of blocks). But if you walk 15 minutes out of the center, construction and building is taking place at a frenetic pace. This is obviously a testament to the growth spurt that is currently taking place in this country. For some reason, Vientiane also has a really large American embassy which might (or might not) account for the fact that we saw more Americans (and families) in that city than we had seen in all of our travels so far.

We spent several days in the capital city and I can’t say much of anything interesting happened here. We easily fell into the leisurely pace and enjoyed just walking around and visiting the shops. Rafi had been hoping that we could buy a motorbike in Laos so that we could ride through the three Indochina countries (don’t be embarrassed if you have to look that up) at our own pace. We found out with certainty that only a Laos citizen can legally own a bike in this country which finally put the idea to rest (all women related to us can now sigh a sigh of relief). We spent an evening looking for the perfect book shop to trade out our books. We finally found a shop with quality books owned by an English man with Aspergers and his beautiful, young Laos wife. We picked up several books so that we can continue our book reading competition (because everything is a competition with us). There had been one book in the store that we were excited to read, but the owner informed us that he had looked everywhere for the book and despite the fact that it was a book store, he had to reread it before he sold it. Very unusual man. We also spent an afternoon speaking to a retired American military man who grew up in Philly. His family had emigrated from Laos when he was seven years old because of the political situation and he had not been back in the country since that time. He was eager to talk to Americans and told us about how he had served in two wars, got hurt in the war, went “crazy,” retired and divorced because injury. He was the second injured retired military man that we had met on our travels. While both these men seemed happy to be traveling on the governments dime it just reminded me again how this far away war is really impacted everyday people’s lives.

On Friday, we traveled to the town of Vang Vieng which is known for its beautiful limestone mountains and natural playground. It is also known for drunk teenaged tubing. Somebody realized that the river, beer and tractor inner tubes are a winning combination and in the past 5 years this town (right down the road from villages where people still live in bamboo huts) had sprouted into the most clichéd tourist destination. This town is unbelievable, shocking and kind of disgusting all at once. It is what Asian people think Westerners want, each restaurant selling the same Western food, playing either Friends or Family Guy reruns. Each shop is selling exactly the same thing which includes Pringles, Vang Vieng t-shirts and sunglasses. Each guesthouse offers basically the same accommodations at relatively the same price. The lack of innovation is mind numbing, but the young kids don’t seem to mind it. Every morning, the kids (who I cannot believe it but are actually Sarala’s age) wake up with a hangover at around 11 and start the day all over again. When I first saw the way they were dressed and what they were saying all I could think to myself is “who are their parents and do they know what they are wearing.” Apparently, I have suddenly become very old and not so much fun.

The natural landscape around this town is truly remarkably so we figured we would enjoy what the area has to offer and skip the drunken tubing. We decided to stay in a bungalow on the river that was far enough away from town that we could enjoy some peace and quiet but close enough that it wouldn’t be a hike to go there when it was time to people watch. On our second day in Vang Vieng we helped an American couple who were being accosted by tuk tuk drivers that wanted to take them to the hotels where they get commissions. I recommended our hotel and we continued on our walk. We later bumped into this couple in town when he said “hey are you the New York Jewish couple that saved us from the tuk tuk drivers.” I guess we give ourselves away where ever we go. Before we even knew what happened, Mikey and Cat became our hang out buddies and Mikey was taking initiative and making plans for us. The swiftness with which he decided he was our boss was slightly alarming, but it was nice to have another couple (who spoke English as a first language) to hang out with.

Following Mikey’s lead the next day we rented motorbikes and went to visit a cave astutely labeled by the local people the “amazing cave” which should not be confused with the “big and nice cave.” The cave actually was amazing. We trekked for about an hour and then decided to turn back when there was no end in sight and we were tired of wadding in the dark through the freezing river the flowed through the cave. After making our way through a traffic jam of cows while headed back to town, we decided to drive to the blue lagoon. The map that we had was definitely not drawn to scale and the signs throughout the village were not exactly unambiguous. We arrived at a sign that we thought was pointing us in the direction of the blue lagoon and paid the local man sitting there 10,000 kip per person (a little more than a dollar) to enter the area. It turns that there wasn’t a blue lagoon there, just a big dirty muddy puddle. I guess this man figured that if his neighbor was able to make a buck off of tourist than so could he. The dishonesty really enraged Mikey and Cat, who apparently took great offense to being hustled by the locals. They went back to the man and with the strength of a crowd (there were around 5 other backpackers with us) demanded all of our money back. To me the whole scene was a little ugly and made me feel unsettled. I agree that tourist shouldn’t be taken advantage of, and I took the money when they got it back, but I just didn’t appreciate how it all took place. In a short period of time, the locals have gone from being very poor villagers to living on a tourist gold mine. While people obviously shouldn’t lie or steal, I guess everyone wants to enjoy the wealth that tourism is bringing the village. And in the end we are really only speaking about a little more than a buck.

 After all that we did find the real blue lagoon which without a doubt was actually worth the 10,000 kip a person.

Later that night while sitting in town, Rafi recognized Lewis’ friend and his wife from photos that we had seen of them several nights before. Considering that Rafi still looks at me with a confused look on his face every now and again, it was remarkably shocking that he picked them out though it might have something to do with the fact that they are quite an unusual looking couple. The man (I forget his name) is a giant Indian man with LA flare and his wife is an itsy bitsy Thai girl who barely reaches his shoulder. We made some awkward introductions (they had no idea who we were) and they sat down and hung out with us. During the evening, Rafi and I started feeling violently ill and abruptly left without saying a proper good bye to the couples. We spent that evening and the next day holed up in our bungalow first being very sick and the recuperating so we haven’t seen either couple since then. This entire experience feels as though it lacks closure and is a very weird ending to a mostly weird series of interactions. I also now realize how scary it is to be sick in a foreign country and because of the vulnerable way Rafi felt when he was sick, he now insists that I be a grown up and carry my own money and identification (just for a worst case scenario obviously).

After Burma we were literally exhausted. The intense heat, endless traveling and money worries took everything out of us. Rafi, who normally has trouble sleeping well in his own bed, was just falling asleep everywhere and anywhere. There were many towns that we wanted to visit up north but because we didn’t have the energy or time to move around a lot, we settled on Chaing Mai as our reenergizing town.

Immediately upon arriving in this little city (or big town) I knew that I would like it. In fact, I think it might be one of the most perfect vacation destinations that we have visited so far. The streets are lined with cute little coffee shops, fruit shake stands and stores selling colorful Thai products. The city is small enough that it is easily navigated by foot but big enough to keep one entertained for several days. There is a large expat community in Chaing Mai and therefore we had all the western amenities and luxuries that we could want available to us. We found a perfect little hotel in a great location with air conditioning, free wifi, and an attached coffee shop and settled into a whole lot of nothing for five days. Each day we would consider a different day trip, either to the Elephant Camp or Tiger Kingdom, but then we would be quickly distracted by the ever available internet, Law and Order marathons on cable tv or our air conditioned room which was beckoning us for a nap. So we never made it very far. But we did explore the city, spend shabbos with the Israelis (and one Teaneck kid) at the Chabad House and shopped at the night market for some cheap new clothes.

At one point I ventured out by myself to purchase a new watch (I had traded my pink one that I bought in Singapore with some guy in Burma who said that his daughter would be so happy to have a something made in a different country). I was so excited with my new periwinkle watch until I got back to our room and realized that I accidently gave the street vendor 1,000 Baht ($30) instead of 100 Baht. Classic. I hiked back to the street vendor to try to set my little blunder straight but of course she denied that I had given her the wrong amount.

Sunday night we took what we thought to be an overnight bus to the North Eastern area of Thailand to visit Rafi’s childhood friend formally known as Yossi Lewis. The bus trip was a little shorter than we had anticipated and at 3:30 in the morning we were thrown off the bus with no real idea of where to go. The good news was that the market was already abuzz and there were people (and wild scary dogs)everywhere. The bad news was that not one person spoke any English at all. For 4 hours we tried to get in touch with Rafi’s friend or to find someplace to stay. Finally a woman who spoke about three words of English insisted on driving us to her friend’s too expensive guesthouse and then charged us 100 Baht for the three minute car ride. We spent a really pleasant day with Omkar (Yossi’s new name). He is part of a holistic yoga community that focuses on Indian spirituality (that description might not be super accurate) and he is in Thailand attending a 3 month training with his guru. Sitting on the porch of our hotel with beautiful green mountains as a backdrop, we discussed spirituality, philosophy, the upper west side and the all the horrible things that the Torah Academy boys did to torment their teachers. At around noon, the skies opened up and there was an amazing torrential storm that lasted a couple of hours. After the rain finished the sky was amazingly clear and the temperature a refreshing 75 degrees. Despite the fact that we had to travel for so many hours just to see Lewis for a short time, the journey was worth the effort. It was great to spend the time with him and lucky that this meeting took place in such a picturesque and remote area of Thailand that we would have otherwise missed.

The next morning we woke up at 5 o’clock to walk a half hour to the bus station. We were traveling to Vientiane (Loas) and nobody was sure when the bus to the border town was supposed to arrive. Their best guess was between 6 and 7 am. At 7:30 we decided that we needed to take an alternate option. So we took an hour pick up to the next town, then a 3 hour bus to the next large town, a one hour bus to the border town, 20 minute tuk tuk ride to the border, 15 minute shuttle bus over the bridge and then finally a half hour taxi ride to our hotel in Vientiane.

As we learned early on transportation is not one of Burma’s fortes and the trip from Bagan to the mountains in Kalaw was no exception. The bus picked us up at a convenient 3:45 in the morning and held us prisoner for almost 12 hours. Unfortunately Leah and I (that’s right…Leah is in the passenger seat for this update) were unable to sleep because the seats were too small. However, the cool air in the mountains mostly made up for our aching knees, sore behinds and exhaustion. Because money was becoming extremely tight we checked into the cheapest place in town for $6 a night. The room was what you would expect for $6 – rustic, questionable sheets, holes in the wall, lots of mosquitoes and a shared bathroom that leaked and didn’t really flush. It was a great way to celebrate our b-day. The place did have two redeeming qualities – Harri the trekking guide and a large communal front porch where we met a very fun and outgoing American girl named Sam who treated us to dinner for our birthdays and left us with The Hobbit.

The next morning we left for our 2 day trek to the lake with Harri and a really nice Russian couple who have been living in Thailand for the past 2 years. After a few hours of hiking we entered hill tribe country. Real hill tribes. Burma is made up Burmese people but also 100 plus tribes that have lived in the surrounding area for a few thousand years. And because of their isolation and apathy to the government they are left alone and still adhere to their tribal structure. Most still live without electricity and running water and survive from farming and some form of basket and clothes weaving. What was so great about seeing the hill tribes was how exited they were to see us. They don’t have a lot of exposure to westerners so they don’t view us as walking $s. They are as fascinated by us as we are by them. We were allowed to take pictures and they enjoyed seeing themselves in our magical devices. They are especially fond of Harri who always takes medicine with him on his treks. Harri knows many of the villagers by name and takes the time to learn about their families and their medical histories. So when we arrived and they saw Harri the whole village came to welcome us. They were very hospitable and welcomed us into their home for siesta and lunch – rice and vegetables and some aged rice saki. As we were leaving we ran into these adorable old ladies who were just coming back from collecting cow patties (dung) in the field. Despite being in their mid 70’s they were still schlepping and working hard.

After a long day of hiking we made camp at an old monastery. I wish I had a picture of Leah’s face when Harri pointed to the shower. It was basically a 3 quarter concrete wall with a small water holding area that was filled with cold well water and a small bowl to rinse yourself. The monastery itself was pretty bare and basic but they did provide some cushions and blankets for sleeping, which of course we did not get a lot of. We awoke to young monks chanting at 5am and by 6:30 am we were on our way to the lake.

After arround 6 hours of trekking and an hour and a half boat ride on a mostly dried up river we arrived at our destination. We couldn’t afford to stay on the lake so we were dropped off at the town outside. After unsuccessfully trying to negotiate the room rate from $10 down to $8 we headed to the cheapest place in town – PYI 2. Money had become so tight that I actually budgeted exactly how much we could spend per day on food and accommodation. We could spend 90 cents per day on bottled water, $2.50 per day on food and $8 on sleeping. That meant eating where the locals ate. We quickly learned that if a restaurant had proper chairs or a menu it was out of our budget. We only frequented establishments with little stools and no English. We found a great vegetarian place for .60 cents a person (more rice and vegetables) that was very filling and they were very excited to be serving foreigners from a far off land and to practice their English.

PYI 2 is run by a great guy who calls himself Joe. Because its low season and there are nicer places to stay we were Joe’s only guests which turned out to be a blessing. Understanding our money situation he became our surrogate father making sure we were full from the free breakfast and comfortable in his home. Each morning he was excited to share with us a new in season fruit. At least several times a day he would offer us green tea and comment on how hot it was outside. One night Joe called out to us and told us he had dried rice crackers to eat. We were already in bed but Leah pushed me out to taste what Joe had prepared for us. I ended up spending a few hours talking about life in Burma and what its like to live in the US. Joe hadn’t seen guests in a few weeks and was really happy to talk to someone. It was time well spent not only for the conversation but also it was so hot in our room. There is very little electricity in the town and Joe can’t afford to run his generator. Sometimes in the middle of the night the fan would turn on but mostly we slept under our mosquito net with every window and the door wide open. When the electricity did turn on you could hear people in the town clapping and cheering. What makes the electricity situation so frustrating is that there is no schedule for when it will be on. So at 1:30 in the afternoon a light would suddenly turn on and everyone runs inside to take advantage of it. 45 minutes later it’s off again. During the day we would hang out in the guest house in the shade or in a local coffee shop that we couldn’t afford with other travelers. One of the great things about our trip was running into the same backpackers in different cities. Burma sees so few tourists, especially in the low season, that there was only one degree of separation in the Burma backpacker community. One afternoon we met a very nice couple from Spain. After the introductions Leah said “so you guys are the nice Spanish couple that we’ve heard about.” We had also run into people that we met in Hispaw. It was fun to exchange stories and itineraries.

We left Sunday afternoon back to Yangon on a 16 hour bus ride. The bus was supposed to have air conditioning and be comfortable and of course it wasn’t. Many pit stops and identification checks later we arrived at 5am. We went straight to the airport and tried to leave the country a day earlier but ‘this is not possible’ said the manager at the airport. I was able to trade my unacceptable $20 bills with departing travelers. That’s right, I had 2 twenties that people would not take because they were not crisp, folded down the middle and had a little red on it. One $20 bill we needed to leave the country for airport tax but the other $20 was found money. We were rich! So with the extra $20 we could splurge on air conditioning and fruit shakes. We were totally psyched and spent some time finding the perfect guest house – Okinawa. Of course there was no government electricity in the city and they refused to turn on their generator despite selling us an air conditioned room. So at 10:30 at night, stuck in an 88 degree stuffy room (so said our little travel clock that Rochie gave us as a wedding present) with no windows and no air conditioning, my tough New York attitude wife let the manager on duty have it. He squirmed, lied, pleaded ignorance and eventually just ignored Leah. It was a valiant effort but still no air con. Then at 3:30 in the morning the power came on and the room got cold. Too bad we had to wake up at 6.

We enjoyed our experience in Burma. It’s a really interesting country to visit and there are many great things about it. But it is certainly not a vacation. For that we are heading up north in Thailand to chill in Chaing Mai and recuperate.

While Mandalay is a major stop on the Burma tourist trail, initially we had decided that we were going to skip it because there didn’t seem much of anything to see. However, because all the buses in Burma take at least 8 hours, no matter the distance, we had to take a quick pit stop because of shabbos. It actually worked out great because while Mandalay doesn’t have any great sites it does have one of the very few hotels in the entire country that accepts credit card and allows you to take out more money for an inordinate service fee. At that point the service fee was irrelevant to us as we actually did not have enough money to complete our trip. So we planned on spending shabbos in a 5 star hotel, which wasn’t too bad. However, using my powers of persuasions and explaining that it was our birthdays and our honeymoon, I had us upgraded to a suite with a balcony and a great view, which was totally ace.

Because it is 105 degrees in Mandalay and we had a beautiful, clean, air conditioned suite, I can’t say that we saw much of the city. We did venture out for a few hours and met a rigshaw driver who made a good first impression on us. He was sweet and very helpful and we agreed to take a ride with him in the evening. That night he drove us to the market which was pretty uneventful, but on the ride back we stopped for some strawberry juice (which is delicious) and he shared with us his experience of living in this country. He explained that his village was destroyed by the cyclone 2 years ago and his family’s house and farm were destroyed and two of his sisters were killed. Despite the fact that foreign countries offered assistance the government denied this help and the people were basically left to fend for themselves. The government did build some homes for the families to live in but then charged these destitute and broken people rent. Our friend had moved to Mandalay to provide for his family. He rented his rigshaw and obviously only made any money when he had costumers. We were his first costumers for the day. To buy a bike would cost him $85 dollars and I know that Rafi wanted to buy it for him (just call my husband Santa Clause) but because we were flat out broke and had no way to get any more money, we couldn’t help him.

The next day we traveled to the ancient city of Bagan. This time we weren’t shock or surprised when the 125 mile journey took 6 hours. The real challenge presented when the air conditioning broke and only a few windows in the back of the bus opened. We were traveling in one of the hottest regions of the country (average temperature over 105 degrees) so as mid day approached and the temperature in the bus rose, we actually began to bake. We were sitting behind an Ukranian man who was just too tall for the country (everything is made for little people). Barely able to fit his legs in two seats and not used to the heat he really looked as if he was suffering. We later found out that he left the country the next day. I think the bus ride might have put him over the edge.

Seeing Bagan for the first time is truly an amazing site. In just a small area (25 square mile area) there are over 2500 temples and shrines built between the 11^th and 13^th century. There had been many more temples built in this area but earthquakes, weather and a government who doesn’t care had destroyed quite a few. The temples of Bagan are different from any other ancient attraction that I have ever seen in the sense that nobody appears to be taking care of it. You are able to walk and climb on the temples and are able touch much of the original pieces and art. Vendors set up shop at their shrine of choice and spend the day harassing tourist to buy their souvenirs. The government is doing little to preserve this ancient site and has hired laymen to rebuild the broken temples. In fact, in 1990s UNESCO had come in to try to do some work, but left after a short period because of the difficulty working with the government. Even so, many of the temples are really beautiful and majestic and it was a fun experience seeing the sites being driven around in a horse cart all day. The last temple we visited was appropriately nicknamed “sunset temple” because all the tourists congregate there to watch the sunset. (It was at this temple, during the steep climb to the top on a windy evening that we learned the answer to the question that had been plaguing us for some time. Do the men wear underwear under their longyis?) We enjoyed sunset with what looked to be every tourist visiting Bagan and even bumped into some backpackers that we had met on different bus trips. While the sunset was beautiful, the real show was watching the local kids work their selling magic. They would walk and run on the edge of the balcony, trying to be the first to get to a new tourist, totally unaffected by the height. They knew a few catch phrases in basically every language and once they found out your nationality they would start their speech. I tried to teach a little girl some Hebrew but once I started counting she continued, letting me know that she already knew enough Hebrew to impress an Israeli. These kids were relentless. They would negotiate, beg, tease, demand, anything to get you to buy their one dollar postcard. While it was entertaining it was also sad to see small children working so hard for a buck. 

By the end of that night we were all templed out, exhausted from the oppressive heat and very eager to get back into the cool mountains.

It took us the same amount of time to get from New York to Singapore as it took to get from Yangon to Hispaw and the latter was much less enjoyable. Based on Momo’s recommendation we took an overnight bus from Yangon to Mandalay. The bus was air conditioned and we received a free water bottle and toothbrush kit at our seat, so we were anticipating a rather pleasant trip.  The ride started with very loud, very bad Myanmar music videos being shown on the huge flat screen tv at the front of the bus and then continued with Myanmar soap operas for the next three hours. The bus stopped at least four times during the night for food and bathroom breaks and then there were the additional random identification checkpoints by the government. By the time we arrived in Mandalay we were exhausted and slightly delusional. So when a taxi driver came over to me and asked me “at midaberet ivrit” I wasn’t totally sure what was going on. Turns out there used to be a lot of Israeli tourist in Myanmar and this particular taxi driver was very good at languages. And again my frizzy hair (in rare form because of the heat and humidity) and Rafi’s nose gave us away.

When we saw the bus that we were going to be traveling on for the next 9 hours my first question to the man selling the ticket was “are you sure there aren’t any other options.” I am not exaggerating when I say that every spare inch of this very old, very decrepit bus was filled with cargo. The people traveling on the bus were just an after thought. Rafi and I sat down with our knees up by our chests (because of boxes on the floor)and felt lucky because at least we had a seat. After a couple of tries the engine turned over and we knew that we were in for a very long drive. We picked up random people along the way who found seats on the cargo. We had a little buddy (a guy in his young twenties) that stood at the door of the bus for the entire journey, dropping stuff off, paying what seemed to be bribes (or tolls) and checking out the bus just to make sure everything was ok. Four over heating incidents, one flat tire and one unknown problem that only took about an hour to fix and we made our way to Hipsaw.

Hipsaw is this quaint town not quite in the mountains but 500 meters above sea level making it much more pleasant that the big cities. For some reason travelers have made this town “a must” on the Burma itinerary and the town has obliged by making it very easy to visit with a comfortable guesthouse, motorbikes for rent and organized treks. Despite the influx of travelers that this town has seen in the past ten years, every time they locals see a white person walking down the street, they get very excited, wave and say a quick hello and then and equally quick goodbye. Not wanting to be rude, we were sure to constantly smile and say hello and goodbye in a very cheery voice. This was not an easy task for New Yorkers. But nonetheless it was a very pleasant change from Yangon. In Hipsaw while the people are still poor they seem much happier and in some ways less forgotten.

We decided to go on a two day motorbike trek to a mountain town called Namshon which is known as the “Switzerland of Myanmar.” The man that rented us the bikes told us that the six hour journey there was ok and that the 8 hour trip back was “a little difficult.” The backpackers that had completed the trek the day before told us that it was insanely hard and that it was impossible to bike this road with two people on one bike. We figured we would give it a try, what’s the worst that could happen. So at 9 o’clock in the morning, with our backpack filled with our overnight stuff and our sweatshirts tied to our bag we left on our trek. An hour and half later we were backtracking looking for our sweatshirts that must have fallen off when we went over a big bump. In the end we were unable to find our sweatshirts but I guess I am ok knowing that there is a very stylish Burmese person walking around in a Marc Jacobs hoodie. She probably needed it more than I do.

The trip to Namshon was great. The scenery was beautiful and the road not too hard to navigate. We passed a couple of villages on the way and saw lots of cows, horses and water buffalos which I always find to be fun. As we drove higher up into the mountains the air got cooler and smelt fresher. When we got to the town we checked into the guesthouse (for $3 a person per night) and walked around the town. The town itself was kind of uninteresting. There were a ton of shops lining the main road all selling the same stuff. There was a beautiful old monastery at the top of a hill and a palace that was built in the 1930s but looked to have been refurbished much more recently. There wasn’t much to do and we were exhausted by the trip, so we decided to go to bed at around 8. Pretty quickly we figured out the main light was going to stay on all night and because our room was open at the top it was going to be a bright and noisy night. At around 11, overwhelmed by the sounds of snoring and praying and feeling very exhausted, I quite literally almost had a temper tantrum. Anyone who has seen an over tired Schild girl knows that it is a pretty ugly sight. A couple of deep breathing exercises and soothing words from Rafi later and I was a little more calm. At 5 o’ clock the chnating started over the loud speaker, and it was as if that overzealous monk was praying in my head, and I was ready to leave that town. We got out of bed and were on the road before 7.

 When we finally arrived back in Hisbaw, Rafi confirmed what our fellow travelers had told us, the hard road was too hard with two people on the bike. The road changed from rocky and bumpy to sandy and then wet mud. Sometimes it was so steep that we both had to lean forward and hope that we made it up the hill. Going downhill I would push my weight onto the back of the bike so we didn’t topple forward. At times there was only a very narrow path that we could drive on. We had a couple of mishaps, but that was ok because it gave us the opportunity to interact with the villagers. At one village after our bike broke down, a Granny understood our problem and got a boy to help us without one common word spoken between the two of us. At that same village we met a sweet teenaged girl who was eager to practice her English. She proudly told me that she spoke three languages, her tribe language, Myanmar language and a little English. We met this adorable group of people, two old men, one old women and a little boy, all dressed in traditional clothes praying at a Bunyan tree. Again, they didn’t speak a word of English but we knew the name of the next town on our trek and they were able to point us in the right direction. They eagerly agreed when I asked to take their picture and were thrilled when I showed it to them on our camera. Perhaps the best interaction happened after we got stopped behind a truck on a dusty road and then had difficulty getting enough momentum and traction to get the bike up the hill. Without even asking, these three boys took the initiative and helped us. When we decided to rest at the top of the hill around 15 people of different ages, mostly dressed in traditional garb came out to look at us. We weren’t very close to a village and I think these were people that were working the field and were taking a break at a bamboo covered platform. Not one of them spoke a word of English and everything I said made them laugh. Right when we were about to leave around 10 men showed up with very old looking rifles. I am hoping that they were going hunting. While the way back was incredibly difficult and stressful (even more so for Rafi then me) the experience of interacting with the villagers, seeing the way they live and finally getting out of the oppressive head made it all very worthwhile. And we made it back sort of in one piece, so that’s all that really matters.